Chapter Four

"We agreed. No googling!" Brittany talked at her phone as it rested on the back of her couch. She folded another t-shirt into a square and patted it down on the rest of the stack. She had talked to Santana a few times in the last couple of weeks. It was never very long. A little like checking in with a good friend that had moved, so it was mainly sporadic phone calls filled with mundane details of the day. It was nice. It was comfortable. It was weird.

Not weird in a bad way. Weird that she craved it. Getting a call from Santana was the happiest surprise of her day. Which is why she couldn't keep the smile off her face, even as she scolded Santana for bringing up the g-word.

"I think I was drunk the night we decided that."

"Nope."

"Are you seriously saying you haven't been tempted to find out what I look like?" Santana asked. "Not at all?"

"Of course, I'm curious," Brittany answered. "But we agreed."

"Can we amend the agreement?"

"Is that some type of religious practice?" Brittany stopped folding and looked at the phone like it would give her answers. "I'm not Catholic, Santana."

The other woman chuckled knowingly. "Change, Britt. Can we change it?"

"I'm not so sure I want to."

"Why?"

Brittany rolled her eyes. "You sure are determined."

"I'm a visual person."

"Or you're completely shallow and want to make sure I don't look like Gollum or something."

"I'm not shallow," Santana started, but after Brittany snorted, she knew she probably wouldn't get far. "I'm not that shallow."

"Uh huh," the blonde obviously didn't buy it for a second.

"Okay," Santana started, "when I picture you, I see...sunshine, and rainbows...and unicorns munching on heart shaped cotton candy. You're so sweet and bright. I'm dying to know what that looks like personified."

"Bright?" Brittany questioned. "I haven't been called bright many times in my life. Like ever."

Santana let a few moments pass before saying, "That's a shame, Brittany, because I think you're one of the brightest people I've ever talked to."

Brittany took a seat on the couch, grabbed her phone and took it off speaker. "Do you want to know what I see when I picture you?"

"I don't know, do I?"

"When I picture you, I picture a lounge singer on a piano in a smoky bar in the 40s. Or possibly the 20s, I was never good at history. You're mysterious...and addictive.".

Brittany gave Santana a few seconds to take it in before the other woman replied with, "Good addictive or bad addictive?"

"I'm not sure yet," the blonde said honestly. "Maybe you're a bubblegum flavored cigarette."

"Can I be a cigar instead?"

"Anything you want," Brittany told her sweetly.

"Anything?" Santana asked in a tone that was a little more than PG. "Am I a hot lounge singer? Because in reality, I'm dead sexy."

"Shallow!"

"Oh, c'mon."

"Why is this so important?" Brittany asked.

"It's not." Brittany didn't believe her for one second. The 'hm' spoke volumes. "Okay, obviously, it's important. Can we leave it at, I want to see who I'm talking to and not have to analyze it any further?"

"Okay, how about this? Next time we talk, we'll do a picture exchange," Brittany suggested. She bit her lip and still couldn't keep the smile off her face.

"Why next time?"

"I don't know," Brittany tucked the phone between her head and shoulder. "It'll give me something to look forward to. I know I'll be talking to you again this way."

"You would be talking to me again either way."

"Next time," Brittany said sternly.

"Okaay," the other woman pouted. "So, would now be a good time to tell you that I may have kind of cheated?"

Why this phrase made the bottom of Brittany's stomach drop out, she had no idea. "Cheated how?" she asked hesitantly.

"I went cruising for your Facebook yesterday."

"Oh," the blonde laughed. "And how did that go?"

"Completely unhelpful," Santana sounded annoyed. "You're a stickler for privacy settings, huh?"

"Safety first," Brittany said seriously. "And that totally is cheating because I still don't even know your last name."

"Lopez," Santana answered without reservation. "All you had to do was ask."

"Santana Lopez," Brittany stated with flair.

"Santana Jennifer Lopez."

"Oh my God, are you for real?" the blonde squealed with delight.

"No, I'm just fucking with you because of the Britney Spears thing."

"Ha ha, Santana."

"I'm actually looking at what I assume is your cat right now."

"Lord Tubbington." Brittany automatically searched the room for the real thing. Tubbs was laid out on his back asleep, basking in the sunlight that was streaming through a nearby window.

The New Yorker laughed, "I was going to guess Duke of Meow Mixington."

"Shallow!"

"No!" Santana yelped in defense. "He's fat, that's the truth."

"He's big boned."

"Do you get his clothes custom made or shop in the toddler section?"

"That is his Christmas sweater and it was purchased at HolidayPetSweaters dot com."

"I can't decide right now if you're crazy or adorable," Santana said as her giggling faded.

"Let's go with adorable."

"Adorable then."

The reply was so soft and heartfelt that Brittany was lost in the thrill that traveled from her ears to her feet. So lost, in fact, that she missed Sam coming in. He was thumping her ear before she ever had a clue.

"Owww!" she screamed in shock.

"What?!" Santana's voice boomed through the speaker on her phone.

"Nothing," she replied as she punched Sam repeatedly on his arm. "Just Sam being a buttface."

He braced himself for the continuous blows while throwing light punches back. "Who's that?"

"None of your business," she hissed.

"I saw you smiling all dreamy like," he practically yelled.

"Shut up," she mouthed to him, eyes wide.

It was too late though, "Dreamy like?" Santana had heard it.

"He's being a jerk," she said into the phone and flipped off her best friend.

"Let me talk to your secret lover," Sam continued to bellow as he made grabs for the phone.

"Hey, can I call you back?" she asked Santana.

"Absolutely."

"K, thanks," was all Brittany got out before she hung up and went on another punching assault. "I can't believe you did that!"

"Hey, hey," Sam tried his best to deflect Brittany's fists of fury. "I was just messing around."

"She's never going to call me again!"

"Who are we even talking about?"

"The girl, Sam," Brittany's fight left her body and let her forehead rest against her sofa.

"What girl?"

"No. The girl."

"The wrong number girl?"

Brittany blew out a long breath and then said shyly, "Yeah."

"You're still talking to her?" Sam furrowed his brows, "But you said she was the bitchiest bitch to ever bitch."

"I did not."

"You did, too," Sam shot back. "You said if evil had a bitchier sister, it would be her."

"I didn't say that," Brittany waved him off.

"You said if you looked up bitch in the dictionary, it would be a picture of her son."

"My god, Sam, were you taking notes?"

"The last one I did write down, because I didn't get it at first."

"She's not a bitch," Brittany claimed. "I mean, she was, yeah. She was like the High Queen of Bitchington Alley when I accidently called, but she's not really like that."

Sam didn't look convinced. "Britt..."

"What?" she asked genuinely.

"You've been talking to her this whole time?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

Sam shoved over all Brittany's laundry and jumped over the back of the couch to sit next to her. "You don't even know her, Brittany."

"I'm getting to know her," the blonde woman said defensively. "It's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal," he pointed out. "You already have a thing for her and you've never even met her."

"I don't need to meet her."

"Have you even seen her?"

"Nooo," Brittany trailed off.

"Brittany." Sam said it like that should say it all.

"Stop it, Sam."

"She could look like Gollum or something."

"She doesn't."

"You don't know that," he argued. He hopped off the couch and ran into his room. She heard him shuffling around for a few minutes before returning with an actual Gollum mask from three Halloweens ago pulled over his head. "Are you really going to tell me it wouldn't matter if she looked like this? Could you kiss this face?"

Brittany couldn't help laughing at his ridiculousness.

His voice raised several octaves, "Could you love me, my precious?"

"If she had a good enough body, then I'd probably still consider it," she remarked, totally unfazed.

He ripped off the mask and tossed it her, "Liar."

"It doesn't matter, Sam," she said as she chucked the mask on their coffee table. "She's smart and interesting and funny and likes talking to me. So it doesn't matter."

"K," he shrugged and took his position next to her.

"Plus, she's in New York," she leaned into him. "So it really doesn't matter."

"Hey," the guy said way too cheerily. "Why don't you hang out with me tonight?"

"Here?" she pulled away to look up at him.

"No," he shook his head. "I'm meeting up with Tory for drinks at the bar around the corner. Come with us."

"I don't want to feel like a third wheel."

"You won't be."

"Nah," Brittany tucked her legs under her. "I'm just going to stay here."

"You're going to call her back?"

"Maybe." She pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands and then held them up. "What if I am?"

"I don't know, Britt," Sam ran his fingers through his mop of blond locks. "I trust your judgment, you know that."

"I know," she nodded.

"I just don't like the idea of you making yourself vulnerable."

"I dig the big brotherly type of vibe you've got going here, Sambo," Brittany smiled at him. "And I promise that if I ever feel like something is off or suspicious, I'll stop."

"And you'll tell me?"

Brittany rolled her eyes, "Sure."

Sam lightly slapped her knee in minor annoyance, "And you'll tell me?" he asked again.

"Of course."

Getting her roommate out her hair proved to be a more difficult task than she originally thought. It took several more reassurances on her part and the promise that Brittany would allow him to 'have a talk' with Santana soon. She agreed, but only because it was going to be hilarious when Sam tried to ask the New Yorker about his intentions with his best friend. She may have been leading a sheep to slaughter, but watching him shit his pants at the fury Santana would unleash on him would be worth his 2 weeks of pouting.

A few minutes after Sam walked out the door, she went in search for her phone. She had even spotted it when there was a knock. She ceased all movement. Maybe if she was quiet enough, they'd go away. Another knock and Lord T poked his head out from behind the couch. She held a finger up to her mouth. He cocked his head to the side. She narrowed her eyes. He took a furry step toward her. She pointed at him in warning. He jumped soundlessly onto the couch. She searched in vain around the apartment for where she had set down his big bag of kitty treats. He knew he had her. Moving wasn't an option and the kitty treats were on the counter, in the kitchen, twenty feet away. Tubbs spotted them, too. He looked at her, then at his crunchy shrimp bites, then back at her. She still wasn't moving, so he did what he had to and let out the biggest, whiniest meow he could.

"Britt?" came a muffled question through the door. It was Will. Her shoulders dropped.

"Coming," she yelled. On her way to the door, she grabbed the crunchy shrimp bites and threw them onto the top of the fridge. She shot Tubbs a glare before opening the door with, "Hey Will."

Will stood at the door in a t-shirt and jeans. One hand was cupped around the back of his neck and the other was clutching the handle of his guitar case. He had the same look of defeat that he had been wearing for months, but something was different. It was a more hopeful look of defeat. "She's gone," he said simply.

Brittany gave him a sad smile and motioned for him to come in. "You're wearing a different shirt."

Will looked down at himself as he passed. "I guess I am," he replied like he was more surprised than she was.

A few minutes later, they were both seated on the couch. Each had a beer and their feet propped on the table. The man shifted a little uncomfortably before saying, "I know you've been taking a lot of flack for me."

"Nah," Brittany said with a sip.

"You have and I appreciate it."

"We're friends." She stared at the bottle in her hand. "You're having a hard time, I understand."

"When the last of the fleet of U-Hauls pulled away with the 43 boxes of Guidance Counselor pamphlets," Will swallowed hard and blinked back the tears, "I felt a weight lift off my shoulders."

Brittany clutched his beerless hand.

"Emma's gone," he said as he stared at the wall in front of him. "There's no instant hand sanitizer or box of sterilized gloves on every surface. There's no 'How to wash your Hands' poster in all my bathrooms, the faint smell of Clorox isn't burning the hairs in my nose."

"Your house always smelled so fresh," Brittany recalled.

He nodded his confirmation, "When she finally left, though, I felt...free."

"Good."

"So much so," Will said as he grabbed for his guitar case. He placed it on the table and popped the hooks, "that I wrote something."

Brittany took the sheet music he offered her and looked it over. "You're working," she whispered with a smile. "Putting a dress on your great big mess," she read aloud from the sheet.

"I know it's not really fitting with the concept we discussed," the man said apologetically. "It's really just a kickstart."

"No," the blonde held up her hand. "I get it. Dressing up our Whoopsies, I totally get it."

"It will take some hammering out," Will gave her an encouraging smile. "I know Artie already has some solid designs-"

"I think Artie would be willing to work with us," Brittany cut him off. "And Sugar and Blaine love to play dress up."

Will took a deep breath. "Thanks Britt," he said with enough emotion to fill the divot of his butt chin.

She knew what he needed and as much as it pained her, she gave in. "We'll order a pizza and I'll call the team."