In the morning Santana hears Kurt and Rachel getting up and ready for the day, being about as quiet as two pretty loud people with high pitched voices could manage. Santana opens her eyes and listens without saying anything until she is sure Brittany is awake too. Finally, feeling so weighted down physically in spite of the emptiness that she feels, she mumbles to Brittany, "I'm not getting up today."
It isn't the first time this has happened. When she came home from the hospital, Santana didn't leave the apartment for nearly two weeks, at all. She doesn't expect Brittany to stay with her or argue with her, she's just telling her what she sees as a fact.
She wasn't sure how many times she'd been shifted into consciousness in the night, knowing Santana was awake also, pulling her closer, half-awake, her hand coming up to brush across Santana's cheek and smooth her hair, mumbling sleepy words until she felt Santana go still against her body again. Yawning, she stretched all her limbs out and then rolled, burying her face in Santana's hair, molding her body against her back, slipping an arm across her chest and pulling her in tight, effectively making Santana her little spoon. She could hear Rachel and Kurt preparing for the day but it still felt early - too early for it to actually be daylight.
At Santana's mumble, Brittany giggles into her hair, letting her eyes fall shut again. "Me neither," She agreed simply. More sleep sounded like the perfect thing, and Brittany wasn't sure if Santana was being serious or not but, really, it didn't matter. She knew from Kurt and Rachel that Santana sometimes struggled to get out of bed and just stayed in it, and Brittany was content to do the same if she needed. She knew, of course, she'd have to drag Santana into the shower and into the world at some point, but for now, when they were both so tired and mentally exhausted from their night, it seemed like a cruel thing to do.
Instead, Brittany stayed, curled around Santana as the sounds of Kurt and Rachel surrounded them. She moved her arm down, slipping it up under the hem of Santana's shirt and resting her palm against her stomach, just under her sternum. "Do you want to talk about last night?" She asked sleepily. "And why you thought I was bleeding?"
Santana relaxed slightly at Brittany's simple agreement to stay in bed with her, faintly enjoying the sound of her giggle and the way Brittany's breath stirred her hair. Santana lay with Brittany, eyes partly closed, and tuned in to the faint, steady rhythm of Brittany's heartbeat against her back. She tensed briefly when Brittany touched her stomach but then let out a breath, beginning to ease. Until Brittany murmured her question.
Santana shook her head firmly, her lips pressing together into a thin grimacing line. She grasped for Brittany's hand on her stomach, squeezing hard, but even though she told Brittany no, even though she doesn't want to talk or remember, the simple question had brought the vividness of the dream slamming back into her mind. Her heart thumps against their clasped hands as she squeezes her eyes shut.
"It was you," she managed. "You…you came out of m-me. My b-blood. You were, it happened to you, you were…"
She can't bring herself to say the word dead. It seems like it would make it all suddenly real, just as she had feared Brittany being raped if she spoke of it as a hypothetical. She brought her hand not in Brittany's up to Brittany's heart and pressed down,, reassuring herself of its continued beating. Then she traced the word over Brittany's chest, careful to shift her hand so she isn't directly spelling the word dead over Brittany's heart. That too seems like it could curse her.
Brittany felt Santana's physical reaction to her question, snuggling in closer, humming a wordless murmur of comfort, feeling Santana's heart thump through her body against the back of her hand, pressed to Santana's chest. She didn't speak, letting her words hang, letting Santana decide if she wanted to answer them or not, open and nonjudgmental.
Santana's words were vague and broad, loose descriptions of the nightmare. Brittany couldn't blame her - she remembered the fear of nightmares as a child and, although she'd grown out of them, could imagine how severe and gripping they were as an adult, a replay of something Santana actually had suffered through. She kept her arm around her, letting her turn to face her, giving her a comforting smile, her hand skating up her side to gently trace her way around Santana's features, smoothing the crinkles of her forehead with the pad of her finger, trying to relax the tension and stress Santana carried in her face.
When Santana pressed her hand flat against Brittany's chest, she knew her heart was thumping slow and heavy under her palm, a steady reassuring march. It took her a moment to figure out that Santana was tracing a word, and with their position facing each other, she stumbled, unsure if the letters were facing Santana's perspective or hers.
"That's a little trickier than my leg," Brittany admitted, rolling onto her back and holding her hand up above their faces, palm up. "Try again," She prompted easily, not at all phased by Santana's new method of communication. with her free hand she felt for Santana's wrist, holding it up against her open palm until she moved again, retracing the word, this time, for Brittany to clearly read. "Oh," Brittany nodded, silently letting Santana know she understood that.
"Well I'm not," Brittany pointed out, rolling back onto her side to face Santana. "But that sounds like a very, very scary dream," She admitted gently. "Is that..was that the first time I was there?"
Santana hums a wordless apology, knowing that Brittany has a point, it must be hard for her to understand what she's spelling out to her from the position they were in. As she respells the word on Brittany's palm, so it is clearly facing them both, she wiggles a little so she is now lying over Brittany, chest to chest, grasping for her hand again once she's still. It takes her a few moments to get comfortable, as her body feels sore from the continual tension she carries in it. Her face eases slightly as Brittany tries to smooth out its strained lines, but she grimaces again unconsciously as she nods, trying to suppress a shudder.
"Yeah. It's always been just me before. And him."
The last word comes out sounding as bitter as it tastes on her tongue. She takes a breath, trying to match her breathing to Brittany's, but it doesn't seem to entirely work. She closes her eyes, trying to outtalk the hissing memory of the vicious voice that popped into her head then. She could never forget his exact tone, his complete conviction being so completely right in what he said to her, what he was doing. She is dimly aware of hearing the front door open and close twice, meaning that Kurt and Rachel must both have left, but she doesn't speak again until several minutes later.
"I don't want to talk anymore. It's too hard. Everything is too hard. Everything."
Brittany welcomed the close proximity when Santana shifted, all too happy to give her what she needed, letting her finger trace over the dip of her nose and the rounds of her cheeks, the peak of her lip and down over the straight hardness of her jaw. "And it's always mostly the same thing?" Brittany wondered, referring wordlessly to the night that it happened. She assumed it was, but she knew nightmares could take on a world of their own, and she wasn't sure if the nightmares ever involved him showing up in random places or intercepting other memories Santana had.
She joined Santana in listening to the sounds around them as they lay, grateful Kurt or Rachel hadn't poked their heads in to check on them or disrupt their calm. They were both steady, Santana anchored to Brittany where they lay, unable to get too upset or agitated now, with Brittany right there to so quickly smooth her over and lead her back to solid ground.
"I know, San, you're going through a lot." Brittany admitted. "I think it's hard because your life is still the same," She observed, wondering if Santana's surroundings didn't make it worse. "Like, you still live here, for example, and it happened only a little bit ago. Maybe, when time passes and things change, it'll be easier to separate the then from the right now." She pointed out, swirling patterns on Santana's shoulder with her fingernail. "Everyone always talks about a fresh slate, maybe that's what you need." Brittany suggest. "Do you want to stay in New York forever? Obviously, with school you've got to now, but what about after that?"
Santana shakes her head very slightly against Brittany's chest, not wanting to say anything but not wanting to directly ignore her question either. She takes another breath, then mumbles into her shirt, "No. It's…it's different every night. Just a little bit."
That's part of what makes it so scary and difficult. Because she can't brace herself against it; she has no idea exactly what the content of her dreams might be, other than the constancy of pain, fear, and being helpless to him or the aftermath of him. She never knows exactly what she might be in store for or how bad exactly it will be.
She nods slightly when Brittany acknowledges what she's going through, getting a little teary-eyed at this simple validation, verbalized. It amazes her whenever she realizes that people truly can't tell just by looking at her what she's survived or what she's suffering. How does it not announce itself plainly to people, just by a simple glance in her direction? Is she that good at playing a part? Or do people simply pay that little attention?
She relaxes slightly as Brittany rubs her shoulder, exhaling as her mind shifts off of her own thoughts to those Brittany is bringing to her. She has never thought about things this way, about how the very sameness of her life post attack could be triggering. She has also never considered whether she wants to stay in New York or not. She has always sort of lived her life by planning around Brittany and ideas of being famous or popular, but only one of the three seem somewhat plausible or even desirable now.
"I don't know," she said slowly, considering for the first time. "I thought I wanted to stay, but I don't know anymore. Maybe I don't. But I don't know where I'd want to go. I don't even know what I want to do. It's pathetic, but I really don't know."
Other than stay with Brittany. But that's a constant.
She nodded in understanding, storing that little piece of information away, tucking it into her memory, as if the more information she collects, the more she'll be able to help Santana. It may not be true, but she felt helpless enough as it was, needing to convince herself that she really could help her, she really could save her.
As Santana considered her words Brittany kept drawing tiny constellations against the tan skin of her shoulder, sweeping her love along the curves of her body like brushstrokes, heavy and permanent. She rolled her own question around in her mind - she'd never really pictured Santana in any other city besides New York, but she also never doubted Santana's ability in anything. She knew the world could drop Santana Lopez in any city and she would find a way to be amazing at something, she'd always land on her feet. She also realized, with a heavy feeling of melancholy, that Santana had never had a choice as a child - she was forced to land on her feet and be able to do things herself.
"I don't really know either," Brittany admitted, quieting Santana's worries and judgements. "It's not pathetic, I never though about it." She insisted.
The tour had just kind of fallen into Brittany's lap, but if it hadn't, she assumed she'd still be teaching and going to auditions and life would be very much the same. She and Santana forked at this subject - Santana was programmed to always keep moving, keep striving, be the best at everything, while Brittany usually paid little mind. Brittany had always admired Santana's raw ambition, but she knew, at times, that it could be destructive.
"I don't think you need to have a plan," She insisted. "Who really cares, y'know? I think you should do what makes you happiest. Who knows, you might love someplace else."
Brittany shrugged her shoulder. She wasn't sure where someplace else was, and she knew Santana didn't know either, but the world was wide, and she was pretty convinced that Santana would love just about anywhere. "I just think, even if you don't know, that you know that this will not be your life forever," She gestured to their surroundings with one hand before returning it to rest on Santana's body, promising that this loft and all the sadness that washed over Santana on a daily basis wouldn't be around forever.
The more Brittany touches her, the more Santana can absorb her love into her, and the more it ever so slightly ebbs away tiny pieces of her self-critical feelings. Brittany hasn't actually said aloud to her since coming back into her life again that she loves her, but Brittany can feel it every time she touches her and see it every time she looks at her.
Do what makes her happiest. But that's never truly been Santana's plan in life. She had always done what made her popular, what made her successful; only when it came to Glee and Brittany did she let herself do what made her happy. She isn't sure what makes her happy anymore. It seems like the answer is nothing, some days.
Santana rolled the question around in her mind, thinking aloud to Brittany. "Sometimes nothing makes me happy," she said honestly, quietly. "Sometimes I'm just too sad, and I'm too stuck in feeling sad and scared and angry, and I just don't want anything. And I do feel like this will be forever." She waves her hand in the same way that Brittany had, regarding the loft. "That's when…when I don't even care about life anymore. About living. I think maybe it would be better if I didn't."
After admitting this again, for the second time, Santana avoids looking at Brittany, staring down at the other woman's hand on her. She doesn't want to have to see her response to that. She quickly tries to lighten the mood and her own admission, trying to force her thoughts back to Brittany's earlier musing.
"Uh…what makes me happy though. It used to be dancing, and singing. But I don't want to anymore. It's too…too open," she tries to explain, not sure if it makes sense to Brittany. "People see too much if you put anything in it, and I don't want them to see that in me. I don't know, I like the business classes okay but mostly they're just something to do because I had to do something, they're okay because they're easy. But it's not like I want to do insurance or be an accountant. I like reading, and even writing lame essays or goofy songs and poems, but there is no way in hell I'd ever want to be a teacher, and there's nothing else you can do with something like that," she shrugged that off without even giving it a serious thought. "So I guess it's just you then. So…I'll tag along with you."
Suddenly insecure, because this is exactly what had been the problem before- exactly what is keeping Brittany from being willing to officially date her now- Santana lifts her eyes up to look at her. "I mean, if I can. If it's okay. Until I figure something else out. I know you want me to think of something else."
Brittany gave Santana time to think about her question, aware that Santana often wasn't used to thinking about her own wants and needs at all - so much so that sometimes Brittany's questions stopped her in her tracks, needing time to actually find an answer to come up with. She watched Santana struggle after graduating to find what she wanted to do, and in the same way, both she and Santana were a little listless. The tour had simply happened by chance, but she knew, without even having to really confirm it, that that part of her life was over.
"I don't think that's true," Brittany responded instantly to Santana's thoughts about living and maybe it would be better if she didn't. "That's not an option of the question." Her voice was steady, even, and she tried to push down the panic that momentarily turned her veins to ice. "I don't think you're happy right now, in this life." Brittany spoke honestly, peeling back the layers of truth in Santana's statement and separating them from the false. "But I think you care about life." Brittany continued. "Because if you didn't, you would care about Rachel or Kurt, you wouldn't care about me." She knew, plainly, that Santana loved her and cared about their friends and, for the most part, was someone who loved her life and had always lived it, at least in the past. She tried not to let the statement bother her, but she could feel the sharp edges of Santana's words lodging against her heart, where she knew they'd stay.
She was grateful Santana kept talking, kept discussing possible life options with Brittany, thinking out in the open and having a conversation with herself as much as she was having one with Brittany. She loved when Santana did that, knowing that she was receiving her purse, unfiltered thoughts, knowing that she was speaking freely. "Okay, writing," Brittany started, "There are lots of things you could do. You could write books, or even short stories and stuff like that. Or you could be a journalist and do fun writing on the side." She pointed out, trying to scrape together potential careers from what she knew about writing.
"Maybe you should just start writing and see how it goes, how you feel," Brittany suggested, combing the wispies of black curls away from Santana's face. She silently thought it might also be a good outlet for Santana but didn't say as much, not wanting to push her.
She watched insecurity flash across Santana's face and shook her head softly, dismissing her concerns, hating that that was the reaction Santana had, knowing it was her fault. Again, guilt rolled low in her stomach. "I do want you to figure something else out because you're the one I'm concerned about," Brittany said softly, twirling a curl just above Santana's ear through her fingertips. "And I want you to be happy." She added, "But I think you've done enough of the tagging along in our life and it's my turn now." Brittany pointed out gently, meaning it. It was true, she'd follow Santana anywhere. "I don't think we need to worry about tagging along because no one's going anywhere."
It was a promise and a fact all rolled into one and she let it sink into Santana, it's reassurance heavy and comforting.
Santana doesn't lift her head, squirming a little in discomfort at Brittany's efforts to correct her thoughts. She doesn't want to talk about it, it makes her feel guilty and vulnerable and a little sick to try, but she does want Brittany to understand, and she wants to understand herself how she feels.
"That's different, though. Caring about you, and Rachel and Kurt. I can care about you guys and not care about me. And I can care about your lives and not care about mine." The only disconnect she doesn't see in this is that in caring about the people she loves, she has to also care how her being hurt, being unhappy, and certainly not being there at all, affects them in their lives too. That, Santana isn't seeing.
She shrugs quickly, trying to push this impulse to correct Brittany down. "I don't want to talk about it. It's not every day anyway. Just sometimes."
Santana thought about what Brittany was suggesting, writing books or stories. It wasn't something she had ever really tried outside of school assignments and writing songs for Glee. She hadn't even tried journaling before. She felt a slight stir of interest at the consideration, and when Brittany suggested she try, stroking back her hair, Santana let her head dip in a faint nod slowly.
"I guess I can try. It will probably be as bad as any song Rachel ever wrote for Finn or her reindeer sweaters, but I guess no one has to read it if it is."
When Brittany reassured her that she wasn't going anywhere, that she wanted Santana to be feeling safe and secure in this, Santana visibly relaxed, some of the tension in her face easing. She didn't look up at Brittany but took her hand, lightly tracing a heart in its palm. She too hasn't said that she loves Brittany yet since she came back to her, is vaguely afraid to say the word, but she wants her to know without having to actually voice it.
"Mmm," Brittany made a low, understanding noise in the back of her throat. It comforted her at least, to know that Santana still vocalized that she cared about her, Rachel and Kurt. She wanted to ask if Santana would ever hurt her, pointing out that losing her would effectively change Brittany's life forever but she didn't want to push her so soon after a nightmare, instead asking, "How often would you say it happens?"
She was grateful Santana seemed open to her suggestion of writing, knowing Santana would've probably shut it down if it came from anyone else. Only Brittany really knew about all of Santana's talents and how passionate she was about certain things, gently encouraging her ever if it may not have been the most accoladed career field.
"No one has to read them," Brittany promised, wondering if journaling would actually be a good outlet for Santana. She herself had never bothered to keep a journal, but for Santana, it actually sounded like a good thing, a place to be able to dump her thoughts.
"Okay, so maybe writing," Brittany pointed out. "Even if you don't end up following a career in writing, it may be something that helps on the side," She nodded, "Just like a hobby, y'know? Like dance before it became my real job. And then after school, you can figure out if you want to stay in the city but move to a new neighborhood or maybe go somewhere else." Brittany knew Santana liked to have options, plans, and she outlined them carefully. "But until then, you should start staying with me some nights, just to sleep somewhere new, to be somewhere new." She suggested gently, feeling Santana relax. Smiling, she watched Santana trace a heart on her palm, Brittany returning the gesture and tracing one on the round of Santana's cheek. "See, there are so many plans for you now."
Santana shrugs, letting out a reluctant sigh. She really, really doesn't like talking about such dark feelings. But Brittany seems interested more than judgmental, concerned rather than upset, and she does hate to shut her off. And a part of her, small as it is, does feel a tiny bit of relief that this stifled part of her is being heard.
"Not every day," she repeats again, avoiding Brittany's eyes. "It depends. Sometimes like a few times a week, for just a few seconds. Sometimes…most of a day."
She nods a little at Brittany's suggestion of writing. The more she thinks about it, the more she thinks that journaling might sort of help. It might hurt, but it might help too. And it can't hurt other people if they don't read it, the way she tends to when she lets her mouth run away with her after bottling things in for too long. As Brittany suggests her staying with her in her apartment some nights, Santana nods again, almost smiling, though not quite. She did like the idea of staying with Brittany, just the two of them again. She definitely liked sleeping with her better than Rachel.
Plans. Yeah, she did like the idea of having plans, at least possibilities if not definite outlined paths. And she liked even better having them with Brittany there to help brainstorm and encourage them.
The next day, though, in spite of her talking with Brittany and her good intentions to go forward with plans, whether writing or deciding on a new setting to restart things in life a little, Santana found that she had no motivation. She hadn't eaten anything but a handful of popcorn yesterday, and although she had drank some coffee and water, that more than likely had contributed to her entire lack of energy today. Her class for the day had been cancelled anyway, so it seemed pointless to her to get up and engage in the world.
She knows that Brittany has to get back in the world, though. However much she cares and wants to help her, she can't expect her to lay with her indefinitely. Brittany has classes to teach, and as much as Santana might want to be with her today too, the idea of actually getting up and going with her feels like far too much effort.
She had what for her passed for mild nightmares last night, with more whimpering and crying than outright panic when she woke up, but it was still enough to be draining. So when she woke for the final time just after daylight, Santana rolled onto her back, looked up at the ceiling, and said to Brittany flatly, "I'm not getting up today either. I know you need to, it's okay. Maybe I will tomorrow."
The rest of the day, Brittany was happy to give Santana basically whatever she wanted, which, unsurprisingly, turned out to be Brittany's undivided attention and as much physical contact as she could possibly get. Brittany gave it to her in abundance, knowing it physically calmed Santana's always tense body and the weight of her soothed Santana's nerves. Their day had been long, slow, uneventful and full of cuddles and Santana slept fairly peacefully through the night, Brittany only having to reach for her sleeping form twice to quiet her tears by pulling her into her arms and whispering small comforts to her in the dark, waiting until Santana's body was still and heavy before drifting back to sleep herself.
The next morning Brittany could've easily continued sleeping, burying her face in Santana's neck again and slipping an arm around her waist, a habit that was quickly becoming Brittany's morning routine and her favorite part of the day. She knew Santana was awake when she rolled on her back but Brittany stayed silent as she nestled in with her, content to let the morning calm wrap around them. She tried to bottle this calm, as if she could give it to Santana in moments of need, as if, if Santana could remember this moment, she could fight her demons when the edges of her calm began to fray.
"Oh really?" Brittany laughed into her neck. "Sorry to tell you, we have other plans," She grinned against Santana's neck, patting her stomach. Picking her head up, she propped her elbow up and rested her head on her hand, looking down at Santana. "You're going to take a shower, and then we're going to make coffee and you're going to sit with me and try to eat a little bit, and then you can come sit in on my classes and then you can come home with me," Brittany said, grinning.
Santana looked less than thrilled with this plan, but Brittany knew that was because so few people in Santana's life had ever told her no - not her parents, certainly not her friends and definitely never Kurt or Rachel. "I know that seems like so many things, but it's really not," Brittany promised, pushing herself to sit up on her heels. "C'mon, your shower awaits." She giggled.
Santana's brow furrows at this contradiction, and she shifts her eyes up to Brittany, checking that she's serious. She doesn't want to hear this at all. Because almost everything Brittany ever says, when it comes to declarations of intent, she means. And unlike everyone else in Santana's life, she can usually make Santana do what she wants Santana to do too.
"No," she whined, flopping back down and burying her face against the pillow. "I don't want to. It is a lot of things. Too many things. I don't want to do any things."
When she feels Brittany sit up, Santana shakes her head against the pillow, testing her resolve of this plan.
"No shower. Too cold for that. I'm staying here."
Brittany rolled her eyes with a grin at Santana's excuses, knowing they weren't real excuses. "Okay you have to come up with something better than that," She tickled Santana's ribs. "Lets start with a shower and see how you feel afterwards," Brittany compromised, knowing if she could get her in the shower the rest would be fairly easy.
She knew Santana wasn't genuinely upset, rather just pushing against Brittany because staying in bed sounded more appealing. She couldn't blame her, even Brittany thought the idea of staying in bed all day was more appealing, but she knew a routing and starting the day would make Santana feel better.
"The shower will be warm," She promised, stroking the back of Santana's head. She was patient, sitting up, letting her hand trail down Santana's back, giving her time to wake up and adjust to the idea of starting her day and taking a shower. "It'll feel really, really good," Brittany singsonged.
Santana batted at Brittany's tickling hands, whining again and scrunching up her nose, but she is trying not laugh. "Stoppp. I said I'm not getting up. Good night. Bye."
Of course, if Brittany did get up and leave without her, Santana isn't actually sure how she would react. She's spent whole days alone in the loft previously out of necessity, but now that it is no longer a necessity and she's used to otherwise, she doesn't actually like the idea of it. A whole day alone actually sounds, well, lonely.
But she's already staked her stance, and she's stubborn enough not to back down just yet.
"Mmph," she grumbled again when Brittany stroked her head and back, enjoying the touch, but not wanting to admit it. "How do you know it will feel good? It's not like you're in it with me. I bet it feels better here."
Brittany was still standing so close to the bed her legs were against it, taken aback by how quickly Santana moved. She thought it would've taken a lot more than her merely standing up, but she realized just how much Santana relied on her touch, hearing the edge of anxiety around her voice. She didn't want to torture her and so she reached, running her fingers back through the hair around Santana's face, pushing it off of her face. "Not right now, but I need to get up and get ready and eat something first." Brittany clarified, "I have class in a few hours."
She kept her hand on Santana, trailing it down to the junction where her neck met her shoulder. "Do you really want to stay in bed all day?" She asked, demanding an honest answer from Santana. "I think you'll feel better if you come with me," She continued, her thumb rubbing against Santana's collarbone gently. "We can even go back to my apartment after," She nodded, trying to lure Santana out of bed. "I don't like that you stare at the same four walls all the time, you need change. And sunshine. Come on." She squeezed her shoulder gently, hoping Santana would agree.
A little relieved when Brittany clarifies she really isn't immediately heading out the door, Santana covers Brittany's hand with hers, her shoulders dropping. She wrestled with the desire to stay stubborn and moreover, inert, and the far stronger desire not to be alone as Brittany had pointed out. Reluctantly she shook her head, though she pouted slightly.
"Fine, I'll go. But sunshine sucks."
This is blatantly not generally true of her feelings and she knows Brittany knows it. When it's warm out Santana loves soaking up sun and tanning for hours. It's actually cold she hates.
Sitting up, she stands, a little unsteady. "Coffee though is needed."
"Sunshine sucks, you can wear sunglasses," Brittany responded instantly, knowing Santana was lying but willing to humor her anyway. She grinned when Santana stood, her hand on her arm to steady her, slipping her other arm around her waist to properly hug her good morning. "Today will be a good day," She promised, patting Santana's butt in a thank you. "Come on, you can take a niiiiice hot shower and then we'll have coffee and maybe some breakfast -well, brunch now, more like it."
She threaded their hands together, leading Santana through the empty loft, feeling like she'd scored a little victory by getting her out of bed. it seemed like Santana wasn't as bothered as she'd been the day before, and they actually had squeezed in a few hours of sleep the night before. Leading her into the bathroom, Brittany leaned into the shower, turning the faucet on for Santana, letting the water warm while Santana undressed.
"How're your knees?" Brittany asked, knowing she still had the bandages on them because she'd stayed in the same pajamas all day. "We may be able to take them off today, we can do it after you shower, when they're soft."
Santana knows Brittany is humoring her and scowls, but quickly smiles when Brittany hugs her and pats her. "Really hot shower. I'm already cold. The Broadway twins keep this place worst than a meat locker."
She is further reassured when Brittany goes with her into the bathroom without asking and starts the shower for her. She knows better, really, but there is still a part of her that really feared Brittany wouldn't push back at her and would leave her alone.
"They're okay," she said as she glanced down at the knees in question, giving them an experimental poke. "I can take them off, it's not a big deal."
Honestly they were a little sore, but she doesn't say. Ripping them off, trying not to flinch, she steps in the shower, looking over her shoulder to make sure Brittany is still in the room. She doesn't even comment on food because that she does plan on bucking. Brittany giggled at Santana's complaining about the heat in the loft - she really hated the cold. She took her place on the toilet seat, taking the clothes Santana shed and holding them in her lap, flinching when Santana ripped off the Band-Aids by herself. "Jeez, I think it would've hurt less to wait, but I'll put ointment back on them when you're out." She promised.
She rested her elbow on the countertop, content with their routine of spending time in the bathroom with Santana while she showered, knowing the extra comfort was something Santana truly needed, especially since she'd once asked Rachel to do the job. When Santana looked back at unsurely, Brittany gave her a grin in reassurance, sitting where she always had.
Santana shrugged at Brittany's comment about her Bandaid removal tactics. She might hate cold, and being sick, and other minor discomforts, but when it comes to physical pain, she has a pretty high tolerance and a disregard of showing it when she can. It's something that her abuela had drilled into her; any time she cried over an injury that was less than severe as a child, her abuela had lectured Santana about the need to have "stamina" and threatened to give her something to really cry about. It wasn't something she was consciously aware of, but it had stuck in part. Until Brittany, she had never been used to anyone noticing something was uncomfortable for her unless she really made a point of showing it, often as obnoxiously as possible- it was either that, or block it off entirely.
Santana did relax as she showered, comforted by Brittany's steady presence and her patience with her, and Brittany was right, the shower did make her feel better and more alert. As she got out, drying off and wrapping the towel around herself, she gave Brittany a small smile. "I guess maybe I'm not that cold anymore." That's about as close to admitting Brittany is right as she's coming.
She hadn't thought to pick something out to wear before showering and glances to see if Brittany is going to wait for her in the bathroom before going back into her bedroom, retrieving a pair of jeans that used to be form-fitting but are now pretty baggy along with a flannel shirt and underclothes. She brings them back into the bathroom and dresses as she asks Brittany, "Now what? Are you showering next or do you need to go home to get clothes? I don't know if I have any that work for you dancing and going out. And are we doing coffee here or out?"
It might sound like a lot of small things for her to ask, but Santana feels the need to know what to expect. It's always difficult for her to go back out in the world after a day barricading herself from it. It was far harder without Brittany there to nudge her along; she had found it took every bit of will she had to get out of bed and to class, and any other type of self care typically went out the window.
Brittany stayed put, letting the sound of the shower soothe both of them, enveloping them in the warm steam of the bathroom. She played with her cuticles as she sat patiently, grinning when Santana climbed out moments later, wet but looking noticeable more awake and less grumpy. Her grin only widened more when she admitted she wasn't that cold, filing it as a small win. When Santana glanced back to her, hesitance in her gaze, Brittany nodded encouragingly, waiting under Santana had rejoined her in the bathroom, dressing in front of her.
At her peppering of questions, Brittany took them in stride, answering them back in simple order. "I'll shower here - I have clothes from the other day and clothes in my locker at the studio for dance, so we don't have to go back to my apartment before class, we can go there after. And it's up to you, we can make coffee or we can stop for it on the way."
None of those things mattered whatsoever, but Brittany listed them out anyway, knowing Santana was comforted by structure and detail and having plan - knowing little things like what came next soothed her anxiety, even if just on the surface level. And Brittany knew, far more than anyone else, that Santana had been let down in her youth far more than anybody should be, creating a teenager and now adult who liked to triple check the plan and then repeat it a few more times to make sure she had it right and it would happen that way.
She'd done it when they were together and did it now, wanting to make sure she really could count on the future and know with certainty what they were going to do. She liked double checking with Brittany that she would be there when class ended and visibly relaxed every time Brittany woke her up in the morning by outlining their day.
"I only have one adult class and one kid class so it won't be too long," Brittany continued, peeling her shirt - well, Santana's shirt, over her head and turning the shower water back on, stepping in and under the spray as she continued to speak to her through the screen. "Do you want to sleep at my apartment tonight? When's your next class?"
Santana nodded, mentally filing away Brittany's answers to her about the plan for the day. It felt a little more manageable to her when she could envision and repeat back to herself, whether in her own head or out loud, confirmation of what she was going to do. It was the lack of knowing, the lack of certainty and all the possible difficulties that could get in the way, that lead her to such extreme anxiety at times that she would simply choose not to make any choices.
She watched Brittany undress, admiring her body and the easy confidence the other woman showed in letting Santana see it. Brittany had always been so beautiful to Santana, so comfortable with herself, and for good reason.
"Um, coffee here," Santana answered, not wanting to have to go into an extra unknown setting today if possible. She nodded as she thought, trying to picture her schedule for the week. "Two tomorrow. Some reading and a paper due, oh, and some graphic stuff." She made a face, less than thrilled at the prospect of having to work on this. "I guess I can bring that to the studio."
Normally she would procrastinate until far closer to the actual time of the classes, but she didn't want to spend her time with Brittany's attention on her focused on classwork. She spoke a little hesitantly, picking at a cuticle from her perch on the closed toilet seat.
"If I have time, I might make a new file on my laptop. For trying other writing, journaling or songs or whatever. Maybe if you have to do stuff later I can try that."
Then, realizing Brittany can't see her responding nod to her question about staying in her apartment, Santana said aloud, "Yeah, I want to go back to your apartment with you." Thinking of the extra step of packing a bag, even of a few necessities like a toothbrush or a change of clothes, feels like a lot to her right now, and she checks in with Brittany. "Can I just bring my stuff for class? Do I have to pack stuff to stay over too?"
It was a simple thing, but it was adding another step and responsibility to the plan, and sometimes, on days where she's coming down from an extreme emotional high, Santana struggles with those extra small tasks. It's something that Rachel and Kurt in particular had struggled to understand and that she had difficulty trying to explain without defensive snapping. How could you make someone get that you could write a ten page paper and present a design for a business to a class, but doing something like making coffee or tidying up a room or getting groceries could paralyze you with indecision about how to do it and when and in what order of the list of "musts" for the day?
It felt much easier to fall in with Brittany's schedule for the evening, at least today, than to make the effort of adding in her own space. She would rather wear Brittany's clothes and use Brittany's brush and feel surrounded by Brittany, and then maybe the next day she would feel a little more open to flexibility as Santana.
Brittany let the warm water roll over her body, darkening her blonde hair under the spray. She yawned as she got used to the feeling of waking up, scrubbing water out of her eyes as Santana answered the questions she lobbed back at her. This was familiar to them, sinking into the back and forth of questions, especially when Brittany was preparing to leave to go on tour. The thought of it made her guilt spike as she massaged shampoo into her hair, she'd always gone over the tour stops and how many nights they spent in each city before she left, making sure Santana had all the information while Santana double checked it with her multiple times. She'd always known Santana to be like that, needing structure, and the reminder that Brittany had thrown their lives into chaos, Santana's life especially, made her feel even worse. She tried to push it out of her mind as she showered, making a silent promise to be present for Santana now.
"That sounds good, coffee here and you can do your work in the studio," She responded loudly, wanting Santana to hear her over the steam. She worked the shampoo into a lather and was mid-rinsing it out when Santana spoke again, her voice a little lower but still audible to Brittany, suggesting she may start a folder. Although Santana couldn't see her, Brittany grinned from ear to ear, careful to not get soap in her mouth.
"That sounds like a great idea San." She said, her voice a little giddy, "I think it would be good to have, maybe it would help if you tried to just get all your thoughts down first thing in the morning or at night so they're not all in your head." Brittany suggested. While she'd never been a big writer, she knew people swore by 'morning pages' or journaling before bed. "I think it will help for the things you don't want to say, you already write things on my skin." Brittany pointed out Santana's most common form of communication when she was upset. "Sometimes it's easier than talking."
"You can just bring your stuff, I have everything else," She promised, knowing she did. She and Santana shared clothes without ever really knowing whose was whose, same with bathroom products. "I already bought you a tooth brush," She blurted as she went over the list of things she had in her apartment.
When she realized her confession, she blushed scarlet, admitting that she already planned for Santana to stay over her apartment sometimes before she'd even thought about it. Turning the water off, she rolled her eyes at her own obviousness, wringing her hair out before she pulled the curtain back and reached for a towel, grinning when Santana handed it to her. "How do you feel right now?" Brittany asked as she tucked her town around herself.
"Yeah, um, maybe I can write that stuff down and let you read it," Santana said tentatively, not sure if Brittany is implying that she prefers her to not communicate through skin tracing, since she isn't able to see her through the curtain. "I don't know how I'll feel about it yet."
Santana smiled, small at first, then more broadly, as though it is taking her face a moment to remember how to, as Brittany told her she bought her a toothbrush. Brittany had already planned to have her stay over. She really did want her there. She knows that, but further evidence of this makes her happy.
She watched Brittany without bothering to hide that she was admiring her as Brittany dried off. Assessing herself, she was surprised to be able to tell her, "I think I feel sort of okay. A little nervous. But not really bad."
Continuing to watch Brittany, she blurted, "I swear your abs are like a 40 pack. It's unreal."
Flushing, she tried to change the subject. "Um, want me to do your hair?"
Brittany grinned as Santana suggested that maybe she'd let her read it. "Up to you," She said brightly. "I think even if you don't want anyone to read certain things, just writing them down and getting them out of your head could make you feel better, but I'll read anything you want me to," She promised, wanting to make sure that Santana knew there was no pressure with anything she wrote, no expectation for anyone at all to read it.
She knew Santana's eyes were on her and she didn't squirm under her gaze, continuing to dry her body and brush her fingers through her hair, nodding as Santana let her know how she felt, knowing her answer was honest by how she'd taken a moment to actually think about it and how she didn't insist she felt one way or another. "That's good. Sort of okay is good, San." She promised.
Giggling at Santana's comment, she rolled her eyes, stepping out of the shower to finish drying off. "That's a little dramatic, considering I haven't been dancing nearly as much in the last month," She said, feeling herself blush. It was true, Brittany hadn't been paying attention to her body as much, but her abs had always been Santana's favorite part of her body and she smiled at how comfortable she'd just been to comment on Brittany's body. "I have to stay fit so I can kick your ass during tickle fights," She shrugged, faking humble.
At Santana's suggestion, though, Brittany grinned, "Yes please." She handed off her brush, loving when Santana brushed it for her or played with her hair in general. Brittany usually didn't pay much mind to her hair but Santana was always so good at doing it, mainly because Santana had wavier hair and her more experience doing hair. "Thank you," She added, her eyes shutting at the feeling of Santana pulling the brush through her hair.
Santana smiled with continuing hesitation as Brittany assured her that sort of okay was good. She wasn't sure, she would rather be totally great, but she guesses Brittany has a point. It's better than she felt yesterday and twenty minutes ago.
"Hey, your abs seem to grow by you basically breathing, they reproduce like those things in biology that basically clone themselves," Santana insisted, her smile fuller. "They are clearly meant to be on your body no matter what."
She mock scowled and then reached out to tickle Brittany's still exposed abs before she could cover them, dodging out of the way before the other woman could retaliate. "I'm just off my game, I'm getting you back, it's coming!"
Santana softened again to a genuine smile as she took the brush from Brittany, gently running her fingers through first to thoroughly get out tangles. She loves having her hair played with and loves doing Brittany's hair, which is far easier to her than her own to style and care for. She's always been somewhat jealous of Brittany and Quinn with their straighter "white" hair, hair that didn't require special brushes that didn't break in one brushing and conditioner to tame it's waves. She brushed Brittany's hair with long, relaxing strokes, finding it as soothing for herself as if it were her own hair, and scratched her fingers lightly over Brittany's scalp. Then she French braided it and pulled it up in a twist, securing it in place with some Bobby pins, figuring she would need it out of the way to dance.
"There."
She has done the absolute minimal with her own hair in the last few months to avoid it becoming a tornado on her head, but she's satisfied to see she still can do hair if she wants.
Brittany held still patiently as Santana did her hair, loving the way it felt as she raked her fingers through it, the ends of her wet hair tickling Brittany's bare shoulders. She watched in the mirror as Santana stood behind her in concentration, weaving her hair expertly around the different strands as she French braided down the back of her scalp. Brittany could braid, but she didn't do a great job on herself and always got confused. Santana, on the other hand, was an expert braider and always produced tight, neat, even braids even when she braided her own hair. "Ooh, thanks," Brittany said, reaching back to run her fingers over the bumps of her French braid appreciatively.
"Come on, lets make coffee and you can get your school stuff together while I get dressed," She said, listing all three things they were about to do even though they weren't even leaving the loft to do them. She lead the way over to Santana's area, pulling on the clothes that she'd shed the other night when Santana had gotten upset and Brittany had spontaneously slept over. She made sure her phone was plugged in and charged, largely forgotten about while she was with Santana, sending a few texts to her mom and a few dance friends to check in.
Making her way back over to the kitchen, she reached up into the cabinet for the cereal (Lucky Charms, Rachel had bought them for her even after a 20 minute lecture about how they would rot her teeth) and began preparing herself a bowl while the coffee pot churned. "I'll make you just a little," Brittany said evenly, getting a second bowl down and making some for Santana. Regardless of if she was eating it, she wanted the food to be in front of her as an option and get Santana used to the sight of it.
Santana went to get her laptop, bag for it, and a flashdrive, bringing them into the kitchen. She doesn't bother to check her own phone because the only notifications she normally gets are from school or the roommates- far more from Rachel than she finds necessary, and far wordier than necessary too. Sometimes Santana replies in as obscure text speak as possible just to stress Rachel out.
As she comes into the kitchen and sees that Brittany has started the coffee and is making her cereal too, Santana's stomach drops. Even the sight of cereal in front of her, full of sugar and empty calories, makes her anxiety soar, and she looks away from it, busying herself getting out mugs and waiting for the coffee. She fixes herself and Brittany some, leaving hers black and making Brittany's in her preference, before standing rather than sitting near rather than at the table. Her leg is twitching a little as she focuses on sipping her coffee and not looking at the food.
For the past several months she's gone out of her way to avoid being present when Kurt or Rachel are eating, which is easy to excuse by as sneering at Rachel's vegan food and calling Kurt's food "weird white nerd shit, acting like she simply is too good for their food rather than avoiding any food, period. But Brittany won't let her get by with that, and although her friends have nagged and pleaded and reasoned with her about eating, her acidic responses are always enough for them to back off. Santana has grown used to eating only when no one watches and only in enough amounts to get her through the day, and she usually waits until she feels near fainting. Even then, she has a strict mental list if what she can eat and how much of it and in what way. Lucky charms is not on the list.
Brittany won't really expect her to eat that, will she?
