It had been a few days since the long, emotional exchange with Brittany, and Santana had been processing a lot since. She had started back her normal routine of classes and dreaded the possible judgment or questions from her classmates, but other than a couple asking if she was okay, she was ignored, as Brittany had predicted, much to her relief. Eating was difficult still, with Santana still emotional and struggling at each meal and never able to finish all of whatever she had. She was trying, usually, anyway, but only her desire to please Brittany and her fear of being forced to be put inpatient drive this.
She had, with great discomfort, braved talking to Kurt and Rachel yesterday. She had certainly not wanted to, and actually talking about her feelings being hurt by their texts had been actively avoided. What had actually happened was she had texted both saying "u can have a 1 time free pass cuz im awesome like that. Never happened and that means shut up bout it Berry."
Of course, that hadn't exactly worked. What had happened instead was they had both met her after class in the same spot she now met Brittany, filled to the brim with apologies that Santana immediately cut off and deflected, firm in her insistence that the entire situation not be talked about. She had "suffered" Rachel's insistence at a hug and Kurt's awkward, timid shoulder squeeze and listened to them talk for a little while- very little- before saying, with effort that felt huge and vulnerably out there for her, "Can we not stand here talk talk talking and not walk walk walking in the dark?"
Glancing at Brittany, she had added with less snappiness and far more softly, her shoulders braced from the effort it took for her, "It...makes me nervous."
Both Kurt and Rachel had looked startled, as though the idea had simply not occurred to them, which it probably hadn't. And they had immediately agreed and done as she asked, without any further questions or demands for explanations. Santana was still amazed by that aspect alone. She was hardly excited at the idea of continuing to talk *feelings" with them, but it wasn't a horrid start.
Mostly thought, she had pondered what had occurred between her and Brittany. Ever since that night, she couldn't stop remembering how Brittany had explained her reasons for leaving her, how very different they had been than what Santana had believed. She couldn't stop thinking of how Brittany had told her how she was still in love with her, how she had promised her she would never leave her again. Santana replayed those words and those moments to herself over and over, a soothing litany when she felt anxious or upset.
That was why when Brittany took her by the hand a few nights later after they got home from her last class, told her to sit down on the couch with her, and told her she had something to talk to her about, Santana's mind immediately jumped to panic.
She should have known things were starting to get too calm, too good to be true. Talk was never a good thing, not when someone told you to sit down to do it. So what terrible, scary thing was Brittany about to make her talk about that required her to sit down?
She was already heading towards a silent inner panic attack before she even had reached the couch. What if Brittany was sick? What if she was really hurt and couldn't dance anymore at all and just got good at faking being okay? What if she had changed her mind and was going back on tour? What if she was tired of Santana after all and was going to leave, what if she was about to tell Santana she had to go back to the loft? What if she was DYING?
By the time Brittany sat beside her Santana was nearly hyperventilating.
"Oh my god, what is it, just say it!" She demanded, as though she had been waiting twenty days instead of about twenty seconds to hear. "What's wrong, what did I do, what is it, what?!"
In the days following the incident at the hospital, Santana's spat with Kurt and Rachel and their long conversation, Brittany had done her best to establish some sort of routine for them, now that Santana more or less lived there. They'd unpacked all her things from the suitcase and regardless of their classes and schedules, they started and ended each day the same - slow and together, full of gentle touches and showers while Brittany did her skincare routine and kept her company, mornings and evenings sitting at the table working towards eating, always followed by Brittany and Santana laying together or watching TV on the couch to soothe Santana's discomfort.
She knew Santana had texted Kurt and Rachel, which was why she was surprised when they also reached out to her, overcome with apologies and insisting they meet up after Santana's class to apologize in person. Initially, Brittany resisted, knowing sometimes classes could be draining or upsetting for Santana and unsure how she'd take it. Ultimately they were relentless, and Brittany couldn't help but be a little amused when they both simultaneously launched into a rant of apologies. She'd slipped a hand around Santana's waist as they spoke, aware of the darkening night and knowing Santana's anxiety usually progressed as the night wore on.
When Santana did react, asking them to start walking, Brittany thought nothing of it, about to agree for Santana's sake and start moving. She didn't expect Santana to continue, admitting her feelings, showing vulnerability just like they talked about. It was a baby step, but for Santana, a huge leap. She beamed when Santana met her eyes, giving her a little nod of reassurance, giggling at Kurt and Rachel's stunned looks.
After the entire apology performance, her relationship with Rachel improved and Brittany truly felt like she was trying to help Santana where she could. When Brittany repeated what the doctor had said while Rachel wasn't in the room, Rachel was quick to offer her help and promised Brittany she'd do extensive research when it came to finding a therapist. Although she knew Rachel could be self centered, she found that she really did trust her and knew that when Rachel sent a few links and suggestions, she'd truly looked into them and thought they would be good fits for Santana.
Discussing the topic with Santana, however, was an entirely different story, one she knew would be an anxiety trigger. She wanted to approach it gently, waiting until they were home and calm after dinner, sitting Santana down on the couch, holding both her hands in hers. When she opened her mouth to speak, though, she found Santana looked distraught already, her face trying hard not to crumple, her eyes wide and terrified.
"Wait, Wait," Brittany shook her head with a small, comforting smile. "Nothing's wrong, you didn't do anything," She promised, feeling her heart tug at the way Santana assumed she'd done something. Scooting closer, she draped one of her arms across Santana's lap, wanting to comfort her.
"It's not anything bad. I just wanted to talk to you about starting to meet a therapist," She said openly, not skirting around the topic, not wanting Santana to panic about it. "Rachel did research to help me find some," Brittany explained, "I think we should go and meet one, and you can see if you like them."
Santana tried to take a breath as Brittany reassured her, her heart still hammering with her lingering dread. She squeezed her hands, trying to settle. If it wasn't bad, then what was the drama? Did Brittany have a surprise, a good one?
She didn't have much time to wonder before Brittany came out with it. And she didn't give her hardly any time before she reacted, vehemently and defensively.
"A therapist? Are you serious? A therapist, like I'm some kind of sadsack who wants to sit around and complain about my life to some stranger who nods like a puppet on a string? Who do you think I am, Tina? Mr. Shue? God, I didn't even talk to Miss Pillsbury in high school, why the hell would I go see a therapist? No. No way. Not happening. I'm not spilling all my pathetic shit out to some asshole who gets paid a dollar a minute to be a bobbing head. No!"
She pulls her hands from Brittany's and stands, running an agitated hand through her hair. "Since when do you listen to Rachel anyway, since when does she get to decide anything about my life?"
Brittany was not at all surprised by her reaction, nor was she agitated by it, letting Santana pull her hand away from her, keeping her voice even. "No, tons of people go to therapy, San. You went through something traumatic and I think it would be good to try it." Brittany pointed out. "I think taking to someone could help with things and could help us figure out how to manage some things better, like when you get scared or when you don't feel good about eating." Her words were vague, but she was deliberate in her use of the verb 'us', wanting Santana to know they were doing it together. "I think you're under a lot of pressure and it could help." She continued gently, "I want you to be as happy as possible, and right now you're not." Her voice was light, but she knew she was telling the truth, even though Santana may deny it. She knew that even though Santana would promise she was happy with her, objectively, she wasn't happy, and Brittany didn't want her to live her life afraid of everything anytime they were separated.
When Santana stood, Brittany stayed seated, calm, her head tilted up to look at Santana. "You make all the decisions," She promised, knowing control was Santana's number one comfort, second to maybe only Brittany herself. "Rachel isn't deciding anything about your life or who you see, she just wanted to help and helped me look, but I looked too," Brittany added.
"We looked because the doctor told us to," She reminded, "Because I think it could be a good thing and could help you before it gets worse." She nodded, knowing Santana was defensive and prickly, more than willing to wait it out. She was patient and familiar with the way Santana worked, letting her stand and pace while she sat, allowing her to get out her anger and frustration.
"Yeah, tons of sad, crazy, weak people go to therapy," Santana snapped. "Dorks and losers and self pitying assholes. Not me. I'm not going!"
She paced an agitated circle around the room, narrowly missing hitting her shins against furniture and knocking over objects as she gestured furiously. "Yeah, right, I make all the decisions, that's why you and Berry the Big Beak decided to go make me a therapy appointment. Sounds like I got to make decisions, all right. Here's my decision. Not. Going. Period. And anyway I'm fine, I'm happy!"
What she looks and sounds is very pissed off, but also a sheen of fear shows in her eyes, glistening a bit more clearly as she has more time to think.
Brittany followed her with her eyes as she went, twisting her body as Santana paced around the back of the couch furiously. She wasn't necessarily surprised by her reaction, even though the therapist recommendation had come from the doctor when Santana was in the hospital. It had been a week since then, and the fear and severity of Santana's condition seemed a little further off, especially since they had been working on eating. She still wasn't eating nearly enough, and that was just part of it - the nightmares and trauma were all still there.
"Rachel didn't make the appointment, I did," She clarified, knowing that would soften Santana's anger, even if just a little. "Rachel just did all the research and sent me ones she thought would be good, do you want to see the list?" Brittany wondered, resting her forearm on the back of the couch as Santana continued to pace.
She wasn't sure if seeing the list would agitate Santana more or less, but if Santana wanted to pick one that Brittany hadn't, she was all too willing to involve her more in the process. "I didn't think you'd want to read through all that stuff, I thought it might upset you, but we can look through them together if you want." Most of the therapists specialized in sexual assault or had descriptions that discussed things like abuse, eating disorders and trauma, all things she knew would upset Santana to read.
I am happy. Brittany's face didn't show it, but internally, she knew Santana was grasping for straws with that statement, desperate to prove that she didn't need to see a therapist. "I think you're being judgmental about going to therapy." Brittany pointed out. "You're not happy, but it's okay, you don't have to be happy all the time. I'm not either. Even if you were happy, that doesn't mean a therapist is a bad idea."
Her voice was even, as casual as if they were discussing their class schedule instead of Santana pacing around the room snapping. She let her, though, remaining seated on the couch, knowing that sooner or later, Santana would deflate, unphased by her outburst, patient enough to wait it out.
Santana can't make her body stay still. She ups the frantic pace of her circle around the living room, swearing when she finally does knock her hip hard into a shelf, but continues unabated. It feels to her like by being in motion she can somehow run away from the idea of therapy, or make Brittany distracted enough to forget. Even the thought of sitting across from a stranger talking about even one part of her life feels intensely threatening, and she continues to shake her head hard enough the tendons of her neck stand out.
"I'm not going. I don't care what you think or Berry thinks or anyone else, I'm not going! I don't need to and I don't want to! I'm doing better, you see me trying here, why are you trying to make things worse? Going to some creep who gets off on hearing sob stories and making people cry is about the last thing in the world to make me happy."
She paused long enough in her pacing to look up at Brittany, closer to pleading than rage as anxiety starts to spill over the anger to overtake it. "I don't need therapy to be happy, I just need you. Why can't you just let me be happy with you?"
"I know you're trying, and you're doing a really good job," Brittany acknowledged. Santana was right about that, she was trying, Brittany saw it every day. "But it's hard to do it all by yourself, and to actually heal from everything that's been going on. You're the strongest person I know, but even you can't do everything all by yourself." She pushed.
It was underhanded reassurance - she meant that Santana didn't have to do everything all by herself, knowing that she'd grown up her entire life doing everything on her own. She also really hadn't had anyone intervene in her life like that, Brittany realized. No parent or friend had ever looked at Santana struggling in high school and stepped in to help. Of course Santana was having a hard time recognizing what she was doing as love. She flinched when Santana banged her hip into the shelf, pressing her lips together as Santana swore.
Her heart fractured at Santana's promises, wishing so badly that she could be everything Santana needed, that she could instinctually know everything a therapist could know about helping learn healthy habits.
"I wish you could be happy with just me," She admitted gently. "And I know you're happy with me, but it's different, San. I know you better than anybody, but I don't know the best ways to make sure you're okay or to help you with everything that happened, I'm learning it just like you." Brittany insisted, pointing out the fact that she was not an expert in this, even though Santana was reluctant to ever acknowledge any flaw of Brittany's. "I think a therapist could help the world seem less scary for you, and could help with the nightmares and the food and things like that." She said, "I think your mind is moving too fast for you right now, it's not about making you cry." Brittany observed, putting a name to what Santana was feeling, knowing her mind was whirling faster than she could control and that they were both focusing on two very different factors of therapy.
"I'm not doing it by myself, I'm doing it with you," Santana persisted, desperate to get Brittany to agree with her. She stopped her circling of the room, coming to stand in front of Brittany again, and continued to make full eye contact, her expression having lost its anger and now showing only pleading, strong vulnerability, and fear. She stepped closer, not quite touching her yet.
"You do know the best way. I don't want anyone else to talk to. I don't want anyone else to help me. I just want you. I just want to talk to you. I tried to talk to Rachel and Kurt a little too, isn't that enough? Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making me go talk to someone else too? I can't, Brittany, don't you get that, I can't just sit there and talk about things. You don't get it, I can't even say the words."
She took another step to Brittany, lightly touching her knees with her own, though still standing, closer now to tears and blinking them back. "I can't talk to anyone that doesn't even know me. That won't help, it will make things worse."
Brittany held her gaze as she stood, seeing how hard Santana was fighting to keep her composure and fighting to stay angry at the situation rather than fearful. "You don't have to do therapy by yourself either, you can do that with me too," She promised. "We can do it together, San, I'm not going to put you in a room with someone you're not comfortable with." Brittany swore. She wasn't sure what exactly the therapy protocol was, having never gone before, but she knew that she'd at least have to be in the room in the beginning or they would accomplish nothing.
When Santana came close enough for their legs to touch, Brittany brought her hands up to rest on Santana's hips from where she sat, gently rubbing the hip that Santana had banged on the furniture. "Okay, okay, slow down, I think you're moving too fast." She soothed, wanting to deescalate the situation as Santana stood in front of her. "You don't have to walk in and tell them every single thing that happened to you," She promised, squeezing her waist gently. "Therapy is just a place where they can help with some of the things going on in your mind, the point isn't to torture you, San. You can say as much as you want or nothing at all, but therapists know how to help with stuff like nightmares and things like that so they're not so bad." Brittany explained, trying to peel back the layers and go back to step one.
"It's just a safe place to talk, if you feel like it, to someone who knows a lot about the type of things that're going on. We can go meet them, and if you hate them, we can go meet someone else, and if therapy isn't something that you think is helping then we can stop. But I don't think it' a bad thing if we try." She explained, trying to take some of Santana's negativity out of the equation. "You are the one making the decisions here, no one can make you go. But I'm scared for you, and I don't want you to end up in the hospital again and I think we need help that goes past me and Rachel and Kurt."
Santana stood still as Brittany held onto her hips, rubbing the smarting one already on the verge of bruising. She bit her lip, letting Brittany try to soothe her with her touch and words, even as her thoughts continued to race with all the possible outcomes that could go wrong, that she was sure would go wrong.
She hadn't thought about the possibility that Brittany could be with her in therapy. The only thing she knows about therapy is from TV and movies, and those silly pamphlets Miss Pillsbury had always made. Since Miss Pillsbury, sweet as she was, was into Mr. Shue and pretty crazy from Santana's perspective herself even without that factor to consider, it hadn't exactly given her the best look at what therapy could be..
She pressed her lips together, swallowing hard, when Brittany confessed her fear for her, her fear for Santana going to the hospital. Santana is terrified of this too. Especially with the holidays approaching, she had had a rough week recently, struggling more with nightmares, eating less than Brittany seemed to think she should be, and feeling more anxious and clingy than she generally had been since moving in with her. It had crossed her mind that maybe she was crazy enough now that a doctor would hospitalize her, and that was part of what drove her fear.
But damn it, she didn't want to go to therapy. Though not quite as strongly as she didn't want to go to the hospital.
"But...I don't want to," she repeated, although this time her tone is far less strident and confident and far closer to a whine. "Brittany, I don't want to."
Brittany could feel Santana's anger vanish under her touch as she held her by the waist, her body finally stilling and calming. She knew Santana was actually listening to her now by the way she paused before speaking again, taking the time to digest and process what Brittany was saying instead of continuing her spiral against therapy. She couldn't blame her, knowing that therapy didn't align with Santana's mindset of being strong and getting through things on her own without relying on anyone other that Brittany for help. Therapy was something Santana would automatically see as a weakness, and Brittany was gently trying to disarm that perspective as she sat there.
"I know you don't want to," Brittany responded automatically, wanting Santana to feel like she was seeing and hearing her. "I understand why it's scary and doesn't sound like something you want to do, but I think we can talk about it more and why it seems so scary to you." She was speaking freely now, knowing Santana's rage was gone and her walls were down. "It's just somebody you can talk to," Brittany pointed out, knowing that in her life, there were very few people other than herself who Santana ever felt like she could speak to. Truthfully, she thought an extra support system would be great for Santana and give her structure and tools to emotionally regulate herself, but she knew to Santana, having to talk about all the awful things that had happened to her seemed like an impossible hurdle to jump.
"We don't have to do anything too fast," She promised. "Maybe we can just meet one and you can see how you feel. We can talk to different ones until you find someone that you feel most comfortable with," Brittany explained. "And then we can just go once a week or something, and you can talk if you want to."
"I didn't say it was scary!" Santana said automatically, defensive, but at Brittany's expression, she softened, knowing Brittany sees through her.
She exhaled again, her features tight and pinched as she listened to Brittany, trying to see her perspective. If Brittany really wants her to do this, it's hard for her to keep telling her no. She still doesn't like it, she still doesn't want to, and she still is beyond convinced it will be torturous and pointless. But Brittany wants her to, and to Santana, that means a lot.
"You'll go with me?" She asked again, needing that confirmation. "And I don't have to talk, and I don't have to see them once I see what a loser they are?"
Brittany smiled just a little at Santana's automatic protest. "Therapy is scary at first San, for everyone." She tugged her hips forward a little, patting the spot next to her on the couch, wanting Santana to sit with her again now that she'd gotten the outburst out. "I'll go with you and I'll sit in the room with you and if you don't like them we don't ever have to go back," Brittany swore. "But, when we do go, I want you to give them a chance." She requested gently, knowing it would be much easier for Santana to walk into each appointment and declare she hated the therapist.
Brushing the hair back off Santana's face, Brittany could see the fear plainly across her features. "I want you go to therapy because I want you to be able to live without being scared or getting upset so much." She explained simply, knowing that Santana had not often been shown that type of love before, certainly not enough to understand what it was. "I want you to be able to get a good night's sleep and be able to give your body what it needs without being upset. I know you don't want to go to therapy, but when you love someone like I love you, you don't just let them continue to be sad like that." She said, knowing that there were a million times where Santana had been struggling and her support system failed her, knowing this was the first time she was being pushed into doing something out of love and want for her own wellbeing. "Therapy is scary and can be hard, but I want you to do it because I think it will help you in ways that I can't."
Santana exhaled again, sitting beside Brittany when she gently encourages her to, turned to face her, their legs touching. She listened to Brittany's explanation of why she wants this for her, how she wants Santana to get help and feel better and safer and less sad. She has almost given up that it's possible, has pretty much concluded that being with Brittany is the closest to feeling like she used to that will ever be possible.
She closed her eyes when Brittany stroked her hair, and the threatening tears pressed harder against her eyelids when she told Santana she loved her. Brittany knew it was damn well impossible to deny her anything she wanted when coupled with telling her she loved her.
"Fine," she mumbled, trying to glare, but the expression is far too shaky to be convincing. "I'm mad at you, though."
She isn't, really. And her face and posture if leaning into Brittany says nothing but anxiety, not anger.
Brittany saw how Santana's face wobbled for a moment when she brushed her hair away, knowing how anxious and stressed she was about going to therapy. "You can be mad at me," Brittany said easily, rubbing Santana's thigh gently to soothe her. She could deal with the emotions, knowing Santana, really, was just afraid more than anything else. The fear was the emotion that Brittany focused on, knowing the others would level out once she was able to calm her down and placate her fears about therapy for the moment.
"I'll help you," She promised, cupping Santana's jaw in her hand. "I can do some of the talking, or I'll just be there with you so you're not alone." Brittany reassured her. "I can show you who I made it with and you can read about them if you want - it's a woman," Brittany added.
That had been a no brainer in her search. Santana was agitated by men in general, even if they didn't bear particular resemblance, and she knew putting Santana in a room with an older man she'd never met before would've been awful for her and would've been basically impossible to talk about anything. She'd been careful in her selection, a woman, fairly young, who seemed warm but not overenergetic in a way that would scare Santana or put her walls up.
"The appointment is next week, on Wednesday," Brittany continued, wanting Santana to have as much information as possible. "You don't have class that day and I got a sub for mine, so we can just spend the day together before the appointment," Brittany promised - another thing she'd thought carefully about. She knew the day of and days leading up to the appointment, Santana would be clingy and set off easily, so going back and forth from dance to Santana's classes would only be more upsetting.
"Well, I am mad at you," Santana muttered. "You and Broadway Bigshot and Prancy Pony, all of you."
Still, she mellowed just a bit when Brittany accepted this, rubbing her leg and cupping her face. Brittany always seemed able to have that impact on her with her touch. As she continued to let Santana know the information, Santana was torn between pretending she didn't care to know and wanting every single detail possible. Finally she gave in.
"Fine. Show me this smug troll of a therapist."
"Noted," Brittany nodded with a serious bob of her head, although a smile was playing at the corner of her mouth. She knew the fact that Santana was mad at her was a lie, and even if she was, it would change nothing about their routine. They'd still cuddle on the couch and go to bed together and be as touchy and affectionate as always, regardless of how angry one ever was at the other, even though it was impossible to stay truly angry at all.
Laughing a little at Santana's snappy request to see the therapist, Brittany picked up her phone from the coffee table, tapping a few times until she handed it to Santana, her screen unlocked on the therapist's website - Dr. Kate Stevens. She already knew what it said - she'd read it multiple times to make sure she liked her the best, but she was also wondering what Santana would think of it, would think of what it said. She knew they were stepping into uncharted territory, taking the first step to actually build Santana a support system of professionals who were well versed in helping people who struggled with similar things and had similar experience. She was nervous, of course, but looked forward to Santana having that extra level of structure and support from another adult for the first time in her life.
Santana's brow furrowed as she read the information on the page several times and looked closely at the picture of the woman. She didn't look horrible and hideous. She also didn't look like an idiot or a bitch, but Santana doesn't want to admit that. Almost unconsciously she slipped into Brittany's lap as she pondered over the descriptions of the woman's educational background and the types of therapy she offers as well as what the therapies are. She kind of likes the idea of one called EMDR- sounds like minimal talking.
"Hm," she grunted. "Geek. All that school."
Never mind that Santana's in school herself and was literally in Glee. And actually likes reading her assigned work.
Brittany sat back as she read, adjusting to fold her legs under her as Santana unconsciously climbed into her lap and settled against her, one of her hands rubbing up and down Santana's thigh soothingly as she read. Brittany had let Rachel do all the work about the qualifications and things like that, mostly focusing on if the therapists seemed warm and kind and how they came across from their website.
"Would you rather your therapist not have gone to school for a long time?" Brittany asked jokingly with a smirk, slipping her arms around her. She knew, really, Santana probably thought it was cool that the doctor was so educated. Santana loved school, and while Brittany was one of the very few people who knew that, she also knew that Santana was insanely smart.
"What else do you think of her?" Brittany asked, encouraging Santana to share her thoughts on the doctor. "I talked to her on the phone when I made the appointment, she seems nice to me." Brittany admitted gently.
"Well...but she's all look at me, I have degrees," Santana muttered, although she has to admit to herself Brittany is right, and that the part about her education comes across as factual rather than bragging.
She shrugged one shoulder in response to Brittany asking what else she thinks. "I don't know. That therapy with the eyes seems weird but at least it doesn't sound like talking much." She rolls her eyes at Brittany. "She has to sound nice, she wants our money. What is she gonna do, curse you out?"
Still. Brittany's opinion does hold weight with her. Maybe this woman is okay, but Santana still hates therapy.
Brittany rolled her eyes with a small smile, knowing Santana was grasping at things to judge the woman for. Brittany was pleased that her level of degrees was the only thing Santana seemed able to come up with in terms of judging her, shaking her head. "I think she sounds like she wants to help people." Brittany corrected gently, patting Santana's hip as she spoke.
"She seemed nice on the phone," Brittany repeated, "She doesn't really sounds like how you'd think a doctor sounded - like cold or mean or anything. She actually seems pretty chill, and she said it was fine if I was in the room with you. It was the first thing I asked," Brittany continued, knowing that was a very important factor to Santana. "If you decide you don't hate her, she said we can meet every Wednesday starting after we come back from Christmas."
"Mm." Santana has nothing else to say, mainly because she can't think of anything else to criticize over. Her thoughts are stuck on a childish loop of "but I don't like it, I don't want to," which is not a good enough rebuttal.
She hands Brittany back her phone and pouts, slouching down in her lap and crossing her arms.
"I'm done talking about this until I'm actually there. And I'm not talking there either if I don't want to. Which I won't."
88
After Brittany had first introduced the subject and Santana had begrudgingly agreed to go, even though she continued to declare there would be no speaking, they more or less dropped the topic of therapy. Brittany didn't push her on it, knowing that Santana knew she could bring it up if she wanted to talk about it, which she very decisively didn't.
She paid careful attention to Santana in the days leading up to therapy, trying to smooth over her rough edges and be extra patient with her, knowing her agitation was poorly veiled fear. She blissfully ignored Santana's snappy remarks, instead opening her arms when she sought out Brittany's comfort, running a hand through her hair silently as she laid her head in her lap, pretending to watch what was on TV while Brittany knew her mind was wandering.
The night before therapy had been rocky and jarred by nightmares, which didn't exactly surprise Brittany, coaxing Santana back to sleep in her arms multiple times before she finally settled against her, soothing her with a mumble of comforting words. She knew that even in sleep, Santana's mind was restless, smoothing her hand over her forehead until her frown relaxed itself.
The next morning, the alarm that Brittany had set went off, quietly at first. Although she was exhausted, she woke up instantly, reaching to turn it off and set it back on the nightstand before rolling over towards Santana, sliding her arms around her and pulling her against her body. "Morning, San," She hummed into her hair, sliding her hand up her shirt to rub her back.
If the past several days leading up to the first meeting of Dr. Kate Stevens were horrifically difficult for Santana, she couldn't even begin to imagine how hard it was going to be for her to actually have the assessment.
The closer the time came for the day of the appointment, the more Santana's emotions swung out of control. She could careen from being angry and irritable at absolutely everything and everyone, even Brittany, to jumping and flinching at any small noise or movement, to breaking down in tears over something that normally wouldn't phase her. Santana hated feeling this out of control, and she hated her own behavior. If this was how she felt just anticipating therapy, how could it possibly be helpful to her to actually experience it?
She had especially struggled the night before the dreaded day. Her sleep had been very disrupted; she had barely been able to drift off for more than a couple of hours at a time,, even with Brittany's most soothing gestures and words, before jolting awake shaking and shaken from vivid nightmares. She couldn't even think of the words to describe them even to Brittany; all she could summon up was the feeling of fear. She felt nearly incapacitated with fear of the upcoming appointment, what might happen during it, and what she might be asked, what it might make her think about or remember that she usually tried so hard to push down and avoid.
When Brittany's alarm went off, Santana barely heard it. She lay still, her face buried partly in her pillow, her body heavy and rigid already with anxiety as she feels Brittany pull away enough to turn off the alarm. When Brittany came back to her and embraced her, rubbing her back, Santana buried her face in her neck, already feeling teary, and didn't even care when the words she mumbled against her skin came out sounding like a whine.
"I'm not going today, Britt. I don't want to, and I'm not. I'm staying here."
Brittany's movements were slow and lazy, no rush or urgency behind her movements. They had time to lay and get ready slowly before they had to be there, something Brittany had done intentionally, wanting to give them down time without rushing them out the door and adding more stress to the situation. She let her eyes fall shut again as Santana tucked her face into her neck, already feeling her body tense. "Shhhh, just lay with me for a minute, we have time before we have to get up." She soothed.
She pulled the covers up around them again, tucking Santana into the safety and warmth of their bed as she lay curled into her side. Brittany didn't react to her insisting that she wasn't going, she'd said it a hundred times in the days leading up, but they could deal with that if Santana actually refused to walk out the door. Brittany thought she'd go, even if she did complain the entire time, but if she flat out refused, Brittany was prepared to cancel and try again.
"I know you're tired," Brittany hushed. They were both exhausted, battling through multiple of Santana's nightmares the night before, any sleep being fitful and broken up by periods of wakefulness. She snuggled Santana closer into her, her hand still up her shirt against her skin. "We'll lay here for a little bit, and then you can take a shower and see how you feel, and then we'll eat breakfast and you can see if you want anything." Brittany whispered softly, outlining their day, letting Santana know what came next and what she could expect.
"Then we can try to go to therapy and see how you feel, and after we'll come home and lay on the couch and I'll rub your back, just like this," Brittany promised gently.
Santana burrowed in as close to Brittany as she could get, her hands trapped between their chests, her breathing already hitching a little. She closed her eyes, nodding mutely in response to Brittany saying that she knew she was tired. She was- beyond tired, she felt exhausted to the point of barely being able to think coherently, and yet her mind was already whirring.
She listened to Brittany remind her of the plan for the day, just trying to calm down her breathing a little. Sniffling, she mumbled, "I already know how I feel. I don't want to go. I'm too tired. I'm not going."
She still sounds like a little kid, and she still doesn't care.
Brittany gathered Santana's hair away from her face, smoothing it back as they lay together. Her own body was heavy with exhaustion, and she hadn't even had nightmares or dreams in the interludes where she did sleep. She couldn't imagine the fatigue in Santana's mind, and she wished there was a way to ensure she was well rested before an appointment, but she knew even if they rescheduled or slept in later, the outcome would be largely the same.
"We're just going to try today," She said softly, telling Santana that they would be going, even if it wasn't successful. "We're just going to go and try to meet the doctor and see how she is and how it feels, that's all. You don't have to talk to her." Of course, Brittany hoped that Santana would warm up to her enough to talk to her, but she wasn't putting any pressure or expectation on her.
"All you have to do is try. If you don't like her, we'll never go back." Brittany cooed, feeling Santana's breathing jerk a little as she held her.
Santana could feel herself occasionally twitching, her body strung so taut with her anxiety and fear that she couldn't seem to control when it protested and tried to break free from the strain she was keeping it in. She tried to make herself as small and coiled as possible against Brittany, as though by making herself a lesser presence, she could somehow protect herself from experiencing the day ahead.
As Brittany stroked her hair, reassuring her that they would try, that she would be there, and Santana didn't have to talk, Santana swallowed several times, trying to keep herself in some sort of semi together state. It wasn't exactly working; even with Brittany's constant comforting touch and words, she felt like any unexpected movement, unexpected touch from anyone but her, or careless word could either jolt her into panic or tip her over into tears. She stayed silent for some time, taking in Brittany's words, before finally managing to choke out a thought that had been heavily running through her mind.
"I hate this, Brittany. I hate being like this. I hate feeling like this. I don't want to be this person. But...what if this won't help me be the real me again? Because now this is the real me? She never knew me before, how is she going to make me be back to who I was when she didn't even know who I was? It's not going to help."
Brittany could feel how tightly Santana's body was coiled and tried to soothe her muscles, running her hands across her back and her arms, pressing into her skin to relax her. "Let go of your body, San, you're okay," She hushed into the silence. Brittany knew she was doing it because she was trying so hard to keep her emotions under control and keep a handle on things, wanting her to be as calm as possible that morning before the appointment.
She hummed in acknowledgement as Santana spoke, grateful that she was actually beginning to voice some of her concerns rather than continue to snap about how therapy wouldn't be successful. When Santana spoke and actually said what was on her mind, it was easier for Brittany to help her and placate her fears.
"You're the real you right now," She reassured her, her hands still mapping over her body under the blankets. 'You've always been the real you, that hasn't changed. You're the same girl you were two years ago, and in high school and in middle school. You just went through something horrible that made the world scary for you." Brittany explained. "Talking to a therapist isn't going to change who you are, I don't want you to change who you are, I just want you to learn how to be less afraid and be able to learn tools so things aren't so upsetting for you," She murmured.
Slowly, Santana's muscles eased just a little under Brittany's touch. She kept her eyes closed, a few tears leaking out from under their lids despite her efforts to lock them in, and released a long, shaky breath. She tried to relax a little more, to hear and maybe believe what Brittany was saying, just a little bit.
Brittany never lied to her, ever. That wasn't how they worked. If Brittany really though she hadn't changed, that she wasn't going to change who she was by going to a therapist, then maybe she was right. She was a genius, after all. She did seem to know a lot of things sometimes before Santana did, especially when it came to stuff with feelings.
Sighing again, she gave a very small nod against Brittany's neck, barely enough to be perceptible.
"Okay," she whispered. "I just want it over. Tell me what we'll do when it's over."
Brittany continued to push her hands against Santana's skin, heavily massaging her body in an attempt to coax her muscles into relaxation. She could feel a few tears on her neck but didn't acknowledge it, knowing Santana was fighting hard to balance her emotions and stay calm before the appointment. She hated how worked up Santana was about it and hoped that once they'd actually gone to talk to the therapist, some of Santana's fears about therapy would be gone and she'd feel better about going and seeing a therapist.
Pressing a kiss to the top of Santana's head, Brittany nodded. "Okay, when it's over, we have the whole rest of the day to cuddle." She promised, knowing Santana wouldn't be up for much else. "After the appointment, we'll come right back here and put on cozy pajamas and watch a movie on the couch and you can lay on me and take a nap if you want." Brittany cooed, twirling the ends of Santana's hair in her hands. "And we can figure out what we want to do for dinner and see if you want to eat a little but then we'll come right back to this bed and I'll hold you just like this." She promised, painting a few future moments for them to calm Santana down and give them something to look forward to. After a few moments of petting Santana's hair, she asked softly, "Do you want to get up and take a shower or lay here for a little longer?"
Santana listened, desperately taking in these details, needing to picture them all in her mind as something to hang onto, a clear and necessary light to the end of her day. She relaxed a little more as Brittany began to play with her hair, as Brittany promised her that there would be lots of cuddling and being held after the appointment, nothing else that would be expected of her to push her past her comfort zone. It's exactly what she knows she needs, and Brittany always seems to know that.
Her scalp tingling as Brittany continued to stroke her hair, this relaxing her even more than her efforts at massaging her taut muscles, she hesitated when Brittany asked her if she was ready to take a shower. She still was frightened, but she wanted, for Brittany, to try to be brave, to try to rise up to the challenge that the day was holding for her.
"I can try to shower," she whispered into Brittany's neck, taking several breaths to try to further calm. "Come with me though."
She knew very well that Brittany would come with her, that she always did. She still felt the need to be reassured aloud that she would this time too.
Brittany smiled a little, grateful Santana seemed at least a little calmer than she had been just after waking up, amazed at how much comfort just laying in bed with her could give Santana. She knew she was good at taking care of Santana, but she was still so frequently caught off guard at just how well Santana reacted to smallest touches and gestures of comfort.
"Of course I'll come with you," Brittany promised, although she made no effort to move them just yet, letting them lapse into a few more minutes of relaxed silence, never stopping her fingers moving through Santana's hair.
Finally, with a yawn and a quiet groan from effort, she pushed herself into a sitting position, taking Santana, who was laying against her, up with her, rubbing her side gently as they sat up. She swung her legs over the side of their bed, standing up and stretching her muscles before holding her hands out to Santana, helping her off the bed as well. Leading her by the hand, Brittany made sure all of her alarms were now canceled before guiding the both of them into the bathroom.
Out of the comfort of the blankets and sheets around them, Santana looked small and scared, almost cowering in her own body in the bathroom. It hurt Brittany's heart to look at, and she pouted as she leaned her lips back against the counter. "Want help?" She asked softly, sliding her hands up the front of Santana's shirt to help her pull it over her head.
Where at one point she'd been scared to touch Santana for fear of upsetting her and Santana had been hesitant to let Brittany feel how her body had changed, now they touched each other so often without hesitation, her hands almost constantly on Santana's skin in warm, heavy reassurance.
Santana's heart clinched with relief when Brittany promised to come with her to the bathroom. She lay slowly trying to relax, her fingers grasping Brittany's shirt, and when Brittany sat up and pulled Santana up with her, Santana clung to her hand, squeezing hard. She stayed right against Brittany, stricken silent with renewed anxiety when the bright bathroom lights were turned on, and realized her mind has gone so blank she couldn't seem to remember how to undress.
Grateful, she gave a tiny, mute nod when Brittany asked her if she wanted help and tried to adjust her limbs as needed to make it easier for her. Once undressed, she shivered, crossing her arms in a self embrace as Brittany adjusted the shower for her and helped her step inside, seeming to see she needed a hand for that too.
Inside the shower Santana stood motionless under the water's warm spray, still feeling foggy and frozen, paralyzed. She tried to lift her arms to grasp onto something, anything, but panicked when she couldn't seem to make them move.
"Brittany!" She choked out, her tone tight and desperate with fear. "I can't ..I can't move. I can't think. I don't know what to do!"
Brittany took her time undressing Santana, slow and loving as she peeled her shirt over her head and helped Santana step out of her shorts and underwear, her hand on Brittany's shoulder for support. She touched Santana frequently as she went, letting her hand trail down her leg and back up as she pulled her shorts down, dragging her fingertips across the still-flat plane of Santana's stomach and up the side of her ribs, pressing love and calm into her skin as if she could press it into Santana's very bones.
She'd started the water for her before she'd peeled the curtain back, filling the bathroom with a comfortable warmth before Santana had stepped into the shower. Turning back around, she saw that Santana had wrapped her arms around herself and pouted, stepping forward to embrace Santana's naked body briefly.
"You're okay," She hummed, skating her fingers tips up the ridges of Santana's spine. "You're just taking a shower, it's just me." Brittany knew it was therapy that was scaring Santana like this, and she tried gently to focus her, to hold her in the present where she was safe with Brittany in their little bathroom, doing a task she'd done a hundred times before.
Letting her arms fall, she took one of Santana's hands, helping her step over the lip of the shower and into the warm stream, giving her a comforting, steady smile as she pulled the curtain to give her privacy. She'd taken a step away to sit on the toilet seat lid when she heard Santana's cry, close and terrified and choked, and her full name - something Santana never called her by unless she was afraid. Frowning, Brittany turned, yanking the curtain back again, her eyes falling on Santana, small and scared and cowering under the water, her hair dark and plastered to her shoulders.
"What? What's wrong?" She asked, her hand coming to wrap around Santana's upper arm, seeing that she was trembling.
Santana couldn't seem to stop shaking. Her arms wrapped tightly around her waist, her shoulders slumped forward, she tried to hold herself together but could feel herself trembling from the center of her torso up through her arms and into her fingers, their tips pressed white against her upper arms. She startled briefly when Brittany took her arm, her lips parting, dark eyes shiny with panic as she struggled to form words that could convey what she was experiencing.
"I-I c-can't move," Santana gasped, her chest trying to expand with her breaths but refusing to take in as much air as she was nearly panting out. "I c-can't breathe. I d-don't remember what I'm supposed to do! I'm losing my mind, I d-don't remember how to t-take a shower!"
Brittany frowned as she looked at her, concern etched into her features, scanning Santana's body to determine if she was hurt, even though she'd had her in her arms not a minute earlier. Her heart was still pounding in her ears at the sound Santana had made when she called for her, broken and desperate and needing.
She could hear the way Santana was breathing when she choked out an explanation, her wheezing between words sounding nearly painful as she tried to drag air into her lungs, failing as her chest heaved. Her stuttering explanation and high pitched gasping stunned Brittany, how quickly the panic had taken over her. Santana looked terrified where she stood in the shower and Brittany's heart ached at how scared she must have been, even though Brittany had only pulled the curtain a moment ago.
"You're okay," Brittany hushed, reaching down with her free hand to pull off her own shorts and underwear. "Stay right there," She cooed, even though she knew Santana wasn't about to move any time soon. Letting her go, she swiftly brought both her hands to the hem of her own shirt, peeling it off over her head and discarding it on the floor somewhere behind her. She was acting without really thinking about it, responding solely to what Santana needed. Grabbing her arm again for stability, Brittany climbed into the shower behind her, reaching up to pull the curtain, now sealing both of them off instead of just Santana. "Shhhhh, San. It's alright," She hummed, wrapping both of her hands around Santana from behind, pressing her body against her back.
Santana can barely make sense of what Brittany is doing. She is still stuck in her rising anxiety with her inability to push past her mind's blankness to remember the simple steps of how to take a shower, to regain control of her body and make it function like it should. Her breathing is getting faster and harsher, and Santana begins to panic that she is somehow drowning even without any water in her face or mouth. She gasped for air, barely noticing what Brittany is doing or intending until her strong arms are around her, pulling Santana's back against her chest.
Santana's chest eased a bit as she felt Brittany's warm, wet skin against her, Brittany's steady heartbeat against her back, beating a thumping rhythm against her shoulder blades. Her breathing slowed just enough for the choking to begin to subside, and she huddled back against Brittany. There is nothing sexual in her need to be close to her body. She took a drawn out breath, grasping for Brittany almost blindly and wrapping her hand around Brittany's.
"I couldn't breathe," she whispered shakily. "I can't think."
Brittany held onto her trembling frame as the water cascaded down around both of them, wetting her hair to her back and shoulders. She felt Santana's hand come up to clasp around hers as she gasped, holding her even tighter in an attempt to regulate her breathing and calm her body down. "Take a deep breath, San, I've got you," She hushed, taking one arm from around her to turn the water down just slightly so it wasn't so warm and creating so much steam around them.
She could feel Santana's body curl into her as they stood, holding her there, one of her arms wrapped around Santana's stomach and the other around her shoulders as she listened to Santana speak. "Okay, okay. It's okay. I'll help you shower." She said softly, her hand rubbing up and down Santana's upper arm. She held her tightly against her body for another minute before turning her so that she was facing Brittany, facing away from the spray of water. "Tilt your head back to make sure your hair's wet," She instructed softly, her hand coming up to cup the base of Santana's skull, cradling her head as she tilted it back into the water.
Santana's steady trembling began to taper off to occasional shudders and twitches as she calms in Brittany's arms, leaning back further against her. As Brittany rubs her arm and speaks to her softly her breathing draws closer to a more normal state, and she swallows several times, closing her eyes tightly. She tries to just think of Brittany, just hear and feel Brittany and repeat her name to herself silently in her mind.
Her eyes opened when Brittany turned her, a little skittish to separate, but then closed again hesitantly as Brittany helped her get ready to wash her hair. She tilted her head back, open, vulnerable, and trusting of her, waiting for her to continue.
Brittany was gentle with her, always making sure to keep both hands on her when she could, knowing Santana was just moments away from breaking. "It's okay, I'm right here," She hushed when Santana's eyes flew open when Brittany turned her body, on high alert at breaking full body contact with her. "Shhh," She cooed, feeling Santana allow her head to relax into Brittany's hand, her other hand resting securely on Santana's hip. Gently, she trailed her free hand up Santana's side and up the side of her cheek until she brushed it back off Santana's forehead, smoothing her hair back under the spray with a few calming strokes and she continued to shudder a little.
"You're okay, let's wash your hair," She hummed, gently turning Santana back around so that Brittany was behind her. She picked up the shampoo bottle quickly, using two hands only to open the cap and pour it into her cupped hand before smoothing it over Santana's scalp, beginning to gently massage the shampoo into her hair with both hands. "I'm right here, just helping you shower." She said, continuing to speak and reassure Santana of her presence despite the fact that she couldn't see her in that moment. "We're going to rinse your hair in a second, and then put conditioner and wash your body and then you can wash my hair," Brittany promised. "Just keep breathing for me."
Santana took in the soothing south of Brittany's voice more than the words themselves, her own heartbeat and still slightly uneven breathing still the majority of what she hears. She stayed still, eyes closed as Brittany gently washes her hair and rinses it, aware of how much care she's showing her, of how much love and concern she puts into every small touch. She doesn't know what has just happened to her or why she was so suddenly afraid with so seemingly little cause, but she doesn't like it. It makes her feel like she must be crazy.
Calmer as Brittany tells her step by step what she's doing, always keeping in close contact, talking to her through her steps, Santana finally can hear her enough to start to register her words. She does as she asks, focused on breathing, on trying to bring herself closer to composure.
"Good girl," Brittany cooed as Santana let Brittany wash her hair and obediently tip her head back to rinse it. She repeated the same routine with the conditioner, lovingly rubbing it into the ends of Santana's hair and gracefully working out any tangles with her fingers before letting the conditioner set a minute. While she waited to rinse the conditioner out of Santana's hair, she lathered a washcloth with body wash, letting Santana lean against her as she washed her arms, legs and body, all the while murmuring small comforts like "You're okay, San," and "Keep breathing for me." She washed her entire body lovingly, mapping the familiar divots and planes that she knew so well but had become more angular in the past year. When it came time to wash between Santana's legs, though, she paused, not wanting to cross a line that hadn't been set yet, knowing certain wounds hadn't fully healed yet. Instead, she pressed the washcloth silently into Santana's own hand.
She stepped into the spray of the shower after, taking Santana with her, rinsing both her hair and her body, raking through her hair to make sure all of the conditioner was out, holding her lovingly under the spray for a few extra moments, content to bask in the warmth and calm, listening carefully to Santana's breathing. "Do you want to wash my hair or do you want to get out of the shower and sit down?" She asked softly.
Brittany herself still needed to shower, but she wasn't sure how steady Santana was on her own two feet, uncertain on whether or not she could stay in the shower or needed Brittany to wrap her in a towel and sit her on the toilet lid or on the counter while she finished showering.
As Brittany continued to wash her, talking through it sweetly with each step and giving continual reassurance, Santana gradually felt herself come back into her body, feeling more in control, though still shaken. She began to connect with feeling Brittany's touch in a way that was enjoyable as well as comforting, and she gave a small noise of content, head tilted back, her body looser under Brittany's hands. She was calm enough to be able to wash herself between her legs, recognizing and understanding Brittany's hesitation and silently grateful for her sensitivity.
When Brittany asked her if she wanted to wash her hair, Santana took a moment to mentally scan her body, reassessing how in control she was of it. She seemed to be breathing okay, standing without trembling, no longer feeling near collapse. She could do this.
"I can do it," she said softly, and she touched Brittany's shoulder for her to turn. Taking the shampoo, she squirted some into her hand and began to work on Brittany's hair, being hesitant at first, but growing more confident with her gestures, certain now her mind is no longer blank and she can remember what to do. She returned the gestures Brittany had poured into her, scratching lightly at her scalp as she massaged the shampoo in, and then ran her fingers through it under the water to attempt to detangle while rinsing.
Brittany grinned when Santana verbally responded that she could do it, giving her a reassuring smile. "You can do it," She nodded gently, responding to her touch by turning around. She was glad Santana didn't automatically tell her she couldn't, instead taking a moment of silence to ask herself how she really felt, checking in with her own body and listening to her own instincts, something Santana rarely ever did, even though her own instincts were always good, Brittany knew.
She tilted her head back obediently, letting Santana massage the shampoo into her hair, feeling her hands start of gently but slowly grow more reassured, cooing in happiness at the feeling of having her hair washed, basically purring at the feeling. "That feels so good," She groaned, turning under the faucet to rinse it off before wringing her hair out and turning back to Santana to let her smooth conditioner into the ends of her hair.
While the conditioner sank in, she washed her own body, again, not wanting a line to be crossed or to put Santana in a position she was uncomfortable with. When it came time to rinse her body, she tugged Santana under the spray with her, lacing her arms around her waist. "You okay?" She murmured gently, checking in with her. "You just got a little scared before."
Santana's mouth twitched, almost a smile, in response to the obvious pleasure that Brittany shows when she washes her hair. She lightly brushes her fingers down the back of Brittany's neck and across the expanse of her shoulders as Brittany washes her own body, as much to continue to ground herself as to try to make Brittany feel good. She watched, her breathing continuing to even out almost to normal again as she tries to absorb herself in watching Brittany shower. As far as things go, it's a pretty damn good distraction.
When Brittany wraps her arms back around her, holding her against her chest, Santana covers Brittany's arms with hers, taking a slow, exploratory breath. Her heartbeat is still a little fast, but that could be partly from watching Brittany's naked body as much as her earlier fear. She nods slightly, her cheeks flushing.
"I don't know why. I just couldn't remember anything and I just was scared for no reason. It makes me feel st- lame," she corrected herself quickly, loath to use the word stupid in front of Brittany."
Brittany smiled at the way Santana corrected herself, unwilling to call even herself stupid. It might've been because she was in front of her, but Brittany would take it. "You just panicked for a second, it's okay. Maybe it just was too sudden and you couldn't see me," Brittany mused, letting the warm water run over both of them. "Technically that was the first time we had separated in awhile," She grinned. Realistically, the last time they'd separated had probably been the last time time they'd showered the morning before, but now, it seemed they didn't even have to separate to accomplish that.
"Just keep taking deep breaths like that." She hummed, reaching behind her to turn off the water, still holding Santana with one arm. She pushed back the curtain enough to grab a towel off the rack, tucking it around Santana's body first before reaching for a second one for herself, drying the both of them while they stood in the bathtub before stepping out first, her hand on Santana's shoulder, trailing it down to hold her hand, helping her balance as she stepped out to. They were face to face again, standing on the warm bathmat now, and Brittany brought her hands up to cup Santana's face, water droplets still clinging to the edges of her eyelashes.
"Today is going to be fine," She cooed, brushing Santana's cheekbone with her thumb. "Because I'm always right, remember?" Her serious expression broke into a giggle, and she rolled her eyes at herself. "I'll brush your hair for you, 'kay?"
"I don't see you ever other time I showered and I didn't act like a loser," Santana grumbled, criticizing herself. It's much easier to feel irritable and angry, as she had earlier in the morning, than on being scared, so she stomps down hard on that, even though the anger is towards herself. "Maybe you need to take me to a real doctor instead of a head shrinker, get me a full brain transplant. Obviously it's been damaged."
She let Brittany wrap her up in the towel, but her defenses falter when Britany turns to face her, looking her straight in the eye and cupping her face. As Brittany strokes her cheek, continuing to reassure her, Santana's annoyed expression flickers and then disappears, replaced with vulnerability at the simple touch of Brittany's hand. She stays quiet as she turned to let her have better access to her hair, reaching for her detangling brush on the bathroom counter and handing it back to Brittany. She avoids looking at herself in the mirror and stays silent for several minutes before speaking again while Brittany works on her hair.
"Don't you ever get tired of me? Because I'm really, really tired of me."
Brittany rolled her eyes at Santana self-critique, unphased by the way she came down hard on herself. "Maybe today you just missed me extra," She said simply, smoothing over her rough edges.
When she made the comment about going to a real doctor, though, it struck a nerve in Brittany, somewhere deep down, a level of Santana's self-loathing revealed and when Santana turned to let her brush her hair, Brittany quickly spun her back to face her, the hand that was on her cheek now coming down to cup her chin.
"No." Her voice was gently, but her eyes were burning brightly in their determination. "I like your brain just the way it is and I don't want you to ever say that again," She instructed seriously, leaning forward to kiss Santana's forehead before she let her turn away from her again, reaching over to pick up her detangler and brush off the counter, sinking them back into the familiarity of their morning routine.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, Brittany combing the brush lovingly through Santana's hair, letting the both of them find small comfort in the task before they had to leave the apartment for the unknown struggles of therapy that lie ahead of them. Her eyes flicked up to the mirror a few times, but each time she looked, Santana wasn't looking at herself, her eyes trained down. She was caught off guard when Santana spoke again, her voice smaller and quieter even in the close quarters of their bathroom. Don't you ever get tired of me?
The words were so broken and quavery, Brittany felt her heart wobble right along with them. She could hear Santana's exhaustion, how depleted and tired and frustrated with herself she sounded. "Nope, never." Brittany answered, gathering Santana's hair and pushing it all over her left shoulder before leaning forward and resting her chin on Santana's right shoulder from behind. "I could never, ever get tired of you."
Santana blinked, startled and briefly scared by Brittany's quick turning her back towards her, by the intensity of Brittany's voice and expression, although the tone itself is gentle. She watches her, wide-eyed, as Brittany touches her face tenderly, in stark contrast with the ferocity in her eyes. It always shakes her up a little when Brittany shows her fierce side, whether in protectiveness or anger, especially on the rare occasions that it is aimed at her.
She knows that Brittany isn't angry at her, just her words towards herself. Brittany can't stand for anyone, even Santana, to be mean to Santana, and she sometimes forgets that when lost in her own self-critique.
When Brittany embraces her after her question, answering her sincerely that she could never get tired of her, Santana bites her lip, blinking back newly threatening tears. How is it so damn early and she's already come close to crying so many times? This was not boding well for her getting through this damn therapy appointment.
She lifted her hand back behind herself to cup Brittany's face in a silent, acknowledging mirror of how Brittany has twice now cupped hers this morning, still facing away from her. After a few moments of shared intimacy without words, she says softly, "I guess we have to get dressed and do this."
Brittany tilted her head into the comforting gesture, humming at Santana's touch and the forever-gentleness of her hand. "We do," She confirmed gently, reluctantly sliding out of their embrace and leading Santana by the hand from the bathroom into the bedroom.
Brittany took on the task of gathering all their clothes from the respective drawers and tossing them on the bed- leggings for both of them, she wanted Santana to be as comfortable as possible, she reasoned. Instead of pulling one of Santana's shirts off the hangers, she pulled two of her own long sleeved shirts from the drawers, gently pushing it over Santana's head once she'd helped her clip her bra in the back and Santana had done the same for Brittany. She knew it was a small, meaningless comfort, but something that would make the day a little easier for Santana.
They finished dressing and Brittany paused long enough to actually brush her hair after showering, something that she only accomplished half the time because it basically dried the same anyway. She slipped her phone into her pocket, hesitating for a moment in the kitchen before asking, "Do you want to eat something small? Like a banana?"
She knew it was toeing a line - eating would make Santana feel better and probably help her feel less anxious, but depending on how agitated it made her, it would only make it worse for her, and she expressed this concern to her. "I want you to have something in your stomach, but I don't want you to get upset before we have to go, so if you feel too nervous to eat now don't push it." She coaxed softly.
Santana followed Brittany into her bedroom, holding onto her hand until the last possible second where separation for getting ready was needed. She watched as Brittany selected shirts and leggings for both of them, taking a few seconds after to get out bras and underwear for them both as well as socks.
She didn't fail to recognize that Brittany had chosen one of her own shirts for Santana and smiled faintly at the thoughtful gesture. Brittany knew as well as Santana did that Santana often chose to wear one of Brittany's shirts when she was feeling especially stressed or upset. To Santana, Brittany's clothes felt comfortable and comforting, soft and bright and almost like having a hug from Brittany all day. She also swore they carried a hint of Brittany's scent even when freshly washed, and that itself was comforting.
As they made their way into the kitchen, Santana paused, torn at Brittany's question. She knew she was supposed to be eating every day, every meal, and Brittany had been pretty strict on this with her. But her stomach was in knots, and her throat was tight; she didn't know if she could swallow anything, let alone eat when it would give her one more thing to worry about.
"Can I just drink something? I can try something with calories. Like...orange juice, that's basically food," Santana reasoned. "I can try that I guess."
She let Santana think about it, patiently waiting for her answer. While she waited, she peeled her own banana, flicking her eyes to Santana ever couple seconds to try to get a read on her thoughts. "Orange juice doesn't count but you can have it," She compromised, reaching on her tip toes to get her a glass. "I don't think that's enough calories, actually I know it's not, but how about we start with that and I can put a banana and granola bar in my bag in case you start feeling shaky during therapy?" She asked gently, wanting Santana to know and be reassured that Brittany had food with them if she got dizzy or felt faint during the appointment.
She knew now, ever since the hospital, Santana had a fear of fainting, or a fear of depriving herself of food to the point where she felt that sickening dizzying feeling. It was tricky, combined with Santana's aversions to eating, and Brittany found the best way to get around it was to always have some sort of food close by for Santana if she ever started to feel dizzy. It had only happened a few times since she'd been discharged, but she knew tensions were especially high today.
"I'll call the uber in a minute," She explained softly, pouring the orange juice and passing it to Santana. "Before I do, is there anything else you want to ask me or tell me?" Brittany's eyebrows were raised patiently. She knew they'd talked, and argued, about this multiple times, but she also knew Santana had been poring over this appointment for weeks, and wanted to give her the chance to voice any last minute concerns she had before they stepped into the office.
"That's not true, there are more calories in a glass of orange juice than a banana," Santana argued. "Plus there's all the Vitamin C. I'm making the better choice here, I just don't have to chew."
Her brain rebels at the thought of drinking orange juice, eating the granola and the banana all at once or even spaced a few hours apart, although logically she knows that would be a perfectly normal amount of food for breakfast. But Brittany had brought up feeling shaky, and she definitely doesn't want to faint in front of a damn therapist. That would be an automatic one way trip to inpatient hospitalization, and Santana in no way wants that. So she nods assent to Brittany bringing the food even as she drinks the orange juice in the same way someone would drink a shot they found distasteful, quickly and in several gulping swallows to get it over with.
When Brittany asked her about having anything else to ask or tell her, Santana feels like her mind has gone silent and paralyzed again, though not as badly as in the shower. She reaches for Brittany's hand and grasps it tightly, trying to ground herself before she spirals, and shakes her head.
When their Uber arrives, Santana is relieved to see that the driver is a woman a little older than both of them who doesn't try to engage them in chatter. She sits as close to Brittany as she can, still holding her hand, her grip getting more and more intense the closer they come to their destination. When they pull into the parking lot of the counseling center's practice, Santana's stomach is twisted into a knot so complex she envisons it as looking like a Celtic design, and she feels moments from running or screaming.
She keeps the same iron grip on Brittany as they get out of the car, already shaking not from lack of food, but from fear. Still, Brittany wants this badly, Brittany is looking expectantly for her to do this, and as much as Santana herself doesn't want to, the dread of disappointing Brittany or making her think less of her, no matter Brittany's promises, drives her more. So she steps up to the front door of the waiting room and walks through.
Brittany resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Santana's insistence about the caloric quantity of orange juice. She briefly questioned if Santana was making all that up with how quickly she'd pulled it out of her head, but she knew she wasn't, she knew Santana definitely knew too much about food in general. "Okay, okay, but it's not a meal or a solid," She dismissed it with a wave of her hand, making sure that she had snacks in her bag and letting Santana chug the orange juice to avoid her getting irritated if Brittany tried to push more food on her.
In the Uber, Brittany was silent and calm, trying to push that feeling out to envelop Santana, their hands linked together with Brittany's other hand reaching across to rest on Santana's knee, trying to give her as much full body contact as possible without physically holding her in her lap. She could feel the tension rolling off Santana in waves but didn't try to fill the car with conversation or make Santana talk to her if Santana was silent, mentally preparing herself for what was about to happen.
