It wasn't the first time they had met.

In fact they had known each other for a while.

Their first meeting had taken place a year prior during a pre-season friendly that had been pretty uneventful, ending in a 1-1 draw with no words being spoken between the two other than a "good game" and a handshake at the full time whistle.

And that would be the same for every other game they played against each other, they would shake hands, give each other a nod and return to their respective locker rooms without another thought.

There had also been the times that they had bumped into each other at events. Like the time they had been placed at the same table during the NWSL awards, only saying a quick "hello" to each other or that awkward time that Brittany had walked into the bathroom during a Children's Mental Health Charity gala to a slightly drunk Santana on the phone arguing with someone.

(Brittany guessed that it had been her father).

But it had been the night before a game where the two had actually gotten to know each other.

Brittany would go to Schar's Bar the night before every home game. It helped her relax. She would be there for hours with her friend Mike, playing pool and drinking an endless supply of raspberry lemonade that she would then regret after getting up at 2am to go to the bathroom for the fifth time.

"There is no way you're getting that!" Mike laughs, taking a sip of his diet coke, making the blonde roll her eyes, before taking the shot.

"Ugh!" She groans, watching as the white ball rolls past the black and straight into the pocket.

Mike laughs harder, "Ha! Two shots."

The blonde rolls her eyes, watching anxiously as Mike lines his cue up. She needs to win, they've already played three games, Mike winning two of them and if she's going to catch up then she needs to win, otherwise she's going to end up paying for the tab at the end of the night. Again.

"Yes!" Mike shouts, his arms in the air, nearly hitting the pool cue off the light shade above the table. They're now both on the black. "Okay, come on."

"Hey, you need to call it." Brittany says, before going back to biting her nails.

"Fine, that one." Mike points at the pocket at the far right.

He takes the shot, the black ball bouncing off the side before ending back in the middle, the white ending at the other end.

"Yes!" The blonde shouts. She can still win.

"Shut up."

"Okay, this one." She points at the left pocket at the end.

"That's never going in." A voice interrupts her shot, "Go for this one." She says standing near the blonde, her left hand pointing at the left pocket closest to Brittany while the other held a bottle of beer.

Mike laughs, "She'll never get that."

"Of course she can!" The brunette says, "It's an easy shot."

Santana's right, it's an easy shot.

All she needs to do is hit the ball at just the right angle to bounce the white off the top cushion for it to come back.

Just one problem.

Brittany's never exactly had the best hand-eye coordination.

Which is pretty impressive considering she's a goalkeeper.

But then again that's different.

Catching a ball and pushing it to make sure it doesn't it doesn't end up in the back of the net is way easier than using a wooden stick,that's basically three quarters her height, to hit a ball into a tiny hole.

"That one." Brittany decides, pointing at her original pocket. It should be easy. The shot's already lined up for her. She just needs to hit it.

And she does.

The three watch in anticipation as the white ball hits off the eight-ball, a little heavier than Brittany wanted and definitely in the wrong direction, before the latter bounces off the top cushion rolling away back towards the blonde, her hands covering her eyes as Mike cheers on as the ball slows down before disappearing into the pocket.

"Yes!"

"Dammit!"

"I told you so." Santana smirks.

"Whatever." Brittany huffs, throwing her cue on the table, "I hate this game."

Mike laughs, placing his arm around her shoulders, "Looks like you're paying again, Britt."

"Hey, I can still catch up." She points out, "We still have another two hours before I have to go."

"That's never happening but I'll entertain you. I'll set up while you go get another round?" Mike suggests already heading to get the balls out from the table.

"Fine. You're having water though."

"Waters free."

"Exactly." Brittany smiles, turning to the brunette, "Do you want a drink?"

"If you're paying absolutely."

"Well there's still time for Mike to pay."

"Not happening!" Mike shouts from behind the table making Santana laugh and Brittany pout.

"I'll have the same again." She says lifting her bottle up to show Brittany.

"Beer?" Brittany asks, "Before a game?"

"Oh, so you do know who I am." Santana teases as the two walk towards the bar.

"Of course I know who you are. You're the one who hit the woodwork four times last time we played together right?" Brittany laughs, earning a small shove from the smaller girl.

"Yeah, think I set a new record. I'm pretty good at that." She quips, watching as the blonde orders their drinks, "And I'm not gonna get drunk let alone hungover from just two beers."

"It would be cheap if you did." Santana nods, taking the bottle from Brittany, "So do you wanna join us?"

"I don't have to pay the tab if I lose, do I?"

"No, Mike has that covered."

"Britt! Let's go, you can break." Mike shouts, handing the cue over.

"Actually I'm gonna sit this one out, Santana's gonna play."

"And win." Santana smiles, taking a sip of her beer before handing it over to Brittany.

"Yeah and win." Brittany echos, "Also Santana's wins count as my wins so if she beats you then so do I."

"Fine." Mike holds his hands up, "But she's not gonna win."


She does win.

A lot.

In fact she only loses once the whole night and it wasn't to Mike.

(Brittany thinks Santana let her win.)

They end up staying a lot later than they had planned, losing track of time after Mike kept demanding a rematch.

"So how come you're so good at pool?" Brittany asks, taking a sip of her lemonade turning to face the brunette beside her. They had moved to a booth, sitting beside each other , deciding that they had had enough of pool after Mike had left after paying the tab.

"Oh, I'm pretty much good at everything." Santana jokes, "It also helps that you two are really bad."

"Hey! I beat you!"

"Did you though?"

"You let me win."

Santana shrugs, "I couldn't really handle you pouting again."

"I don't pout!" Brittany protests, making the other girl laugh.

"You're pouting right now." Santana points out, poking at the blonde's bottom lip. "I played a lot when I was a teenager. My dad had a table in his basement so whenever I was forced to stay over I just played for hours."

"By yourself?"

"Yeah," Santana nods, "I know, I sound like a complete loser but it was either that or torture myself by hanging out with my stepmom. What about you?"

"I thought it was already decided that I suck?"

"Oh, you do." The Latina laughs, "But, I meant how come you play here?"

"I found this place when I first moved out of my parents place." Brittany answers, noticing Santana move closer towards her, her hand resting on the blonde's leg, "I don't really know what it was but I was pretty homesick, I hated living on my own so I would come here and it would just make me feel better. And then I met Mike one night and he invited me to hang out with him and his friends and now he's my best friend and we come here before every home game. It helps me relax."

Santana smiles at her answer, moving her hand that rests on Brittany's leg to grab at the pale hand that sits on the table, "What about now?" She asks, "Do you still live alone?"

"Oh no! I live with Tubbs?" Brittany beams, linking her fingers with the brunettes.

"Who the fuck names a person Tubbs?"

"Me." Brittany frowns, squeezing Santana's hand, "Well he's not a person, he's a cat."

"Oh."

"And his full name is Lord Tubbington. Tubbs for short." Brittany doesn't miss the glow in Santana's eyes when she looks at her. She also doesn't miss the way her dimples show every time she smiles. "Do you have any pets?"

Santana shakes her head, "Not unless you count my brother."

"Are you close? You and your brother?"

"Yeah, honestly as sad as it is, he's my best friend."

"That's not sad." Brittany says, her thumb rubbing the back of Santana's hand, "It's cute. Do you see him a lot?"

"Not as much as I want to." Santana admits, "Seeing him means seeing my dad and that's never fun."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I see him for a couple hours twice a week which is more than what I did when I was playing in New York."

"Is that why you turned down that contract?"

It had been public knowledge that Santana had turned down a contract extension at the New York Rangers, it was something that was a shock to everyone. Their up and coming star player had left to join a club that didn't really have the best record. Santana had never come out and told anyone why she left, everyone just assumed that there was some sort of bust up between her and the staff.

"Yeah. My dad got a job in San Diego so him, my brother and my stepmom moved there from Ohio and then a week later I got offered a contract at SDC and I couldn't turn it down."

"That's sweet."

"I'm not sweet." Santana protests, gaining a laugh from the keeper.

"Well, I think you're sweet." Smiles Brittany, making Santana roll her eyes, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Fire away, Pierce."

"How come you're not with the rest of your squad?" She questions, "Shouldn't you be in a hotel or something? Won't you get in trouble?"

"I do this all the time." Santana shrugs, "They don't care as long as I'm on the team bus and not hungover. Plus they never actually know that I leave the hotel. I tell them that I'm going to bed while they do some bullshit bonding exercise."

"What do you mean you do this all the time?" Brittany wonders, "Do you always find your opponents the night before a game and get beat by them in pool?"

"No." She laughs, making Brittany's heart skip a beat, "I wonder around, see if there's anything interesting happening."

"And I was interesting?"

"I think you're very interesting."

"What's so interesting about me?" Brittany asks, leaning towards the brunette, holding her breath as Santana reaches out to brush some blonde hair behind her ear.

She smells like vanilla mixed with beer.

"Lot's of things."

She wonders if she tastes like that too.

"Like?"

"Why don't you take me back to your place and I'll answer you."


She holds her close.

Like she's almost scared to let her go.

In fact she is.

She's scared of waking her up.

She's scared of being pushed away.

So she holds her closer.

Like after the first time they spent the night together, Brittany lays behind Santana, arms wrapped tight around the shorter girl's stomach, her face pressed against brown hair that still smells like coconut.

She thinks back to that night they first met.

She thinks about how Santana had held her hand the entire car ride home. She remembers Santana's mouth on her neck before she even got a chance to shut the door. She thinks about how Santana moaned as she squeezed her ass and Brittany had made it her mission to hear that moan as many times as she could.

She lost count after sixteen.

But her favorite part of the night was after Santana had pulled her back up from underneath the sheets to kiss her. One hand slightly gripping at blond hair while the other brushed down Brittany's spine, keeping her close. Brittany thinks about the smile on Santana's face when she pulled away, her dimples showing before she rolled over, grabbing a pale hand and pulling the blonde with her.

"Hold me." Santana had told her.

So she did.


Brittany's not sure what happened.

Just that when Santana came to her room asking if she could stay with her she couldn't say no, not when she saw the broken look on Santana's face as tears rolled down her cheeks.

They didn't speak, Brittany knew it wasn't a good idea to speak to Santana when she was upset. So she just opened the door and allowed Santana to crawl into her bed, curling up on herself, allowing Brittany to get behind her.

Brittany had kissed her head as she cried, holding the brunette's hands that rested in front of her.

Santana had cried herself to sleep.

And Brittany's heart broke for her.


The first thing she had noticed when she woke up was how cold she was. The breeze coming from the open window mixed with the fact that she had seemed to have kicked the sheet down to her waist leaving her top half exposed gave her goosebumps.

The second thing she had noticed was that she was alone.

(Other than Lord Tubbington who slept in the corner of the room).

The pillow next to her was still squished, the sheet pushed back.

Santana hadn't been gone long.

"No, I'll be there soon."

Or at all.

The blonde perked her ears, listening to the conversation the brunette was having over the phone.

"Just stall, okay. Tell coach I went out for a smoothie or some shit." Santana whispered, from behind the door. "I don't have to tell you anything! Where the fuck are they?"

She assumed she was looking for her shoes.

Lord Tubbington probably hid them.

He did that sometimes.

"I'm not talking to you!" Santana snapped, "I can't find my fucking-"

Brittany figured she should get up when she heard the bang. Throwing on an oversized t-shirt she made her way out of her room, her bare feet padding against the wood flooring towards where she watched as Santana finally found her shoes. Her back was to Brittany, her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she tried to balance on one leg to put her sneakers on.

"God, do you ever shut the fuck up!" Santana shouted, making Brittany jump and softly walk back to her room, not wanting Santana to know she was listening, "I just needed to relieve some tension and I did just that. Well at least I did until you called. Yes, Berry, I fucked someone and now I am leaving so can you please calm your tits."

She didn't hear what was said after that, all she heard was the front door slam shut.

Her heart sank into her stomach.

Santana had just used her.

She was just something to be used to help her relieve stress.

Had that been her intention the whole time?

Is that the only reason she went over to her in the bar?

It hadn't been the first time someone had used Brittany for sex. But it hurt all the same. In fact it hurt more. She really liked Santana. She loved to watch her play and they seemed to get along when they talked in the booth.

She thought maybe Santana liked her too.

Maybe not.

What was worse was that Brittany couldn't just hide away with her cat for the rest of the day and feel sorry for herself.

Nope, because she only had a half hour before she had to head to her team's home stadium where she would be playing today.

Against Santana.


She's scrolling on her phone when she hears groans coming from the person next to her.

"Mornin'" Brittany smiles, watching the brunette rub her eyes.

"Nice of you to not kick me out." Santana yawns, sitting up to stretch.

"Nice of you to not sneak out before I wake up." Brittany snides back, not looking up from the photo her mom sent of Lord Tubbington with his head stuck in a cereal box.

"Fuck off." Santana flops back making Brittany laugh, "You still have that cat?" Santana asks, her head now resting on her hand.

"Yeah, why would I not have him?" Brittany asks, showing Santana the photo.

"I'm just surprised he hasn't had a heart attack or eaten himself or something."

"He tried but he stopped when he got a hairball."

Santana just hums in reply, moving closer to the blonde as they continue to look at the photos on Brittany's phone, both laughing when they come to the video of the cat sitting in a frying pan.

"It wasn't actually on the stove by the way" Brittany points out, making Santana giggle.

"Yeah. I gathered that."

She takes a look at Santana. She takes notice of how she smiles, it's not the same smile she had a few years ago when she beat Mike at pool, or the smile she had whenever she scored. It's a different smile, a tired smile. Brittany can't remember the last time she saw Santana truly smile.

At least she can no longer see the tear tracks down her cheeks.

"You wanna talk about it?" Brittany mutters, putting her phone down to stroke the brunette's hair.

Santana hums at the touch, moving her head into her shoulder forcing Brittany to move her hand to the Latina's back.

"No." She whispers.

"Okay." Brittany nods, rubbing the brunettes back, "I'm here if you need me."

"You're not." Santana huffs. "You don't have to lie to try and make me feel better."

Brittany protests, "No Santana-"

"I should go." Santana interrupts moving to sit up, "We leave in a couple hours and I still need to pack."

Brittany just nods. Santana's right. At least she is about packing, they head back to the states in a few hours for their last game of the current qualification fixtures and although it's only their third of fourteen, if they have any chance of qualifying then they need to win, they can't afford to lose anymore games.

Sitting up she watches the way Santana moves towards the door, she notices the black and white jersey she wears, it's a little big on her, but then again it's also big on Brittany, she never noticed she was wearing it before. But Brittany doesn't focus on the 'PIERCE' on the back of her jersey. She's more focused on the way the legs of her sweats have risen in her sleep, showing the bottom of her scar, making her think back to how it happened.


Brittany was pissed.

And upset.

But mainly pissed.

She's been used for sex more than once in her life. In fact she's also been the person that uses someone for sex.

But this time seems different.

It hurts more.

Santana could have picked any girl in Chicago to sleep with but instead she chose Brittany. Someone she sorta knew and someone she would definitely be seeing the next day.

Santana had seen her in the bar and decided to act friendly and flirty to get Brittany into bed and sure Brittany could have said no but at the same time she's not blind. She's always found Santana attractive but that night she realized that she liked Santana for more than her looks and her soccer skills. She liked her for her confidence and her sense of humor. She liked the fact that there was more to the Santana that she watched on the field and in interviews. She was also smart and witty and clearly cared a lot about her family, well her mom and little brother at least.

Santana seemed to like her too.

But apparently all Brittany was good for was to relieve tension.

Maybe it was a game strategy? To sleep with an opponent to throw them off their game? Had she done that before?

She had spent the entire morning going over the night, thinking about what she could have done to make Santana stay. Or even talk to her.

But she couldn't think of anything, other than handcuffing Santana to her bed which wasn't the best idea. No matter what she could have done it probably would have resulted in Santana leaving anyway. And that hurt more.

Santana didn't care.

It was in the tunnel when they saw each other for the first time since that morning.

The San Diego City squad we're already lined up ready to go onto the field when Brittany and the rest of her team joined them.

She spotted Santana straight away. She stood at the back of the line, the number 39 stood out on SDC's signature red jersey, the black shorts making it impossible for Brittany to not look at her ass, but only for a second before she remembered she was still pissed.

Brittany refused to look at the brunette as she walked past, making her way to stand behind her captain.

Chicago City were wearing their iconic black and white striped home jersey while Brittany wore a light blue one, making her stand out from the outfield players.

As much as Brittany hated to admit it, Santana using her may have been a good thing, at least it was for her career. She was more determined than ever to win. She had a point to prove. She wanted to show Santana that whatever game she had played the night before wouldn't work on Brittany.

She was gonna win.

But it wasn't going to be easy.

Santana would also put up a fight.

They had shook hands before the game, neither of them shying away from the other. This time Brittany made sure to look at Santana, she wasn't going to show any emotions towards the brunette, she didn't want to let her know how hurt Brittany had been that morning.

It was a pretty even game.

Both teams were fighting for a win. Afterall San Diego City were only 2 points below Chicago City sitting at third in the table, a win would put them up to second. Neither team could afford to drop points. Not when the top four teams were so close.

There had been a close call for Brittany just two minutes into the game, Santana had gotten the better of the home teams left back and sprinted down the wing, crossing the ball into the box, the ball had failed to reach her teammate after a midfielder in black and white had stretched to kick the ball out for a corner only for the ball to bounce off the post, forcing Brittany to come off her line to smother it before anyone else could get to it.

Chicago City got the first goal of the game on the stroke of half time. The goal coming from a corner with the half time whistle blowing right after play had been restarted.

Brittany knew it would be a tough second half, SDC had been known for their comebacks, with most of their goals this season coming in the second half and considering they had double the amount of shots than CC during the first half, it would be a long forty five minutes for the home side's back line.

And Brittany was right, the start of the second half matched the first, with Santana beating the left back sprinting down the wing to deliver the cross, forcing the blonde to leave her line to come and collect it before it reached the head of the striker in red. Except she couldn't. The striker had beaten her to it, comfortably heading the ball into the bottom corner.

Of course it had been Santana that set-up the equalizer.

The goal had fueled something inside Brittany. She had needed this win. She needed to show Santana that she couldn't just mess with her feelings for the sake of a game.

There was only twenty minutes left when everything started to go wrong. After they conceded, San Diego had the upper hand, having most of the possession, winning every foul and were constantly on the attack, except the goal never came.

They were onto their fourth corner within five minutes, the home team's right back delivering the ball into the box, easily meeting the head of a midfielder who headed it towards goal, the opposing keeper easily catching it.

Brittany could see what was about to happen before the ball had left her hands, Santana had already made the run, shrugging off the defender as the ball dropped to her feet, she started to sprint down the field. Brittany knew no one would catch up to her, she had outpaced everyone the entire game. She was the only one that would be able to stop her.

So she did.

Brittany had been known as a sweeper keeper. She would come off her line if needed. Jumping up to catch a ball from a cross or corner. Sometimes she even left the box, running 25-yards from her goal to get rid of a loose ball.

Something her coach had would often get mad at her about after she had almost given him several heart attacks.

But Brittany would remind him that she would only do it if it was completely necessary.

(Or she was bored).

And this time was completely necessary.

Santana was almost at the edge of the box when she came off her line, running to dive on the ball when she noticed that Santana lost control of the ball and her touch was too heavy.

That's when it happened.

She heard it first.

And then she felt the pain.

The ball was no longer in her possession, but rather in the hands of one of her teammates. The ref had blown the whistle. Not because there was a foul. Brittany had won the ball. She had taken the risk and it paid off. At least she thought it had.

She stayed on the floor, her head in her hands. She felt the blood dripping down her face. The throbbing was louder than the commotion going on around the stadium.

The muffled sound of the two captains arguing with the referee about who won the foul was interrupted by the medic.

"I got the ball." She whispered as the medic pressed a towel to her head to stop the bleed.

Why were they arguing? Brittany was the one that won the ball and had also been kicked in the head in the process.

She was sure Santana was loving this.

Except she couldn't hear Santana.

And then she saw another pair of medics run over to her with a stretcher.

"I don't need that." She muttered, sitting up, holding the towel to her head, "I can walk."

"That's not for you, Britt." Her captain told her.

She watched as they ran past her towards the body next to her. Her hands were over her face and Brittany could tell that she was in pain. Maybe even more than her.

"Fuck!" Santana had shouted as she was lifted onto the stretcher. Brittany knew that she was crying.

Standing up she slowly walked off the field, following the medics that carried Santana.

"Is she okay?"

"How about you focus on yourself first?" The medic told her, gripping at her arm to make sure she didn't fall, "Looks like you're gonna need stitches."

She was taken to hospital where they gave her 6 stitches at the top of her forehead. She missed the rest of the game and was forced to rest at home the rest of the week, missing out on practice and their next game.

She had watched the incident back numerous times that week. It's something she had done hundreds of times before and it had always worked out okay. No one had ever ended up in the hospital before. She didn't know what went wrong. She kept rewinding the accident. She would watch as she dove for the ball, knocking Santana over her, she could see when Santana's cleat made contact with her head and she would always turn it off before she could watch Santana fall to the ground, feeling too guilty about what happened to her.

Santana had torn her ACL.

She had needed surgery and would be out for the rest of the season.

No one knew if she would even play again.

Brittany blamed the whole thing on herself.

And what was worse, was that so did Santana.