Chapter Two

"He's a dinosaur, Britt!" Sugar Motta exclaimed from her seat as she drummed her newly manicured fingernails against the wood. "He's old and he keeps saying, 'I've been in the game for years, kids'. It's condescending."

"Sugar's right," Blaine agreed. He unconsciously straightened his bowtie as he propped his Converse on the large oak table that ran nearly the length of the room. "He's got nothing."

"As much as I hate to say this, I'm with Sugar and Blaine," Artie replied as he rolled his wheelchair up to the table. "I love the guy, I do. You know I do."

"We all do," Blaine spoke up. "But he's dropping the ball here."

"I understand where you're coming from, " Brittany said as she stared out over the city and watched the late morning drizzle give way to the sun. She spun around in her chair and caught the table to stop her momentum. After a moment, she ran her fingers through her long blonde hair in frustration. "I know he hasn't really contributed lately."

"Understatement!" Sugar squealed.

"But!" Brittany eyed her. "He's not a dinosaur. He's barely 40. And he's just in a little slump."

"Huge slump," Blaine murmured.

"He's part of our team, we're not kicking him out."

"He's supposed to be our jingle man, Britt," Artie argued. "And he hasn't written anything in months."

"That's a lie, he has written stuff," the blonde argued. "It's just not very jingly."

"The last thing he wrote had the same tune as the Halloween theme," Sugar reminded them.

Brittany nodded sadly. "Hey, what about the one about the Sham Wow meeting the wet wipe and falling in love? That was really good."

"Honey," Sugar leaned in to take her hand, "it had an eight minute instrumental break and ended with a chorus of 'Die, Wet Wipe, die.' I don't think that meets the criteria Whoopsies is looking for."

"I thought it was catchy and was the perfect description of the product...until the end and the uncontrollable sobbing," Brittany shrugged. "He's going through a painful divorce, guys. We can't kick the guy when he's down."

"Okay, well, let's just nudge him really hard, then," Blaine accentuated the words with a kick from his propped foot. "You're the team leader on this, Britt. It's your call, but we're going to be in trouble if you don't do something."

"It's not like we haven't had to get past everybody's little quirks," Brittany pointed at all of them. "Blaine, we've all overlooked the schellacking on your head, Artie's always sitting down on the job-"

"That's completely inappropriate," Artie said under his breath.

"And Sugar-"

"I'll give you a thousand dollars if you skip over me," Sugar said as she reached into her purse to pull out a wad of cash.

Brittany accepted the money and then announced with conviction, "You made my point for me. Thanks."

The round table discussion was effectively ended when the man in question slunk into the room. His appearance was disheveled to put it mildly. The knot of his tie hung loosely around his neck and he pulled on it a little more. The man satchel that he often carried was obviously empty, as it was just folded and shoved into his jacket pocket. The metal buckle of the strap hit against his thigh with each step. The shirt he had on, Brittany could have sworn he'd worn for at least the last week and a half. It had a telling ketchup stain, or from the smell that permeated the room, maybe a Bloody Mary stain.

"Hi kids," Will greeted them with what was probably meant to be a smile, but ended up as a one sided grimace.

"Hey Schue," Artie said grimly.

"Bless you," Brittany patted Artie's back before turning to Will. "How ya doing today?"

"Better," the older man acknowledged. "Emma's still packing. It's taking longer because, as you know, all her belongings must be stored in air tight containers, categorized, logged alphabetically and color coded in her Big Ugly Divorce Binder."

"Maybe if you didn't call it the Big Ugly Divorce Binder," Blaine suggested.

"No, that's it's name," Will assured him. "She typed up a title page, laminated it, and stuck it in the front plastic covering. It's the Big Ugly Divorce Binder."

"Ah," the younger man said and looked desperately for someone else to steer the conversation.

"But seeing as this is day," Will gave quick glance to where a watch would normally be on his wrist, "fifty seven of that process, it is getting easier."

"Good," Brittany smiled brightly. "Okay, we have anything new for today?"

"Actually," Artie hooked his thumb toward the basket on his wheelchair. "Britt, if you don't mind grabbing my laptop."

"Sure," the blonde said cheerily and leaned over.

Artie took the opportunity to give her a tiny sniff before catching himself, "I finished a few designs-"

He was promptly cut off by the thump of Will's head hitting the table. "Why?" he shrieked. "Why is she leaving me?"

Sugar rolled her eyes and stood up to leave, "I just can't work under these conditions. I'm taking a spa day."

Blaine gave Will an awkward pat on the back before scooting backwards in his chair while Artie silently shut his computer.

"Guys!" Brittany hissed to no avail.

"Do something," Blaine mouthed before stalking out the door.

Brittany took a deep breath, "Should I call your therapist again?"

"No," Will cried. "It'll pass."

She did have to call his therapist again, because after a few hours of crying, Will's body became rigid in a manner that Brittany referred to as his 'Lockjaw of Sadness.' She watched uncomfortably as the agency's security team loaded him into his car.

"You think he'll be okay?" Dave Karofsky, head of security, asked after he shut the car door.

"Oh yeah," the blonde answered. "He'll be fine...eventually."

Dave didn't seem convinced as he tilted his head to look inside the vehicle. Will was staring at the steering wheel as he ran his hands over it in continuous circles singing 'bye bye Miss American Pie' over and over. "Whatever you say, Britt," Karofsky said with a pat on her back.

She knocked on the window before she left the parking garage and offered the depressed guy a winning smile and wave."Have a nice night, Will."

An hour later, Brittany was approaching the entrance to her apartment complex in downtown Seattle. She pulled an ear bud out as she tugged on one of the double doors.

"Hey Rory," she slapped hands with the young lad the large desk in the lobby.

"Lovely day, huh, Britt?" the boy replied with his Irish garble.

"Great day!" the blonde agreed.

She was singing along quietly when the arrival of the elevator at the sixth floor was signaled by a ding. Upon the doors screeching open, Wes Brody was waiting with a smile.

"Hey kiddo," Brittany greeted him with a wink and grabbed a piece of gum out of her pocket. "You're still my boyfriend, right?" she asked.

"Duh! You have the best gum," the seven year old answered like it was foregone conclusion. She watched as he ran down the corridor to his own apartment.

"Hey there, Sugar Dumplin' Rice Krispy," April Rhodes slurred as she gave her a slap on the ass as she passed. The continuously drunk woman held out a styrofoam cup, "Would you like a lil sippy sip sip of my Alabammer Slammer?"

"No thanks," Brittany declined. "Did you get locked out again?"

April thought about this for a long moment.

Brittany waited.

"What?" the older lady asked.

"Did you lock yourself out again?"

"Oh, no," April gestured all around. "Just enjoying the crisp night air."

Instead of questioning this, Brittany walked over to her door and turned the handle. It was open, so she guided April back into her apartment. "The air is just as crisp in here, I promise."

"Oh, it is," the drunk woman agreed. "Thanks Butter Biscuit."

"No problem," she answered as she locked the door from the inside and left. Brittany glided by a few more doors and paused as she saw Mike and Tina Cohen-Chang locking up for what looked like a night out.

"You guys look awesome," she supplied.

"Thank you," Tina smiled at the compliment.

"You look fantastic as well," Mike winked and grabbed her for a quick spin. He was always doing that."

"Big date?"

"Michael wants to do some dancing," Tina told her as she clutched her fiancee's arm.

"Hey, you should go out," Mike suggested.

"No, no," Brittany shrugged of the invitation. "I don't want to intrude."

"You wouldn't be-"

"Intruding at all," Mike finished Tina's sentence.

Brittany smiled at how cute they were. "Not tonight, but maybe soon."

"We're holding you to it," the other young lady promised with her brow arched.

"Okay, okay," Brittany called over her shoulder and pressed into her door to get it to budge. "Have fun tonight.

She shuffled through her mostly bare apartment and tossed her keys and purse on the table beside the door. Lord Tubbington met her with a quick meow and a purr that let her know he was hungry. Lord T was pretty much always hungry, though. She gave the lock a quick turn before taking a food packet out of the cabinet and emptying some tuna delight into Tubby's food bowl. After giving the cat a few pats on the head, she searched for signs of Sam. When she didn't immediately find him sacked out in front of the television playing Call of Duty, she called for him...nothing. She kicked a pair of dirty jeans out of the way and nudged open his door just enough to stick her nose in the space. "Sammy?" Still nothing. Finally, making a trek toward the fridge, she noticed a bright yellow sticky note.

B,
Hot date with 4B. Don't wait up.
Sambo!

She chuckled as she took the note down, "Good for you, Sam." The blonde rummaged through the fridge until she found some Chinese food that didn't smell bad and threw it in the microwave. She searched for an extra pair of chopsticks in the catchall drawer and got halfway to the couch before she thought better of it. She washed off a fork from the sink instead. "Dinner is served," she said to herself.

After she finished, she set the empty carton on the coffee table and laid back against the arm of the couch. What in the world was she going to do about Will? She couldn't force him out. Will, when he wasn't in a free fall of despair, was brilliant. That's why she had fought to get him on her team. But, the others were right. Their pitch for the ad campaign for Whoopsies (seriously, it's like Sham Wow meets wet wipe) was quickly approaching and Will was an empty well. This was a puzzle, and Brittany wasn't exactly the best at solving puzzles. Her eyes were getting heavier and heavier and when she felt the weight of Lord Tubbington settle on her feet, she finally let them close.

She was awakened after what seemed like just a few minutes by a buzzing across the room. It was her phone. She was briefly inclined to just ignore it and go back to sleep, but it could be work or her little sister in Colorado. She begrudgingly walked over to her purse and rifled for a second to find it. She smiled at the banner staring back at her.

Midnight Answerer
Santana. My name is Santana.

The blonde bit her lip. Her heart sped up in her chest and her tummy dropped. She was nervous. Why was she nervous? Oh yeah, because the Midnight Answerer was probably the biggest bitch she'd never met, but she also had the sexiest voice that had ever graced her ears. It was sultry and deliciously raspy. She had the cutest cadence, so that her words danced a little. And after she had confessed that she lived in New York, Brittany could detect the slightest accent. The edges were smoothed out, but an occasional 'aw' was still there. She suddenly had the undeniable urge to hear that voice again and nervously made the phone call.

"Well," came that luscious tone. "If it isn't Brittany from Seattle?"

"And Santana from New York," Brittany replied. "Beautiful name, by the way."

"Thanks, but that's all my parents, I really had nothing to do with it."

"Of course not," the blonde laughed and collapsed on the couch. Everything was going so well until she realized she had no idea what to say to someone she didn't even know. "Yeah...so..."

"Compelling," was the smart ass reply. "Is that what you called to say?"

"Are you always so..."

"Bitchy?" Santana answered. "Yes. Actually, what was it? Bitchy McBitcherson."

"I'm sorry about that."

"No, don't be," she said quickly. "It was fantastic."

Another pause.

"So how was your day?"

"Busy," Santana answered. "Really busy. Ra- uh, work keeps me busy. Going nonstop."

"Ah," Brittany said. She suddenly panicked. "Wait, are you busy now? Am I interrupting?"

"No, no, not at all. I texted you, remember?"

"Yeah," the West Coaster relaxed. "Just making sure. You know, you woke me up this time."

"Really? It's only like 7 out there, right? Did you have a rough day?"

The blonde sighed, "Uh, kind of...maybe, but you don't want to hear about that."

"Sure, I do."

"Are you sure?"

"Lay it on me."

"Okay, well," Brittany curled into ball and tried to explain the situation. "There's this guy that I work with."

"What's his name?"

"Uh...Will?"

"Are you asking me?"

"No, no," Brittany laughed. "It's Will."

"Not Sam? That's the James Bond guy, right?"

"Wow, yeah, good memory," Brittany was surprised. "Sam is my roommate."

"Sam is your roomie, gotcha." Santana sounded pleased. "So Will, not Sam. Go ahead."

"Is this weird?" the blonde questioned.

"Not yet," Santana chuckled. "I mean, I guess it depends on what kind of a work problem you have. It could probably get pretty fucking weird if you're going to confess some secret sexual copy room fetish or if Will's actually your pimp. "

"It's nothing like that," Brittany laughed. "I meant us."

"Us, huh?"

"Talking about our days like we know each other."

"Do you feel weird?"

Brittany thought about that question for a few moments. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and answered honestly. "No, not really. Do you?"

It was Santana's turn to pause. "Strangely, no. I like you. I'm not sure why, but I hope to find out."

"Good," the blonde whispered. There was silence for several minutes. Brittany could hear the other woman's light breaths over the line."I really like your voice," she admitted quietly.

"Thank you," Santana replied just as softly. "So tell me about your work problem."

"Oh, yeah, Will." Brittany sat back up on the couch and searched for the clock. She wondered if Sam would be back at all tonight. For some reason she felt like she could get caught with her hand in the cookie jar. And then she thought about how dirty that sounded. And then she thought about why she would make that analogy. And then she thought about chances of a situation developing in which there could possibly be a 'hand in the cookie jar' type of conversation.

"Brittany? You still there?"

"Yeah, of course, I was thinking about..cookies. Sorry," the blonde covered. "He's going through a divorce."

"Will?"

"Yeah."

"Yikes."

"He's taking it pretty hard."

"Of course," Santana sympathized. "I would imagine."

"And well, he's not doing his job, like, at all," Brittany felt guilty for relaying the information. "And the rest of my team is not very happy with him or me for giving him so much slack."

"So they want to give him the boot?"

Brittany thought for a second, "Nah, not boots. But he could definitely use another shirt. I think he's been wearing the same one for a while."

Santana laughed. When Brittany didn't, she make a strangled coughing sound and sort of tumbled out, "That sounds horrible."

"It is." Brittany shared, "He's a good friend and he's really good at what he does, but we have deadlines and there are other people depending on this deal. He's just completely unjingly right now. You know?"

"That's a tough call to make."

"Yeah."

"Damn," Santana said with more than a little aggravation. "Hey Britt, I'm getting a call from...work."

"Oh," the blonde glanced at the clock again. "It's late for work."

"I have the kind of job that's sort of on-call all the time."

"Are you a doctor or something?"

"Oh, hell, no," the New Yorker scoffed. "That's my dad, not me. No way."

"Oh."

"How about we talk again soon and I'll tell you about it," Santana suggested. "And you can tell me why you need a whole team and what exactly unjingly means."

"Sounds great," a grin stretched across Brittany's face just knowing there was a possibility.

"And you'll figure it out...Will, I mean. I have a feeling you're an amazing friend and it sounds like that what he needs more than anything."

"Thanks," Brittany took the compliment to heart. "Bye Santana from New York."

"Take care Brittany from Seattle."

Brittany ended the call and stared at her phone. She edited Midnight Answerer to Santana and chewed on her fingernail while admiring the name and number. The blonde stayed like that until Lord Tubbington took his rightful position at her feet.

"Tubbs, I feel like something good is coming our way," she smiled and hugged her phone to her chest like a lifeline.