Brittany is currently laying on her couch, wrapped up in her favorite blanket. It's covered in unicorns, fraying at the edges, and only fits around half her body, but she loves it. That fight with Santana brought up a lot of hurtful things that she constantly tries to forget about, and right now, she is trying hard not to burst into tears.

"B?" a soft voice says. Like always, Quinn had let herself in. As soon as she sees Brittany, she rushes over to her. "Aww Britt. Are you okay?" Lifting Brittany's head, Quinn gets on the couch, then gently lowers her head so that Brittany is now laying on her lap.

"Everything's so messed up, Q." Brittany's voice trembles. Ditching the pillow she was holding, she clutches onto Quinn's leg instead. The badass is like a little kid at heart, a side of her almost no one gets to see.

"Tell me," she says, stroking her friend's hair and trying to avoid the cuts and bruises on her face.

"I just...I kissed Santana."

Playing dumb, Quinn simply says, "I know, I saw."

"No, I mean when she brought me home. She just looked so cute, and she was cleaning my cuts, and I don't know. I kissed her!"

"Do you like her?" Quinn asks abruptly. Over the years, she has discovered that it is best to be blunt with the other blonde. Immediately, she sees a blush rising on Brittany's cheeks.

"W-why don't you sound surprised? I kissed her. Santana."

"Don't change the subject."

Brittany blinks at her forcefulness. "I don't know. I mean, I'm definitely attracted to her...but I don't know if I've ever liked anyone before. Only lusted after."

"Well, is that all you feel for her?"

"Ugh, I don't know, okay? I don't know if there's something more..." Despite Brittany's apparent confusion, Quinn knows. The tall blonde has never even considered liking someone before; she might not be able to read her own feelings, but Quinn sure can. "It doesn't matter anyway. She hates me."

"I'm sure she doesn't hate you, Britt. You've helped her a lot this past week."

Brittany shakes her head as much as their position allows her to. "No. You don't know what she said. You don't know what I said."

Contemplating what to say, Quinn stays silent. After a few seconds, she asks, "Why didn't you tell me your dad hits you?"

Wide-eyed, Brittany shoots up and stares at her. "How did you...um, what?" she stutters. "Did...did Santana tell you?"

Quinn nods and rubs her shoulder soothingly. "I just want you to know that I could've helped you."

"I know, but...I was scared." Hugging Brittany again, Quinn sighs and tucks her under her chin. If anyone from school walked in right now, they wouldn't believe their eyes: badass Brittany Pierce hugging nerdy Quinn's waist, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to hold back tears. "I-it started the summer before seventh grade," Brittany whispers.

"It's okay, B. You don't have to tell me."

"No, I want to."

"Okay." Quinn tightens her arms slightly.

"The first time was when his drinking started to become a problem. We were alone in the house, and he asked me to get him another beer. I told him that he already had too much, and then we started to argue, and he was already so drunk, he just hit me."

"Oh, Brittany," Quinn runs her hands through her hair.

"It wasn't too hard. J-just a slap. It scared me more than it hurt."

"Britt, he physically harmed you. He should be in jail! Why didn't you tell your mom?"

"He said that if I told her, then he'd hurt her too. I just wanted to protect her. And Tommy."

Quinn's heart is breaking for her friend. She's only met Brittany's dad once, by accident.

The two sophomores sit on Brittany's bedroom floor, watching Hercules with Tommy. He likes Meg, because he thinks she's pretty (so does Brittany; she likes girls with sass).

"Hey Britt, do you have any food?" Quinn asks.

"Uh-huh," the lanky girl hums, completely engrossed in the movie.

Quinn huffs; she probably didn't even hear the question. "I'm going to get us some food," she tries again.

"Uh-huh."

"T, do you want anything?"

"Uh-huh," the little boy replies with the same distracted expression as his older sister.

Rolling her eyes, Quinn stands up and walks downstairs. As her foot leaves the last step, she sees a man she's never met before. He has shaggy blonde hair, very unkempt stubble, and striking blue eyes. However, they aren't like Brittany's ocean blue or Tommy's sky blue. His eyes are darker, his eyelids tired. Everything about him unsettles the teenager.

"Are you Brittany's dad?" she asks. At this point, Quinn has known Brittany for about a year and a half, and she has never once seen the man.

"Yeah. Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?" he snaps.

Quinn's eyes widen. Is she not allowed to be here? Is Brittany's dad more strict than her mom? "I, um, I'm Brittany's friend. We were just"

"Dad!" Brittany's voice comes from behind her. The taller blonde is barreling down the stairs, and she doesn't sound happy.

"Britty," he sighs.

Her eyes narrow. "Get out." Quinn looks at her in surprise; why is she speaking so harshly to her dad?

"Britty, I"

"Get out, Dad. Now." He doesn't move. "Quinn, can you go watch Tommy?"

After looking back and forth between the two, Quinn slowly turns around and walks back up the stairs, out of sight. However, she is curious, so crouching down, she listens in on their conversation.

"I'm sorry, Britty. I promise this time I mean it."

Brittany doesn't even take a second to think about his words. "I don't care. You have no right to come here and terrorize my friend. This isn't your house anymore."

That confirms Quinn's earlier assumption that her parents are divorced.

"I have a right to know what is going on in your life, Brittany."

"No, you don't! When are you going to get it through your head? You lost that privilege a long time ago."

Hearing Brittany so angry makes Quinn rethink her snooping. She feels like she's intruding on something a little too sensitive, so she returns to the bedroom to see Tommy right where they left him.

"Where's the snacks, Big Q?"

"Oh sorry kid, I forgot! I'm sure B will get some," she chuckles nervously. Tommy just looks at her funny.

They both hear the door slam downstairs, then feet running up the stairs. "Sorry guys, couldn't decide between snacks," Brittany says with her beaming smile, but Quinn can tell she's still shaken up. Plopping herself between the two of them, Brittany sets down a few bags of chips and candy. "So what'd I miss?"

"The third time he hit me, it was harder. It left a bruise, and my mom wanted to know what happened. I lied and said someone was bullying me, so she put me in self-defense classes."

Well, that explains why she's such a good fighter and why she doesn't put up with anyone's shit.

"The next time he tried, it was in front of my mom."

"Oh my g—"

"And I hit back."


After they talk some more, the dancer falls asleep in her lap. Reluctantly, Quinn checks her phone, ready for the onslaught of messages that are bound to be waiting for her.

From San: What? Why?

From San: QUINN FABRAY. Where the fuck are you?

From San: Quinn :( Please come.

From San: :(

From San: :( :( :(

From San: You're with Britt, aren't you?

From San: Is she okay? Please get over here when you can.

Carefully lifting Brittany's head from her lap, she replaces herself with a pillow, then leaves a short note for her before leaving the house. Time to go console another friend.


Santana knows she should be thinking about more important things, like how horrible it is that Brittany's dad abused her and how the motherfucker should be locked up, or maybe how Brittany's injuries are healing and if she's hurt badly. However, the only thing she can think about is Brittany's lips on hers. The memory consumes her. She can't stop reliving the feel of those thin pink lips pressing into her own.

The blonde had been so gentle. No demand, no rush, nobody to impress. Santana had never been kissed like that. While the kiss in the hallway had been her doing—forceful and animalistic, meant to fuel Puck's rage—the kiss on the couch happened because Brittany had wanted to.

Santana had wanted to. Does that make her gay? Fuck, even thinking it terrifies her. She can't be gay. Her parents are extremely old-fashioned, and while she isn't exactly a homophobe, her parents definitely are. To them, status and presentation are everything. Life is about looking good and having the best manners. She was raised to live by their book, which has many rules:

Rule one of the Lopez book: Always come out on top.

Rule two of the Lopez book: Be the envy of everyone around you.

Rule number three of the Lopez book: Love is weakness. Fear is power.

Her mom and dad weren't even in love when they married. Their marriage was arranged, because both of their families played by the same rules. Santana's father is a world-renowned doctor, and her mother is a powerful lawyer. It only fits that she be absolutely perfect. Straight A's, honor roll, head cheerleader, popular, volunteer at the local hospital, straight. Pretending to date a girl is okay, because it's not real. She's sure that if her parents ever find out about her plan, they will simply be proud of how cunning and manipulative she is. However, actually dating a girl is a different story, and she has now kissed a girl and liked it. Twice.

Is she gay? How the hell can she know for sure? The more she thinks about it, the tighter her chest feels.

"Santana?" The voice breaks her out of her thoughts, and she screams. "Oh my god, what's wrong?" Quinn asks, barging in.

The Latina is panting and trembling, sweat running down her body. "Q-Quinn?" she stutters. "I c-can't."

Rushing to her side, Quinn starts wiping her face and rubbing her arms. "Breathe, just breathe. Slowly." She guides Santana through the movements, and eventually, the brunette is able to take deep and steady breaths as her heart rate slows. "I think you just had a panic attack."

Santana nods, then looks down at her hands. "Am I gay?"

"Sweetie..."

"I-I don't know why I'm feeling these things. My parents—"

"Your parents are insane," Quinn repeats the same line she's said many times before.

"But—"

"Is this about Brittany?"

Santana averts her eyes again. She knows she should feel ashamed about her feelings, but all she can do is blush like a schoolgirl with a crush—which she technically is.

Shit.

She has a crush on Brittany.

Brittany Pierce, the local badass who has hooked up with more people than she can count. Brittany, who ditches classes and smokes under the bleachers. Brittany, who can down shots like a champ and beat up football players twice her size.

Brittany, with her long, flowing blonde hair and those beautiful blue eyes. With abs she wants to run her tongue up and down and lips she wants to kiss all night. Brittany, who has a vagina and boobs and is most definitely female.

"Being gay isn't a bad thing, San."

"I'm not gay!" she snaps instinctively, her face contorting into an angry scowl before her eyes widen. "Shit, I'm sorry. It's just...this is so..."

"I know. It's okay to feel these things, Santana. If you're gay, you're gay. If you're not, you're not. Your parents shouldn't dictate how you feel, and you shouldn't hide your feelings, no matter what they are. Look, some people are gay, some are bi, some are straight, and some aren't even any of the above. To me and a lot of people, it doesn't matter."

"Thanks Q," she says softly, looking down.

"Remember that no matter what, I'll still love you. Platonically, of course."

Santana finally cracks a smile and rolls her eyes playfully as she pushes Quinn. "I don't know, maybe I'm just confused. Besides, she probably hates me."

"She doesn't hate you, I promise."

"You don't know what I said to her. She should hate me."

"I know enough." Quinn arches an eyebrow at her.

"So you were with her?"

"Mhm."

"How...how is she?"

"A little down, but she's Brittany. She'll bounce back."

At these words, Santana sighs and relaxes just a little. She hopes with all her heart that Quinn is right.


The next morning, Santana wakes up feeling even worse. With last night's gay panic mostly behind her, all she's left with is confusion, shame, and lots and lots of guilt. She feels absolutely terrible for what she said to Brittany, the girl she has now accepted she is sort of attracted to, especially with all the shit the blonde has already been through. The feelings stay with her for the weekend, most of which she spends avoiding Quinn; sometimes the girl tries to help too much, as evidenced by their car ride to school Monday morning.

"You should just apologize to her," Quinn suggests as Santana drives them both to school. Now that she isn't driving Brittany anymore, the two friends have returned to their old routine of driving together.

"Quinn..." she replies uneasily. Santana Lopez is not the best at apologizing.

"Come on. It's not like she's going to hurt you."

Santana parks the car, trying to prepare herself for what might happen when she enters the building. High school is like a prison and a zoo rolled into one, but worse. People are always vicious and thirsty for gossip. "She won't accept it." Why would she? Santana wouldn't blame the girl if she never spoke to her again.

"Fine, do whatever you want. I'm just telling you, you should at least try."

People are already giving them weird looks as they walk across the lot. Sometimes, it sucks to be popular.

"Okay, okay. I'll try, but I'm not promising a huge effort."

Quinn smiles. "Good. Besides, if you apologize to her, it will give you a chance to be within kissing distance of her again."

"Quinn!" Santana gasps. "Shut up!" As the Latina glares at Quinn, who simply laughs, Jacon Ben Israel suddenly comes barreling towards them, his camera man following close behind. "Oh great, here we go." Santana rolls her eyes. "More shit to deal with."

"Santana Lopez, is it true that after the huge fight on Friday, you ended your relationship with bad girl Brittany S. Pierce because she is 'too violent for you?'"

Scowling, Santana crosses her arms to stop his ogling of her rack. "No comment."

"How do you feel about Puck and Brittany's struggle for your heart? Flattered or disgusted with their brutish ways?"

"No comment."

"And how are you reacting to the rumor that you dumped Brittany to start another gay relationship with Quinn Fabray?"

"What?!" both girls shout, looking at each other in shock.

JBI turns to the short-haired blonde now. "Little Miss Quinn Fabray, always seemingly out of place. Too pretty to be a nerd—"

"Excuse me, nerds can be pretty!"

"Too nerdy to be popular, too Christian to be gay. Yet you hang out with the head cheerleader, and let's not forget about your unlikely friendship with Brittany Pierce, who I'm sure will not be happy to know you stole her girlfriend"

"I didn't steal her girlfriend!"

"So you're denying the rumors?"

Stepping forward, Santana interjects, "Yes! Listen JewFro, if you don't back off in the next five seconds, I will make sure you wake up tomorrow with no JewFro and no penis to accompany that no balls thing you've got going on."

Jacob's eyes widen impossibly more. "I-I'm not scared of you. Without Brittany's protection, you're all talk. She's the one who hits hard."

"Oh, I'll show you how hard I can hit!" the Latina growls as she lunges forward.

Immediately, Quinn catches her around the waist and holds her back. "Santana!"

"That's right, listen to your new girlfriend!"

"She's not my girlfriend!" they both yell as the rat scampers away.

Suddenly, the bell ring, signaling that they only have five minutes to get to class.

"Crap, I've got to get to my locker," Santana groans, walking off.

"Don't kill anyone!"

Santana is fuming. Nothing can possibly piss her off more—or so she thinks.

When she turns the corner, she stops dead in her tracks. There's Brittany Pierce, smirking seductively at a redhead Cheerio, tugging at the hem of her cheerleading top like she's about to tear it off right then and there. Their hips are touching, and she can see the girl giggling as Brittany whispers something in her ear. Santana's fists clench and her heart stops when the blonde moves silky hair back, revealing white skin, before placing her lips on her neck.

Jealousy. She can't deny it any longer. Raw, pure, unadulterated jealousy is coursing through her. She is absolutely livid. It takes all her strength not to rip the two apart and give the redhead a vicious lashing. Trying to control herself, she walks to her locker with her head held high, turning her back to the two of them and trying to remember her damn combination.

That girl should have known better than to mess with the head cheerleader's ex. By the end of the day, she'll be off the squad.