Brittany was on cloud nine. She'd just been on the phone with her good friend Sugar, and the woman had set up everything perfectly for Saturday. Sugar owned a small but charming movie theater that Brittany adored. It was cozy and warm, and, most of all, it didn't smell like buttery popcorn and cheese stains. Now, Brittany was no snob, and she liked deliciously greasy snacks as much as the next person, but for her date night with Santana, she wanted something a bit more...refined.

She'd planned the night perfectly. At 6PM, Santana would knock on her door with one of her signature smiles, and Brittany's heart would skip a beat. She'd pull her inside, finding it impossible to ignore her impulse to kiss the gorgeous woman, and she'd set her hands on her hips. She'd whisper, "Hey, you," and Santana would kiss her mouth, just at the corner of her lips, to tease her.

Then, Brittany would offer Santana's favorite: crackers, cheese, pâté, and olives. They'd snack and chat comfortably, talking about anything that came to mind, and eventually they'd make their way to Brittany's bedroom, where she planned to massage Santana sensually. She knew the chef would be stressed from a long day—especially since she didn't usually work on Saturdays—and Brittany was only too happy to help her unwind. She remembered how much she loved feeling Santana's muscles loosen up under the tip of her fingers, so she was particularly excited for that part of the evening. Just thinking about Santana's small sighs and moans had her yearning for the day to come sooner.

Later, when Santana would be so relaxed she'd grin like the Cheshire cat and act all playful, Brittany would invite her to a private screening of Big Fish, the film they'd popped in before sharing their first kiss. It was a cheesy thing to do, which was exactly the point. It'd been a while since Brittany had had the chance to plan a nice date, and the fact that it was with Santana just set the bar higher.

Before calling Sugar, Brittany had also finished something she was very excited about. Her review for Adjacent was the fastest one she'd ever written. Not because she'd botched it, but because she had never been so sure of her opinion. Once she'd sat down and started typing yesterday evening, she hadn't been able to stop. Usually, Brittany took her time to go over the pros and cons of a menu, or the details of the service, but everything about Santana's restaurant was engrained in her mind. It was invigorating to write so passionately, and it reminded Brittany of her first reviews.

She'd let her playful side come out in the review, and it showed. Of course, she remained professional overall, but it was clear she'd enjoyed writing it. Compared to the pain of reviewing LuPones, this had been a very delicious piece of cake. Thinking about it, Brittany couldn't believe the nerve of Rachel Berry. Complaining to her mother about a lukewarm review didn't exactly please Brittany. Shelby had tried to persuade her to at least change a paragraph or two, but Brittany explained she was incapable of writing anything but the truth. LuPones was extravagant and pricey, and it'd be unfair to her readers to omit those important details. Brittany knew Shelby agreed with her, but her daughter had a knack for making things difficult.

Either way, the review would be printed as it was. It wasn't a bad one at all—though certainly not the best either—and it would hopefully teach Rachel Berry that she wouldn't get anything by stamping her feet. In this business, that would bring her nothing but derision.

After she'd cleaned the kitchen table and thought about taking a bath, Brittany was caught off guard by a loud bang coming from the doorway. Someone was pounding on the door repeatedly, making it rattle noisily, and, briefly, she wondered if she should grab her phone to call the cops.

"Brittany fucking Pierce, you open this door right now!"

Brittany frowned, recognizing Santana's voice over the rain. She walked to the door quickly, swinging it open.

"S-santana, what—what happened to your hair?" was the first thing she managed to stutter out.

Santana stormed into the house like a wild fury, her dark hair sticking out everywhere, curly in places and tangled in others. Rain had never been her best friend. She moved to the living room, only to trip when Lord Tubbington slumped in front of her.

"Move, you fucking lard!" She snapped.

Brittany gaped, completely taken aback by Santana's foul mood. Her cat was now trailing his tail pathetically, moving to the kitchen. Brittany frowned when Santana threw her purse on the couch. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Santana's eyes darkened. "What the hell is wrong with me?" Her voice pitched. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"What did I—"

"Oh, just fucking say it already!" Santana spat. "Say you've been lying to my face! That you've been playing me for a fucking idiot!"

Brittany felt her heart stop and her blood turn icy. What was Santana—

"No, no..." she whispered, now feeling like she was going to pass out.

Santana knew. She knew. But how?

"Well?" Santana insisted.

Brittany tried forming words, anything, but her mouth felt like cotton. Her heart was pounding so loudly she feared Santana would hear it. What could she say? The chef's gaze was cutting into her, making her stumble back.

"I'm—I—I d-don't—"

Santana screamed in frustration, infuriated that Brittany seemed incapable of owning up to her charade. She tried calming herself down, but to no avail. Just seeing Brittany cowering away confirmed the worst.

"Don't you dare stay silent," she bristled. "You don't get to toy with my fucking feelings for weeks and then play mute!"

"I'm not!" Brittany choked out.

"You know," she fumed. "You must think I'm such a clueless fucking idiot."

"No! You're not, I swea—"

"I mean," Santana cut her off, pacing in the living room. "There I was, complaining about this woman over and over again, telling you it was driving me insane. But you...oh, you were just having a fucking ball!"

Brittany's heart thudded painfully when she noticed Santana's face. She was trying hard to hide that she was crying, wiping her cheeks every five seconds, but it still made Brittany ache. She was hurting deeply, and the blonde had no words to comfort her. Paralyzed, she was still trying to wrap her head around what was happening. Santana knows, her brain couldn't stop repeating over and over.

"It didn't—I wasn't—" Brittany trailed on, wishing she could shake the right words out of herself. But she was completely stuck, observing Santana in a desperate manner. What was Santana thinking? Why was she pacing, not even sparing Brittany a glance? It was so out of character for her to do that, but Brittany realized this wasn't the same Santana she'd once been in a relationship with. This was a more mature Santana; as angry as she was, her way of confronting Brittany was staggeringly different.

Suddenly, she stopped. She took a deep breath and walked towards Brittany, backing her into the wall. Brittany felt the hard, cold surface behind her, making her swallow loudly. Even in anger, Santana was mesmerizing. She was a mess, shaking angrily, but she was still the most beautiful woman Brittany had ever seen. But now, with her eyes so dark and her gaze so sharp, Brittany was very afraid. She knew Santana would never, ever lay a hand on her, but her words were a vicious weapon that had the blonde terrified.

"Brittany," Santana said, her tone dangerously even. "I want to hear it from you. I want you to say the words."

Brittany swallowed nervously. "I'm...I..."

Santana stared at her, unmoving, so close she made it hard to breathe.

"...I'm Susan Spite," Brittany quietly admitted.