What the hell is wrong with her? Feeling up Brittany's abs totally goes against everything she believes in. She definitely does not daydream about Brittany's body, no matter how perfect or in shape it obviously is. Now that she thinks about it, her legs are really nice too, toned and long and going on for miles, not to mention…Stop it, Santana! she chastises herself. Go back to hating her. Go back to hating her right now!

"Santana. Santana!" a voice calls, breaking her out of her thoughts. It's Puck.

"What, Puckerman?"

"Look, S, I know we haven't talked since we broke up, and I really miss you. I promise, if you come back to me, I'll treat you right and make sure all your needs are filled."

Santana feels a little guilty for stringing him along, until she remembers that he totally deserves it. "Puck, it's your fault for letting me go in the first place. I'm a catch, and you should've seen that."

"I did see that! I do. You just didn't see how much I care about you. Come on, San, give me another chance."

The brunette smirks. Rule number one in Santana's book: Always come out on top. "Sorry Puck. You were fun and all, but I'm with Brittany now. She gets me and has a killer body."

At the mention of the blonde, Puck looks at her in disgust. "So you're not just using her to make me jealous?"

Santana freezes for a second but recovers quickly. "Please. Make you jealous? As if."

Up until now, the mohawked boy was positive that was her angle. Now, he's not so sure. "We're not done, San. I know it," he states.

"Maybe we're not, Puck. Who knows?" She shrugs nonchalantly.

"I'll prove it to you. I'll make you fall for me." With that, Puck leaves and returns to his table.

The cheerleader simply scoffs. She'd like to see him try.

"Santana's okay with you being here with me, right?" Mike asks as the two dancers stretch.

"Trust me, she won't mind."

"Tina's pretty mad. No offense, but I really wish I didn't have to do that project with you."

"None taken. I totally understand."

"Is Santana jealous too?"

Brittany falters, not really knowing what to say. "I guess you could say that. Although it's more me having to kiss someone else, I guess?" She is totally making this up as she goes along, but thankfully, Mike seems to buy it.

"Yeah. I'm really sorry if Tina kills you."

"Don't worry, I can take care of myself."

"I know."

The moment gets awkward as they just stand there.

"So, dance?" Brittany offers, trying to break the silence.

"Dance."

Quinn and Santana sit on the short-haired blonde's bed, Santana mindlessly flipping through a magazine while Quinn does homework. They established a routine long ago: Santana does the bare minimum, finishing hours before Quinn, who takes the time to do exceptional work.

"Done!" Quinn exclaims, making Santana jump.

"Finally. I was almost done with my magazine," she says, slapping it down and resting her head on her arm so she can look at Quinn. "Anyways, I heard a rumor that Sam has a crush on you."

"Sam Evans? Really? I guess he's sort of cute," Quinn muses.

"What? He's totally hot, and he's on the football team!"

"Yeah, but he's also in Glee Club."

"Seriously, Q? You're judging his dorkiness? You're co-captain of the Brainiacs."

"Whatever."

"So are you gonna get up on that?"

While Quinn ponders, Santana rolls her eyes; she thinks too much. "I don't know. I mean, he's pretty popular and hot, but I've only ever said five words to him."

"What words?"

"'That's Mars, planet of War."

Santana laughs, wondering what scenario that phrase could've been used in. "Okay, so he's a little dumb."

"He doesn't know what Romeo and Juliet is!"

"Oh yeah, you have to do that scene with him! You guys are totally gonna get your mack on," the Latina teases.

As Santana laughs, Quinn throws a pillow at her. "Oh, shut up! You have to kiss a gay guy."

"Ugh, don't remind me."

"I heard a rumor that Britt's so jealous, she's going to sneak into his house and burn all his clothes."

"What? No way."

"Yeah, people can be really stupid sometimes," Quinn says, shaking her head. "You know what else I heard?"

"What?" Santana asks, ready for more gossip.

"That you copped a feel in the hallway this morning." Santana goes rigid. She's still beating herself up about letting it get that far. "Oh my god. That one's true, isn't it?" Quinn whispers, wide-eyed and giddy.

"I wasn't fondling her or anything! We were just messing around. Wait, not like that!"

"Santana Lopez, you're totally blushing!"

"It wasn't like that, Q! She told me she had abs, I didn't believe her, she made me feel them. That's all."

Quinn looks at her skeptically, a smirk playing at her lips. "Under or over the shirt?"

Santana groans. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, under, but she forced me to." Quinn starts laughing again, and Santana feels herself getting pissed off. "Are you done yet?"

"No. Okay, okay. Yeah, I'm done," Quinn pants, trying to regulate her breathing. She has never seen Santana so flustered before, which gets her thinking. Could something more be going on? She studies her friend, who looks on edge, and decides she'll have to explore this further. For now, though, more teasing. "So how were they?"

"What?" Santana asks, confused.

"Her abs. Were they good? Nice and firm and defined?" Quinn says slowly and seductively.

Santana rolls her eyes before pushing her away. "Shut up, Fabray."

Exhausted, Brittany dismounts her motorcycle and walks up her front porch, humming a random tune. That's when she hears the yelling.

"What do you think you're doing here?" her mom shouts.

"I wanna see my fucking kids, that's what!" her dad screams back. Even from the other side of the door, Brittany can tell he's drunk.

"You're crazy if you think I'm letting you near them! Especially like this!"

"They're my kids! I can see them whenever I want to!"

Trying to resist the urge to barge into the house and give her parents a piece of her mind, Brittany clenches her fists and breathes deeply. Then, she turns around, runs to the back of the house, and climbs on top of the mini workshed before leaping onto the roof of the patio cover. Knowing her bedroom window is unlocked, she climbs in.

"Fuck you, you stupid bitch! I'm gonna take my goddamn kids!" Daniel Pierce's voice booms through the house.

Silently, Brittany creeps down the hall and into her brother's room, where her heart breaks at the sight in front of her. Tommy has his pillow over his head, obviously trying to muffle the sounds of their parents screaming. He is curled up in a ball under his sheets, and tears are streaming down his face. "Britty, they're fighting again," the boy whimpers.

She immediately crosses the room and picks her brother up, and he clings to her. "I know, T. Let's go somewhere else until they're done."

"Okay," he whispers.

"Go wait in my room, and make sure to be super sneaky, so Mom and Dad don't hear us leaving, okay?"

"Okay," he repeats, rubbing his eyes before following her directions.

Their parents' screaming match rings in her ears as she gathers some essentials: Tommy's toothbrush, some of his clothes, and his teddy bear that she bought for him two years ago. Then, she writes a quick note to her mom.

I've got T. Staying somewhere else for the night.

-B

After leaving the note on Tommy's desk, she shoves the items in a bag and goes to her room, adrenaline and anger coursing through her. "Come on, T. Let's go!" she whispers before carrying him through the window.

Carefully, they make their way down and into the front yard. Not wanting to put Tommy at risk, she decides to take her old, beat-up Hyundai instead of her motorcycle. Once Tommy climbs in, Brittany makes sure to buckle him in.

"I can do it, Britty!" he says, trying to pry the seatbelt from his sister's hands.

"I know, baby. I just want to be extra safe, mkay?" When she's satisfied, she gets in the driver's seat, pulling out fast and not looking back, just in case her parents hear the engine. She doesn't want to deal with them right now.

"Thanks for taking me away, Britty."

"No problem." She smiles at the boy despite her inner frustration. It's always like this. Always the same damn mistakes, always the same fight. Don't they know that Tommy is right upstairs and can hear them every time? Letting out an angry sigh, she pulls over.

"Are we staying here?" Tommy asks.

"No, T. I just have to make a quick phone call."

"Of course. No, my mom's out of town. No, I understand. You're welcome anytime. Okay, see you soon," Quinn says into her phone.

"Who was that?" Santana asks.

"Brittany. She's coming over."

"What? Why?" Santana's tone is harsher than intended. She doesn't know if she's ready to see the blonde again so soon.

"I'm not sure. She just said it was a family emergency," Quinn explains vaguely.

"Well," Santana sighs. "There goes our night of movies and junk food."

"What, Britt can't watch movies with us?"

"I don't think it's a good idea for me to stay if she's going to be here."

"What? I thought you guys were getting along now! You are dating, after all," Quinn smirks.

"Yeah, well, our relationship is strictly business."

"Just stay. I'm sure she won't mind. Pleeease." The short-haired blonde pouts and uses her big hazel eyes to her advantage. Truthfully, Quinn just wants to see how they interact when they don't have to pretend they're dating.

When her lower lip starts to tremble, Santana reluctantly caves. "Ugh, fine. You owe me one though."

"Yay!" She hugs her tightly as the doorbell rings. "Perfect timing!"

Santana follows her to the door, staying back while she answers it. The last thing the brunette expects is a small boy with a mess of blond hair to jump into Quinn's arms. "Quinnie!" Tommy exclaims as he clings to her.

"Little T!" she exclaims back, hugging him.

The door opens further to reveal Brittany. "Santana?" she asks, surprised.

"Hey," Santana says, forcing out a small smile. She's curious and concerned to see that while the blonde's eyes display shock, anger, and frustration, the dominant emotion in her whole face is sadness.

"Are you okay, B?" Quinn asks, still holding Tommy in her arms.

"Can I talk to you? Alone?" Brittany asks. Santana is slightly offended until she sees Brittany's eyes dart to her brother.

"Of course. Santana?"

At the mention of her name, Santana stops staring at the tall dancer and looks at Quinn. "Yeah?"

"Can you watch Tommy for a sec?"

"Uh…yeah. O-okay," Santana stutters.

After Quinn sets Tommy on the ground, Brittany kneels down. "T, you're gonna hang out with my friend Santana while I talk to Q, okay?"

"Okay, Britty!" the boy says, kissing her cheek.

Santana's heart leaps (involuntarily) when she hears Brittany call her her friend, then again at her sweetness towards her brother. As the two blondes disappear into the dining room, Santana is left alone with the small child, feeling extremely awkward. She has no idea what to do; she cusses too much, knows nothing about what kids like, is scared of their sticky hands getting all over her designer clothes, and has an awful temper. "Do you want to sit on the couch?" she asks him.

"Okay!" He belly flops onto the couch. Gingerly, Santana sits next to him, afraid he might tackle her or spit in her face or something equally as disgusting. "You're Britty's friend?" he asks with bright blue eyes that match his sister's.

"Yup. I'm Santana."

His grin widens, and he sticks out his hand. "I'm Tommy!" Thrown off by his politeness, she takes his small hand and gently shakes it. "I'm glad you're Britty's friend. She doesn't have many," he says sadly.

"She has Quinn, and she's the best."

"Yeah, I really like Quinn! She's fun and super nice. And she's pretty," he says quietly, his cheeks reddening. After a pause, he adds, "You're really pretty too, Santana."

Now her cheeks are flushing. "You're pretty handsome yourself, Tommy."

"What happened, Britt?" Quinn asks as they sit down at the dining room table.

"My goddamn parents again," Brittany grits out, trying to show her frustration while trying not to be too loud.

"Same thing?" Quinn prompts, feeling bad for her friend. Brittany has told Quinn about her family troubles before, but she's usually able to deal with them herself.

"It was worse this time, Q. I didn't even want to try to deal with Dad. I just wanted Tommy out."

Quinn sighs. "It'll be okay, Britt. You can stay here whenever."

"I just don't understand. Why does Mom even let him in the house anymore? Last week, I saw him sleeping on the couch, and I got so mad at her. She said that he was crying and begging for forgiveness, so she let him sleep there 'just for the night,' because 'he was sober.' Two hours later, he was gone. Then he came back drunk."

"I'm sorry, B."

"I'm scared. What if he gets so wasted he hurts Tommy?"

Quinn has never seen Brittany cry, but she can hear the tears in her voice. "We'll figure something out. He hasn't hurt any of you, has he?"

"N-no."

"Good. You'll get through this, B. You're one of the strongest people I know."

"Thank you, Quinn, for being here for me, all the time."

"No problem."

They smile at each other before Brittany stands up. "It's late, and Tommy has school tomorrow. I should put him to bed."

"Okay, I'll get the spare bed ready."

Brittany makes her way to the living room, and for the first time since coming home, she smiles. Tommy is curled up in a ball, his head resting in Santana's lap, while she sits rigid and awkward. Her arms are by her side, not touching him, as if she's afraid any movement will wake him up. Brittany can't help but find Santana's fear adorable.

"He sort of fell asleep," Santana says in a low voice, still unmoving.

"It's funny how terrified you look right now," Brittany comments.

Instead of her usual glare, Santana blushes. "What if he wakes up?" she whispers.

"Then he wakes up! It's not like he'll turn into the Incredible Hulk or anything." With that, Brittany approaches both of them and picks Tommy up. Santana tries not to flinch when a soft arm brushes her thighs.

"Britty?" Tommy mumbles.

"It's me, T. I'm taking you to bed, okay?"

"Okay."

Astonished, Santana watches the blonde as she walks away. How can this be the same girl that fucks anyone who looks at her and throws nerds in dumpsters and slushies football players? There's no way.

"You're not falling for her, are you?" Quinn teases.

Santana's head moves so fast, she's surprised it doesn't snap off. "What? Of course not! I was just thinking about how sweet she is with Tommy."

"I'm just messing with you, San. Honestly, when I first saw her with Tommy, I was confused too, but…well, let's just say I know why she is the way she is."

"You mean, why she's an annoying, pretentious player?"

"Yeah, just like I know why you're a stuck-up bitch."

"Hey!"

"You know it's true."

Santana rolls her eyes before getting up the nerve to ask, "So why is she…y'know?"

"That's for her to tell, if she wants to." Quinn shrugs. "I'm going to bed. You're welcome to stay if you want." With that, she disappears upstairs.

Now Santana is really fucking curious, but for once, she's exercising caution. Whatever is going on with Brittany is obviously bad, and they've just started to get along. It's not really her place to ask.

"Hey Princess, what's got you all serious looking?" Brittany saunters into the living room, clad in really short sleep shorts and a too-small tank top. They're obviously Quinn's clothes.

"Just homework. Yeah, I have a big essay due," Santana lies.

"That sucks," the blonde replies as she walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge. "Do you want a beer?"

"Brittany!" she protests. Sure, after Quinn's parents divorced, Judy Fabray got less uptight, but she isn't that loose.

"Oh, Judy won't mind. Besides, I'll just replace it sometime." She cracks the can open and takes a sip. "So do you want one?"

"Ugh. Yes," Santana acquiesces.

Smiling, Brittany hands her a can before plopping down next to her. For a while, they sit there, just drinking and not talking, Santana still having an inner battle with herself about what to say to Brittany (plus, the blonde's legs are really distracting).

"Your brother's really adorable," Santana finally says.

"Yeah, he is a little cutie, isn't he?" Brittany chuckles.

"To be honest, kids kind of scare me."

Brittany laughs. "I could tell. You're an only child, aren't you?" Santana nods. "No wonder you're so spoiled." Although she knows it's true, Santana glares at the blonde. "Having a sibling can be a pain sometimes, but the good moments more than make up for the bad." Brittany smiles sadly, and Santana gets the sudden urge to make her feel better — or at least take her mind off of whatever has her so down.

"So we're friends now, huh?"

"Well, I didn't want to tell Tommy that we're enemies who are fake dating to make your shitty ex-boyfriend jealous." Brittany says it with a teasing smirk on her face, so Santana lets it slide. "We have been acting more civil, though. Maybe we are, y'know, friends," she adds.

It catches Santana off-guard. Actually, this whole damn night has caught her off-guard. "Yeah, that would be…yeah," she mumbles. "But I still think you're annoying as fuck."

"And I still think you're a bitchy, socially-obsessed cheerleader, so we're even."

Santana smiles at her. "Even."

Two beers and a few episodes of Hoarders later, it's past 11 PM. They make idle chit chat about school, the Drama Arts assignment, and extracurriculars.

"What kind of dancing do you do?"

"Mostly contemporary and west coast swing, but I also really like hip hop and tango."

"What's west coast swing?"

"It's like swing but more high-paced. It's really cool, you should look it up."

"Or I could just watch you," Santana suggests. She really wants to see if Brittany can dance or not. If her abs are any indication of her skill, then she must be a freaking professional.

"You'd really take the time to watch me perform?" she asks incredulously.

"Well, we are friends, right?"

"Actually, we're girlfriends."

"Fake girlfriends," Santana reminds her.

"Right."

After a few minutes, Santana yawns. "Fuck, I'm tired," she states.

"Then sleep."

"I plan to." Grabbing a throw pillow, she places it on the arm of the couch and lays her head on top of it. It's awkward, because her feet are still on the ground, but what can she do? Brittany is right there, she's too lazy to walk home, she doesn't want to wake Quinn, Tommy's in the guest room, and there's no way she's sleeping in Judy's bed.

"You look stupid," Brittany comments, watching as she tries to shift into a comfortable position.

Santana cracks an eye open and gives her best one-eyed glare to the blonde. "Shut up."

Brittany scoffs. "Come here."

Intrigued, Santana sits up to look at her. Adjusting herself, Brittany places one arm on the back of the couch, inviting Santana to lay on her. The Latina raises an eyebrow; does she seriously expect to cuddle right now?

"I'm not going to bite. Besides, if we both have to sleep on this God-awful couch, we might as well be as comfortable as possible," Brittany reasons.

Deciding she's too tired to argue, Santana settles into Brittany's arms. They adjust slightly so they can both lie comfortably, Brittany's arm draped over Santana's side and their legs pressed together. Before Santana can scold herself for how wrong and weird this is, she slips into unconsciousness.

However, Brittany's mind is still running 100 miles a minute, thinking about her parents. Sighing, she wonders how her life got so messed up that she is now letting one of her biggest "enemies" sleep on her. Looking down at her sleeping friend's (it still feels weird to think it) face, Brittany has to admit once again that Santana is really goddamn gorgeous. Without the scowl or smirk, she looks so relaxed and peaceful. She looks beautiful. Not just her face, but the rest of her body too. Her boobs are the perfect size, and they look so squeezable and suckable, and Brittany imagines all that cheerleading has made her stomach almost as toned as her own. And even though she's significantly shorter than Brittany, her legs seem to go on forever.

Brittany used to think Santana was just beautiful on the outside, but now that she has gotten to know her, has seen how careful she was with Tommy despite her irrational fear of children…well, she might be beautiful on the inside too.

Suddenly, Brittany realizes that she's basically watching Santana sleep like a creeper and snaps her eyes shut, trying not to think about everything that transpired today. That night, she dreams of escaping houses, drunk hoarders, and warm brown eyes.