Note: Update again. Trying to unravel the decision process that leads up to Santana asking Britt whether they are dating in ep 4. Hope you guys like it.

Next chapter will be Brittana as girlfriends! I'm excited to write that.

Anyway, any comments are appreciated and thanks so much for all your continued interest. Means a lot!

Ch 7: Trouble

Santana was lying on her bed, her eyes crossed at the piece of hair she was holding up to her face, examining for split ends. The phone she held crooked to her ear by her shoulder was buzzing with Brittany's voice.

"So I looked into the whole getting a wax statue of myself to put beside the trophy cabinet for when I win Senior Class President. But it turns out Madame Tussauds doesn't deliver so I guess I'll look into plan B."

"Your likeness made out of popsicle sticks?"

"Yahuh."

Santana found a split end and threaded it away from the other strands for a better look. "Have you found someone who does that yet?"

"Nope. But I'm just gunna ask Rory coz he's magical and he'll know about that sort of stuff."

"Ugh," Santana tossed her hair aside and rolled over on her bed. "You know, I'm getting sick of hearing about that Rory kid."

"He's not a kid…"

"Oh whatever. He looks enough like a baby goat to be one so I'll stick with it."

"He's promised to give me three wishes if I give him my pot of gold. He's magic San. Don't be a such a mean muggle. "

Santana went cold. "What the hell is your pot of gold?" She snapped, her voice thinly stretched in suspicion.

"Hold on…" There was a jumble of sound through the phone's ear piece and then Brittany's voice sounded, dimmer and further away than it had been before.

"No, I'll come down now. Thanks Rory!" Santana froze, listening hard. But then Brittany's voice sounded again back closer to the phone.

"Sorry San, dinner time."

"What's the pot of go-"

"I got to go! It's lasagne! I'll text you later."

"Wai-" The line dropped in her ear and she cursed, flopping the phone on the other side of her bed and sitting up. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the back of her door and winced. Her hair was messed like a storm and her eyes looked black and sharp.

She sighed and dropped back on her bed, fishing her iPod from beneath her pillow. It had been paused on her West Side Story playlist which she used to practice her parts but that was the last thing she felt like doing.

She swung her finger across the wheel, looking for an artist to suit her mood. The wheel clicked over My Chemical Romance and she stopped, remembering with a faint smirk all her fourteen year old angst. She clicked 'All Songs' and then 'Shuffle'. Then she lay back and closed her eyes as an electric guitar began the violent riff of 'Thank You for the Venom'.

She past her thoughts over the last few weeks and the steadily growing complication between her and Brittany. Santana couldn't figure out how they'd slipped into this awkward limbo where they both knew how the other felt and were both single yet all that Santana seemed to feel was jealousy and anger. There was no relief from it. Not even when Brittany was alone with her, naked under her hands. No matter how hard Santana tried, those feelings never truly left her and it was exhausting.

Since they'd been 14 they'd had a thing. Whatever that even meant. Making out at parties, tasting the alcohol on one another's tongues. And gradually the late night drunken escapades after parties had become routine. It had all been purposefully casual on Santana's part. And she'd always been able to deal with her jealousy about Brittany's relationships with other people by sabotaging them. But she'd never slipped up like she had at the cocktail party. She'd never verbally attacked someone for talking to Britt. And Finn of all people- who was so obsessed with his woodland creature he wouldn't even stay with Quinn let alone flirt with anyone else.

Santana had always encouraged Brittany to keep anything she had with boys casual. At Santana's feet, Brittany had learnt that fidelity in relationships was about as important as last week's disposable razor. And while that had been convenient for Santana when Brittany was dating Professor X, it now made Santana's insides curl.

Santana squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to imagine Brittany sitting at her dinner table, serving Rory potatoes and smiling at him. She had a theory about what Brittany's pot of gold contained and the thought of Rory getting anywhere near it made her want to vomit.

She knew it was all her own fault for manipulating Brittany. Frustration and annoyance brought tears to her eyes but she fought them, screwing her eyes shut even harder.

Brittany wasn't even hers properly. And even if she were, Santana herself had unintentionally made sure that their relationship wouldn't mean a single thing.

/

The next day Santana left her phone turned off and under her pillow. She hadn't gotten a text from Brittany like she'd been promised and to stop it eating away at her she'd removed the possibility of being disappointed. But still, she spent the whole ride to school regretting her missing phone and searching the road up ahead of her for one of Brittany's parent's cars dropping her off. When Santana arrived in the parking lot of McKinley she was still searching and didn't even notice that who she'd parked next to until Quinn tapped on her passenger window with a knuckle. Santana gestured for her to open the door and Quinn slid in.

"Hey, you're early to school," she said.

"So are you."

"Yeah I have an essay to print off for English," Quinn held up a usb.

"Ahh," Santana nodded. She wondered if it was only her that felt the weight of what had happened at Kurt's party that last Friday night. She shot a glance at Quinn to see if she was gearing to bring it up but Quinn's eyes were trained out Santana's windscreen. Santana followed her line of sight to see Shelby walking across the lot, loaded with a box of papers that were flapping slightly in the breeze.

"You know," Quinn's eyes moved with Shelby, "I thought what I did for Beth was exactly right." She left the sentence hanging, and when Shelby disappeared into the front double doors of the school Quinn's eyes stayed trained on them.

"And now…" Santana prompted, feeling both relieved they weren't talking about her outburst and nervous about wading into the adopted- baby waters with Quinn.

Slowly, carefully, Quinn took her eyes from the door and met Santana's.

"What kind of person brings their child back to the same town as the mother that gave them away?" Quinn whispered. "The mother that isn't even out of high school…isn't over what happened?"

Santana stared at Quinn, not knowing what the best thing to say was. But before she could figure it out, Quinn carried on.

"If it wasn't so emotionally sadistic I could see it being an honest mistake. But…" She shook her head and looked away.

"Well, I guess we all now know who Berry got her tact from don't we?"

Quinn half smiled. "Guess we do."

"It sucks." Santana said lamely, referring to everything. "How are decisions ever meant to be made when most of them just come back around and start a new singing group at your high school?"

This time Quinn laughed faintly. "My thoughts exactly. I don't think a decision is ever really made. I mean, things crop up to change how you feel later and suddenly the choices you made back then aren't the ones you'd make now. It's okay to regret things I think."

"But you have to go out there and do something about it. Change it so that you get what you want. Before someone else does." Santana could read the subtitles below her own words- the ones that were all about her and Brittany.

Quinn was looking at her with a strange expression and Santana tensed, wondering if she'd said too much. But then Quinn's eyes unfocused and she wasn't seeing Santana anymore.

"You think I could change things back? Take it all back?"

With a start Santana realised what Quinn was thinking and she began back-peddling. "Uh. Well, I just meant that, you know, you should try and distract yourself from it or like get her fired or something. But you couldn't like, take the baby back if that's what you mean. They have contracts so you can't."

Quinn was still far away. "But how can paper mean more than blood?" She asked softly. She blinked and then slowly closed her eyes so that her ridiculously long eye lashes were black fans across her cheeks. When she opened them, her grin was disconcerting.

"She'll never be what I can be to Beth. She'll never fit as well as I'd fit for her. I'd be doing the right thing. Yes," Quinn nodded to herself. Feeling less and less a part of the conversation, Santana shifted disconcertedly in her seat.

"You can't judge me Santana." Quinn had caught her discomfort and her voice was almost pleading. "What would you do if you knew a part of you was being held by someone else and dangled in your face? Wouldn't you try to get it back?"

"I-I guess. H-hey, where are you going?" Quinn had opened the door and jumped out of the car, vaulting equally as quickly into her own.

"Getting her back!" She called as she slammed the door and ignited the engine. Santana sat, stunned, watching Quinn back her car out of the car park and drive out onto the main road.

A part of her felt horrified. A part of her felt inspired.

/

It seemed to Santana as though her crazy baby conversation with Quinn had set the tone for her day. Everything kept twisting her into knots, turning her mind one way and then another. At their lunchtime Cheerios practice Sue had called Santana over and told her that she'd personally helped cut the funding for the school musical and was going to use the money to breed her own bloodline of Will Shuester hating Raccoons who would be trained like sniffer dogs to respond violently to the smell of his hair gel. Santana had still been reeling from that news, too scared to ask anyone if it was true in case they found out she actually gave a shit about it, when Mercedes approached her at her locker.

Being asked to join Shelby's all-girl group dulled the pain of Sue's words and Santana couldn't help fantasising about the solos she was pretty much guaranteed. Mercedes could sing, yes, but Santana knew she was more versatile. And what if they did a dance number? Who would be leading then? What if Brittany joined? Santana could hardly keep her grin contained as she imagined her and Brittany doing a duet at sectionals.

During that day Santana's mind ticked over all the possibilities she'd been given- so much that she didn't even take the bait when Berry put up her hand in English and requested that she perform a dramatic rendition of the passage of King Lear that they were studying. She'd barely even managed a laugh when she walked past Miss Pillsbury's office and caught her cleaning her toothbrush with another toothbrush.

Brittany had been practically a no-show in Santana's day so far. She'd caught sight of her several times- disappearing around the corners of corridors with her arms threaded through Rory's, showing him around on his first day. Seeing that little shit playing on Brittany's innocence by wearing all green and catching snippets of him wanking on about his little bearded leprechaun family made Santana clench her fists so hard that her palms were covered in half-moon bruises from her fingernails.

She and Britt didn't even sit together at that afternoon's glee club meeting. Santana, having had to dredge up every ounce of motivation to get herself there, had meandered in later than the rest and taken the only free seat near Quinn who as far as Santana could tell didn't look like she'd napped any babies as of yet. Though Santana knew from experience that Quinn slipped secrets into the corners of her Grace Kelly smile as easily as Santana slipped insults into her conversations with Finn.

When Mr Schue dismissed them Santana brushed off Finn's curiously accurate dig at her loyality to the New Directions and wound her way through the others to catch Brittany who had been first out the door.

"Britt Britt," Santana's mouth fumbled over the words. Her tone clogged from all the mental rehearsal she'd done during the day.

"Hey Santana" Brittany smiled shyly. That smile. It was a bowling ball to Santana's impending words, scattering them in a perfect strike. She scrambled for more time to sort them out again.

"I-I c-can give you a lift home if you want?"

"Oh, it's okay. Dad's picking Rory and I up. It's weird I keep forgetting that other people can see him."

"Right." Santana felt her cheeks heat in annoyance and she turned abruptly on her heel, wanting to put as much distance between herself and Brittany before she projectile word-vomited the fact that leprechauns didn't exist, would never exist and even if they did, would never stay at her house on a student exchange.

With surprising strength, Brittany grasped her arm, pulling her back mid-step.

"Hey." Brittany was frowning, her bottom lip pouted in confusion. Santana rolled her eyes to the ceiling, trying to stop tears that had been swelling all day inside her. She felt over whelmed and let down and a jumble of conflicted emotions. Brittany standing in front of her unleashed a violent gravity on all of these things, pulling them down around Santana.

"What's wrong? Where have you been all day?"

Santana shook her head in place of words. Brittany gently pulled her around the side of some lockers so that they weren't in clear view of people walking past. "You're going to cry aren't you?"

Santana shook her head again, sniffing back the tears with all her might.

"Well, okay. But what's wrong?"

"I-I'm fine. Hay fever I think."

"Oh." Brittany looked concerned. "Is your forehead hot? Do you have the shakes?" She reached for Santana's forehead but Santana gently brushed her hand away.

"Hay fever is the one that isn't actually a fever, remember?" She reminded Brittany. "Like Bieber fever."

"No, that is definitely a fever," Brittany corrected her, fanning her face and blowing the hair off her forehead as though she'd just been hit by a bout.

Santana smiled, wanting to pull Brittany against her and just hug her. But Brittany was still talking.

"Do you like my idea for Mr Schue's add space selling campaign? I'm going to go to ask the guys that drive real slow past me when I walk home if they want to advertise for a personal shopper. Coz they are always asking me-"How much?"- and it's like," Brittany shrugged, "how am I supposed to know? I haven't been to collage and done a shopping degree. I think we could get heaps of money because there are so many guys who are looking for one!"

Santana felt the stress of the day shift. And the words she'd been going over in her mind all day were suddenly all lined up and waiting. She took a step closer to Britt and grinned, tweaking the end of her nose.

"I think that's the best idea I've ever heard for selling add space Britt. I'll come with you when you ask them though, alright? I'll borrow my Abuelo's gang-grade Taser."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing." Santana's voice softened itself. "Hey, what are you doing tonight?"

Brittany shrugged. "Just homework probably."

"And Breadstix with me?" Brittany raised her eyebrows in surprise and grinned.

"That sounds perfect."

"Good because I have some stuff to talk to you about." Santana kept her voice even, her smile glossy. The corridor around them was filling with people as the few groups that used the classes after school broke up their meetings. She and Britt were the last glee clubbers remaining. From amongst the crowd, Santana could see a green figure making his way over to them.

"Brittany, you ready to go?" He called down the hall towards them in his ridiculous accent. Santana stepped away from Brittany, glaring at his bright eyed grin coming towards her.

"Yep okay!" Brittany bounced over to him, shooting Santana a glance over her shoulder. "See you tonight San!"

"I'll-I'll pick you up at eight!" Santana called after them. Brittany didn't turn back around, she had her arm threaded through Rory's and was talking animatedly as they walked to the front doors. Santana felt her words fall somewhere in the crowd and with them went all her resurged confidence. She leant against the wall of the corridor, listening to the odd clang of a locker door and the scuffing of feet, some faint laughter until the corridor was wide, silent and empty. Then she walked to the parking lot and drove home, no longer trying to fight all the tears of confusion that had been building up that day. They streamed down her face and she cried noisily, feeling messy and stupid and pathetic but real. This was the first time she'd allowed herself to really feel everything that was happening. She felt silly, driving so calmly while the insides of her car rang with her sobs, but they came out like a dam had been broken. Santana cried for her and Britt, she cried for all the times she'd told Britt that relationships meant nothing, she cried for the cancelled musical and the part she was secretly so attached to. She cried for her stupid, messed up head that seemed preprogramed to sabotage herself by being mean and afraid and bitter.

She'd never been more glad to see her empty garage and she vaulted up the stairs to her room, shutting the door, twisting the lock and leaning against it. She felt a hollow coolness pass over her as her tears halted, leaving the end of her nose and her eyes burning.

Sniffing, Santana wiped her nose with the heel of her palm and looked around at the chaos of her room. She'd been so busy lately that she hadn't had time to properly look around and see how disordered it had become. Her bed was messed from two weeks of sleep without being made, her dresser was still cramped with bottles from the cocktail night. Her desk was covered in papers and books and clothes and pom-poms and dirty plates. Santana picked her way across the clothing scattered floor and heaved open her dark curtains, coaxing the dim evening sun in through the window. It was the first time they'd been opened in a while and Santana felt suddenly as though she'd been disconnected from the little things that usually made up her life. She'd barely talked to her parents in the last week; she'd barely dented the growing pile of homework in her bag, hell, the scene outside her bedroom window even looked unfamiliar.

Flopping on her unmade bed wasn't as satisfying as it would have been if it had been fresh and well made, but the release of all her emotion had exhausted Santana. She didn't even know how she was going to make it through tonight with Brittany without breaking down out of sheer exhaustion. Her eyes drifted closed and she snaked an arm under her pillow to prop her head up more comfortably.

That was when her arm bumped against something solid underneath her pillow and Santana's hand closed around her phone. She pulled it out and held down the on button, intending to set her alarm so she'd have time for an emotionally fortifying nap but as the welcome screen lit up Santana's face, her phone began to buzz in her palm with incoming messages. Impatiently, Santana clicked into her inbox and waited for the messages to load. Brittany's name filled the screen, over and over again beside small blue envelopes.

Santana felt her stomach knot and she scrolled down to the earliest message dated 7.30 a.m:

Helloooo. Sorry I didn't text you last night! Hope your sleep was good and you didn't wake up the wrong way around in the bed like I did.

9.47 a.m: Are you at school yet? I have to show Rory round but have you seen Rachel's mustard dress? Come to my locker and laugh at her with me!

11.15 a.m: She has a matching hat. I just saw it in her bag.

12.51 p.m: Ah! Our campaign posters look über awesomely unicorn around school don't they?

1.17 p.m: Britt Britt is sad that she's got no texts from you :(

4.32 p.m: Are you coming to glee club? Should I save you a seat?

And then the last one, time stamped 5.25 p.m: So excited for tonight. Sorry I had to rush off. Eight is perfect and make sure you bring that smile with you that I like so much. xxx

Santana was grinning at her phone like an idiot. She took a deep breath, her lungs filling with relief and rolled off her bed, feeling the tired ache around her eyes weaken in the rush of anticipation for seeing Brittany. The Brittany that did care about her. Santana had been stupid to doubt it. And as usual, it was her own fault for leaving her phone at home.

She grabbed the nearest items of clothing off her floor and began to bundle them all up, sorting the dirty from the discarded. She filled her laundry basket and put it and the stack of dirty dishes beside her door. She collected rubbish and empty alcohol bottles together in a bag and hauled it all downstairs, returning with a damp cloth and the vacuum cleaner.

She cleaned her room until it looked like it was on show. Every pillow was smooth and straight on her bed, her home work was neatly stacked on her desk, arranged by subject, and her dresser was bare save for her clasped jewellery box and zipped shut make up bag. Santana sat back down on her bed, perspiring slightly but feeling more unwound and unmuddled than she had in weeks.

The face on her beside clock- which she'd recovered from behind her bedside table- read 7.25 p.m. All Santana had to contend with now was her nerves. Her nerves and the questions and confessions for Brittany that had been fermenting all day in the back of her throat.