Here it comes. They hate it. They aren't even going to let her perform in the show.
"That was amazing." Wait, what? "We wouldn't have given you the opportunity if we thought you couldn't handle it. However, I, for one, was definitely not expecting that. I thought for sure that what we saw from your audition was the best we would get. It was good, don't get me wrong, but what you just delivered, Brittany, was absolutely exceptional." She feels her eyes widen.
The next professor chimes in. "I agree, Brittany. You're in several of my classes, so I know your style and your work ethic a little better than some of the other professors, but you exceeded even my expectations. The emotions you portrayed were so raw and honest. I didn't feel bogged down by story. There was a perfect underlying current of fear, trust, and determination that made the overall feeling of love so much deeper. Real depth, Brittany. Congratulations."
"I was probably the most skeptical, to be honest. I agreed to give you the solo, because your audition was simply the best-prepared. Frankly, I wasn't sure how you'd handle the pressure and opportunity." This critique is the one Brittany's most nervous about. It's coming from the chair of the department and internationally renowned ballet dancer. She is notoriously brutally honest. "You are the youngest choreographer in this room by two years, and you choreographed yourself, which is always more difficult for the dancer side of you. However, you achieved something that I would gladly put into a professional showcase as it stands right now. You set the bar high, Brittany, and after what I just saw, I have no doubt that you will continue to reach and surpass those already-high standards."
Mike squeezes her hand, and she's glad he does or she would have been positive she's dreaming. Once the professors finish their critiques, they clap and ask the students for their opinions. Most of them have very positive feedback, while a few others say things that feel really nitpicky and honestly like jealousy.
When they're all done, Brittany hugs Mike again and runs off, pulling her phone out of her bag to call Santana. After a few rings, Santana picks up, anxious and excited to hear about how it went. Brittany tells her everything she can remember, because she's so excited her brain feels like it's spinning in circles. Santana reacts perfectly, gasping and squealing and clapping at every comment. "My girlfriend is the best in the world!" she exclaims loudly.
"I don't know about that, San."
"Well, I do. You're amazing. I'm so excited to see it. Can I pleeease come to dress rehearsal tomorrow?"
"No! I want you to see the final performance Friday night. I think I'll do the best at that one. I always dance something the best the last time I'm going to do it, like I need to give it every single thing I have left."
"Fine, fine. Just…save a little something for me for afterwards, huh? We've got that great hotel waiting for us."
"Oh, don't you worry. I've got so much saved up for you, you don't even know."
Santana desperately hopes they're talking about the same thing. Masturbating is a lot less fun when you have the hottest girlfriend in the world, but you're both too busy to do anything. They talk for a while longer about Santana's day and some other pieces in the concert, until Brittany's phone is about to die. They say their goodbyes and good nights and promise to text each other before falling asleep.
When Brittany gets back to her room, Rachel is still awake and excitedly waiting for Brittany. She's really happy that she and Rachel have gotten much closer since her phone call with her mother. It turns out Rachel is a really good friend. Sometimes, she can be self-centered, but most of the time, she doesn't realize she's doing it and is eager to correct her behavior as soon as it's pointed out to her. Brittany gets it; Rachel is her father's whole world, so she's used to being the center of attention. But in times like this when she has something important going on, Rachel is the perfect audience and supporter.
The tiny brunette is excited about all of the glowing reviews and can't wait to see the dance on Friday. She'll attend the earlier show so she can catch a bus back to Ohio, where she's from, but she promises to type up a detailed report for Brittany during the bus ride. Brittany just smiles and thanks her.
At about 3 AM on Friday, Brittany realizes that she probably should have stayed over at Santana's. She can't sleep, like at all. Getting up to grab her iPod and earbuds, she presses play on her "SL" playlist. She forces herself to listen and focus on Santana. Just Santana. Eventually, after an hour, she falls asleep.
When she wakes up a few hours later before her alarm clock, she gets ready for the day and heads to class, where she hears and retains nothing. Although she does her best to take good notes so Santana can help her later, she just can't make herself go into learning mode. At lunch with Santana, she forces down a chicken salad that the brunette has to make for her, because she can't stop bouncing around enough to even do that properly. Santana mostly just laughs. Brittany deserves to be this excited, she thinks. She's worked so hard.
After lunch, Brittany heads to the dance building to get ready for performance number one. Right before she has to turn it off for the performance, she checks her phone to see several good luck texts from Santana and one picture message from Rachel in her seat, pointing to Brittany's name in her program. Kurt and Blaine are also in the picture. She replies, then shuts her phone off and puts her headphones on, getting herself in the zone.
Her solo and the whole show go off without a hitch. She watches most of the other pieces from the wings. At curtain call, all the performers go onstage, and when she runs forward to bow, she hears her own little cheering section erupt. To be outdone by no one, Rachel is of course the loudest. Brittany feels tears come to her eyes. Nobody has ever come to a show just for her before—not since she was little, and her mom came to keep up appearances.
After changing as quickly as possible backstage, she runs out to the lobby to greet her friends and is hit by a tiny ball of Rachel Berry. Rachel praises her for so long that she can't stop blushing and eventually has to shush her. "At least you won't have to write that report now," Brittany jokes.
"Oh, I fully intend on writing it. I just need a moment to process everything before I put it all into written form. Expect it no later than 11 tonight," Rachel responds resolutely. Brittany laughs and agrees. Kurt and Blaine also tell both her and Mike that they were amazing. Tina says that it was even better than the last time she'd seen it.
Overall, the first show goes wonderfully and only serves to make her that much more excited for Santana to see her piece tonight. When she returns to the dressing room and turns her phone back on, she has a few missed messages. First, she sees texts from Santana, mostly goofy little things—a picture of her in the practice room, a selfie of her on her couch and a "wish you were here" message, some GIFs, and then the last one, saying to text her when she's done, because Santana is bringing her some food that will settle before her next performance.
Brittany texts her to say she's out, and they can meet at her dorm. As she walks back, she checks the rest of her texts, noticing that there's one from her mother. She hesitates, then tells herself that no matter what it says, it doesn't matter.
Except this time, it does.
From Mom: Brittany, I hope your dance thing is going well. I wanted to give you a little heads-up that I think Tommy is planning to drive up to surprise you and bring you back to his house for Thanksgiving. Isn't that nice of him? Please try to look your best when you see him. –Mom
Brittany feels like she can't breathe. She's hyperventilating, her whole body shaking. Santana is coming, she tells herself. Santana will know what to do. Sitting on the steps of her dorm building, she waits for her girlfriend. She doesn't have to wait long. The brunette soon pulls up and gets out of her car smiling, carrying a bag. However, her smile quickly falls when she takes in Brittany's panicked expression.
"Britt, are you okay? I thought you said the show went well?"
Brittany shakes her head. "It went okay. Just...something happened. My mom texted me. I don't know what to do."
Santana holds her hand and leads her inside to get her out of the cold, which she knows is bad for her muscles, especially since she'll be dancing tonight. Once they're in Brittany's room, Santana sits them both down. "Okay. Talk to me." Brittany doesn't say a word. She just takes out her phone and hands it to Santana, who reads the message that's already on the screen. Hoping that she read it wrong, she reads it again, carefully, before dropping the phone onto Brittany's bed and shaking her head. "No. No. This can't happen. He can't come anywhere near you."
Strangely enough, the panic in Santana's voice snaps Brittany out of hers. "I have to dance, San."
Santana takes a deep breath. "Yeah. You do. Okay. What do we do?" She looks up at Brittany, eyes desperate.
"Maybe he won't come. She said she thinks."
"I think that means she's pretty sure. Well," Santana takes another deep breath, forcing herself to focus. "Sam, Mercedes, Quinn, and I are all going to be there tonight. I'll tell them that you and I have to leave right after, and we can meet you at the back door? That way, they can see you after the show, but you don't have to go out to the lobby, which is where I'm sure he'll expect you to go afterwards, right?" Brittany nods. This could work. "Then, we'll just leave right away. If, for some reason, he comes out there, we'll all be there, so he won't be able to get to you. Okay?" Brittany nods again. The plan makes sense. She just wishes it didn't have to come up at all. "I'm going to take care of you, baby. He won't hurt you. He won't even talk to you." She takes Brittany into her arms and holds her tight, and the blonde lets out a long exhale. "For now, let's get some food and liquid in you, because I'm not going to let you get hurt tonight." From the bag, Santana pulls out two containers of homemade chicken noodle soup, bread, and two bottles of Gatorade.
"Thank you, San. You're amazing." Brittany kisses her girlfriend and gets started on the food, trying not to focus on her ex being anywhere near her. All too soon, it's almost time for her to head back to the dance building.
"Britt, I don't want to bring this back up, but can you show me a picture of him? Just so I can keep an eye out."
Brittany pulls out her laptop and logs into her rarely-used Facebook account. She navigates to her sister's page, and Santana notes that she looks like a bigger-chested, mean version of Brittany. Not surprised that her sister is still friends with Tommy, Brittany clicks on his profile. Santana thinks he looks exactly like she'd pictured him: Mr. All American with blond hair and brown eyes. He doesn't look massive; if she can't take him, Sam can, and if not Sam, then definitely 'Cedes. She feels better, knowing who she's looking out for.
When they leave the dorm room and Santana gets to her car, she calls Mike.
"Hey Santana."
"Mike, I need you to do me a favor."
"Sure. What's up?"
"Brittany's ex-boyfriend might come tonight, and it's not my story to tell, but he's bad news. So if you happen to see some guy you don't know trying to talk to Brittany, get her away from him, okay? And call me right away. I'll leave my phone on vibrate during the show."
"Got it. I'll do everything I can."
"Thanks Mike. I have to keep her safe."
He can sense the fear in her voice. Whoever this guy is must be seriously bad for Brittany, and that isn't okay by him. "I know, Santana. I've got both of your backs, okay? Try to relax, and I'll see you after the show."
"Okay. Bye." They hang up, and Santana goes back to her apartment to get ready, continuing to text Brittany the whole time.
It's almost showtime. Stretching backstage, Brittany is eager for the show to start; the sooner it starts, the sooner they'll all be in the clear.
Santana feels completely on edge. She opted not to tell the others about the situation, not wanting to upset them or cause concern. Sitting in the audience, she feels her anger boiling up. She hates him. She hates him for taking this night away from Brittany, for making it about him, for causing her to focus on anything that isn't exclusively her girlfriend's big dance performance. Scanning the crowd, she doesn't see him anywhere and is unsure whether to feel relieved or anxious. After sending Brittany a text saying good luck and that they're all proud of her, she puts her phone on vibrate and tucks it under her thigh, where she'll be sure to feel it.
When the music for the first piece starts, Santana tries valiantly to focus on the show. However, she finds herself glancing around the audience anytime it's bright enough to see, trying to spot him. The longer she goes without seeing him, the more nervous she feels.
When it's Brittany's turn, the lights dim and a spotlight shines onstage, and Santana holds her breath. She immediately recognizes the song. It's Kate Nash's "Nicest Thing," one of her favorite songs. Now, she loves it even more as she watches Brittany dance across the stage, telling a very clear story of wanting to be loved and loving. Santana is completely spell-bound. Her girlfriend looks so graceful, so elegant, so beautiful. The most beautiful person in the world, and she's all hers. As the dance progresses, Brittany makes more and more eye contact with her. She wonders if that's intentionally choreographed into the dance; after all, Brittany had chosen her seat. All she knows for certain is that Brittany takes her breath away.
Sitting off to stage left, Tommy is seething. He notices Brittany paying a lot of attention to someone in the audience. Glaring over to where she's looking, he spots some blond guy. Fuck that. As soon as intermission starts, he's going to leave and wait for her out back so he can talk to her—talk or anything else he needs to do.
When Brittany gets offstage, she's gasping for breath. She just danced her heart out and sent it all to Santana. She gave it everything, and it was easily her best performance yet. Mike is right there to catch her in a big hug, not caring that she's dripping with sweat. "You were brilliant, Brittany. Amazing." They stand, arms around each other's shoulders, to watch the show together, until Mike has to get in position for his final dance. Once he finishes, it's intermission. They decide to head outside since they're both done with all their pieces, and it's so hot backstage they can barely breathe.
Santana thinks Mike was awesome—not as amazing as Brittany, but definitely good. After he leaves the stage, the house lights come up. Intermission. Checking her phone quickly, Santana sees no alerts. Good. As she looks back up, however, she notices someone walking towards one of the exits near the stage, and her eyes widen. She's sure it's him. Standing up, she tells the others she'll be back, then hurries in the same direction. She watches him slip through the door, but as she tries to follow him a few seconds later, one of the ushers stops her, saying that door is off-limits and she needs to go through the lobby. She frantically tries to argue, to no avail. Growling, she spins around and, despite her four-inch heels, runs as fast as she can up the aisle.
From the back of the house, Santana's brothers watch the exchange. Wanting to support their sister's girlfriend, they came to surprise Brittany and Santana. This doesn't feel right, and ever the protective older brothers, they get out of their seats to follow Santana.
"Britt, I gotta grab my phone really quick before we go outside," Mike tells her before heading towards the men's dressing room. He wants to send Santana a text telling her all is well.
"Okay, I'll meet you out there. You'll just be a minute, right?" There's no way Tommy will be back there, since there are ushers blocking all of the rear exits. Brittany opens the door, and a few other dancers walk past her, going back in to prepare for the second half. The cold air feels so good against her still overheated skin. She twirls around, letting her dress flow out around her, smiling and closing her eyes.
"Brittany."
She stops. Her breath catches. Not now. How? Don't turn around, Brittany. Run. Do something.
He walks into view. "Don't be rude. Aren't you going to say hello? A kiss, maybe?" he sneers at her.
Brittany hates that disgusting sneer, that evil face. She hates him. "Go away, Tommy. I don't want you anywhere near me."
He shakes his head. "Don't be like that. I'm here to give you another chance."
"I don't want any chances. I'm happy now, without you. I'm seeing someone." She thinks her voice sounds brave. Good. She doesn't want him to think she's scared. Although she's a little scared, she's mostly angry and a little disgusted. Still, she's shaking a little, silently pleading for Mike to hurry up and come rescue her.
"Oh, I could tell. I saw you practically drooling up on stage. Was it that blond fucker?" His voice starts to rise.
Recognizing his anger, Brittany knows she needs to get away from him as quickly as possible. Wait, blond?
"No. She's not blonde."
Mistake. His eyes widen, and his face reddens. "She? You left me for a girl?"
"I didn't leave you for anyone! I left because of everything you did! I didn't love you. I hate you!" She screams at him.
"Now you're with some dyke?!"
"DON'T CALL HER THAT!" Brittany is so mad. All the years of pent-up anger are rising to the surface, and she wants nothing more than to hit him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registers the sound of the back door opening and closing.
"Bri—oh god." Mike runs down the stairs and pushes himself between the two of them. "You need to get out of here right now, man, or I'm calling the cops."
Tommy doesn't even acknowledge him. Not really. "Oh, are you sleeping with this guy too?" Mike hears a growl come out of Brittany. "You little fucking whore. You disgust me. Have you fucked all the guys on campus already? Plus your little dyke?"
Mike is gearing up to hit this fool when he feels Brittany dive under one of his arms toward the guy. Before he can catch her and pull her back, Tommy backhands her so hard she falls to the ground in tears. Then, he hears one of the scariest noises of his life: Santana Lopez is here and screaming a mixture of Spanish and English at the top of her lungs.
