Fic: Z-Day - Chapter 12: Right Here
Title: Z-Day (Chapter 12: Right Here)
Pairing: Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce
Rating: R
Summary: Santana and Brittany face the unthinkable -- and the inevitable -- in post-apocalyptic Zombieland. Final chapter.
Word Count: ~1100
Disclaimer: Still don't own Zombieland or Glee.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it,” I said.
She just nestled her head comfortably against my shoulder and looped her pinky through mine. We’d been sitting on the sparse grass just above the beach since dancing was no longer an option, as Brittany was getting frustrated to tears by the fact that she kept tripping over nothing. I’d kissed away the tracks on her cheeks and told her I was tired anyway and wrapped her in the blanket with me to stare at the lake.
Brittany stretched a stiff leg out to reach the edge of the sand and began pushing it around with her foot. My foot drifted over to hers, but she nudged my leg back with her knee. “Don’t wreck it,” she said.
“Are you making the Hollywood Hills?”
She smiled. “No.”
“What is it?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But don’t wreck it.”
I stared at her face, trying to soak it all in so I could keep her blue eyes and light lashes and freckled nose with me for… for what? I wondered.
Her pinky on mine loosened and I gripped it desperately. She looked up at me, and her eyes were steelier than I remembered.
“Britt-Britt?” I whispered.
“Yeah?” she said, and it was so innocent and full of concern that I realized she didn’t even know how fast it was all happening.
When I didn’t respond, she looked back down at her foot, pushing the cold sand into uneven mounds and pits. “You’re scared,” she said.
“No.”
She raised her eyebrow in that look that had always said don’t-even-try-to-lie-to-me. Then finally she said, “What do you think is next?”
I shrugged and her head bobbed on my shoulder. She shifted to get comfortable again. “Sorry,” I said.
“It might hurt, though, right?”
“No,” I said. “It’ll be just like going to sleep. Easy as pie.”
“Pie is super hard, though.”
“Easy as eating pie, then.”
She smiled. “Strawberry rhubarb?”
“Sure,” I said. “Like on the Fourth of July.”
“Do you think they have fireworks?”
“Who?”
“I don’t know-whoever…” she waved her hand vaguely at the horizon.
“Probably. The willow tree ones.”
“Those are my favorite.”
“They’re my favorite,” I teased.
“That’s why they’re mine. They remind me of you. And the top of the party boat in the middle of the lake on the Fourth of July.”
I smiled. I used to make a football freshman drive Karofsky’s dad’s old-ass hard-top party boat around the lake every Fourth of July party-I let the kid touch my boobs in exchange for not stopping the boat or coming up top, and then Britt and I would climb the ladder and lie down and alternate between making out and watching early fireworks from the kids’ summer camps along the beaches.
“Too bad we don’t have a boat now,” I said.
“Or fireworks.”
“Guess it doesn’t really matter.”
She frowned, searching my eyes, and leaned in and kissed me. It was everything it ever was - and then something more. Something foreign, distinctly un-Brittany, in taste, and I felt my heart contract sharply.
“You’re crying again,” she said softly, pulling back only far enough to fit her thumbs between our faces and wipe my cheeks.
“Uh-huh,” I barely whispered. “Babe, I love you, but…”
Her eyes panicked and she tried to pull away, but I grabbed the back of her neck and rested my forehead against hers, smiling to reassure her.
“I love you,” I said again, choking on the words, “but you really need to brush your teeth.”
It was the last time I heard her laugh.
“You would say something like that right now,” she teased. “Do you think they’ll have toothbrushes?”
I just shrugged because I couldn’t find any words.
“I’m tired,” she said.
And I panicked. A nasty inner voice sneered, Isn’t this what you wanted? “No, just-just stay with me, okay? Just a little bit.”
“Mmkay.” She closed her eyes.
“Britt-Britt, stay with me,” I patted her cheek gently. “Brittany. Please.”
“I’m right here, San,” she mumbled.
And then she was unmoving, and it was so sudden that I felt cheated. We were supposed to have more time. She wasn’t supposed to just go off into a drugged coma and disappear on me forever. There was supposed to be a sunset, and birds-there would be birds flying-and I should be able to see my breath in the air, and we’d both be crying and kissing and there’d be final tearful I-love-yous…
But the sun was low but not setting.
And there might have been a couple geese or ducks way across the lake, but I wasn’t looking.
And it wasn’t nearly cold enough to see my breath.
And her eyes were shut and dry, her lips barely parted.
Like she was sleeping.
And, I guess, for all intents and purposes, she was.
It was all wrong, but I pulled her impossibly close to me and sobbed into her neck until my own limbs started feeling stiff and sore and she started smelling less like baby powder and fresh air and more like salt. And that’s when I remembered I’d spilled what would have slipped me gently away, too, and I looked beyond the white powder in the back of the car to the duffel bag with a barrel peeking out of the open zipper.
In a minute. My joints screamed as I shifted. Without her I was suddenly hyperaware of me, and I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t just… in a minute.
I settled down, pulling her still, cooling body close again. For now this would be it.
Because for now, it was quiet. For now, it was just the two of us. It was always the two of us.
Pairing: Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce
Rating: R
Summary: Santana and Brittany face the unthinkable -- and the inevitable -- in post-apocalyptic Zombieland. Final chapter.
Word Count: ~1100
Disclaimer: Still don't own Zombieland or Glee.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it,” I said.
She just nestled her head comfortably against my shoulder and looped her pinky through mine. We’d been sitting on the sparse grass just above the beach since dancing was no longer an option, as Brittany was getting frustrated to tears by the fact that she kept tripping over nothing. I’d kissed away the tracks on her cheeks and told her I was tired anyway and wrapped her in the blanket with me to stare at the lake.
Brittany stretched a stiff leg out to reach the edge of the sand and began pushing it around with her foot. My foot drifted over to hers, but she nudged my leg back with her knee. “Don’t wreck it,” she said.
“Are you making the Hollywood Hills?”
She smiled. “No.”
“What is it?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But don’t wreck it.”
I stared at her face, trying to soak it all in so I could keep her blue eyes and light lashes and freckled nose with me for… for what? I wondered.
Her pinky on mine loosened and I gripped it desperately. She looked up at me, and her eyes were steelier than I remembered.
“Britt-Britt?” I whispered.
“Yeah?” she said, and it was so innocent and full of concern that I realized she didn’t even know how fast it was all happening.
When I didn’t respond, she looked back down at her foot, pushing the cold sand into uneven mounds and pits. “You’re scared,” she said.
“No.”
She raised her eyebrow in that look that had always said don’t-even-try-to-lie-to-me. Then finally she said, “What do you think is next?”
I shrugged and her head bobbed on my shoulder. She shifted to get comfortable again. “Sorry,” I said.
“It might hurt, though, right?”
“No,” I said. “It’ll be just like going to sleep. Easy as pie.”
“Pie is super hard, though.”
“Easy as eating pie, then.”
She smiled. “Strawberry rhubarb?”
“Sure,” I said. “Like on the Fourth of July.”
“Do you think they have fireworks?”
“Who?”
“I don’t know-whoever…” she waved her hand vaguely at the horizon.
“Probably. The willow tree ones.”
“Those are my favorite.”
“They’re my favorite,” I teased.
“That’s why they’re mine. They remind me of you. And the top of the party boat in the middle of the lake on the Fourth of July.”
I smiled. I used to make a football freshman drive Karofsky’s dad’s old-ass hard-top party boat around the lake every Fourth of July party-I let the kid touch my boobs in exchange for not stopping the boat or coming up top, and then Britt and I would climb the ladder and lie down and alternate between making out and watching early fireworks from the kids’ summer camps along the beaches.
“Too bad we don’t have a boat now,” I said.
“Or fireworks.”
“Guess it doesn’t really matter.”
She frowned, searching my eyes, and leaned in and kissed me. It was everything it ever was - and then something more. Something foreign, distinctly un-Brittany, in taste, and I felt my heart contract sharply.
“You’re crying again,” she said softly, pulling back only far enough to fit her thumbs between our faces and wipe my cheeks.
“Uh-huh,” I barely whispered. “Babe, I love you, but…”
Her eyes panicked and she tried to pull away, but I grabbed the back of her neck and rested my forehead against hers, smiling to reassure her.
“I love you,” I said again, choking on the words, “but you really need to brush your teeth.”
It was the last time I heard her laugh.
“You would say something like that right now,” she teased. “Do you think they’ll have toothbrushes?”
I just shrugged because I couldn’t find any words.
“I’m tired,” she said.
And I panicked. A nasty inner voice sneered, Isn’t this what you wanted? “No, just-just stay with me, okay? Just a little bit.”
“Mmkay.” She closed her eyes.
“Britt-Britt, stay with me,” I patted her cheek gently. “Brittany. Please.”
“I’m right here, San,” she mumbled.
And then she was unmoving, and it was so sudden that I felt cheated. We were supposed to have more time. She wasn’t supposed to just go off into a drugged coma and disappear on me forever. There was supposed to be a sunset, and birds-there would be birds flying-and I should be able to see my breath in the air, and we’d both be crying and kissing and there’d be final tearful I-love-yous…
But the sun was low but not setting.
And there might have been a couple geese or ducks way across the lake, but I wasn’t looking.
And it wasn’t nearly cold enough to see my breath.
And her eyes were shut and dry, her lips barely parted.
Like she was sleeping.
And, I guess, for all intents and purposes, she was.
It was all wrong, but I pulled her impossibly close to me and sobbed into her neck until my own limbs started feeling stiff and sore and she started smelling less like baby powder and fresh air and more like salt. And that’s when I remembered I’d spilled what would have slipped me gently away, too, and I looked beyond the white powder in the back of the car to the duffel bag with a barrel peeking out of the open zipper.
In a minute. My joints screamed as I shifted. Without her I was suddenly hyperaware of me, and I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t just… in a minute.
I settled down, pulling her still, cooling body close again. For now this would be it.
Because for now, it was quiet. For now, it was just the two of us. It was always the two of us.