Back in Santana's bed, Brittany can feel everything.
She can feel the shock from meeting the people on the plane, the surprising ease of talking to Kurt and looking at Santana. She can feel her confidence.
She can feel the way her ears rejoiced the first time she heard Santana's voice, how they melted at her shyness and shook from her laugh. She can feel the unexplainable pleasure of talking to her, and the way her skin prickled at the tiniest touch to her.
She can feel the bliss from singing and dancing with her, then meeting Sam. The giddiness from Santana accepting her rose wells up inside her once again, and she thinks of how she put it in a glass like it was something special.
There's the jolt in her heart and spark to her lips from when she kissed Santana. She remembers the way her mouth went dry at the sight of Santana, the way she craved her so close, the way her senses heightened and she almost began to tremble at the feel of Santana against her.
That spike of nervousness in her chest from her first date was worth it because of the way Santana made her calm without knowing it.
(She can feel the confusion and pleasant surprise from so many people treating her like an actual person.)
But all the good from her perfect day can't protect her from everything else.
It's no surprise that the bad twists in and she can feel how tight her chest got when she thought about her family finding out—how she pushed those thoughts away and knew that it was the right thing to do. How so many nights she would lose herself in dancing just to forget everything else.
How she was so certain, and then her plan began to crumble.
How Santana—with no clue about what was going through her mind—got her heart beating and made her stay.
How she doesn't know what to do now.
And even though she held herself together as her heart stopped and then picked up speed in the same second—because she couldn't cry in front of Santana, not when she looked at her so sincerely and kissed her so intimately—she can't now. Tears force their way out, trickling down her cheeks, and all she can do is cry into Santana's back.
(She wants to move away but she fears it will only get worse if she's not right where she is, pressed against Santana.)
"Brittany?"
(She thought she was quiet.)
She gribs the fabric of Santana's shirt, trying to keep her in place, but she wriggles her way around.
"Hey," Santana coos, laying a hand on her cheek. "Shh." Brittany leans into the touch and clenches her eyes shut. Santana slips a hand into Brittany's hair, pulling her close and cradling her head. Brittany burrows into her warmth as much as she can while Santana wraps her free arm around her, holding her close; Brittany's sobs continue into Santana's neck.
Santana scratches her nails against Brittany gently, massaging her scalp, and, in a whisper, she begins to sing:
"A la nanita nana, nanita ella, nanita ella,
mi niña tiene sueño, bendito sea, bendito sea..."
Brittany wakes up attached to something nowhere near warm enough to be Santana. She squeezes tighter, her arms sinking into a pillow, and then opens her eyes. She lifts herself up, twisting to look at the door. It's closed and there's no Santana in sight.
She turns the rest of the way until she's sitting with her legs hanging down from the bed. The room is still dark, but there's a ray of light peeking through the cover trying to block it out, so she knows it's daytime.
Her head is stuffy, like it usually is after she's cried, but she lifts the blanket to her shoulders and stands, making her way to the door anyhow.
It's a lot easier finding Santana than she thought it'd be. All she has to do is wander back into the kitchen, and there she is, standing in front of the counter.
"What're you making there?" Brittany asks, moving closer.
Santana starts, spinning around. Brittany laughs as Santana's unsettled eyes meet hers.
"Brittany," Santana breathes. "Hi."
"Hi," Brittany says, and then waits while Santana looks her over. "What?" She shifts her eyes and pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "I like this blanket..."
"I was making you breakfast," Santana reveals, smiling and waving to the equipment behind her.
"It smells good," Brittany says.
Santana turns back to her task. "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I took a guess and decided to make waffles." She glances over her shoulder. "Is that okay?"
Brittany smiles. "That's perfect."
"Why don't you go sit on the couch," Santana suggests. "I'll bring breakfast to you."
"Okay," Brittany agrees. "Can I get something to drink first?"
"Yeah, sure. Do you want me to get it for you?"
"Nope, I got it." Brittany moves toward the fridge, but just as her hand grips the handle, she notices a note stuck to the right of it; there's two lines, each with different handwriting.
A little warning when you bring random girls home would be nice
Seconded (but it's about time!)
"Does someone live here with you?"
"Huh?" Santana says, looking over at her. "Oh." She moves next to Brittany and lets her eyes scan over the note before reaching for the marker attached to a nearby magnet. "Yeah, my friends Quinn and Mercedes share the place with me."
"Cool," Brittany says, watching Santana write. "You're a lefty?"
Santana laughs as she returns the marker. "Yeah." She throws Brittany a quick glance before returning to the other side of the kitchen.
"That's awesome," Brittany says. Her eyes linger on Santana a moment longer and then she tugs at the handle. "Do you have orange juice?" she asks, then "You do!" as soon as she looks in the fridge.
She's just about to ask for a glass when she sees one already waiting for her on the kitchen island. She pours herself a glass of orange juice and by the time she has the bottle back in the fridge, Santana is moving waffles into plates.
"Those look yummy," Brittany says.
"You're supposed to be on the couch," Santana reminds her.
"But you're done now," Brittany points out. "I wanna help."
"Couch."
"But—"
"Please?"
"Okay," Brittany surrenders, and, with that, picks up her glass and goes into the living room.
She settles into the right corner of the couch with the blanket still wrapped around her and sips at her orange juice. It only takes a few minutes for Santana to join her, and when she does she has two plates of waffles with whipped cream and strawberries on top.
"I figured you were the all-out-waffles type of girl," Santana says as she puts the plates if front of Brittany on the coffee table.
"You were right," Brittany confirms, swiftly sitting up and replacing her nearly empty glass of orange juice with a full plate of delicious looking waffles. Santana is careful as she takes a seat next to her.
"Thank you," Brittany says, trying to cover her mouth as she speaks.
"You're not supposed to talk with your mouth full," Santana teases.
"Sorry," Brittany says, fighting back a smile.
Santana smiles down at her plate. "I hope you like them, I haven't made any in a while."
Brittany makes sure she has no food in her mouth before asking, "Does that make me special, then?"
"I'd say so," Santana says. Brittany smiles big and Santana lets out a breathy laugh.
They're silent through the rest of the meal, but Brittany watches Santana the whole way through; every time Santana looks over and sees Brittany still watching her, she gives a timorous smile.
Brittany finishes first and puts her plate on the coffee table before grabbing her glass. She settles back into her corner, pulls the blanket up to her shoulders, and lifts the glass to her lips.
"So are they home?" she asks.
Santana puts her fork down and leans into the couch. She considers Brittany for a moment before answering. "Quinn's over at Berry's house half the time, so I doubt she's here... and Mercedes is probably at work."
"Berry?"
"Sorry, that's Rachel's last name."
"Oh, so is she friends with Kurt, too?"
"Quinn? Yeah; we all kind of ended up here after high school so we just stuck together."
"It seems like you have a pretty cool group of friends," Brittany says.
(She's almost surprised that she's not sad she doesn't.)
Santana shrugs. "So... why don't you go take a shower and I'll clean up?"
"You don't want me to help?"
"You're my guest. No cleaning."
"Fine," Brittany agrees, poking her tongue out as she stands.
"Santana?" Brittany calls, retracing her steps from earlier in the morning.
She's not in the kitchen, but Brittany can faintly hear her voice. She follows the sound to the living room, where Santana sits with the TV on mute and phone to her ear.
Brittany waits until Santana's phone is on the table before asking, "Can I borrow some clothes?"
(She's curious about the call, but it's not her business.)
Santana stands and opens her mouth, ready to speak, only to stop in front of Brittany with wide eyes. Brittany gives an unsure smile.
"Is—is this payback?"
Brittany tilts her head to the side. "What do you mean?"
"Because, uh..." Santana's eyes sweep down. "Last night when I—" She swallows. "When you—"
Brittany runs a hand down her towel, suddenly remembering that it's the only thing covering her. She laughs and assures Santana, "It's not payback."
"Right," Santana says, clearing her throat. "Clothes."
"If you don't mind," Brittany adds. "I can just put my clothes from yesterday back on."
With a smile and shake of her head Santana says, "No, I don't mind. I put your clothes in the wash anyway."
"Thanks," Brittany says, reaching out to catch Santana's pinky as she leads her back to the bedroom.
(She wonders if the contact feels as good to Santana.)
"You can get dressed in here," Santana says as she hands Brittany a pair of blue basketball shorts ("Oo, can I wear those?") and a white tank top. "I'll go get us some drinks."
When the bedroom door closes behind Santana, Brittany drops her towel and dresses herself in the borrowed clothes. She folds the towel and puts it back in the bathroom before making herself comfortable on the bed.
(She's not sure if she likes Santana's bed because it's Santana's or because it's so comfy.)
She tugs the blanket from where she left it bunched up against the wall and adjusts it over herself.
(Maybe it's both.)
The low creak of a door opening jolts Brittany from her dazed almost-sleep. She glances at the door.
"What's that smile for?" Santana asks.
"You," Brittany says.
"Me?" Santana laughs, her fingers fidgeting around the bottles in her hands. "How do I deserve that?"
"You're here," Brittany says, navigating her hand out from under the blanket to tug at Santana's wrist. Santana shuffles forward, setting the drinks down before climbing onto the bed. She lies down next to her, her face in front of Brittany's.
Brittany smiles before whispering, "Plus I smell like you now."
(She really enjoys the way Santana smells, how she smells the same.)
"You do," Santana agrees, her tone almost matching Brittany's. She leans her head back and, as her eyes roam over Brittany's face, Brittany notices something in her eyes change.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
Santana's eyes revert to normal. She licks her lips and takes a breath. "Do you want to talk about what happened before?"
Rather than giving an answer, Brittany leans in until her lips brush against Santana's. Santana returns a handful of delicate little kisses before closing her eyes and resting her forehead against Brittany's.
"You wanna hear something cool?" Brittany whispers.
Santana opens her eyes and nods slowly. Brittany shoots up, criss-crossing her legs as Santana sits up, too.
"Okay," Brittany says, lifting her hands and focusing on her fingers as Santana moves to mirror her position. She looks up to find Santana watching her and smiles. "Put your fingers like this." Santana lifts her hands and arranges them to match Brittany's, with her middle fingers back to back and all others tip to tip. She looks back to Brittany for more instructions.
Brittany's eyes fall back to her fingers and she says, "We'll start with the thumbs. They represent your parents. Now, if try to separate them," she separates her thumbs and glances up to make sure Santana does the same, "they will because you don't live with your parents forever." She puts her thumbs back together; Santana does the same. "Well, most people don't," she adds.
"Next we move to the index fingers. They represent your siblings; they separate because they leave and live their own lives. Then there's the pinky's, which represent your children. They separate, too, because your kids grow up and move out. Just like you did." Santana grins, but doesn't interrupt. "And finally, we have the ring fingers: they represent your life partner." She looks up at Santana, but her eyes are focused on her hands. "Try to separate them." She can't help but giggle at Santana's concentration, the way her eyebrows scrunch slightly. "They don't separate because you're meant to spend your whole life with them."
"Huh," Santana lets out, finally looking up and dropping her hands to her lap.
"And that is the Chinese explanation for the ring finger," Brittany explains.
"What's the middle finger?"
"Yourself."
"I've never heard that."
Brittany shrugs. "I know some things."
"I think you know a lot of things," Santana says.
(Brittany's never heard something like that from someone that wasn't her mom, dad, or sister.)
(They had to because they're family.)
(Santana didn't.)
Brittany reaches out for Santana and brings her in for a kiss.
When she pulls back, Santana's eyes are closed, a soft smile on her face. Brittany slides her hand away from Santana and sinks back into the bed. Santana turns her head a little and opens her eyes to gazes down at Brittany. A moment later she lies down next to her.
"You are so beautiful," Brittany murmurs. She doesn't know where it comes from, but the more she looks at Santana, the more she can't stand it.
(From the way Santana smiles, she thinks maybe she really should tell her every day.)
Brittany struggles to pull the blanket from where it's trapped around her waist and throws it over both of them. She shuffles a little closer so the blanket falls over her back. It's not really meant for two people.
(Will there be more time to spend with Santana? More days to tell her how beautiful she is?)
"Do you have plans for today?" she asks.
"None," Santana answers.
"Well then how about we play a question game?"
Santana smirks. "I think I'm up for some questions. And getting some answers."
"Awesome," Brittany says. "We each ask a question, and then we each tell something and then repeat."
Santana shifts so her arm is under her head and drops her hand above Brittany's head, where her fingers find Brittany's hair. "Okay, you first."
"You said you go to NYU," Brittany states, and Santana nods in confirmation. "What are you there for?"
"I'm going to be a doctor, like my dad."
"Your dad's a doctor?" Brittany asks.
"It's my turn," Santana says.
"Sorry."
"He is, though," Santana says. Then, "Is this okay?" but her fingers don't stop running through Brittany's hair.
(She finds it cute that Santana feels the need to ask.)
"Yeah. And that counts as your question."
"What? No it doesn't!"
"It was a question, it counts."
"Brittany!"
"Fine," Brittany agrees. "It won't count if..."
"If?"
Brittany smiles playfully. "If you kiss me."
Santana moves her free hand to Brittany's cheek and leans in for a kiss.
"It doesn't count," Brittany decides when she pulls away.
"Dork," Santana mumbles. "So, what about you?"
"I'm not in college." This is the first time Brittany's thought about it. She knows it doesn't explain what she needs it to, so she meets Santana's eyes and continues, "But I promise I'm not some little high school kid."
Santana's face scrunches up slightly. "You're in high school?"
"You're not mad, are you?" Brittany worries. "I'm eighteen."
"No, I'm not mad," Santana says, smiling. "I just... wasn't expecting that."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't think about it before."
"Me neither," Santana laughs. "Whose turn is it now?"
"Uh, mine?" Brittany guesses.
"Shoot," Santana says.
"Shoot what?"
Santana narrows her eyes. "Whatever it is you're going to tell me."
"That's terribly rude, Santana."
"Just go!" Santana laughs, pushing at Brittany with her free hand.
Brittany traps Santana's hand against her stomach and grins. "I live in Ohio."
"Really?"
"Shh... you're gonna confuse me."
Santana grins, but, "I was mad at Kurt when he left, but I'm glad he did."
"How come you didn't talk to me at first?"
"I couldn't think of anything to say." Santana tugs at her hand. "What would you have done if I said no when you asked me to hang out?"
"I would've dragged you with me so we could meet Sam and you could seduce me."
Santana gasps. "I didn't seduce you!"
Brittany almost feels bad for how profusely Santana is blushing, but she finds it awfully cute.
"I like what happened."
Santana tugs at her hand weakly. "I can't believe I met you only yesterday; it feels like I've known you so much longer."
Brittany squeezes Santana's hand and releases her grip, but neither of them move their hands.
"What's your last name?"
"Lopez," Santana says, and before she can ask her question, a loud chirp fills the room.
"That's my phone," Brittany says.
Santana sits up and reaches over Brittany for something on her nightstand. She lies back down and hands Brittany her phone. "Sorry, I forgot about it after I took it out of your pants."
Brittany just smiles and lets her know it's okay while she looks at her phone. Her stomach knots when she sees all the missed calls and texts from her mom.
Dinner at bricco's 2night britt
Leftovers at home. Dont stay out 2 late
Starting 2 get worried. Where r u?
Call me
Britt?
"Brittany?"
Brittany's head snaps up to a worried looking Santana. "Oh, uh... my mom."
"Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, but I better call."
Santana nods. "Okay, well, I'll go check on your clothes."
Brittany frowns at her phone as Santana closes the door behind her. Her finger hovers over the green button for a moment before she calls.
"Brittany?" her mom answers.
"Hey," Brittany says.
"Are you okay? Why haven't you been home?"
"I'm good, Mom. I've just been..."
The note.
"Have you looked in the pantry?"
There's a pause, but then her mom says, "No, was I supposed to?"
"I just remembered I left my envelope in there. Can you put it in my room for me?"
Brittany hears her mom shuffling, walking, opening the pantry door. She's found it and Brittany holds her breath. "Okay, I got it."
"Thanks," she says.
"Britt?"
"Yeah?"
"Come home soon, okay?"
"I will. I'll talk to you later."
She hangs up the phone.
She looks at the phone, her hands, the bed.
She puts her phone back on Santana's nightstand.
"Hey," Brittany says when she finally finds Santana in a little room with a washer and dryer.
"Hey," Santana says back. They share a smile. "I just put your clothes in the dryer."
"Thanks." Brittany takes a few steps closer. She stops an inch away from her, her eyes flickering between Santana's.
(She's feeling sad all of the sudden.)
She contemplates asking first, but then just takes the step forward to wrap herself around Santana.
Santana is quick to return the hug, but it takes her a moment to ask, "Did something happen?"
"I have to go home," Brittany says into her neck.
Santana gives her a squeeze. "Let's go to the living room."
Santana sits next to her on the couch and Brittany turns to throw her legs over Santana's lap. Santana stares down at Brittany's legs briefly before resting her hands on them and turning to Brittany.
"Why did you tell me you were here for as long as you wanted?" Santana asks.
Brittany realizes she lied to Santana, and it makes her feel horrible; but she can't tell her why without telling her everything. "I don't know."
(Because I didn't want to leave you, Santana.)
(Because even though I knew what I had to do, I wanted to stay with you. And it confused me, Santana.)
Brittany leans into the back of the couch and watches Santana's hands; they brush against her legs as she fiddles with them.
"So what happens now?"
Brittany scoots closer to Santana and pulls her right arm into her lap. Her hand strokes up Santana's arm and her eyes drift up to meet brown ones. "Now we spend as much time together as we can, and then I try to get home."
Santana starts to nod. "Wait, try?"
Brittany trails her fingers down to Santana's hand. "I don't know if I have enough money for another plane ticket."
"Oh," Santana says, her face scrunching up. "I'll help you." She's sliding out from under Brittany's legs and calling out Be right back! before Brittany can get another word out.
Santana comes back speed-walking with a laptop in her arms. She turns it on as soon as she's back on the couch and Brittany shuffles to her side. "What are we doing?" she asks.
Santana smiles at her. "I am going to help you find a plane ticket." She clicks on the Chrome icon and goes to Google before asking, "Okay, how much money do you have?"
"I'll have to check," Brittany says, standing up. "Where's my wallet?"
"I think I put it on my nightstand with your phone."
Brittany runs to Santana's room, finds her wallet right where Santana said it would be, grabs it, and rushes back to the living room. She plops onto the couch and pulls all the money out of her wallet.
She counts it quickly—too quickly, causing her to have to recount—and opens her mouth to tell Santana. But then she sees what's on Santana's face.
"So—Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You're wearing glasses."
Santana looks embarrassed, like she didn't know, and starts to take them off.
"No!" Brittany says. "Leave them on, you look good." Santana lowers her hand and Brittany takes it in hers while resting her head on Santana's shoulder. "I have 327 dollars left."
Santana clears her throat. "I googled some sites; we should be able to find you something."
It only takes Santana about five minutes to find Brittany a ticket for $283.
Brittany lifts her head and presses a kiss to Santana's cheek. "Thank you."
"Do you have everything?" Santana asks, looking around her room.
"Yeah," Brittany says. "I didn't really bring anything."
"I know," Santana mumbles, looking at her feet, "but..."
"But what?"
Santana turns around and takes the folded blanket from her bed. "I want you to take this."
"I can't take your blanket," Brittany objects.
"But I know how much you like it," Santana says. "So I want you to take it."
"You're sweet," Brittany says, reluctantly accepting the blanket.
Santana laughs. "Okay, let's go."
They arrive at the airport with a little over a half hour to spare, but Santana knows it will take a while to get through security, so they immediately go to get Brittany's ticket and then head off to find the security line. Santana watches the time, but they don't rush.
They join the line, Brittany links their pinky's, and they wait in silence.
With every step closer, Brittany's heart beats faster. Santana, who still doesn't know the whole reason as to why Brittany was in New York, can't go past the escalators, and Brittany doesn't know when she'll see her again.
There are only five people separating her from the front of the line when she turns to Santana and starts talking. "Yesterday was the best day of my life." Santana looks surprised and Brittany takes a breath. "And I intended it to be. Because I made this promise to myself, y'know, that it'd be the the most perfect day ever. But that's the thing: i-it was supposed to be the last. A-and I didn't come here to be saved o-or anything, I just—"
She barely registers the hands on her shoulders, and then Santana is shushing her with her lips.
"Slow down," Santana says, just above a whisper. Brittany stares at her, her heart beating wildly in her chest. "What are you talking about? Supposed to be the last?" Santana looks so confused, so concerned, and Brittany suddenly has the urge to cry.
There's only one person in front of them now; Santana glances at the clock and swallows.
"Promise me we'll talk about this tomorrow, okay?" Santana says, and there's something in her voice that lets Brittany know she won't be going anywhere if she doesn't.
Brittany nods furiously, and then takes to stepping to the front of the line when she catches the man behind the podium looking at her expectantly. Before she can take more than a step, however, Santana is grabbing her by the elbow and tugging her back.
"I don't have your number," she rushes out. The man clears his throat and Brittany turns to hand over her ticket and I.D. before pulling her phone out and passing it to Santana with shaky hands.
"Text me when you get home," Santana says, handing back the phone. Brittany has no words; she simply grabs Santana by the back of the neck and leans down for a kiss. Santana's hands find Brittany's shirt and she kisses back, hard.
"Ma'am," the man behind the podium says.
Brittany reluctantly pulls away. Santana looks up at her, hesitant to let her go, and Brittany kisses her goodbye.
She takes her things from the man and steps onto the escalator. Her eyes are quick to find Santana when she turns around and she watches her move out of the line; they wave when she gets to the top.
Brittany makes it to her gate just in time to load the plane.
Brittany walks through the front door of her house and something feels different. Home, she always thought, was something more than just a place you live; and she always thought it was here. But that relief does not wash over her, that feeling is not there.
At the sight of her mom, though, there is something. Not home, not what she really needs, but something. Her mom's arms wrap around her and she feels love. She hugs back, and it ends too soon.
She knows the hug is her greeting, the welcome home, because the next thing that comes is her mom telling her not to forget she has school in the morning, not to stay up too late, and then she's walking away.
Her legs stay still for a moment, she breathes in the familiar smell of her house, and then the desire to text Santana is back. Her feet start moving at the same time her hand reaches for her phone.
She reaches the first step and starts looking through her contacts; she scrolls through a second time when she doesn't find Santana's name, and then she frowns. There's no notes left, nothing in her recently called, but she finds her smile when there's an unknown number in her text log.
There's one text from her to the number: Text me
She sends another: I'm home
Before she can blink, there's a reply: Great! How was the flight?
Lord Tubbington is on her bed, curled up on her pillow like he's been there all day.
"Hey, buddy," she whispers as she closes her door.
Good, but i didnt get the window seat this time :/
There's an envelope on her desk, her envelope; she stares at it, grateful she decided not to write Mom across the front, until her phone vibrates in her hand.
I knew it! I should have gone with you. Whose ass do I have to beat?
She smiles at Santana's words and reads over them again and again, as if she reads them enough Santana will appear. It doesn't work, and before she can think better of it—
I miss you already
Lord Tubbington's eyes are still on her when she glances his way, and she wonders if her mom has fed him since she's been away; it's always been her job, and she's always taken care of him. But he didn't meow at the first sight of her, and he hasn't moved.
(She knows he's surprised to see her back.)
She checks her phone, in case she missed the sound, but there's no text. She takes the envelope and sits next to Lord T. It's still sealed, for the most part, but there's a tear on the left corner—her mom started to open it, then stopped. She flattens it with her thumb a few times before pulling at the drawer of her nightstand and putting it in.
By the time she takes her shirt off, Santana texts back.
I started to miss you as soon as you were out of my sight
It's almost weird for her, but she doesn't doubt it for a second.
She finishes changing into her pajamas, grabs Santana's blanket from the bag she got for her, and gets in bed by her still unmoving cat. She texts Santana until there's no reply, and then types out a quick Goodnight before setting her alarm and leaving her phone on the nightstand.
A few hours later, when she's still not asleep, she hears her door open and light footsteps across her floor. Her bed dips, and then she feels a small body behind her.
"I missed you," her sister whispers, curling against her back.
"I missed you too," she says softly.
Her sister picks at the blanket covering her back. "I was worried," she says, and Brittany feels a spike in her chest as it tightens. She turns to face her sister, taking her little hand and holding it tight.
"Don't be worried," she says, "I'm right here."