Her confusion over Santana did nothing for Brittany's appetite. Instead of ordering pizza like she'd originally planned, she actually ended up doing nothing. She simply sat on her couch, thinking about Santana and wondering what could possibly have made the woman the way she was. There's no way a person is that distant and toughened without a catalyst. Something must have happened to make Santana that way. The cynical part of Brittany's mind, the part that often kept quiet, kept whispering that she'd probably never find out. That she and Santana would always be what they are now: simple strangers who work together. Then why did Brittany feel so...desperate to know her? Fine, she'd never know Santana as more than her very hot, very mysterious boss. But why did that bother her so much? She drove herself crazy running in circles in her mind, never finding answers, never finding satisfaction. She could feel and hear her stomach start to grumble, but she didn't feel the hunger that usually came with it, so she ignored it. Eventually, she decided to take a hot bath, and maybe then, she'd be relaxed enough to fall asleep afterward.

Letting the hot water run, she sat on the edge of the bathtub, still lost in thought. She looked at the candles that sat at the corners and thought back to the day Santana had stayed with her to wait out the snowstorm. She thought about Santana's head on her shoulder, her body nestled up next to hers. She thought about wrapping a blanket around the woman's shoulders, and that brief moment of anticipation when she'd known she was about to feel Santana's lips for the first time. She wished the moment had lasted longer. Just as she could feel her cheeks warming up (and not from the steam rising out of the tub), she remembered the moment Santana regained control. The moment she became cold and aloof once again. She suddenly didn't want to wait any longer to get in, so Brittany shut off the water with one quick spin. The abrupt silence was deafening.

Slowly, she lowered herself into the water, letting her skin adjust to the hot temperature. When she was finally seated, she leaned back against the tub and closed her eyes. Immediately, she felt her muscles start to loosen; she hadn't even realized how tense they had been to begin with. She tried to let her thoughts wander, to think of anything other than the secretive brunette that dominated her mind lately. It didn't really work. As little as Brittany knew about the woman, Santana still gave her too much to wonder about. Eventually, the water started losing some of its heat, and Brittany got out. The hot water had done its job, and Brittany could feel her eyelids growing heavy. After drying off, she headed straight to her bed and tucked herself in without even putting any clothes on. Her skin was still warm from the bath, and within minutes, she was sound asleep. Her subconscious finally gave her the break she'd been seeking all evening, and miraculously, she slept without dreaming of Santana Lopez.

Saturday didn't really bring any change to Brittany's mood. She stayed in bed until almost noon, and when she finally got out, it was only to throw on some sweats and relocate to the couch. She kept eyeing her phone laying on the coffee table, once or twice even picking it up, but she set it back down every time. Santana had made it pretty clear that she didn't want a relationship outside of work, even if she had said they could try to be friends. Brittany supposed Santana didn't really do friendship either—not with her, anyway. Halfway through the evening, instead of reaching for her phone to write yet another text she wouldn't send, Brittany picked up the journal instead. Again, she passed by all the other pages full of thoughts and feelings that didn't belong to her. She found the next clean page after her last entry and wrote one simple sentence.

Dear Journal,

I think I miss her.

Love,

Brittany

She stared at her own handwriting. God, how pathetic. For no reason whatsoever should she be missing Santana right now. She was starting to feel angry at herself. She stood up from the couch, but she had no idea what she was going to do. Right at that moment, though, her stomach decided to give its loudest rumble yet. Realizing it was almost dinner time, and that she hadn't eaten since lunch the day before, Brittany picked up her phone again and finally made a call. She ordered the pizza she'd planned to order yesterday. After hanging up, she decided to take a quick shower to freshen up. She really didn't know why she cared since she wasn't going out anywhere, but she didn't want to feel like a complete bum all day. After her shower, she threw her wet hair into a braid and put some fresh clothes on.

There. Now she didn't feel like such a loser. As she tossed her old sweats into the laundry basket, she heard a knock at her apartment door, signaling the arrival of her pizza. She rushed back to her bedroom to retrieve her purse, but when she got there, it was nowhere to be found. Running back to the front door, she opened it to find a pimply teenage boy in a stupid-looking baseball cap and uniform. The cap had a picture of a slice of pizza stitched in the front. Randomly, she thought of how glad she was that her job let her wear nice clothes.

"Hey. Sorry, just one second," she said to the boy before he could say anything.

Then, she turned around and raced into her kitchen, checking the counter for her purse. Again, she couldn't find it. She turned the corner to check the coffee table when she saw the journal sitting neatly where she'd left it. It made her think of Santana. How she missed her.

How she'd run out almost crying yesterday, because Santana had been so cold and distant...

With a soft "oh!" she remembered where her purse was—under her desk on the 17th floor of the skyscraper. She'd left so quickly yesterday, she'd completely forgotten to grab her bag.

"Shit," she mumbled under her breath. She looked to the door and the pizza boy. He was looking at her with mild curiosity and also maybe a little appreciation. She gave him an apologetic look and asked for one more second.

Racing back to her bedroom again, she grabbed a twenty from a little change jar she kept on her dresser, completely grateful that she always kept a bit of cash at her apartment. After paying the boy, she took the pizza and closed the door. She really didn't see the point in retrieving her purse right that second...there was no reason it wouldn't still be there after she'd eaten her dinner. Two slices and a happy stomach later, she was ready to leave. Quickly she threw some shoes on and made her way out.

A security guard always stayed in the lobby of the building, whether it was a weekend or the middle of the night, so she was pretty sure she'd be able to get up to her desk and get her bag. Sure enough, when she entered the building, a big burly man stood in front of the entrance to the elevators. He must only work weekends, because Brittany had never seen him before.

"Hi, um...I'm Brittany. I'm a receptionist here. I think I left my bag here yesterday when I left," she said nervously. He was such a large man, but when he looked down at her, his eyes seemed kind.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that," he said gently. "Do you have any form of ID?"

"Um...no, it's in my bag upstairs."

The man pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. "What did you say your name was?"

"Brittany. Brittany Pierce. I work for Santana Lopez on the 17th floor."

The man stopped looking down at his paper to look back up at Brittany. "Oh! You work for Ms. Lopez? I didn't even realize she had a receptionist."

Brittany had no idea what to make of that statement. This man clearly knew Santana. But why wouldn't she have a receptionist? Every attorney here had one. She tried to play off her confusion by nodding along quickly with the security guard. He looked back down at his paper and quickly found her name on it.

"Yes, I see your name here. You can go ahead and go on up, but would you mind terribly showing me your ID on your way out?"

"Oh no, that will be fine. Thank you."

Walking past the man, she quickly hit the button for the elevator. One opened immediately, since hardly anyone was here today. When she got out at the 17th floor, she felt a small sense of sadness. She was quite used to getting off this elevator and seeing Santana's face seconds afterwards. Today, she had nothing to look forward to but a reunion with her purse, another encounter with a strange security guard, and then a lonely date with her couch and TV.

Yeah. This kind of sucked.

When she rounded the corner, it was with a great deal of shock (and a little bit of excitement) that she saw Santana's door open and the lights on. Wondering what in the hell the woman could be doing here, she looked into the office. What she saw in there shocked her even more.