(an) Your reviews. Wow. You keep me excited about this story. You made me turn a one-shot a multichapter and I'm now considering making it even longer and more complex, and creating a Masterpost for it to release interesting information, Santana's wardrobe and much more. Thank you.

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LXIX

For Rachel's birthday she wants to go to Call Backs, a karaoke bar from her college days. "Santana is obviously invited," Rachel tells Brittany when they're painting their nails, sitting on the living room floor. "If she asks you what you think she should get me, just tell her she knows my taste in wine very well by now."

Brittany rolls her eyes, trying to hide the blush on her cheeks. Rachel had just treated them like an established couple.

LX

It rings a few times before Santana takes the call. "Hey you," she says.

"Hi," Brittany says, closing the bedroom door behind her. "Are you busy right now? Can I ask you something?"

"No, no, just working on some things at home. What did you want to talk about?"

Brittany throws herself on the bed, not bothering to turn on the lights. "I know you're having a tough schedule and all, but Rachel's asked me to invite you to her birthday. It's at this karaoke bar called Call Backs this Saturday." She pauses. "Oh, and she said you know her taste in wine, in case you were wondering what you should give her."

Santana's laugh is like clear water. "Very well. I have this dinner thing to go to, so I'll meet you guys at the bar. You can text me the address. Okay?"

Brittany smiles. "See you Saturday."

LXI

The choreographer has a family emergency. "I trust you," he tells Brittany. "You can take over for a day or two."

Brittany nods, trying not to look as nervous as she feels.

It's her first rehearsal on her own. She takes a few deep breaths before stepping in front of every dancer as they stretch. She explains the situation – it's impressive how quickly they agree to it, how no one bats an eyelash to her taking over – and two dozen heads look at her, expecting instructions.

Her heart beats fast – maybe she can do this.

LXII

Brittany makes her way through the small crowd, searching for Santana. It's starting to get noisy and the easy chill of the beginning of a night is long gone. She looks at the bar and glances at her phone, checking the time.

She spots Santana a minute later. Much to her displeasure, there's a man talking to Santana. He's tall, muscular, leaning towards her, open leather jacket brushing her arm, a beer in his hand. His mouth shouldn't be so close to Santana's ear. Santana's not even looking in his direction; she's taking her – their – drinks from the waiter.

He puts a hand on Santana's shoulder. Brittany cuts in. "How about you take your paws off my girlfriend?" She says, taking his hand off and standing between him and Santana. The man looks amused – it irritates Brittany even more. She looks straight into his eyes.

Santana wraps an arm around Brittany's waist from behind, resting her chin on Brittany's shoulder. "You should go, Puck."

"Take that beer for a walk. Away from here, in that direction," Brittany says, pointing at the door and staring at him until he raises his hands in the air.

"Got the message," he answers, looking at Santana and gesturing for her to call him.

Brittany makes sure he has gone and can't be seen before turning to Santana. "Men," she huffs, gripping Santana's hip to pull her closer, bodies against each other. "So full of it—"

"Our drinks: a mojito for you and a blueberry martini for me," Santana interrupts, giving Brittany her glass. She lets Brittany press her against the counter, shielding her from everyone else. She's smirking.

They clink their glasses and Brittany takes a sip. It tastes good, and the adrenaline levels on her body begin to drop. She takes a deep breath.

"Brittany," Santana calls her attention. Her free hand is scratching the back of Brittany's neck, up and down. Brittany closes her eyes for a second. "Don't get me wrong, but – what did you call me?"

Brittany opens her eyes and frowns. "What do you mean?"

Santana is almost grinning – just almost. She sips her martini. "What did you tell Puck?"

"I told him to get his paws off—" Brittany cuts the sentence short, mouth half open, when she realizes what she had actually called Santana. Santana raises her eyebrows. Brittany takes a deep breath. She feels her face getting warm already. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean, it doesn't have to mean anything. You know? I just. He had his hand on you and that's not cool. I didn't like it. So I had to say something. I wasn't really thinking. You know?"

Santana continues to scratch the back of Brittany's neck. It's distracting.

Her face feels like it's burning.

"It's okay," Santana finally interrupts the monologue, kissing Brittany's lower lip. "Just checking."

LXIII

"Just checking? What does that even mean?" Rachel asks, waving her hands in the air.

Kurt puts his hand on his chin. "It's okay? So are you girlfriends, or did she not care that you let the word slip? Who is this Puck person?"

"How should I know?" Brittany hides her face in her hands. "She said this Puck is a friend. I don't like him."

"Let's all take a deep breath together," says Rachel, holding Brittany. Brittany inhales and exhales slowly. "I don't think we should make assumptions right now. I've had too much tequila for that."

Someone knocks on the bathroom door. Rachel shouts, "We're having a crisis here, okay? You're going to have to wait!"

Kurt ignores Rachel and the knocking, setting his glass aside and turning to Brittany. "First of all, do you want to be her girlfriend?"

Brittany bites her lower lip. "I do."

Kurt squints his eyes, examining Brittany. "Was that the first time you called her that?"

Brittany nods.

Kurt takes a sharp breath. "Here's what you're going to do: nothing. You're going to forget all about this and enjoy the night. Later, when it's just the two of you and everyone is both sober and fully dressed, you'll bring it up if you want."

Brittany makes a sad face.

The person pounds on the door again.

Kurt looks at the door and sighs. "Let's just celebrate the fact she didn't freak out on you. Now let's leave this place before the smell of urine clings to my hair permanently. I think I can hear someone butchering Lady Gaga."

LXIV

Santana is adamant about taking Brittany home before heading to her own place. "I don't care if it would be more practical to drop me off first. It's four in the morning and I want to be sure you get home safe," she says, and Brittany decides not to argue.

It feels good to have someone worrying about her.

Brittany places her hand on Santana's thigh and kisses her wet and slow. "You know what would be even more practical? If I went home with you." Her hand slides higher as Santana opens her legs.

"I told you – I have so much to do, I really shouldn't," Santana answers. Brittany kisses Santana's neck, smiling against skin when Santana holds her breath. "Don't do that, you know I wish I could—"

Brittany runs the tip of her tongue on Santana's neck. "You can. Tomorrow's Sunday," she whispers in Santana's ear. Her hand goes higher, pushing aside Santana's shorts that are in her way.

She turns to Santana and smiles. "You know you're giving in."

Santana smiles right back and tells the taxi driver her address. "You're going to be the death of me."

LXV

Brittany wakes up with Santana kissing her shoulder. "Rise and shine" she says quietly.

"Five more minutes," Brittany answers, turning around and closing her eyes. Santana massaging her head with the tips of her fingers lulls her right back to sleep.

LXVI

The voice of Ella Fitzgerald reaches Brittany's ears when she wakes up. Santana's not there; the bed sheets feel cold. How long ago had she left the bed? The curtains let some sunlight in; Brittany wonders what time it is. She rubs her eyes and sits up, locating her dress and underwear neatly arranged on the back of a chair.

Time for breakfast, says a note on top of it. Santana's handwriting is firm and straight. Brittany dresses herself, humming to Ella Fitzgerald until she hears Quinn's soft, melodic voice singing the beginning of Baby It's Cold Outside. It's lovely.

Santana's voice joins her in what should be the male counterpart of the duet. Brittany remembers that Santana used to be a singer and she wonders why she gave it up. She bites her lip and stands by the bedroom door, watching.

Quinn's setting the table, wearing a white summer dress, and Santana arrives from the kitchen carrying a tray with a chocolate cake on it. There's juice, and bread, and fruits, and all kinds of things. They exchange looks as the sing, and they're smiling at each other. Brittany wonders if every weekend is like this for them, with music and cooking and relaxing.

"Look who's up," says Santana as she sets the tray on the table.

Brittany gives Quinn a hug before turning to Santana and giving her a quick peck. "You both should record a CD together."

"Oh, but smart girls like us must have a real profession, Brittany," Quinn says, gesturing for them to sit. "We should not waste our potential."

Brittany disagrees and almost starts discussing potential and careers, but she senses the irony. She feels how mechanic and well-rehearsed Quinn sounds – like it's someone else's words. She wants to ask about their past, and who told them that and why they had listened, but maybe it's too much, too soon.

Santana doesn't add anything to Quinn's remarks. She takes some bread and some jelly and says, "Oh, the only thing you cannot complain about is the cake, okay? I made it." She winks at Brittany. "You should probably just lie and tell me how great it tastes."

Brittany puts a slice on her plate and, right before her first bite, she looks at Santana. "This tastes amazing. It's the best cake I've ever had. Ever."

Santana and Quinn laugh. "Maybe you should try eating it first," Santana says, running a hand along Brittany's arm. It stops on Brittany's free hand, and she intertwines their fingers.

The cake is soft and it's dark chocolate and sex. Brittany closes her eyes. "It tastes fantastic. You're the best."

"Thank you," Santana answers politely, squeezing Brittany's hand before letting go and focusing on her food.

Quinn pours herself some coffee and clears her throat. "So, I heard you took Santana salsa dancing."

LXVII

"Then Santana said, "I have razor blades in my hair." And she gestures, like this," Quinn says, hand hovering her own hair in demonstration, "and continues this absurdity, saying 'all over it.' She had this crazy look in her eyes. This I'mma-cut-you-in-your-sleep look. I wouldn't have doubted her."

Brittany can't stop laughing.

Santana just shrugs, holding back a smile. "It's Snix. She's my alter ego. I can't be held responsible."

Brittany throws her head back, tears pooling in her eyes.

Quinn smiles and sips from her coffee, letting Brittany catch her breath.

Brittany thinks she wants to feel like this always.

LXVIII

Quinn frowns as she stares at her computer screen. She's sitting on the couch, legs stretched out. The stereo plays some soft jazz, something from her father's collection. Brittany washes the dishes with Santana, enjoying the slow passing of time.

Santana washes, Brittany dries.

Her heart races. She has to say it. "I wanted to tell you something."

Santana gives Brittany a plate. "Tell me."

"I meant it. What I said yesterday." She puts the plate inside the cupboard. "I don't want to be with anyone else. I don't want you with anyone else. I want you to be my girlfriend."

Santana looks at her and doesn't say anything for a long time. Brittany sees how she inhales but never exhales, how her fingers stop moving and how her posture stiffens. Her hands are wet, dripping on the floor, as she holds a glass.

Brittany's stomach is in knots.

Santana makes a little frown before finally speaking. "I'm not—I can't—" She sighs and puts the glass aside, drying her hands. "I was hoping you wouldn't bring that up." She pauses for an eternity. Brittany can hear her own breathing like it's amplified. "I don't make a good girlfriend, Brittany. I panic and push people away. I'm self-centered and stubborn. I work too much, I always put my career before everything else and I tend to think my problems are bigger and more important. Trust me: you don't want someone like me as your girlfriend."

Brittany stops looking at Santana and stares at the ground. Her heart feels heavy in her chest and she doesn't know what to say.

"Please, Brittany, don't look at me like that." Santana scoots closer and places her hand on Brittany's arm, pleading. "It's just—things are good as they are, aren't they? Let's keep things light and fun."

Brittany has no option but to agree.