A/N: Here starts the second Arc! Thanks to Killercereal for her finger-typing ideas for this story. I hope you guys enjoy :)
Present Day, Earth Army Base:
Santana has always been aware that thinking of Brittany beyond friendship is some dangerous territory – the woman is a huge player for one and doesn't seem to take anyone out on a second date.
Being friends with her was cool and fun, they got along very well and were a great team when it came to saving the day. It was pretty routine and Santana knew they were more than friends in that sense that they looked out for one another, like family.
But then the routine was shot in the head when that whole catastrophe happened where Santana had two choices: she could let a ton of concretious material be then end of her because no one had a clue where she was and that Brittany Pierce's brain was about to be surgically removed for experimentation by a legit psycho, or she could realize that the only chance either of them had to live was if she managed to unpin her arm and, damn it, there was her pocket lazer.
The aftermath of that whole venture was a lot of things, the most obvious of which was that her relationship with Brittany was forever changed. She loved Brittany because the thought of her dying didn't leave room for hesitation to do some questionably insane things.
Of course, since she wasn't very experienced in the romance department and too cowardly to confess her feelings, she ended up retrieving into herself and getting afraid of rejection because Brittany was, well, The Brittany Pierce. She was waaaaay too good for Santana and Santana was not willing to let her heart be broken by someone who she had witnessed, time and time again, break hearts. It helped that cutting off her own arm meant a lot of psychic evaluations which were time consuming.
What she just learned a minute ago though, was that Brittany's casual remarks over the years such as 'you look hot, don't worry about it' etcetera, were not just any words thrown her way to flirt and fluster her romantic ineptitude, but Brittany returned her feelings – as in her love feelings. She even said so. She had said "I'm in love with you" right to her face with sincerity and then they were kissing and groping and it. Was. Glorious.
Until those flashes broke them apart, flashes of damn floater paparazzi. The ultimate bane of Santana's existence since all this fame with Brittany made her somewhat of a celebrity in relation and pictures of them kissing were bound to make that worse.
"Shit," she grabs Brittany's hand and runs, not finding this funny like Brittany who was laughing and already summoning her limo for them to escape in.
Main Street - Centre of the Earth, 18 months prior:
"OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOOOOOOD!"
"Ow!" Santana clamps her hands over her ears and jumps backwards. She was startled by the shouting, and as THE rookie back in the day who scored highest on not being startled during the rookie drinking games at Army-Academy… she was more surprised at being startled than at, like, being startled.
"IT'S YOUUUU!" the culprit – who she has now identified as a woman three times her size in width and a good head taller (retreat soldier!) – screams and points.
"I'm sorry do I fucking know you, I don't remember my ears being put through this shit before," she demands.
"GUYS OVER HERE! IT'S ADMIRAL SEXTANA!" The woman just ignores her and gestures and yells to some people around the block.
Within five minutes Santana is being swarmed and surrounded by screaming people of all species.
"Will you ink-sign my boob?" One rather hot and attractive female says to her rhetorically, already lifting her shirt and letting her braless breasts greet Santana's eyeballs.
Between saving people and stopping criminals and being promoted to Admiral from Commodore just this month because of it, she hasn't really had time in the last few years of her life to touch boobs and she kind of hates herself for going along with it and giving into the ink offered to her.
Or, she would have gone along with it (the ink tool was in her grasp and everything!) until a shiny black hover-limo pulled up with the window rolled down, thus stealing all her fans attention because… Brittany.
"Get in!" Brittany tells her with judging eyebrows in raise, directed at Santana's almost guilty hand.
Santana clears her throat, apologizes to the boobs, and dodges the screams before getting inside the hover limo.
"Why do people know me this is psychotic what did I do?" She asks Brittany instead of thanking her for the escape.
Brittany snaps her fingers as the limo starts moving, and Kiki (who drives the limo and operates the projector screen inside) pops open a large news scan which reads "They do it again! Galaxy's hottest heroic duo save a school from being obliterated. Read how with Daily Galaxia."
Groaning Santana can only say, "That Mikayla reporter is such a stalker! I get away with stopping murder, saving planets, thousands of lives-"
"Technically I saved more lives than you… just saying… I mean, I was the one who actually pressed the button to diffuse the bomb you just kind of beat up and lazered all the bad guys guarding it."
"And arresting a pervert outside a kids school in the middle of nowhere YUGAH which is so NOT a PLANET-"
"This discussion is ancient and it is SO a planet don't even start with me."
"Which we happened to be on because you wanted imsputonian ice for you imsputonian margaritas-"
"Mhhmmm. It takes twice as long to melt as regular ice it's awesome."
"-is what gets me galactic fame? I could have been suffocated by crazy people – what kind of heroic reward is that? I will destroy Mikayla the magical reporter! Fuck."
"You seemed to be enjoying the autograph aspect though," Brittany snaps a little, remembering what she rolled in on.
Santana rolls her eyes, "kill me, I'm a person. I'm just feeling stressed out lately, and I was appreciating the silver lining in that gross screaming, sweaty mass of bodies."
"You did seem shorter than usual in there."
Santana glares at her and then collapses backwards, moodily, into the cushioned seat of the limo with a sigh.
She doesn't notice Brittany's lips turn up in an affectionate smile or Brittany's eyes do their routine admiration (which she never notices anyways).
"I could," Brittany's voice catches nervously in her throat so she looks out the window and tries to be nonchalant, "I could use a break too, you know. Welcome to the world of crazy fans. Let's do something together like… go to a club."
"I'm never, EVER clubbing with you again." Santana says seriously.
"It was fun."
"We didn't remember anything and ended up with matching TATTOOS!" Santana says, wiggling her left pinky finger where the tattoo was placed, two black circles surrounding it's middle.
"Myths of pinkies unite!" Brittany raises her own tattooed pinky coyly, "Santana, your new promotion is stressing you out, trust me on this a night out will do you good. Kiki!"
"Yes, Professor."
Santan mumbles 'professor' mockingly to Brittany, who, now an aggregate graduate, was boasting her new title proudly.
Brittany mocks back, "tell Admiral Lopez why she should go clubbing with me tonight."
"Reasons for Admiral Lopez to go clubbing. Reason one: dancing and drinking are great social networking tactics, especially when seeking sexual partners which to date Admiral Lopez rates very low in."
"Brittany why do you always torture me? Why?"
"Reason two-" Kiki continues while Brittany lifts two fingers up and mouths along, "hanging out with Professor Pierce in any capacity is an honour and a privilege."
"You little hack," Santana turns to her, "I knew it! You always upload shit for Kiki to tell me before making me do things!"
"Now, if only you exemplified such acute perception when I was trying to communicate with you to go left you could have avoided that week in the hospital with broken ribs."
"You winked your left eye at me – that is just weird and not a communication, Pierce."
"Admiral and Professor, we have arrived at your destination."
"Brittany," Santana says admonishingly when she realizes where their destination is.
"Once again, I'm wearing my evening coat and dance-friendly shoes… it's your fault you didn't put two-and-two together."
"I'm wearing my uniform! Take me home!"
"It's hot, don't worry about it," Brittany says it only when she's stepping out of the limo so that Santana doesn't see the honesty in her eyes (with her back turned she misses the way Santana blushes).
"It's unprofessional!" She hears Santana argue before the door closes behind her.
She walks around and greets the club bouncer with a nod, waving at some of the paparazzi floaters hovering around.
Santana steps out a moment later, giving her a promising look of 'I'll get you back for this stunt' and then ignores the cameras and the bouncer and storms into the club for something strong to drink.
/
Brittany knows Santana needs this break – she's been under a lot of stress since she got promoted with such a high profile and isn't taking very kindly to some of her colleagues who feel she's much too young for the promotion.
When Santana found out Brittany got them a private room she was in a friendlier mood at least and stayed in there which was good because Brittany made sure a waiting computer hung nearby at all times to cater to her.
Brittany, though, was more opportunistic with this night out and already programming the sixth number into her digital wristwatch.
"Call me," Lauralie, a girl whose number Brittany has been given before (and okay, she used it before too and then 'lost' it but remembers Lauralie enough to remember how hot that was), tosses her a sultry wink and then leaves her.
Brittany smiles to herself, looking forward to selecting one of her many choices, and wants to get a drink to help figure out hard it would be to get number three and Lauralie at the same time tonight when a voice interrupts her.
"Um, excuse me, Brittany?"
She turns around and sees a guy a little shorter than her and with very thick plastic eyeglass frames (which were now back in fashion). He smiles nervously at her, decked out in expensive clothes that didn't seem to really suit him, in her opinion.
"Yes?"
"I'm um, I mean…" he swallows, "can I buy you a drink? The name's Artie? We worked together in math and physics?"
"Oh! Artie!" she remembers him (eventually), an intelligent guy who was kind of cute and charming but… kind of creepy in that way where he studied her more than their research. "Actually, I'm here with someone-"
"Brittany!" Santana, the 'someone' she was exaggerating to be here with to ditch him since she was getting some looks from that drink-tender, grabs her arm and throws Artie a rigid "excuse us" before shuffling them far away.
"Ugh, thanks. He was seconds away from confessing his undying love for me."
"Whatever. Look, I was staring out the window from our private room earlier-"
"—did you happen to see a guy with one ear? It was odd."
"- and there was these two guys casing the joint. Seocho-gu mules. Who, by the way, are rumoured to cut off ears of mules that dissapoint. Strike two is beheading."
"Ohhhhh, why Admiral Lopez. Is that glint in your eyes for them or do you want to make out?"
"Stop kidding around!" Santana drops her arm and steps back with a huff, "how drunk are you? I want to tail them."
Brittany sighs. So much for a night off with Santana... But, if it meant they'd have time together she was totally cool with tailing extremely dangerous terrorists and stuff.
Restitute Museum of People's Rights, Earth (18 months prior):
"How dare they meet in a fundamental museum to our galaxy!" Santana hisses, pulling her lazer-gun from her belt, "why don't people respect the struggles of previous generations and-"
Brittany clamps her hand over Santana's mouth, "shhhh. There, there. How dare they plant a bomb in the museum floorboards is what you were thinking of saying, right?"
Her eyebrows rising, Santana cranes her neck to see what Brittany was seeing, watching the men they had followed from the club seal the metal floor back in place perfectly, like no one had been there.
"You saw them put a bomb in there?"
"Yep. While you were crying about museum respect."
"We're going to let them leave. My money is on the fact that they'll detonate that shit when people are in here tomorrow. As opposed to doing it right now."
"Why can't you beat them up?"
"Because."
"Oh, wow, you're really explaining everything today Admiral. That promotion really-"
"Brittany," Santana hisses at her after taking a deep, irritated breath, "I will knock you out if you don't shut up. You know I have my reasons."
"Ialso like to hear those reasons, I have a mind that requires explanations and pragmatic logic."
"Engaging in combat is not the best choice, genius, I'd rather diffuse their bomb and then if the bomb fails to detonate as planned those guys will probably be killed by their employers anyways for sucking at being terrorists. Which, don't get me wrong, is good thing that they suck at it."
"My interpretation is that you just want to do this hush hush so that no more girls try to get you to ink-sign their boobage?"
"I did not actually go through with singing them!" Santana defends in a hushed whisper.
They both shift back at that to press against the wall when the two men leave the museum through the back entrance.
Now that they're left alone, Santana whacks Brittany's shoulder for her smartass comments and then walks towards the still warm metal fused to hide the bomb.
Brittany slowly walks after her with a pout, "admit it, Santana. You were totally enjoying the attention."
"Can we please just diffuse the bomb? This is your area of expertise and I'd appreciate some concentration so that school children who visit this place on a field trip don't die. Is this like Yugah, you think? The heat from my lazer could spark?"
Brittany sighs, and then sits down with her legs jutting it out lazily, watching Santana stare seriously in thought at the metal with how to proceed.
"Don't worry, it's not the same, that lingering scent of zinc indicates a jinhogenic metal, impervious to heat which is why they were able to weld the metal with such frequency. On Yugah they used kinyogenic metal which… you get the drift, Lazer away," she leans her ear against the ground and knock twice, "you have two inches of room."
Pushing her sleeves up, Santana's trusty pocket lazer is at the ready and she's about to do it before she notices the way Brittany is looking at her – all admiring and weird.
"You want to do it?" She offers the lazer awkwardly.
Brittany blushes and darts her eyes down.
Santana chuckles at her weirdness, "it's cool, go for it."
To go along with being caught admiring the lazer (since she had actually been admiring Santana's gorgeous face under the soft midnight security lights of the museum and didn't want Santana figuring that out), Brittany takes the lazer and starts driving it into the metal.
"Woah, gentle," Santana says kindly, covering her hand, "I cut myself with it once too many times, it really burns."
Brittany isn't offended that Santana thinks she'd burn herself with a lazer, she's enjoying this all too much and actually it was more likely she'd burn herself with Santana being so close telling her to be careful.