Fic: Z-Day - Chapter 8: Closer
Title: Z-Day (Chapter 8: Closer)
Pairing: Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce
Rating: R
Summary: Santana and Brittany face the unthinkable -- and the inevitable -- in post-apocalyptic Zombieland.
Word Count: ~800
Disclaimer: Still don't own Zombieland or Glee.
She pulled me toward the door. “I want to do something.”
Hesitantly hopeful, I stumbled after her. She hopped into the passenger’s side of the G-wagon, reaching across the car to crank the ignition, and I slid into the driver’s side, turning to her expectantly. “Where are we going?” I said.
“Nowhere.” She plugged our iPod into the dock on the dashboard and scrolled through a playlist. She tapped a song with her thumb and grinned at me. Three bars in and my heart dropped through my stomach.
*
Hairbrush microphones were stupid. So was hairography, according to Coach. But with Brittany waving one hand spastically above her head and clutching her ceramic round brush in front of her face with the other, whipping her hair and wearing boy briefs and a thin tank, stupid was the last thing from my mind.
Hilarious. Fun. Absurd. Infectious.
I grabbed her pink hairbrush and jumped along. “You’re toxic, I’m slipping under,” we sang off-key so we could compete loudly with the blaring music.
It was the summer before freshman year, and while Quinn reminded us repeatedly that high-schoolers didn’t do immature things like this, and we were practically already in high school since we had JV Cheerios practice five days a week, Brittany reasoned we weren’t technically there yet so we had all summer to get it out of our systems. And what Coach (and Quinn) didn’t know about our singing and hair flipping wouldn’t hurt.
The next song didn’t involve nearly as much whiplash, but we jumped around unnecessarily anyway. Brittany spun around and her foot caught on a discarded pair of sweatpants on the floor - she grabbed me for balance but we both ended up on the bed in a fit of giggles. She recovered immediately, rolling backwards and onto her knees before jumping onto her feet and bouncing on the bed. I rolled out of the danger zone and onto the floor, grinning up at her as her hair flew out and she kicked her heels up with each twirl. “I’m on the outside looking in, closer to you, I want to get closer to you, then I would know for sure, closer to you.”
She laughed and leapt down, grabbing my hands and dancing me in a circle. “I imagine how you feel, tell me the only thing that’s real,” she sang, and I leaned up and kissed her. And then we froze.
I didn’t know why I did it.
I knew we’d stopped dancing as the song finished.
I knew Brittany let go of my hands.
I knew I couldn’t move even though I desperately, desperately wanted to jump out the window and run all the way to Canada.
I knew the next song started playing, but I couldn’t hear it over the pounding rush in my ears.
And I knew Brittany was staring at me with blue eyes as wide as mine.
“I - I - I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did that. I didn’t mean… let’s pretend it didn’t happen, ‘kay?” I spluttered.
Brittany slowly brought her fingers up to trace her lips. God, I totally freaked her out.
“I’m just gonna-“ I turned to leave, my hand on the doorknob, when-
“San?”
My fingers were shaking so I balled them into a fist around the front of my shirt.
“What about our sleepover?” Several long, frozen minutes passed, and I couldn’t say anything. I heard her shift uncertainly, but I couldn’t turn around. Finally- “No,” she said.
I tensed my shoulders. “What,” I whispered.
“I’m not gonna pretend it didn’t happen.”
And then all I knew was she was kissing me again, and it was soft and cautious and scared.
*
“All of our answers, question in time, don’t let your fears try to tear us apart. I want to get closer to you, I’m on the outside looking in, Tell me our love is real, you know that I will understand.”
Her blue eyes weren’t as wide as mine, but they were sad and terrified. And she wasn’t singing this time, but I could hear her thirteen-year-old voice in the lyrics. I twisted a strand of her hair gently in my fingers and cupped her cheek.
Foolishly hopeful, I watched her. “Let’s pretend it didn’t happen.”
She just smiled, pulling her sleeve down over her wrist and wincing a little. “Okay.”
Pairing: Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce
Rating: R
Summary: Santana and Brittany face the unthinkable -- and the inevitable -- in post-apocalyptic Zombieland.
Word Count: ~800
Disclaimer: Still don't own Zombieland or Glee.
She pulled me toward the door. “I want to do something.”
Hesitantly hopeful, I stumbled after her. She hopped into the passenger’s side of the G-wagon, reaching across the car to crank the ignition, and I slid into the driver’s side, turning to her expectantly. “Where are we going?” I said.
“Nowhere.” She plugged our iPod into the dock on the dashboard and scrolled through a playlist. She tapped a song with her thumb and grinned at me. Three bars in and my heart dropped through my stomach.
*
Hairbrush microphones were stupid. So was hairography, according to Coach. But with Brittany waving one hand spastically above her head and clutching her ceramic round brush in front of her face with the other, whipping her hair and wearing boy briefs and a thin tank, stupid was the last thing from my mind.
Hilarious. Fun. Absurd. Infectious.
I grabbed her pink hairbrush and jumped along. “You’re toxic, I’m slipping under,” we sang off-key so we could compete loudly with the blaring music.
It was the summer before freshman year, and while Quinn reminded us repeatedly that high-schoolers didn’t do immature things like this, and we were practically already in high school since we had JV Cheerios practice five days a week, Brittany reasoned we weren’t technically there yet so we had all summer to get it out of our systems. And what Coach (and Quinn) didn’t know about our singing and hair flipping wouldn’t hurt.
The next song didn’t involve nearly as much whiplash, but we jumped around unnecessarily anyway. Brittany spun around and her foot caught on a discarded pair of sweatpants on the floor - she grabbed me for balance but we both ended up on the bed in a fit of giggles. She recovered immediately, rolling backwards and onto her knees before jumping onto her feet and bouncing on the bed. I rolled out of the danger zone and onto the floor, grinning up at her as her hair flew out and she kicked her heels up with each twirl. “I’m on the outside looking in, closer to you, I want to get closer to you, then I would know for sure, closer to you.”
She laughed and leapt down, grabbing my hands and dancing me in a circle. “I imagine how you feel, tell me the only thing that’s real,” she sang, and I leaned up and kissed her. And then we froze.
I didn’t know why I did it.
I knew we’d stopped dancing as the song finished.
I knew Brittany let go of my hands.
I knew I couldn’t move even though I desperately, desperately wanted to jump out the window and run all the way to Canada.
I knew the next song started playing, but I couldn’t hear it over the pounding rush in my ears.
And I knew Brittany was staring at me with blue eyes as wide as mine.
“I - I - I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did that. I didn’t mean… let’s pretend it didn’t happen, ‘kay?” I spluttered.
Brittany slowly brought her fingers up to trace her lips. God, I totally freaked her out.
“I’m just gonna-“ I turned to leave, my hand on the doorknob, when-
“San?”
My fingers were shaking so I balled them into a fist around the front of my shirt.
“What about our sleepover?” Several long, frozen minutes passed, and I couldn’t say anything. I heard her shift uncertainly, but I couldn’t turn around. Finally- “No,” she said.
I tensed my shoulders. “What,” I whispered.
“I’m not gonna pretend it didn’t happen.”
And then all I knew was she was kissing me again, and it was soft and cautious and scared.
*
“All of our answers, question in time, don’t let your fears try to tear us apart. I want to get closer to you, I’m on the outside looking in, Tell me our love is real, you know that I will understand.”
Her blue eyes weren’t as wide as mine, but they were sad and terrified. And she wasn’t singing this time, but I could hear her thirteen-year-old voice in the lyrics. I twisted a strand of her hair gently in my fingers and cupped her cheek.
Foolishly hopeful, I watched her. “Let’s pretend it didn’t happen.”
She just smiled, pulling her sleeve down over her wrist and wincing a little. “Okay.”