Santana sat up with a start. The sheets clung uncomfortably to her damp limbs and her heart pounded in her eardrums. Her eyes roved around the darkened bedroom as her disoriented mind struggled to separate reality from dream. A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped and gasped at the contact.
"What is it?" Brittany whispered worriedly. "Bad dream?"
"I... I don't really remember," the brunette mumbled as she shrugged. "I just woke up terrified."
"That's been happening to you a lot lately," her wife remarked. "Is there something on your mind?"
Santana grabbed the other woman's arm and tugged her closer. She quietly drew comfort from the touch of her spouse's skin against hers.
"As long as I know you're here, I'm fine," she insisted.
"Do you think maybe that's why you wake up?" Brittany asked quietly. "The fear that I won't be here when you do?"
Her index finger slid down Santana's necklace to the stone nestled between her breasts. The dark haired woman gently grabbed her hand and removed it. Ever since she had awoken to an empty bed the morning after they made love, she was always reluctant to let her wife touch the Hallow.
"We can talk about it, you know," the blonde said earnestly. "If you want to."
"No," the other woman said firmly. "I don't want to. I don't need to. There's nothing to say."
Brittany frowned but kept her disagreement with this statement to herself. Santana saw the blonde's troubled expression and sucked on her bottom lip. She leaned in and kissed her spouse fleetingly, only to deepen that caress when she saw that the first time did not chase her doubt away.
Her wife's mouth opened slightly and the dark haired woman readily slipped her tongue forward to fill the gap. The other woman lightly dragged her nails along Santana's scalp. The brunette's eyes rolled back as her lids fluttered closed. She readjusted to free her left arm from beneath her body. With that hand, she cupped the back of Brittany's head and cradled it while the other palm explored every inch of the blonde that she could reach.
The taller woman stilled her spouse's roaming fingers. She shook her head slightly and scrunched her nose, indicating that she wanted to remain as they were. Santana sulked for a moment at being denied but, when Brittany tenderly held both sides of her face and kissed her harder, she found that she didn't mind.
The brunette broke free from her lover's mouth and moved instead to the other parts of her face. She pressed her lips softly to the blonde's forehead, her closed eyelids, the freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her chin. With the tips of her fingers, she carefully smoothed back any stray hairs that she saw and restored them to their proper place. Her heart began to swell inside her chest. Santana snuggled into the curve of Brittany's neck as she tried to maintain her composure.
"You're so perfect," she murmured and draped one arm over her wife's hip.
The blonde snorted dismissively.
"Hardly."
"You are," she insisted while pulling back a little to look her in the eye. "There's no use arguing because you won't convince me otherwise."
Brittany smiled bashfully, which somehow made her that much more achingly beautiful. The pain coursing through Santana's insides became almost unbearable at the sight of it. She lowered her head back down to rest against her wife's chest and closed her eyes. Though the blonde didn't see it, a single tear slid down her spouse's cheek.
After a few minutes of silence, the other woman tentatively spoke.
"Santana?"
No response.
"Hey," she tried again while giving the brunette's shoulder a little shake. Still no reaction.
She had fallen asleep.
Brittany sighed heavily. It was just as well. How would she have begun that conversation anyway? There was no easy way to tell the woman beside her, the one great love of her entire existence, that even as they were tangled in each other's limbs just now it was as if her arms were enveloping air.
She rested her head against Santana's hair. Her mouth pressed down into a thin, anxious line and her eyes clouded over as she fought against her inner storm. To fill the slowly passing hours, she hummed tunelessly and watched the sky outside shift from the tranquil shadow of night to the bloodred blaze of the oncoming dawn.
... ... ...
Early the following morning, Santana opened her eyelids blearily as pale light filtered into the house. She extracted herself from Brittany's embrace and climbed out from under the sheets, sucking air sharply through her teeth at the touch of the hardwood floor against her bare feet. Her arms hugged her torso to contain what body heat she could as she shuffled across the room.
Though her back was turned to the bed, Santana could feel a pair of blue eyes watching her as she went about her routine. The familiar twist of guilt knotted her gut as she remembered that her wife no longer possessed the ability to sleep, but she pushed it away. Brittany had yet to voice so much as a word of complaint about the situation, and the brunette was far too afraid of the outcome to be the one to breach the subject.
The dark haired woman padded into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Her lip curled at the sight of her own reflection in the mirror above the sink.
"Good God!" she exclaimed as she leaned in for a closer examination. "I look like a raccoon."
With a dissatisfied frown, she ran the tips of her index fingers along the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her brow knotted as she continued to inspect her face and the lines in her skin deepened.
"Shit," she said simply, bemused. She was aging, and more than she ought to have been over such a short span of time. On the plus side, the scar along her cheek was healing nicely.
With a shrug, she left her mirrored image and turned on the water in the shower. As a steady stream sprayed from the nozzle, she tugged her nightgown over her head and dropped it to the floor. For a few blissful minutes as the hot droplets warmed her skin and woke her up, Santana was free from her troubles. She massaged her stiff muscles and worked the tangles out of her rumpled hair, intentionally stalling until the room filled with steam and made her feel like she was dwelling inside a cloud.
A short while later, she walked out into the bedroom with a towel wrapped loosely around her body. Brittany was sitting upright with her chin resting on her knees. Her long arms hugged her thighs close to her chest. The blonde watched her wife dress for the day with an unreadable expression on her face. Her fingers tugged absentmindedly at a loose thread in the covers.
When Santana was finished, she held out her arms and turned in a slow circle for her spouse to look her over. The other woman nodded her approval and the brunette smiled. She walked over and hopped onto the mattress to hug Brittany tightly.
"I'd better be going," she sighed as she nuzzled her wife's neck. "Big trial today."
"Go get 'em," the blonde said with her most encouraging smile, slapping the other woman's backside as she got to her feet.
Santana crossed over to her nightstand and pulled out the cloth pouch. She opened it and grabbed her necklace with the other hand.
"I'll see you when I get home?"
"See you then," Brittany affirmed.
The brunette put the stone back in its hiding place and was careful not to look up as her wife vanished from sight. She ground her teeth together and marched directly toward the door without glancing back. Silently, Santana cursed herself for still feeling that familiar pang of leaving an empty room. Somehow, no matter how much time passed, facing the day alone never did get any easier.
... ... ...
A small bell rang overhead as Quinn Fabray stepped into the coffee shop. The man behind the counter beamed at her genially, and she nodded to him before searching for an empty table. She spotted a place in front of the large front window and carefully climbed onto one of the tall stools.
Her fingernails tapped lightly against the table top as she waited for someone to come take her order. Outside on the sidewalk, muggles and wizards alike went about their daily business. The blonde watched them with a faint smile. She found it oddly comforting how difficult it was to tell the inhabitants of one world apart from the other. In the end, they were not so very different.
She was so immersed in her own musings that it escaped her notice when the front bell rang a second time as another customer entered the shop. It was not until a voice spoke beside her that Quinn realized she was not alone and turned from the window.
"Are you waiting for someone?" Rachel Berry asked timidly.
"No, I was just stopping in for something to warm me up after the cold, rainy day we've had," she explained.
"Do you mind if I sit with you?"
"Not at all," she replied and gestured to the opposite stool.
Rachel climbed up onto the seat, holding onto the table's edge to maintain her balance. Once she was settled, her shoes dangled almost two feet from the ground. She appeared almost childlike as her heels tapped lightly against the wooden legs. Her dark brown eyes roamed around the shop while she searched her mind for something to say.
"So, we haven't spoken one-on-one like this in quite a long time," Quinn supplied helpfully. "Years, really, if you don't count the idle chitchat on those occasions that Brittany got us all together. How have you been?"
"Oh, as well as can be expected," the petite brunette sighed.
She paused as the waiter came over and asked them what they'd like to drink. They both placed their orders and the man walked away again.
"Just going to work and paying the bills, the same as anyone else," Rachel continued as he departed. "Nothing very interesting, really."
"I find that hard to believe," Quinn said. "You were always so driven when we were in school. I'm sure your career is a lot more glamorous than most of ours."
The other woman shook her head.
"I'm afraid not. My path to stardom got... diverted. It was just going to be temporary, in the beginning, but it turns out that detour was just a cleverly disguised permanent standstill."
"What happened?"
"Do you remember that boy that asked you to the Yule Ball when we were fourteen?" Rachel asked quietly.
"Yeah."
"I married him."
"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" Quinn asked cheerfully. "What could that have to do with your dreams getting deferred?"
"We wanted different things from our life together," she answered with measured care while selecting her words slowly. "I wanted to leave this place and never look back, unencumbered by any ties or loose ends. All he ever wanted was to stay close to his family and have a few kids."
The waiter returned with their cups and placed the drinks down in front of them. Rachel sipped hers thoughtfully for a moment before continuing.
"So we compromised. Now, we live within walking distance of the house where he grew up and I get to sing five nights a week in a smoke-filled lounge up the road."
Her lids rimmed with tears, but she straightened her shoulders with determination and finished the tale.
"Not exactly the fast-paced, hot-and-happening lifestyle I had in mind but, hey, at least we still haven't had any children..."
A small sob escaped her before she was able to choke it back. Rachel pressed her fist against her mouth to suppress the sound. She closed her eyes as she willed herself to regain control.
Quinn shifted uneasily in her seat. She slid one hand across the table to touch Rachel's wrist comfortingly. It occurred to her then that this was the first time they had ever come into direct contact. The realization nearly made her withdraw, but she knew that the other woman needed her.
"Thank you," Rachel murmured. She extracted her hand and allowed the blonde to sit back once more.
"Hey, don't feel too bad," the other woman said with forced optimism. "Nobody's life ever works out quite the way they planned."
"Oh, I'm sure you fared better than I did in that department," the brunette insisted as she took another drink of her coffee.
"Well, my job at the Ministry pays well enough," the taller woman conceded. "But outside of that things are fairly abysmal. I know you didn't exactly find connubial bliss, but at least you managed to get married."
"You mean...?"
Quinn lifted her left hand with the back of it facing outward. She waggled her fingers, the third of which was decidedly devoid of ornamentation.
"Sad, isn't it?"
"It's unbelievable," Rachel replied. "You were the brightest and prettiest witch in our year."
"And the biggest basket case," the blonde added with a slightly bitter laugh. "Honestly, I marvel at the fact that half the men I dated even talked to me at all."
"I suppose we all have our disappointments, then," the other woman surmised. She looked out the window at the street beyond.
"Yeah, I guess we do," Quinn agreed as she took a long drink from the warm cup in her hand.
They lapsed into silence, lost in their individual thoughts.
"Have you spoken to Santana lately?" Rachel asked suddenly.
"As a matter of fact, I have."
"Did she seem a bit... strange to you? Almost like she was hiding something?"
The blonde stared at the woman across from her, uncertain of how much to reveal.
"Yes, she seemed very odd," she responded vaguely.
"Any idea what it could be?"
The temptation to finally talk to someone else, to be able to get an outside opinion, was nearly irresistible. However, a quick glance around reminded Quinn that they were still inside a fairly busy coffee shop.
"Yes," she allowed herself to admit. "But would you mind terribly if we continued this conversation somewhere a bit more private? It's complicated... very complicated."
"Of course," Rachel agreed readily. She grabbed her cup and hopped off the stool. Quinn did likewise and followed the brunette out into the street after they paid for their drinks.
"So, where to?"
"Here, take my hand," the blonde told her.
The other woman did as she was told. Her companion led them around several corners to a deserted side street.
"Hang on tight," she warned and then abruptly disapparated.
A moment later, they arrived in a large, brightly lit room. Panes of glass all along one wall allowed an expansive view of the city that stretched out in all directions. Potted plants and various works of art decorated the shelves and windowsills. A queen-sized bed was pushed into the opposite corner, along with a nightstand weighed down by a stack of at least a dozen books.
"Where are we?" Rachel asked as she turned in a circle to take in their new surroundings.
"My flat."
Quinn strode over to her kitchenette and sat down at the small table there. She kicked the opposite chair out with her foot, indicating that the brunette should take a seat. Her companion joined her and reluctantly tore her eyes away from the pleasing decor to focus on whatever the other woman might have to divulge.
"All right," Rachel said, keeping her voice conspiratorially low. "Now that we're here, tell me. What's going on?"
The blonde folded her hands in front of herself and bit her lip as she teetered on the edge of indecision. Another chance like this might not come along any time soon, or at all, for that matter. If she was going to get any unbiased help whatsoever, this was where she would find it, unlikely as the partnership would have seemed at any other time.
Finally, she lifted her head and looked Rachel directly in the eye.
"Can you keep a secret?"
... ... ...
Santana closed her eyes and listened to the steady rain tapping against the windows. Brittany's head was on her stomach, and her fingers played idly with the blonde's unbound hair as they enjoyed the stillness.
The cold from outside gradually crept into the room and the brunette shivered slightly. Her wife noticed this and moved up to rest her head on the other woman's shoulder. She draped one long leg over both of Santana's and then wrapped an arm around her torso. Her spouse burrowed into the embrace, struggling to get warm.
"Do you remember the night of that really big storm in our fifth year?" Brittany asked as they readjusted their limbs to get comfortable.
"Mmm-hmm," Santana purred contentedly.
"I was so worried about my plants. I begged you to run out onto the roof with me to put a tarp over them," the blonde reminisced. "Only, by the time we got it set up, we were both completely soaked and it was raining too hard to see our way back."
"So we stayed."
...
She had thought she was so subtle, snuggling closer to Brittany under the pretense of suffering from a chill. All she really wanted was to be near her and to feel the other girl's breath breeze across her skin. The brunette simply didn't know how to ask, since that aspect of their relationship was something they had scarcely discussed since the Yule Ball the previous winter. Her friend turned to make some comment or other about the downpour, and Santana found that she couldn't even listen because she was too distracted with watching the movement of her companion's lips. Before she could stop herself, she pressed her own mouth to that focal point and all conversation ceased.
How such an ordinary, unremarkable day led into the moment that would change her life forever, she still could not explain. What she did know is that somehow they reached the same conclusion simultaneously and without so much as a word spoken aloud. She was peeling back Brittany's rain-soaked cloak before she even had time to process what was happening. The other girl did the same for her and then tugged her heavy jumper off the brunette's arms and over her head. As the blonde's fingers loosened the green-and-silver tie around her neck and then moved on to her blouse, Santana nearly balked. Her mouth was already open to issue a feeble protest when those startlingly clear eyes locked on hers. All thoughts of fleeing vanished and Santana began attacking the other girl's shirt with equal haste.
Within a minute, they were down to their undergarments. The brunette didn't think her heartbeat had ever been so loud. Even with the thunder rolling overhead and the occasional crackle of lightning, it was all she could hear. The sound pounded in her eardrums and sent out echoes of the beat through every limb and extremity. It was as if her entire body was pulsating, thrumming with unspeakable fear and excitement.
She grabbed the straps of Brittany's bra delicately between two fingers on either side and slowly pulled them out of the way. The blonde crooked her elbows to make it easier to tug them free. Santana gently pushed the other girl back to lie flat against their discarded clothes and hoped that at least they would be softer than the stone rooftop beneath. Her companion's chest was already heaving as she struggled to keep herself still.
The brunette grabbed the middle of the white cloth in one tight fist and yanked it free. The back fasten gave way and she flicked her wrist to dispose of the unwanted garment. Next she guided the teen's underwear out from under her rump and down her shapely legs. With that gone, Brittany was laid bare before her. Santana wanted to fall on her right then and there, but the blonde reached up and hooked one finger around the black lace still covering the other girl's private skin. The dark haired teen reached around her back and undid the latch, tossing the unclasped bra away as soon as she had slid it down her quivering arms. The corresponding bottoms followed shortly thereafter and she was left gloriously exposed.
Gooseflesh raised pinpricks along her limbs and torso but she scarcely had time to notice. After a fraction of a second in which they drank in the sight of one another, she and Brittany collided and curved into each other the way the sea meets the shore. The torrent of water from the sky began to come down sideways, but the two girls paid it no heed as rain mixed with sweat and their slick bodies moved as one. They reveled in the discovery of the new ways that they could come together, and for a time the outside world may as well have not even existed.
...
"I'm glad it was you," Brittany murmured, clearly having just resurfaced from the same memory.
"So am I."
The thing was, momentous as that exchange had been, it was not their mutual loss of virginity that gave the event such significance. For Santana, what had truly changed when they gave themselves to each other was that she forgot how to use the word I; from that day on, it was always we. Even when they were apart, she found herself responding for them both as a unit. Though she was still an individual, she was no longer her own. Yin to yang, light to shadow, they were each other's balance. She would forever view herself as half of a whole.
Brittany untangled herself from Santana and sat up. She took hold of her wife's shoulder and gently pulled her onto her side, so that the shorter woman's head was resting against her thighs. The brunette twisted around so she could look up at her spouse. The expression on the blonde's face was indescribably tender. She trailed her fingers along the age lines at the corners of the dark haired woman's lips and eyes. The pad of her thumb traced the now faint scar along her cheekbone. With a slight frown, she took in how tightly her wife's skin seemed to be drawn, as if she were under some constant strain. The dark circles under her eyelids had deepened in hue, making her look almost as if she were bruised. Santana closed her eyes as the taller woman leaned down and kissed both lids in turn.
"Do you know something?" Brittany whispered while their faces were still only inches apart.
"What?"
"As glad as I am that you were the one who shared all my firsts, I think I love it just as much - maybe more, even - that you were there for so many of my lasts: the last time I ever walked through the halls of Hogwarts, the last night I spent in my family's house before you and I moved into our own place," the woman listed as she looked off into the distance. "You were sitting across from me during the last dinner I ate. You were the one holding me the last time I climbed into bed for the night, and the one I was with the last time I... Well, you know."
Santana bit her lip and nodded, smiling. She found it precious that Brittany hesitated to say that last part out loud. However, a devastating thought came to her then, and she had to look away before her spouse had a chance to see the depth of pain in her eyes.
"Even so, I wasn't there for the most important one," she said quietly. "I wasn't with you at your last breath."
She sucked air sharply into her lungs and pushed down a sob, but her tearducts spilled over before she could do anything to control them. Her body started to shake, and she reached both arms out to wrap around Brittany's waist. Her wife smoothed her hair and shushed her consolingly.
"You were there," the blonde told the woman crying against her, fighting to speak as her own emotions took over. "Just not physically. Santana, when it happened, I stopped being aware of everything else. The crowd, the screaming, the boy with his wand drawn at me, the flash of light... I couldn't focus on any of it. The last thing that entered my thoughts before I was gone was you."
Rather than respond verbally to this revelation, Santana climbed into Brittany's lap and curled up against her. She rested her head against her wife's shoulder and sighed heavily. Still silent, she held out her right hand with the pinky extended. Her spouse took it with her own, and they simply sat together with their hands and thoughts interlinked.
Brittany nestled her chin atop Santana's hair and made herself an unspoken promise. If she accomplished nothing else with this extra time that she had been given, she would help the brunette find the one thing inside of herself that she needed even more than healing: forgiveness.
... ... ...
"Wow," Rachel said simply when Quinn had finished speaking.
"Yeah," the blonde agreed with a short laugh. The taller woman ran her fingers through her hair and released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It was such a relief that now someone else knew.
"So, has she talked to her, do you think?"
"No, and that's exactly what has me worried," the former Ravenclaw replied. "I don't think she knows how. I mean, shit, who can blame her? That's a heck of a conversation to have when the person you love is just starting to get better."
The brunette nodded her agreement.
"The thing is," Quinn continued. "Santana isn't really getting better. She's hiding. Sure, she built up her life again but she rebuilt it with Brittany still at the center. I'm so scared what's going to happen to Britt if she keeps this up. I want what's best for both of them, and I want them happy, but I don't see how this can go on when they're not even a part of the same world anymore."
She folded her arms over her chest and crossed the room to look through the windowpanes.
"I can't stand the thought of Brittany having to live in a world where she can't use her senses," the blonde said as she gazed at the labyrinth of buildings lining the streets outside. "She'll have to spend every day wanting to share all the simple things with Santana - holding hands, eating meals, smelling flowers from the garden - and she can't. I know she'd give all of that up in snap just to stay with the love of her life but she shouldn't have to. No one deserves being forced to endure that kind of colorless, mundane existence. It'll destroy her spirit."
Rachel folded her hands in her lap. She thought about her old friend having to spend all of her time concealing the inevitable agony that would result from that scenario. Rising to her feet, she joined Quinn at the window.
"So what do we do?"
... ... ...
"What the hell?"
Santana opened her front door and curled her lip as she gave Quinn and Rachel a once-over.
"I'm getting used to you being a regular customer," she said to the blonde before turning to the brunette at her side. "But what are you doing here?"
"Providing moral support," Rachel responded.
"May we come in?" Quinn asked before Santana could make any further remarks.
"Sure, why not? This ought to be interesting."
She turned and walked into the house. The two women followed and Quinn carefully shut the door behind her once she was inside. Their hostess led them to the living room, where she slid onto the rocking chair beside the fireplace. She gestured to the sofa and her companions took their seats.
"So, what do you want?" Santana demanded without preamble. "It must be pretty serious, if it brought the two of you together."
"It is," Rachel agreed while bobbing her head up and down. Quinn put a hand on the petite brunette's knee, hoping she could prevent her from plowing into the subject too quickly. Tact and subtlety had never been her strong suits. Thankfully, the other woman fell silent and the blonde was able to take over from there.
"It seems to me, to us, that you've been undergoing some... changes lately," she began. "Changes that might not be the best for your health and well-being."
"What are you talking about?" the widow asked as her eyebrows drew together in confusion.
"Well, it's just that you don't really go out anymore," Quinn explained. "Not that you ever went anywhere with either of us. According to your colleagues, though, you used to occasionally accompany them to parties or to go out for a drink. Now, they claim they see neither hide nor hair of you if you're not in the office. Like you've just fallen off the map."
"And that concerns you because...?"
"Because I know why."
Santana folded her arms and rocked back on her heels.
"Oh, really? Listen, I don't know what kind of information you think you've obtained from dogging my every step, but you don't know a damned thing, Fabray."
"I know about the Resurrection Stone," Quinn blurted, fearful that she'd lose her nerve if she gave the other woman time to get any angrier.
Santana stared at her with her mouth agape. Her lips moved almost imperceptibly as she searched her mind for some sort of evasive response, but it was clear that she knew she was caught. Finally, she selected the only word that rose to the surface in her thoughts.
"How?"
"I talked to Brittany," the blonde confessed and lowered her eyes to stare at her shoes.
"When?"
"When I came over for coffee."
Santana started rocking slowly. Her eyes roved the room as she struggled to process this information.
"I can't fucking believe this," she murmured. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair and her nostrils flared repeatedly.
Quinn and Rachel exchanged worried glances.
"What did you say to her?" Santana asked.
"Nothing, really. We just talked. I knew something was definitely going on that you weren't telling everybody. After I found the stone and summoned her, I realized that she was the reason you were behaving so strangely. That was how you were able to handle your grief so well and why you were no longer associating with anyone else that was formerly a part of your life."
"I still fail to see how it's any of your goddamned business," Santana said. "Or why, in the name of all that is sweet and holy, you told her."
She jerked her head in Rachel's direction.
"I didn't know where else to go," Quinn protested. "No one else could help me. Rachel cares about you, too, just like I do. We're trying to help you get better."
"I'm already there," their hostess insisted as she spread her arms wide.
"No, you're not," Quinn retorted. "You look like hell. You're losing weight. You're cutting yourself off from the world and everybody in it."
"Which is my prerogative," the widow insisted. "Maybe this isn't the most conventional way to deal with my situation, and it certainly isn't without its faults, but it's what works for me."
"But does it work for her?"
Again, Santana was left speechless.
"Did she say she was unhappy?" she asked shakily.
"No, but you know just as well as I do that Britt was never one for putting her own needs first. Do you honestly think that this fairytale solution you've cooked up is in any way as comforting for her as it is for you?"
The other woman lowered her head and folded her hands tightly together. She did not respond.
"Santana, I am so, so sorry for everything that has happened to you both," Quinn said earnestly. "I wish more than anything that this tragedy could have happened to anyone else but you. Neither of you deserved this. But it did happen, and now you have to face the even harder part and admit to yourself that it's time to let go."
The dark haired woman's head shot back up at that last sentence and her eyes pleaded for an alternative - anything but that.
"I don't want her to go either," the blonde confessed to her. "God, what I wouldn't give if we could just have her back! She was the best of all of us. Only Brittany could have had enough warmth, kindness, and love in her heart to bring together three people who hated each other as much as we all did growing up. She was the hub of the wheel and, without her here to connect us, none of us know how to get anywhere."
Rachel nodded sadly. Quinn dropped to her knees on the carpet and took Santana's hand.
"But we have to."
The grieving brunette met her gaze. She did not argue but simply looked back at her and waited for the other woman to tell her what to do.
"Just talk to her," the blonde whispered urgently. "Your entire lives together, she spent her every waking moment being there for you. This is your chance to return the gesture."
Santana sucked on her lower lip and thought for a moment. At last, she gave a single reluctant nod.
"Okay," Quinn said with a sigh of relief. "We'll let that be something that you do on your own. This is between you and Brittany; all we wanted was to know that you'd be ready to hear whatever she may have to say. Come on, Rachel."
She stood and beckoned for the other woman still seated on the couch. Rachel followed her lead and they walked toward the doorway. When they reached it, the blonde paused for a moment to look back.
"Don't forget; I meant what I said. If you need me at any time, I'm here, all right?"
"So am I," her companion agreed.
"I'll remember," Santana said softly. "Thank you."
Quinn and Rachel waved farewell and saw themselves back out into the street. As the sound of their departure echoed through the empty house, Santana got up and walked out into the entrance hall. Her knees knocked together as she stared at the door to her bedroom.
On unsteady legs, she strode toward her destination and turned the knob. Once inside, she crossed the room to her nightstand and pulled the cloth pouch from the top drawer. She removed the leather cord necklace and turned the stone over three times.
Brittany appeared.
The woman took one look at the expression in her wife's eyes and the way that her shoulders sagged with defeat and she knew that there was no avoiding what had to come next. She closed the distance between them and held both of Santana's hands in hers.
"We need to talk."