Disclaimer: I don't own Glee nor its original characters (if I did it would probably be called The Brittany and Santana Show, and all the other characters would only be there to help advance their plot).
A/N: Ok, you guys are really putting me on the spot with your reviews. I simply cannot choose just one anymore! So, without further ado, this chapter is dedicated to YoungLove08, ShyTyzulaFan and Atthis.
Well, where to start? How could I not dedicate this to someone who just came out to their mom? So, YoungLove, I know this comes from a boring straight girl who can't possible fully know how hard this is for you, but it also comes from someone who can at least empathize with it. So, well done! Kudos for having the courage, and I hope everything works out amazingly for you.
ShyTyzulaFan? Yes, I'm a sucker for long, detailed reviews. And Boy! Let me get cracking to your many questions and musings. First of all, thanks for the compliment. Yes, my ego has been properly stroked. That always means extra points, by the way :) Anyways, Santana's quips? Glad you enjoy them. They are not inspired by any person in particular, but I find it very easy to write her since I have a strong sarcastic/snarky vein myself. Fortunately or unfortunately. As for the hospital accuracy thing, no, I don't work at one, nor am/was a patient at one. Someone really close to me is a doctor, 'though, and loves to babble about the job. So, I guess that helps. The many years of watching ER's golden Clooney era don't hurt either, I guess :D Regarding where I take this from I can assure you there's no plagiarism involved (tv, film or music). And your guess was dead-on, it totally gets pulled up from my perfect ass. I'm glad you're all enjoying, regardless of any gross implications ) The "came out of the closet" line was totally planned and planted. It really was meant to be a pun. The memory was indeed the most important part of that chapter, and like most things in this fic, it will pan out. Spoiler alert! It'll pan out in this very chapter. And finally, sorry for the logging on/off inconvenience. I truly am a terrible tease :P
Last, but not least: Atthis. After almost get you to go blind; drive a wedge between you, and your poor girlfriend; and worst of all, make you wake up *that* early; you totally deserve this nod :D Hope your eyes are better!
Thanks again for all the reviews and PMs (that I only found a few days ago; so, if I ignored them in the past I apologize)! Hope you enjoy the proverbial shit hitting the fan :)
Mischances, Stances and Stolen Glances
||Chapter Five||
Santana was woken up by sounds coming from somewhere in the house. Lying there she looked around and remembered she had fallen asleep in the living room French sofa. Not the most comfortable place to sleep. And she was still dressed in the clothes Brittany had bought her, even with the flats on. Turned out that she couldn't fall asleep in her old bedroom, her parents' she couldn't enter yet, and she had even tried a couple of the guest bedrooms with no luck. Sleep she could not catch. That was when she decided on the sofa, and after a few hours she managed to doze off.
Sitting straight up alarmed by the noise, Santana looked around to find something she could defend herself with. Nothing seemed adequate 'though. The Latina got up and started tiptoeing towards the sounds. After she stepped out of the living room, they appeared to be coming from the kitchen. Passing the dining room she spotted an old magazine there, so she took it and rolled it up, holding it a little above her head in an attack position. Santana took one big breath and entered the kitchen, being met instantly by the sight of Brittany standing behind the kitchen island. The blonde saw her immediately.
"Jesus, Brittany! What are you doing here? I thought you were a burglar or something, you almost gave me a heart attack," Santana said, lowering her defense 'instrument'.
"And what exactly was your plan? Paper-cut me to death?" Brittany asked eyeing the magazine and smiling broadly as she busied herself with breakfast.
Santana narrowed her eyes and gave the blonde a fake tight-lipped smile, throwing the magazine on top of the kitchen table.
"What are you doing here, again?" the brunette asked dryly.
"Isn't it obvious? Breakfast," the blonde countered matter-of-factly. "I knew you wouldn't have any groceries, so I brought you some – already in the fridge, by the way – and started on breakfast. You looked like you needed the sleep back on the sofa – we'll also get to that later, by the way – so I decided not to wake you," she added rapidly.
Santana had almost forgotten how much of a morning person the dancer was; just her opposite.
"Of course I don't have groceries. I arrived here yesterday, Brittany," the Latina spat out, getting exponentially more annoyed. The blonde, on the other hand, was once again bothered by the usage of her full name. "And I don't need you to bring me anything or do anything for me. I can take care of myself," she added proudly.
Brittany decided to ignore her lash out. The Latina had never been exactly a morning person, unlike herself. "Coffee?" the blonde asked, filling up a cup that sat on the island.
"How did you even get in here?" Santana asked a bit calmer.
"Please," Brittany scoffed with a dry chuckle, "it's me. I know at least, like…" she raised an eyebrow, mentally counting, "…eleven ways to sneak into your house. Well, take three out considering my current height and weight, which still leaves me…" the blonde looked up, trying hard to do the math.
Getting impatient Santana piped in, "Eight, Brittany."
"Yes, still leaves me eight ways of sneaking in," Brittany stated smugly. "I used the key beneath the third bush from left to right, 'though. I got a little confused, as usual, but I still found it."
"I wish you didn't. Sneak in anymore, I mean," Santana said bitterly and dejectedly.
Seeing that what was going on was something more than just morning crabbiness, Brittany softly asked, coming out from behind the counter, but still keeping a small distance between them, "What's wrong, San?"
"What's wrong?" Santana repeated the question with sarcasm. "Nada. Nothing is wrong, Brittany."
There it was again, her full name. And spoken very coldly. Brittany decided to let it go, and said, "Come on, San… I know you're lying. How are you feeling?"
The Latina sardonically laughed. "How am I feeling?" she repeated just as before, and after a longer beat she added, "I'm feeling awesome, Brittany."
That time Brittany could no longer ignore it. "Another lie. And stop saying my name like that, Santana," Brittany scolded, intentionally using the brunette's full name.
"Like what?" Santana asked indignantly, locking the blonde in a stare contest.
"Like it's a curse word, or something," Brittany spat out while taking a step closer to the Latina, leaving the full use of her name out of the equation.
"Oh, I'm sorry if my intonation is offensive to you, Brittany," Santana said defiantly.
Silence fell upon them, both breathing visibly heavier.
After a while Brittany finally said barely above a whisper, and in the sweetest tone she could manage at the time, "You're my best friend, San. And I'm yours. We've always been best friends, that haven't changed," she searched for Santana's gaze, which was everywhere but on the blonde. "We can tell each other everything," she finished with emphasis on the last word.
Santana felt worn down. "Alright," she said in defeat, taking a step towards Brittany, "you wanna know how I feel? I'll tell you. I feel like crap, Brittany. Is that what you wanted to hear? I feel awful, and miserable, and embarrassed… Embarrassed 'cause I could barely catch a couple of hours of sleep last night because my room is full of memories of us, and my parents' I couldn't even bring myself to get in, and all the guest bedrooms didn't…" the Latina faltered, "well, they didn't have you in bed. And I'm so pathetic that I can't fall asleep without your hand intertwined in mine, without the feel of your arm around my waist, or the smell of your hair on the pillow... That's why you saw me on the sofa. Is that enough, Brittany?"
Brittany stood there taken aback by the outburst, listening to Santana's hurt and feeling worst than she had ever felt in her entire life. One thing was to imagine how bad her best friend, how bad the love of her life was feeling; another was to actually hear it spilling from the Latina's mouth.
Santana was on a roll, she didn't even wait for the blonde's response, "And I hate myself! I'm pissed off at myself for being so weak, and for knowing that I will never bring myself to get over you. I just can't. Should I go on, Brittany? Because I'm also mad, so mad at you! I'm angry that you moved on, that you married someone else, that you fell in love with her... I know it may be irrational and unfair, all things considered, but I can't help the way I feel. So, should I go on? 'Cause I could, I totally could," the brunette added, stopping to catch her breath, all flustered and worked up.
Another silent moment enwrapped them. Brittany took the last step remaining between both women, and like muscle memory her hand found its way towards Santana's neck, to that well-known place where neck and shoulder meet. Santana sighed and closed her eyes, she wanted to swat that hand away, but she didn't find the strength to do it. She leaned into the blonde's touch instead, who closed her own eyes in return. It all felt so natural. Seconds later their foreheads were touching… both needed the other to steady themselves.
Brittany whispered, "I'm sorry, San. I'm so sorry. It's hard for me, too."
Before they knew their heads were acting on their own volition, bringing their lips so close together that they were almost grazing one another's. The electricity was undeniable and inescapable. However, Brittany pulled back just in time to prevent the kiss from happening.
"I'm sorry. We can't," the blonde barely found the strength to say as she pulled back abruptly, opening her eyes. And then she strode rapidly towards the kitchen door.
Santana opened her eyes and stood there stunned by all that had just transpired. Did they just almost…? Did Brittany just rush out…? Hell, no! The Latina thought, rushing out to stop the blonde.
Santana caught up with Brittany by the red double entry doors, the blonde had just stepped outside.
"Brittany, wait!" the brunette called out, a bit louder than expected.
Despite better judgment, Brittany came to a halt. They stood face to face outside by the double doors.
"Where do you think you're going?" Santana added with disbelief, her voice laced with some underlying anger.
"To work. It's for the best, San," Brittany replied calmly, looking at her shoes.
"No," Santana uttered, shaking her head, "you don't get to open Pandora's box and just walk away. You wanted to have it, so let's have it," she finished, running on fumes but still at full energy.
"I didn't touch any box. I don't even know any Pandoras," Brittany replied confused, furrowing her brows.
Santana shook her head exasperatedly, and explained dismissively, "I meant that you don't get to bring shit up and then just up and leave."
Brittany sensed the Latina was trying to pick a fight, "We should –"
Santana cut her off abruptly and bluntly, "Do you even still love me, Brittany?" The brunette had lost her patience to pussyfoot around. It actually sounded more desperate than she had intended. Damn it, she thought.
It took a little while for Santana's question to sink in with the blonde. She kept blinking more than any normal person usually blinks by the second.
"Of course I do, San," Brittany answered softly, really looking into brown eyes for the first time after her kitchen escape. "I've always loved you… and I always will," she added, narrowing her eyes in disbelief that the brunette even doubted it in the first place.
"But?" Santana offered, crossing her arms defensively.
"No buts," Brittany quickly put it, shaking her head.
"Then be with me," the brunette almost pleaded without missing a beat. She hated how the dancer always managed to make her push her pride down.
"I… I can't. You know I can't," the blue-eyed woman whispered sadly with a shattered heart, trying to touch the brunette's upper arm, but failing since Santana took a quick step back.
The Latina stood there, shaking her head in her own disbelief, and then she let a sarcastic, dry chuckle leave her lips.
"Total déjà vu feeling right now," Santana scorned, holding the blonde's stare for effect.
"De… what?" Brittany asked in confusion.
"Nevermind…" the brunette dismissed it. After a pause to gain courage, she added directly, "Do you love her?"
Brittany seemed to be considering the question. "I do," the blonde stated simply. Santana felt the sting and was about to reply, but the dancer had to add something first, "It may not be like it was with us…" she mused, trying to find the right words to express what was in her mind, which she knew wasn't as easy for her as it was for others, "…but, let's face it, with no one it will ever feel the same as when I was with you."
Santana didn't know what it felt worst to know: that Brittany loved the other woman too; or that Brittany, apparently, loved her more and still refused to get back together. Frankly, the dancer's stance made her angry and confused. In love with two people… that seemed to be the blonde's calling in life. On the other hand, the Latina still could only love the blue-eyed woman. It made her pissed.
"Well, we may be experiencing a walk back in time here, Brittany," she said coldly, "but I refuse to stand here and beg you to love me back. Not after all we've been through, after all the years we've spent together," the brunette finished bitterly.
"I never asked you to, San. And I already do," Brittany said honestly, and sadly.
A moment of silence fell upon them.
Santana finally broke it by stating firmly, "I just don't understand why we can't –"
But Brittany cut her off, fully knowing where the Latina intended to go, "We can't. It wouldn't be right, Santana."
There it was again, another blast from the past to push Santana's buttons further than they should ever be pushed. She was at her wit's end, and her patience had long left her body.
"I don't know why I'm so surprised, really," Santana began strangely calm, and yet frustrated. "You couldn't ditch some loser boyfriend back in high school. I should have known you wouldn't do it to your wife," she added, looking directly into blue eyes. And then, without even thinking, she sarcastically and viciously delivered the final blow, "Oh, wait, unless she was lying defenseless in a hospital bed. I guess that's where you draw the line."
With each word that left her mouth, Santana could see Brittany's eyes getting wider and wider. And then it all went down in a matter of seconds, the blonde felt her right hand unconsciously rising and next thing she knew she had slapped Santana square in the face. The Latina brought her hand up immediately to touch the burning left cheek with a gobsmacked expression on her face; the brunette felt the astonishment more than she felt the sting.
"You have no idea what I've been through," Brittany stated dejectedly while staring the brunette in the eye. Her blue eyes showed more hurt than Santana had ever seen before. Then Brittany turned around on her heels, got into her car and speeded off of the brunette's driveway. Leaving behind a still stunned Santana, cupping her left cheek.
Driving her car aimlessly to as far as she could get from the Lopez's household, Brittany felt her eyes welling up and tears starting to fall down her cheeks. She couldn't believe she had just slapped Santana. It wasn't her plan, but she had gotten so… offended by what the Latina had said that she just couldn't help it. It was a reflex. How could Santana say something like that to her? And, more importantly, did the brunette actually really believed in what she had spat out?
Brittany hoped not, and as their previous interaction replayed in her head – like most arguments generally do after their end – she couldn't help but wince at her own parting words, 'You have no idea what I've been through.' Without warning she remembered one of those days.
She looked down from the roof of their 35 storey building, arms resting folded on the ledge as she stood behind the wall that ended just at her chest's level. Cars rushed by, people walked up and down the street, random sounds came from far-off unknown destinations… Brittany didn't know why, nor how, but life just kept going normally around her. Even when her whole world was crashing down.
The wind was blowing quite strongly, but it had been a while since the blonde could really feel anything, whether it was cold, or warm, or tiredness, or hunger… Everything felt the same. There was no real difference.
Brittany was interrupted by a voice coming from behind her. She didn't turn around.
"Britt, what are you doing here?" Quinn asked with concern after taking in her friend's proximity to the edge. "It's freezing here, you'll catch a nasty cold," she added, pulling the scarf closer to her neck.
"How did you find me here?" Brittany asked flatly, still not turning around.
"When I asked Frank back in the elevator to take me to your floor he said he had taken you to roof half an hour ago."
"Oh."
Getting more restless by the second, the smaller blonde said, "Why don't we go down to your place, B? Come on, I'll make us some hot tea." Brittany was still facing away, looking down.
"San can't stand tea," Brittany deadpanned with a wistful smile on her lips, "I try all the time to get her to tone down on the caffeine a bit, try some tea instead but she didn't... doesn't budge," the blonde corrected her verb tense.
Quinn didn't say anything; frankly, she wasn't sure on what to say. So, she just stayed there rooted to the ground where she stood. The smaller blonde was too scared to come closer to her friend and wind up startling her.
"She just loves her coffee," the blue-eyed woman added. After a long beat, she continued absentmindedly, "The doctors came to her room to talk to me again today…"
"…They basically told me once more that they want me to pull the plugs, that it's been four months," the words came from her mouth, but even 'though her body was there, Brittany – the real Brittany – seemed to be far, far away. Quinn listened attentively. "But I can't. I could never…" the dancer trailed off.
"It's fine. You don't have to do anything you don't want to," Quinn offered sympathetically.
A moment of serene silence settled down.
Looking back for the first time, but still not moving from near the wall, Brittany said sadly, "I can't do this, Quinn. Not without her. I can't do this alone," the dancer's eyes were welling up.
Quinn took in her friend's face and it nearly broke her heart. Her blue eyes – which were always so sparkly, vibrant, full of innocence and joy – were now so empty, so sad and pale. She never thought she'd see the day when the words 'Brittany' and 'sad' would go in the same sentence with such intensity as this.
"I know you can't, honey," Quinn crooned softly. "But you're not alone. You have all of us… and you have that baby. That very special baby inside of you," she added in a highly emotional state.
"Why do you think I'm still here?" the taller blonde replied honestly and gloomily, turning her head back to the street's pavement many feet down. "You know, it would be so easy… just to fall. Sometimes I can't help but think of that. Think about the release…"
"Come on, don't talk nonsense," Quinn sternly reproached her friend. "Besides, if I let anything happen to you, Santana will probably wake up just to kill me," she added playfully, trying desperately to lighten the mood.
Brittany couldn't bring herself to smile, but she turned back with an appreciative look on her face, nonetheless.
"This wasn't supposed to happen. Why did this have to happen to us?" Brittany asked dejectedly, finally coming closer to Quinn. "I am a good person. Santana is a good person. Bad things shouldn't happen to good people, Q," the blue-eyed dancer finished weakly.
The day Brittany had found out that bad things indeed happened to good people – the day the doctors first informed her that Santana wouldn't wake up – was the day in which her eyes lost its spark, its innocence. All things considered, she was fortunate to have discovered that bitter truth so late in life. Most people weren't that lucky. Not that it made any difference, or served as any consolation to the blonde whatsoever.
"You're right, Britt. They shouldn't," Quinn conceded whole-heartedly, wrapping her old friend into a tight hug. "Life isn't fair sometimes," the hazel-eyed woman added, feeling her friend nod against her shoulder.
Brittany started to audibly cry, and the smaller blonde felt her own tears escape her eyes. "Let it all out, honey. It's okay," Quinn finished, rubbing circles on the dancer's back.
After a few seconds, Brittany pulled back, drying her eyes with alabaster fingers as she stated evenly, "I can't. If I do… I'll never stop."
Quinn helped her friend dry her tears, understanding what she meant. And then she slung one arm over Brittany's shoulders as they headed towards the elevator, and said smiling, "Come on, let me make you that tea."
Brittany's knuckles had turned whiter against the strangled steering wheel, and she brought one hand up to dry some tears that had started to fall. How her life had become so sidetracked? That's what she wondered.
Santana's morning had been… unique. And not in a good way. She barely slept through the night, her neck and body ached all over from attempting to sleep on the sofa, and – more importantly – the brunette had a Homeric argument with Brittany. The blonde was one of the calmest, most patient and peaceful people the Latina had ever met. To a point that it even bothered Santana at times, and still she had managed to make the dancer slap her right across the face. It was truly a gift, she thought to herself. Perfecting the art of pissing people off was an art that took years for her to master. But her concerns and points were valid, right? She thought. At least to some extent, right? Right? She mused. Santana hated to fight with Brittany. With most people she thrived on the stuff, but not with the blue-eyed blonde.
Then, she spent the rest of the morning and afternoon rehashing the argument in her head as she wallowed in self-pity. However, she wasn't keen on sitting around when she had so much going in her head; so, she went to the cellar to go through her clothes and stuff. It made her feel a tiny bit better to be re-acquainted with her vast shoe collection, and extensive number of clothing items and accessories. Again, she was extremely vain, and once upon a time – before Zoey – they were her only babies.
The afternoon was almost making space for the evening at that moment, and Santana stood in front of her parents' double headstone at Lima's cemetery, in a pair of her own skinny jeans, Jackie O's, black knee length boots, top and coat; carrying nothing but a white orchid plant. Nina's favourite flower.
Santana pushed her sunglasses up to her head, and placed the orchid on the center front of their headstone. Then, she took a deep, slow breath, placing her hand on top of the cold black granite.
Shaking her head and looking around to confirm no one was there, the brunette said, "I always used to think how ridiculous it was in films when people would just start talking to a headstone. But now… now I think I get it."
She looked down at the grass, and after another long pause she continued, stuffing her hands on the coat's pockets, "I'm sorry I didn't come earlier. As you must have seen I was a bit, uh…" she searched for a word, "…tied up. Yeah, I know it's naïve, but I like to believe you are both watching over me. It comforts me somehow, and right now I can use some comfort. I'm sure you know that, too."
The Latina laughed and looked around again, "Come to think of it, this is ridiculous. We never talked much when you were alive, well, not about anything substantial that is; so, this seems a bit ironic…" Changing the subject, she cleared her throat and added, "I brought a flower. An orchid. Your favourite, mom…"
"What am I doing?" Santana asked herself, looking up at the sky. Then she turned her gaze back at those engraved names: Martin J. Lopez and Nina C. Lopez, and said, "What I really wanted to say is… I guess that's not where I should start." Small pause. "You know, Brittany once said to me that love is like a language, and if you're not taught… you're not gonna be able to speak it," the brunette smiled tenderly at the memory. "You see, she knew, she knows me better than anyone, and I know you guys embraced her, embraced us eventually. And I'm thankful for that. I know how hard it must have been. But I saw, I always could see how neither of you thought she was too… sharp. That I somehow deserved someone better. Maybe you even thought of her as a bit… vapid. I could tell from the exchange of looks, but I guess not many people are really able to see how wise she truly is," Santana felt tears welling up.
She shook her head again, before adding, "It doesn't matter… you guys treated her kindly and with respect. That's all that matters to me. I'm missing my point here, what I wanted to say is that neither one of you taught me that language. And it's fine 'cause I know your parents didn't teach you as well, and despite everything I felt loved. In your own way you both made me feel very much loved. I want you to know that, and I want you to know that Brittany – God knows how – managed to teach me eventually. It was harder to learn, as all things are when you're no longer a child, but I've learned. And now that I can speak it – openly speak it – I can pass it on to Zoey. So, the chain has been broken."
Placing her hand again on top of the headstone, Santana said softly with tears running down her cheeks, "With that, I want to say to you… I love you. Los quiero mucho, mamá y papá. I wish I had said it out loud while you were still here to hear it. I'm sorry."
Santana turned around, put her shades back on and strode to her high-school-days' car: a bright red convertible Mustang. A gift from her dad when she first got her learner's permit. Getting in the car the Latina dried her tears under the sunglasses, took another deep breath and went back to her parents' place. She still was having trouble thinking about it as her home. In her head 'home' still was the duplex back in New York. In earnest, 'home' was wherever she was with Brittany. And where she was driving to? The blonde was definitely not there.
Santana finished her 45 minute shower – she couldn't have stand a quiet bath, her mind was already in overdrive as it was, the silence of it would only feed her raging thoughts – and headed downstairs for some tv time in order to successfully get her sleepy. It was night already, and she was resolute on sleeping in her own bed that night. She was being ridiculous, after all. She would have to learn how to overcome her Brittany withdrawal sooner or later, and she was set on sooner.
Passing by the phone in the living room, she saw that the message light was blinking. The Latina clicked on the button, and the thing said: 'You have 4 new messages'. Santana pressed to hear them.
"Santana, are you there?" it was definitely Quinn's voice. "Hello? I guess you're not. Call me when you get this, ok?"
Beep.
"Santana, it's me again. Are you there?" A short pause. "I guess not yet. Call me, asap."
Beep.
"Santana? Ok, I know you're probably there by now. Come on, pick up. Don't be like this… I need to talk to you. Pick up, pick up, pick up, if I annoy you enough will you pick up the go –" she got caught off.
Beep.
"Santana, are you serious? You're not gonna pick up the phone? Jesus, you're so stubborn!" Pause. "Just call me, ok? When you come to your senses…"
'You have no new messages.'
Santana shook her head at her friend's antics. She was curious 'though… What could have been so important? If it was something important like health issues she would have said something, besides her tone wasn't that serious. The brunette picked up the cordless phone and went to plop down on the sofa.
The Latina dialed the familiar number and waited as it rang. After a number of rings it went to voicemail. Santana rolled her eyes hearing their old unchanged message – some cutesy combination of Quinn and Rachel's voices.
All of a sudden a blessed voice picked up, interrupting the puke-inducing message, "Hello," Quinn said through the speaker.
"Hey, it's me," Santana simply put it.
"Were you dodging my calls?" Quinn replied with a hint of suspicion, recognizing the voice on the other end instantly.
"No, I was out and then took a shower. Not that I owe you any explanations, mom," Santana quipped, lying on the sofa. "By the way, four messages in a matter of hours, Fabray? I mean, stalker much?" the brunette added.
"Well, you should buy a new cell phone. I wouldn't have left so many if I could've reached you."
"So, what was so important?"
"What have you done, Lopez?" Quinn asked in a stern, reproaching voice.
"I already told you, gone out and –"
Quinn cut her off abruptly, "I meant; what have you done to Brittany?"
Santana, unbelievably quick, switched to her defensive tone, "What? I haven't done anything to her."
"Oh, please," the blonde scoffed.
"What?" the brunette rhetorically asked indignantly. "She sure went running fast to mom and mom, huh? What did she tell you?" she asked curiously. "Besides, why everyone always assume it's my fault? You didn't even hear my side yet," the Latina added before giving the blonde time to respond.
"Because it generally is your fault, San," Quinn replied. "And she didn't come to me with anything. I called her to tell her something and you know Britt, she's very transparent, I could sense there was something seriously wrong. After some pressing she told me you guys had an argument. Again, you know Britt, she can't hide anything from anyone."
"What did you want to talk to her about?" Santana asked suspiciously, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing important," Quinn said dismissively.
The Latina took that as evidence, and asked suspiciously again, "Was it about me? Were you two discussing me or –"
"Self-centered much?" the blonde repeated an alternate version of the brunette's previous rhetorical question. "It wasn't about you, it was just that I had a meeting with Marcus Mann and I wanted to tell her about it."
"Why is that name familiar?"
"You know, he is that bigwig behind the dance company B was in."
"The old and bald one?" Santana chanced, trying to see if she was picturing the right guy. Quinn hummed her confirmation. "What did you want to tell her?"
"Just random gossip... You wouldn't be interested," the blonde deadpanned.
"You got that one right," the Latina conceded, inspecting her nails.
"So, don't distract me, what did you do?" the hazel-eyed woman pressed demandingly. "She sounded really down," she added.
"We just had an argument," Santana answered curtly. She didn't want to get into details. The last thing she wanted was to repeat her words; the whole thing had been bad enough at the time. There was no reason for an encore.
They fell in silence as Quinn expected more info.
Santana sighed, and added reluctantly, "I… I guess I just lost my temper and, you know, I said some stuff I shouldn't have. You know how my words can get when I'm angry."
Quinn did know. Santana knew quite well how to hurt with mere words when she wanted to.
"Well, you should go to her," Quinn said softly. She understood the situation they were in. It was very hard on both of them. If anyone knew that it was the petite blonde, she was stuck in the middle. Hearing about feelings, emotional confessions, and broken hearts on both separate ends. "Talk to Britt. Say you're sorry. I'm sure she'll understand," she added barely above a whisper.
"Already had that planned out, Q," Santana replied softly as well. "First thing tomorrow I'll go see her," the brunette added.
"Good," the blonde replied, pleased. "So, apart from that, how are you, San?" the blonde added, changing the subject. She knew her friend wasn't big on sharing feelings. They had done it enough for the day.
The two old friends chatted idly for another 30 minutes. After hanging up, Santana watched some tv, and a while later decided it was time for bed. She would, at least, try to catch some sleep in her old bedroom. Tomorrow… Tomorrow she would go and try to patch things up with the blue-eyed dancer. Yeah, tomorrow was another day. Another hard day, the Latina thought.
Next day as Santana drove her Mustang to Brittany's house, and approached her target, she dreaded one thing: knocking on the blonde's door. The thing was the Latina feared the inevitable, but no less unwelcomed, first meet with the dancer's new wife. Even thinking the words 'new wife' left a bitter taste in her mouth. However, the brunette was kindly spared that time, since she saw the familiar blonde mane parading down the street a few feet down the block in the beginning of the afternoon. Yes, she had planned to go to Brittany first thing in the morning, but she lost her nerve then, and pushed it to the afternoon. Everything was better when it wasn't morning.
Approaching the blonde in her vehicle, Santana honked her horn, successfully catching Brittany's attention and making her stop on the sidewalk. The blue-eyed woman couldn't help but left the smallest of smiles creep in at the sight of the car. God, they had spent so many moments in there, back in the day. That back seat had witnessed some intense make-out sessions, and those were the most innocent things that happened there. Just by looking at the Mustang she could even begin to feel Santana's hands roaming through her calves and thighs, her tongue… Ok, stop right there, the dancer commanded her mind.
The brunette killed the engine and while Brittany was stuck in her daydreaming, Santana got out of the car and went to her.
"Hi," Santana offered meekly, stuffing the keys in her jacket's pocket.
"Hey," Brittany replied softly, looking from Santana to the floor and back.
TBC.
First of all, sorry for the little cliffhanger, folks! Second, tell me what you think about this chapter. Review it :)
Third, I'll already add this: please, chillax. This chapter may seem like two steps back after a step forward, but it truly is just the opposite. Let's just say that things needed to be out in the air for the real healing process to begin. So, bear that in mind and wait for next chapter. I already started and it's shaping up to be my favourite thus far ;)