A/N: A few notes with this update. First, we'll be checking back in at McKinley and therefore seeing a few more points of view. Second, from here on out the story is not strictly chronological; for narrative purposes it's not convenient to make sure adjacent chapters are exactly chronological, especially with how many settings our characters currently inhabit, but I'll always try to give hints at the beginning of a chapter about the time frame. Third, this installment also earns the M rating for Brittana content. And fourth, this update does contain some mild Buffy spoilers.

Thanks again to Poetzproblem for the Tumblr rec. It's really gotten this fic out there.

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Funny how secrets travel
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She's not naturally a follower; even when Quinn was head cheerleader, she was always waiting for her chance to topple her. But at work, Santana sticks closely by Helen. She's never been in an environment where she feels so out of her depth, and luckily, Helen is still technically training her and they discover immediately that they have a particular simpatico that makes working together quite easy, so it doesn't seem weird for them to spend a lot of the shift together. However, she does notice the other workers. As a woman of color from western Ohio, Santana can't help but notice right away that everyone in charge, at least overnight, is male, all but two are white, and almost all the regular employees are black or Hispanic. In fact, Johnny, the first guy she talked to, might be the only white man who is not a manager. There are maybe two other white women besides Helen, but Santana's never really talked to them—they're over in softlines, the clothing section, which looks horrendous and confusing. While not being a minority for the first time in her life is a little…thrilling, she also feels vaguely uncomfortable working under a bunch of white guys.

It's obvious a lot of the guys are from the city, but she also has realized she works with a lot of Haitians and, to her delight, Puerto Ricans. The familiar accent lilting in her ears actually makes her smile, though she notices that a lot of the Spanish speaking stops when people see her, and they stare questioningly.

Until, finally, one day toward the end of her second week, an older Puerto Rican seems to recognize a look of comprehension on her face as she walks into a conversation and asks her, in Spanish, if she's Puerto Rican, and Santana responds yes, partly. Then another guy, only slightly younger, asks if she's single. Everyone who understands erupts into laughter, and Santana fixes him with her best bitch stare and, fumbling with the words slightly and switching to English for a few, tells him she's not and that she doesn't date anybody with bigger breasts than hers anyway (which is technically true), which results in hoots of laughter and some teasing of the guy, who takes it good-naturedly.

Helen's watching with interest, and asks, "My Spanish pretty much left my head after high school, what was that about?"

Santana shrugs, "Dude asked me out, I told him off. Mine's a bit rusty, too."

Helen nods, "I didn't want to assume, but did you grow up speaking Spanish?"

"A bit," Santana replies. In truth, her father had been a big proponent of assimilation, so by the time Santana had started babbling, he'd decreed that he and her mother would only speak English in the house. Santana absorbed most of her Spanish from her abuela, which explains why most of her command of the language is insults and anger; her grandmother's tough-love style of childcare had certainly left its mark. In fact, she'd taken Spanish in high school as a way to try to get back in touch with her roots, but Mr. Schue had been such a deplorable teacher that four years later, she can barely hold a conversation (in fact, when Mr. Martinez had taken over halfway through her Senior year, he'd held back laughter at the class's attempts at conversational Spanish and pretty much spent the rest of the year teaching Spanish 1). So while she understands most Spanish that is spoken to her, the language to reply sometimes escapes her.

But from that point on, Santana finds herself shouting and joking in Spanish with some of the other Hispanic workers, most of whom she doesn't work closely with—the other guys working the remodel mostly stick with English. For awhile, the language is mostly flirtatious, and she enjoys telling them off—the power of owning her sexuality really never gets old—but by the end of her third week, the guys begin making jokes that it takes her some time to get—they're innuendos, about her and Helen. Santana's response falters.

When they're sitting together in Helen's truck, both clutching Starbucks, Santana can't keep silent. "The guys are…getting weird. Making comments about you and I."

Helen's eyebrows rise. "Only a matter of time when you hang out with the 'store lesbian' I guess," she drawls dryly, making appropriate finger quotes, "I wish I could say this was the first time this has happened to me." Helen glances at her uncertainly, "Besides, the rumor that started the day you arrived was that you lived with your girlfriend."

Santana feels a familiar sense of panic, of her control being ripped out of her hands; she can't believe this is happening again, and barks anxiously, "What the fuck?! Did you tell someone about the 'roommate' conversation we had?!"

"God, no!" Helen answers immediately, blue eyes wide. "I was seriously just teasing you. I have a friend who works dayside and when I saw him that morning and mentioned we had someone new on remodel who might actually be a good worker, he said, 'Oh, right! I heard about Santana! Lives with her girlfriend.' I told him I was pretty sure you didn't, but whoever he heard it from had already spread it everywhere. Rumor mill is fast here."

Santana's heart is pounding, while Helen eyes her uncertainly. Santana looks away. She can't come up with an explanation except, "I listed Rachel—my roommate—as my emergency contact when I filled out my paperwork. I guess someone assumed." She sighs and snorts at the same time, "I wasn't aware I came off as that fucking gay," she laments slightly.

Helen laughs a little, "Well, my gaydar is pretty much broken and you tripped mine. Sorry."

There's silence and then Santana asks, "So what do we do about these rumors?"

A shrug, "Let them run their course. Denying them just makes people more interested, and for some reason my imagined sex life interests them greatly." A pause, "Maybe this will get some of the guys off your back. Renaldo was pumping me for information about you the other day. I just played dumb, but he's obviously into you."

And that, Santana supposes, could be the one benefit of the rumor mill.

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Something that's shimmering and white leads you here
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Rachel's classes have started—she'd actually started orientation the afternoon the package from Quinn had arrived, and her classes had started that Monday—but Santana has to admit that with starting her first full-time job and getting used to being up all night that she hasn't been paying much attention to Rachel's school. Rachel insisted they sync schedules on Google Calendar, so Santana knows that she has a freshman lecture on Monday mornings, two regular morning classes that meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays and a night class on Tuesdays and one on Wednesdays, which means that they mostly have weekends off together—although Rachel spent the weekend that just passed in New Haven, and Santana mostly spent hers sleeping, the first weekend after Rachel's classes Rachel spent trying to make Santana watch Buffy with her, which Santana feigned greater exhaustion than was true to get out of. She spent as much of the night as she could talking to Brittany instead. Brittany did end up making Head Cheerio, and so is frequently busy and exhausted, much like Santana, but they text multiple times a day. Santana reflects that the one good thing to come from Brittany dating Artie was that she got much better with computers; Brittany figured out how to delay sending emails, so during Santana's work shifts, she'll get a few random emails through the night, some with pictures of Brittany, telling her how much she loves and misses her. It helps.

Santana's glad she has that air conditioner, not only because it makes sleeping during the heat of the day even possible, but because it means Rachel working out on her elliptical in the mornings doesn't wake her up. Although Rachel attempting to run her scales before class causes Santana to storm out of her room and lose her temper. That afternoon, after she apologizes to an absurdly forgiving Rachel for swearing at her in Spanish for a full minute, they agree that Rachel will use either a study room on campus or the laundry room in the basement to practice her scales so that Santana can sleep.

It's nearing the middle of the month, though, and Santana is staring at her bank account online. She can pay her rent, but kind of just barely, because she's only gotten one paycheck, and she hopes that utility bills can give her a chance to breathe, but as she runs the numbers, she realizes that even if she'd been paid more, it would be hard. She vaguely remembers from Senior year economics class that her teacher said one's rent should only be about a quarter to a third of one's monthly income, and Santana's rent is like at least half hers.

Rachel's fathers are paying her rent, for as long as her grades are good, and she has a seven hour a week student work/study job at her school's library to help pay for other things, like food, utilities and all kinds of school supplies (though she's said that once she gets the hang of her schedule she'll definitely have to find a second job).

There's also the fact that Sam's birthday passed at the beginning of September, and at Rachel's insistence, they'd sent him a card with $40 tucked in it. Which is not that much, but Santana has a feeling little extra things like this will be happening quite frequently—and in fact, kind of already had, what with the $125 they'd shelled out for those three used air conditioners.

So by the time the month is more than half over, when Santana scrapes by on the rent on the 15th, and they send their utility payments the next week (internet and electricity are due annoyingly close together) at the last possible moment after Rachel waits for a paycheck and Santana dips into the money her mother gave her. Santana realizes she can barely have a breather because her next paycheck is going to go entirely to rent. She feels so anxious that she tells Rachel's she's just having a salad for dinner.

Almost a week later, Santana wakes up around four-thirty (she's getting better at sleeping in, but is starting to wonder if she isn't sleeping too much) and goes to start her coffee, and it takes her a moment to realize that Rachel is standing at the edge of the kitchenette, watching her. "What?" she grumps, honestly trying not to be rude.

"Please come talk to me after you've made your coffee?" Rachel requests, her eyes flicking down.

"Don't I usually?" Santana queries, studying her face and noting a sense of anxiety, but gets no response, so shrugs and pours herself some cereal.

When she settles on the couch with her breakfast and turns on her laptop, she then tilts her head to regard Rachel, who is seated in the armchair with her hands folded in her lap. Santana lifts her eyebrows in tacit encouragement.

Rachel takes a breath and begins, "I spoke with Kurt earlier this week." At her pause, Santana's mind races. God, what could this mean? Did something happen with Finn? Is Rachel getting back together with Finn? Are Kurt and Blaine okay? She feels her brow furrow with worry, and Rachel continues, her voice picking up speed like a truck barreling downhill, "Please, don't fret, it's not bad, I don't believe anyway. He wishes to come to New York and I told him that perhaps you and I would be amenable to a third roommate."

"You…want Kurt to move in with us?" Santana interprets slowly.

Rachel ducks her head, "I know that you and I had trouble with finances this month, and I don't believe that will improve. I suppose that until we moved here and really got a feel for how expensive everything is, we really couldn't have known what it would be like. And while we both have parents to support us, I know that I would prefer to rely on them as minimally as possible."

"I agree, but…" Santana starts, and frown. "So, what, I doubt we're just gonna let Kurt crash on the couch."

"I thought that perhaps you and I could share my room," Rachel responds, going on quickly, "With our schedules, we would actually rarely be in it at the same time, and I'm sure if either of us had a visitor with whom we would like to perform erotic activities, that you and I could make arrangements. And I thought, there's room in the living room, I can move my elliptical and perhaps my desk out here, and it may be a little tight, but I believe we could fit your bed, bedside table and dresser in the room. And if you need more closet space than what's left in mine, there's that half closet in the hall that we could empty out and give to you."

Santana is frowning through her explanation, but for some reason, when she imagines Kurt sitting on the couch next to her in a bathrobe, his hair in disarray, she can't help but smile. And the idea that finances will be less of a burden, well… "Actually, I think we could make this work, Berry."

Rachel lifts large, dark eyes to hers, "Really?" she asks quietly.

"Sure. Like you said, we won't be in there at the same time much, so I'll probably never have to hear you snore."

"I do not snore," Rachel huffs, and Santana laughs, honestly having no idea if she does or not, but somehow, she's alright with finding out. "Well, Kurt says he probably won't come up until shortly after Blaine's birthday in early October. But that means he'll be here in time to help with next month's rent! So that's a relief." Santana nods her agreement, her shoulders relaxing visibly.

"Oh!" Rachel continues, "And Quinn is visiting this weekend! She'll be in town tomorrow afternoon!" She grins and hops up out of her armchair.

Santana tries to smile, "Great," she drawls. She picks up her phone.

Tana: Thx for telling me ur visiting this
weekend, bitch.

It's a few minutes before she gets a response.

Q: Well, considering Rach invited me,
and you didn't, I could only assume those
who cared knew. Can't wait to see you
either, bitch! :)

And, well, that was Quinn. Making Santana smile with an insult. Santana forgives her immediately and actually can't wait to see her.

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Think of blue eyes of ourselves
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Santana works that night, so by the time she wakes up around four the next day, Quinn is already there. In fact, Santana is surprised she slept through the noise the giggle queens are making, even with her air conditioner on "fan" setting as white noise.

She sees that Rachel has already started coffee for her and she feels warm with gratitude. There's a Cheerios duffle and a messenger bag heaped on the floor of the living room, so presumably, Quinn has only just arrived. Rachel and Quinn are sitting on the couch together, flipping through the manila folder of takeout menus. Santana reaching for a bowl for cereal seems to alert them to her presence, and Quinn grins and approaches her.

"It's too early for this shit," Santana gripes as Quinn wraps her in a hug, but she squeezes back and her face relaxes in contentment, barely registering Rachel huffing and reprimanding her for her foul language.

Quinn pulls back and raises her eyebrow at Santana; Santana instantly recognizes it as Quinn's challenging eyebrow and automatically attempts to defiantly raise her own. Quinn's lip twitches, "So. Rachel tells me that the lovely Wii I purchased for you has gone completely unused because someone still refuses to watch Buffy."

Santana sighs, "Didn't I just say how early it is?" She turns away to start pouring cereal.

"Well, don't worry, S," Quinn continues mockingly, "Because tonight you'll have your chance. Rach and I are both exhausted from our weeks and don't really want to leave your apartment tonight, so we're going to stay in, order takeout, and have a Buffy marathon. And since I know your nocturnal ass is going to be up all night, we're starting at the beginning, just for you!"

Santana faces her incredulously, "Did you really just HBIC me in my own home? And over a geeky-ass 90s show?" She sighs and chuckles at the same time, "I'm looking back at my life choices and I have no clue how I ended up here."

Quinn grins, "I'm so glad you see it my way! Now, help us choose what takeout to order in a few hours!"

"I'm just now eating breakfast!" Santana gripes in response, but when she sits in the armchair with her breakfast a moment later, she finds herself requesting Thai. Whatever.

They give Quinn a brief tour of the apartment—Rachel had wanted to wait until Santana was awake for that. There's not much to see, though Santana is pretty proud of the living room, with the mixture of posters and art on the walls that reflect both of them (for instance, on one wall, a Rent show poster next to a Vertigo film poster next to Amy Winehouse next to Ella Fitzgerald next to a framed photo of the Senior year Glee club). But Rachel manages to take ten minutes by explaining how she plans to change the layout of her bedroom for when it becomes her and Santana's bedroom. Quinn smiles indulgently and offers suggestions of her own, even going so far as to offer help moving furniture, since Rachel seems eager to start right away. Santana rolls her eyes, but not maliciously, and goes to the living room to text Britt.

Tana: About to spend the weekend with
QnR bein buddy-buddy. Also they're
gonna make me watch Buffy. I really
fucking miss you right now. These two
were so much easier to deal w when u
were there too.

Britt-Britt: Aww san u love them. You'll
have fun! But call me latr cause I've got
somethin to show u

And included in the text is a picture—Brittany's clearly topless, wearing just a sly smirk, but the picture cuts off just before her breasts. She can see her collarbones—the ones she's nipped god knows how many times—the smooth expanse of Brittany's pale, glorious chest, the little muscular ridges of her shoulders, her long neck…

She feels the heat spiral through her chest and guts. "Christ," Santana groans, just as Rachel and Quinn walk back into the living room. Santana hurriedly closes the picture on her phone and reaches for her laptop, willing her body to cool down, and refuses to look at either of them. She forces her eyes to be half-lidded, hoping she appears nonchalant, bored, or perhaps still tired. She thinks they both glance at her with amusement, but she forces herself to pay them no attention. When enough time has passed that she feels like it won't implicate anything, she stands and stretches exaggeratedly and heads for the shower. Where she turns the water on cold, dwelling on the picture, and what she's going to do on the phone with Brittany tonight.

They do eventually order Thai and start season 1 of Buffy. Santana stays on the armchair, pushing it back to recline, and props her feet up. She keeps her laptop on her lap, and at Quinn and Rachel's frustrated expressions says, "What? If it's fucking boring, I'm only gonna half watch it."

Rachel giggles as she attempts to work the Wiimote, the white hand flying all over the screen as she sorts through the Netflix menus to find Buffy. When it starts playing, she scoots closer to Quinn. "It feels weird to be watching this without sitting close together," she murmurs, and to Santana's surprise, Quinn grins and nods, and they don't…quite cuddle, but they are sitting close.

And, well. Santana has to admit the show keeps her attention. At first it's because of the clothes—Santana is crying laughing at the 90s sense of style through, like, the entire first episode, at least until the point when Willow seems to be in trouble. For whatever reason, she likes Willow. Something about her cute naiveté and quiet intelligence reminds her of Brittany. Eventually she sets her laptop aside. She still laughs several more times, mostly at the lame special effects and the really obvious stunt doubles, and mutters a few times, "Why are we watching a show nearly as old as we are?" They get through about half of the first season before it looks like Quinn and Rachel are about to fall asleep on one another.

"Well, that was better than I expected," Santana admits. "And Willow's cute, I'd watch just for her."

Rachel chuckles and teases, "That's funny, Santana, because I identify a lot with Willow."

Santana huffs and rolls her eyes, "Whatever. It's not like her clothes are any worse than anyone else's on this show, so I don't see the resemblance, Berry. She makes me think of Brittany," she defends. Rachel smirks, completely ignoring the slight.

Quinn smiles distantly, "I always identified with Buffy."

"Really?" Rachel asks, her expression open and interested.

"Yeah," Quinn breathes. "It's just…she has all these expectations thrust on her, and she's just a kid in high school, you know?" Santana and Rachel both stare, but the moment their expressions start to really turn sympathetic, Quinn turns to Santana and says, "But you're totally Cordelia."

"Oh, fuck off, I'm ten times more hilarious," Santana laughs. She has to admit, though, that she may have filed away that "what is your childhood trauma?" line for future use.

"No, really," Quinn insists, "Cordelia gets a lot more interesting as the show goes on, and the little bit I've seen of the spinoff, she continues to get interesting. She's, you know. Bitchy on the outside, squishy on the inside."

"Oh whatever," Santana groans, "Anyway, you guys are about to drop off, and I've gots to go call Britts."

"See my point?" Quinn smirks.

"Santana, wait," Rachel says. She takes a breath, "How is Brittany?"

Santana shrugs, "She's fine. Working hard. Tina's been helping her a lot with schoolwork. They're also having a friendly competition to see who's gonna be Glee captain—Schue has dropped the ball already by not having a captain yet."

Rachel bites her lip, "This is going to be an extremely awkward segue, but it's been on my mind for a long time. I just…when Noah was at risk of failing out, the guys all did a 'bro' cram session for him so he would pass, and I just wanted to say I'm really sorry we never got all the Glee girls together to do the same for Brittany. She doesn't deserve to have the school system fail her so epically like that."

Santana shrugs a little uncomfortably, "Well, I think Britts made peace with it long before she let anyone know what was happening. I didn't even know. And besides, everyone had their own shit going on, like major shit, and the guys? I mean, most of them weren't graduating and those that did barely had future plans. They had the time for that shit, the girls really didn't, and honestly, the Glee girls spent far too much time trying to out-bitch each other to really do something like that."

Quinn shifts uncomfortably, but Rachel looks fondly nostalgic, "Well, I don't know. We all got together to do that song to support you when you came out. Er. Were outed," she amends with a wince.

Santana relaxes into a similar nostalgic expression at the memory, "Yeah, I guess you're right. That was kinda nice. Though, how the fuck did we end up singing that song? I'd kinda forgotten it's about bicurious chicks until we agreed on it."

"I thought Tina meant the Jill Sobule song when she suggested it," Quinn admits quietly. Santana catches Rachel's slightly surprised expression, and she herself stares at Quinn in confusion. "What?" Quinn asks, almost defensively, when she notices.

"I dunno, Q, but I think you might've just outgayed me, because I don't know what the fuck song you're talking about. Which, I really never thought you, of all people, would ever outgay me. Congratulations."

"Bitch. Expand your musical horizons sometime," Quinn snarks.

"Oh you did not just say that. Have you seen my iPod?"

"Okay!" Rachel cuts in, "I think we can all agree that as former Glee club members, we all have vastly eclectic musical tastes. Now, I do think Quinn and I are exhausted, and Santana, please go call your girlfriend. Tell her we say hello!"

Santana chuckles darkly, "Berry, I'm not going to be saying your name at all during this conversation, if you know what I mean." Her grin widens when she notes Rachel's blush; Quinn remains unfazed, merely shaking her head.

She heads into her bedroom, dialing Brittany as she goes and tucking her iPhone's earbuds in—they're easier to use in times like this than cradling the phone with one hand. When Brittany answers, she responds, "Hey, baby," in the lowest purr she can manage.

"Hi," Brittany greets again, softly, a little breathlessly. Santana feels her face relax into a lazy smirk. This isn't the first time they've done this, for sure. They text and email all the time—and okay, it's occasionally sexting—but talking on the phone is maybe only twice a week, when Santana's awake and not at work and Brittany isn't completely wiped out from school and cheerleading. And usually, their phone calls turn to this, but Santana knows this time not to waste time with pleasantries and I miss yous. They haven't seen each other in over a month at this point and the need is growing greater all the time.

And because she knows how this goes, Santana keeps the purr in her voice as she asks, "Is Lord Tubbington in the room?"

"No," Brittany responds, her voice still soft, "I kicked him out while I was answering the phone. He knows he's not allowed to watch." And god, they're talking about Brittany's cat, and there's nothing at all sexy about that, but just knowing what it means, and what's to come, Santana feels her abs clench in arousal. "What are you wearing?" Brittany asks sweetly, and Santana's body clenches harder.

"Um," in truth, she's wearing what she calls pajamas, but they're more like her lounging-around-the-apartment clothes: a tank top and boxers. This is new, as she sleeps naked and never really owned pajamas in high school, because she would be fully dressed each morning before leaving her bedroom. "Tank top and boxers. Both green." She tries to keep her voice low, but there's just no way to make that sound sexy.

Apparently she's wrong, because Brittany's voice has an appreciative lilt to it as she says, "Boxers? Sexy, San."

Santana finds herself chuckling in response, "What about you?"

"Cat ears. And…that's it," Brittany keeps her voice light, and it really shouldn't but that casual tone of Brittany's does things to her when she says things like this. And the cat ears…they're almost a weird, sexy inside joke, stemming, Santana is pretty sure, from the time Brittany took Santana calling her a sex kitten a little too literally. She knows it's not evidence of any kind of furry or whatever leanings on Brittany's part, but even if Brittany were a furry, she knows she'd love her anyway, and she pushes thoughts like this out of her mind. Brittany in a fur suit is not what she wants to be imagining right now, and she flashes back to the picture Brittany sent her earlier, her hand running lightly up and down her own thigh.

"Mmm," she sighs in response, "That picture, Britt. God…if I were there right now I'd be—"

"Painting my chest with your tongue?" Brittany asks bluntly, and Santana can hear the smirk in her voice, and it just makes her groan a little.

"Yeah," Santana pants, her hands skating up her body to her own chest, fingers trailing lightly.

"San," Brittany whispers, "Can I see you?"

"Yeah, baby," Santana husks, and they both turn on Facetime and stare at each other. Santana props her phone up on the pillow next to her and turns on her side, pretending Brittany is next to her in bed—by the looks of it, Brittany is doing the same thing. She's taking in the light flush on Brittany's face that sweeps down to that same smooth expanse of chest Santana had been gasping over earlier, with its little ridges of muscle and rib just visible, the way her normally bright blue eyes are dark with pupil, the way her lips are parted slightly.

Sometimes, they like words. Sometimes, it's easier to just see each other in their minds as they talk each other through their orgasms. But sometimes, Santana needs real eye contact, and often, Brittany needs it just as much.

So she meets Brittany's eye as she purposefully trails her hand down her body to cup her breasts. Brittany can't see her hands, but she can see Santana's face. Santana knows her head has tipped back and she's moaned lightly. It's almost theatrical, she knows, but there's always some theatrics in long-distance sex. She opens her eyes to look at Brittany. Her eyes have gone half-lidded, and from the motions on Brittany's shoulders, she's sure Brittany is running hands up and down her body.

But Brittany's picture has been in her mind all day, and Brittany's clearly been anticipating this all day herself, so Santana doesn't fuck around much longer. She slides her left hand into her boxers, stilling it there, and murmuring, "Would you like to see where my hand is?"

Brittany gasps and nods, and Santana tilts the phone down to where her hand is lightly resting against her thigh inside her boxers, before deliberately moving her hand to trail down to where wetness has been gathering. Brittany moans, and the way it travels straight through her earbuds to her ear, makes her gasp in response, almost anticipating the bite to her earlobe that would surely follow if Brittany were actually right there by her ear…

It's funny, how even though she's fully clothed, the sight of her turns Brittany on. She thinks it has something to do with how often they've fucked fully clothed, back when the idea of actually touching was too frightening for Santana to even consider it, and they'd scissored with rough thrusts through their spanks, their Cheerios skirts pushed up, their hands searching desperately to pinch nipples through Cheerios tops and bras; and how even after Santana stopped freaking the fuck out about how much she loved the sex, how sometimes the best way to get off was the rub against one another's thighs, through jeans or sweats or any other material, until they came, breathing each others' air.

She brings the phone back up to her pillow and she moves her hand slowly, smoothing wetness around herself gently, watching Brittany's eyes again. "What are you doing, Brittany?" Her voice is half a groan, part question, part authoritative demand, and she slides the arm under her body up her shirt with some difficulty to stroke a nipple.

But Brittany knows what she means, and she tilts her own phone so that Santana can watch as one of Brittany's hands trails down, sliding down her sternum, tracing the swell of a breast as it passes, then rubs lovingly at perfect abs—Santana salivates like a fucking Pavlovian dog—before it reaches a perfect, pink pussy, damn near glistening in the soft light, sliding almost immediately to cover it, though not to hide it, and Santana watches two fingers slide neatly inside, and she can't even really see it, but…

"Jesus fuck, Britts," she gasps, her hips jerking without rhythm as she slides against her clit more deliberately, feeling herself get wetter as if those long, strong fingers had just slipped into her instead…

Brittany brings the phone back up and Santana takes in her face, her eyes closed, her lips parted a little further as little gasps make their way out of her mouth. She opens her eyes and tilts her head forward to regard Santana, and their eyes lock.

There's no need for any more words, or any more tilting of the phone, as they just watch each other's faces. Santana bites her lip hard to keep from moaning so loudly she's afraid Rachel and Quinn will be able to hear it even over the air conditioner acting as a fan in her room, and Brittany licks her lips, which are getting dry from the puffs of air she keeps expelling as she gasps and moans. It only takes a few minutes, until…

"San, I'm—" Brittany gasps, the syllable sounding stuck in her throat as her eyes close and her head tilts back, and Santana can see her throat working as it expels little mewling gasps and cries.

"Fuck, Brittany," Santana chokes out in return, feeling her body begin to quake, and her fingers slip almost uselessly against her clit, which is so wet, almost losing their focus in the shuddering of her body, and Santana's eyes slip shut as she curls forward into herself, rocking and shaking and releasing a long, low moan.

She opens her eyes blearily to see Brittany regarding her with a sweet smile as she sucks on her fingers, and Santana easily returns the smile, cleaning her own, wishing her lips could be occupied kissing the beautiful girl instead. She licks her lips as she removes her fingers, and Brittany seems to understand, and her blue eyes twinkle, and for a just a moment, it's okay that they're so far away. And Santana reads aloud softly from Through the Looking Glass until Brittany falls asleep.

.
You're a thousand things, you can fly with one wing
.

But for the absence of Santana, it would be the perfect year.

She's Head Cheerleader—there really was no contest, with Santana, Quinn and Becky all having graduated. And she and Tina are well on their way to becoming Glee co-captains; she's confident their opposition, Artie and Blaine, don't stand a chance. And speaking of Tina, subjects seem to make so much more sense when Tina explains them to her. She's also getting some help from Artie, which is…fine. They're really friends now, she's sure, but at the same time, she's not sure she wants to tell Santana that he's tutoring her, which also feels wrong, and…yeah.

And even having Rory around is nice, after his legal battle to stay one more year in the US in order to graduate—though he'll still have to do another year in Ireland. They'd barely interacted after Santana had, apparently, scared him into avoiding her at all costs, but now that Santana is in New York, and Brittany has forgiven him for pretending to be a leprechaun (though, really, she had forgiven him so long ago), she finds he's pleasant and friendly. Her parents like him, and he's good with her little sister, and he still spends far too much time over at Sugar's house—and Brittany is pretty sure they're not even really dating—and a decent amount of time over at the Hudson-Hummel house visiting Sam, but it's nice to have someone in the house who will tell her if she forgets to put on sneakers before leaving for school.

As her semester begins, she gets a text from Santana on Labor Day—the day before school starts—that says that Sam's birthday is in a few days, and it might be nice to start the Glee school year with a song for him. She knows San has a soft spot for Sam. He never held a grudge against her for using him as a beard for a few months.

Brittany's stuck. She knows Sam likes country, but she doesn't really know any—despite the fact that it is western Ohio, and probably one in three radio stations is country. So she texts Rachel, who she figures must know something.

Brittany SPierce: Hey rachel I wanna do
a country song 4 sam's bday but don't
now any. Do u?

The response is so typically Rachel that Brittany smiles.

Rachberry: Well, country is not a style I
am intimately familiar with, but I am
occasionally known to enjoy the song
stylings of one Nanci Griffith. Perhaps
Lone Star State of Mind would resonate
with Sam due to his current situation with
Mercedes?

She checks with Sugar to make sure she understands exactly what Rachel means, and yeah, Rachel recommended a country song to her. She looks it up, and finds she rather likes it, despite the twang, and the next day, plays it for Tina, who grins.

"This is great, Brittany," Tina enthuses, "This is out of both of our comfort zones, so when we rock this as our co-captain tryout debut, Mr. Schue will be forced to admit that we'll be the best co-captains!

Brittany nods fervently, "So let's do it on Thursday! It has to be Thursday."

Tina looks confused, but Brittany is thrilled. She hadn't even thought of doing it as a co-captain thing, she'd just wanted Tina's opinion on the song. She's pretty sure people call this killing two birds with one stone, but that always sounded unnecessarily cruel to her, not to mention really difficult, and this isn't so hard at all, in fact it's kind of the easy way.

She enlists Joe, because even though she barely knows her—him, she corrects herself forcefully—she knows he seems more comfortable behind a guitar. They need somebody who can handle the intricate twanging the song requires, and Tina points out would be unfair to ask Puck to come back to the high school for a day to play in front of the Glee club he can no longer be a part of, even if he is still in town. And, of course, they can't ask Artie because he's their competition. Or Sam, obviously, though Tina doesn't seem to understand that.

Brittany knows that dancing is her forte, but she still has confidence in her singing voice. Even so, she gives Tina the lead for the chorus and the bridge and finds learning the harmony is pretty easy; they only vary on a few words. A lot of the song they'll be singing in unison, though, and she gives Tina the longer of the two verses.

And really, Brittany is sure, they've got this in the bag (though, which bag it is, is a good question. She thinks it's Mr. Schue's man purse, but maybe it's her Cheerios sports bag).

.
Cause if good means wrong you can sing along
.

Tina had originally thought that she'd be competing with Brittany for Glee club captain, but when the blonde approaches with the country song (and Tina doesn't miss the way her eyes look red-rimmed and teary, as they have since Santana left), she instantly understands. Who said there needed to be a male captain and a female captain? As far as Tina is concerned, women had been bringing the talent in the Glee club much more consistently—even if that unfortunately means that Tina herself has been overshadowed. But then, she reasons, so has Brittany, at least in terms of singing, and the girl certainly isn't bad.

And when it comes time to perform, Tina directs much of her attention to Artie and Blaine, because now that they've broken the gender stratification, they are the competition, and they need to see her superiority! But, she notices, Brittany is singing straight at Sam. And in fact, eventually pulls Sam up to dance as they finish up the song. Sam is grinning happily—even blushing a little?

Strange, Tina thinks as they finish up the song and Brittany announces that she sang the song for Sam and also to show that she and Tina should be Glee club co-captains. Even stranger, Sam hugs Brittany and they whisper a few words to one another and then, to Tina's surprise, the boy wraps her in a hug as well and whispers his thanks. It is almost like the habitual intentional stutter has returned when Tina can't find a response. Sam even hugs Joe afterwards, leaning awkwardly over Joe's guitar, and boys laugh at the attempt to hug.

She watches as Brittany sits next to a still grinning Sam for the rest of the rehearsal (Mr. Schue is very impressed, Tina notes proudly), and something prods around in the back of Tina's mind.

After rehearsal, Tina approaches Brittany and tries to find a way to be subtle—she's normally pretty good at subtlety. "So, Sam seemed to like the song."

Brittany smiles, "Yeah. It was San's idea to sing for him. Although she didn't pick the song. But we did good, right?"

Giving Brittany's arm an affectionate squeeze, Tina responds, "We did amazing," and they head home. She sees she has a text from Mike telling her he misses her and asking her to call this evening. The feeling in the back of her mind intensifies. Mike's only been gone for about two weeks, and already there's an ache in her chest. And Santana's been gone for about three weeks, and God, those two had been inseparable…

When she logs onto Facebook, she finally notices that it's Sam's birthday, and she literally facepalms, because really, she should have known that about someone in her circle of friends. But even realizing that Brittany had wanted to perform the song for Sam's birthday doesn't completely remove the distraction in her mind.

Santana had asked Brittany to perform for Sam. Dedicating a song in Glee is kind of a big deal, right? And a song about how far away those we love are? And Brittany is the girl who offered to make out with Tina in exchange for some math homework during Tina's freshman year…

It's when she talks to Mike that evening, smiling as she listens to him talk about his classmates (he's mostly mentioned women), and how relieved he is to realize he has two classmates that live in his apartment building with him, that Tina finally lets the thought coalesce.

Is Santana encouraging Brittany, whose sexual prowess is probably more untamed than anyone else Tina knows, to be physical with others to keep their own connection from getting muddled by sexual frustration?

Are Santana and Brittany in an open relationship?

And why is this possibility so fascinating to Tina?

Additional A/N: Chapter titles from David Bowie, "I'm Deranged," Church, "Under the Milky Way," Zola Jesus, "Vessel," Sucre, "When We Were Young," Moonbabies, "Take Me To The Ballroom." Songs mentioned are Jill Sobule, "I Kissed A Girl," and Nanci Griffith, "Lone Star State of Mind." I discovered the Moonbabies song thanks to bazinga01's now-defunct Tumblr, so a thank you to her.