Fic: Buenas Noches, Wild Things
Title: "Buenas Noches, Wild Things"
Author: mallardeer
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None, no references to the show
Summary: The first book Santana learned to read was Goodnight Moon.
Author's Note: I honestly have no idea where this came from. I was just thinking about bedtime stories, and then... Well, I told you I was addicted to mini-Brittana. Also, my Spanish is a little rusty, but I think it's readable. Feel free to tell me if it's not.
Warnings: This is totally angst-free fluff. And it gets somewhat nauseating at the very end. I can't help myself! Just putting that out there.
The first book Santana learned to read was Goodnight Moon. She was five, and she was still struggling with English, but when her mother saw her trying to read all on her own, she sat down with her and helped her. “Bueno, Santana,” she praised, when her small daughter had finished the book.
“En inglés, Mamá,” Santana scowled, and her mother laughed and kissed her head.
“Well done,” Ana Lopez grinned, and Santana beamed and threw her arms around her mother’s neck. “Now, m’ija. Do the other kids give you trouble because of your English?”
“No, Mamá,” Santana said with finality, and for a brief moment Ana wondered if her rather fierce daughter had done something to ensure this, but she decided not to entertain those ideas. “Es el favorito de Brittany.”
“¿Este libro?”
“Sí,” Santana nodded, and her mother smiled.
“¿Y cuál es tu favorito?” she asked, and Santana answered, without hesitation,
“¡Donde viven los monstruos!” and got up to caper about the living room, like Max in his wolf suit.
“Haciendo una travesura tras otra,” her mother murmured, and she reached out and grabbed Santana around the waist. [“Making mischief of one kind and another.”]
Giggling, the little girl fell into her mother’s lap. “Otra vez, Mamá. Necesito practicar,” she insisted, and her mother obliged.
By the time they’d finished the story again, it was time for dinner. Santana carefully put the book away on the shelf next to the couch and trotted after her mother into the kitchen.
The next day, after their kindergarten class let out for the afternoon, Brittany tugged Santana to the playground, but Santana went reluctantly. “What’s the matter?” Brittany asked, frowning slightly.
“Nothing,” Santana answered, hating to see the frown. “My dad va a venir.”
“I know. But we can play first,” Brittany said.
“No quiero.”
“But you always want to. And I wanna go on the swings,” Brittany said, pulling on Santana’s arm, and Santana found she couldn’t say no.
So they played on the swings for a few minutes until Daniel Lopez came to collect them, playfully scooping a girl up in each arm, and even though he did that every day, they both squealed and playfully punched his chest as he carried them to the car. As he buckled them each into their seats, they kissed his scratchy cheeks, and he tousled their messy hair and drove them home.
At the Lopezes’, there were peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and then there was supposed to be naptime, but Santana often protested. Loudly. This afternoon, though, she merely picked a book off the shelf in the living room, took Brittany’s hand, and followed her father to her bedroom. “What have we here, Santanita?” Daniel asked, sitting down on the end of her bed.
Brittany climbed up beside him, and Santana launched herself into his lap. “Goodnight Moon,” she said, opening it, and Brittany giggled delightedly.
“That’s my favorite, San,” she said.
“Yo sé,” Santana said importantly, and her father smiled. “You hold it. Voy a leerlo,” she instructed.
“Bien, m’ija,” Daniel said, a little in awe of his small daughter wanting to read an entire book, as she still mostly refused to speak English. That had never stopped Brittany from understanding her, though.
“In the great green room, there was a telephone and a red balloon. And a picture of a cow jumping over the moon,” Santana read slowly, as her dad turned the pages for her.
Brittany leaned her head against his arm, and he drew her closer, so Santana could show her the pictures. By the time they’d said goodnight to noises everywhere, Brittany was fast asleep. Santana smiled up at her dad, and he kissed her and took the book from her.
“That’s some good English you have there, m’ija,” he said, winking at her.
She scowled, but not really, because she was happy she’d been able to read for Brittany. And she didn’t even protest when her dad tucked her in next to her sleeping best friend. “You can watch some TV when you wake up, okay?” he promised, and she nodded, grinning.
Both girls got a whiskery kiss on the forehead, and then Santana actually fell asleep, snuggled in close to Brittany.
The first book Brittany learned to read, all the way through, was Where the Wild Things Are. She was almost seven, because reading didn’t come as easily to her as it did to the other kids in her class, but Santana always helped her. And when Santana helped her, she stopped speaking Spanish, and when Santana stopped speaking Spanish, the teacher stopped having to yell at her.
They were halfway through first grade, and Santana was in the smart reading group, along with Quinn Fabray, and Brittany had been left behind with Finn Hudson and Noah Puckerman. Finn was okay, but Brittany thought he was even dumber than she was, but Noah was mean. He was only in the retards’ group because he didn’t feel like trying. Santana punched anyone who called their reading group the retards’ group, but Brittany still heard it. But as long as Santana didn’t think she was dumb, she didn’t really care.
One Friday afternoon, Santana’s dad came to collect them after school, as usual, but this time Quinn came home with them too. Brittany had almost perfected Where the Wild Things Are, but she didn’t want to try it in front of Quinn. “What’s up with you today?” Santana asked, noticing Brittany hadn’t said anything since they’d gotten home.
“Nothing,” Brittany said, shrugging, and Santana scowled.
“Aw, leave her alone, Santana,” Quinn said authoritatively, offering Brittany a friendly smile, which Brittany weakly returned.
So Santana played mostly with Quinn that afternoon, and Brittany watched and tried to go over the words in the book in her head. After dinner, Quinn’s mom came to collect her, and Santana asked if Brittany could stay. “Of course,” Daniel answered, making both girls grin.
“What do you wanna do?” Santana asked, hoping now that Quinn was gone, Brittany would talk to her again.
But Brittany just shrugged, and Santana got frustrated. “¿Cuál es tu problema?” she demanded.
“Santana,” her father scolded, but Brittany only shrugged again.
“I don’t have a problem,” she said, but her best friend knew when she was lying.
“Ven,” she said, tugging on Brittany’s wrist, and Brittany followed her to the living room. “Siéntate,” she ordered, pointing to the couch, so Brittany sat.
Santana pulled a familiar, well-worn book from the self and scrambled onto the couch beside her. “Okay?” she asked, opening the book so that it was half in her lap and half in Brittany’s.
“Okay,” Brittany said, smiling, and Santana grinned and began to read.
When she finished, Brittany’s head was on her shoulder, but she wasn’t quite asleep. “Estás bien,” Santana whispered and kissed her hair.
“Thank you,” Brittany murmured. “San?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you have Where the Wild Things Are? In English?”
“No, only in Spanish,” she said, shrugging. “I’ve never even heard it in English.”
“Really?” Brittany asked, lifting her head up.
“Really,” Santana said, smiling. “I could read it to you in Spanish,” she offered, but Brittany shook her head.
“Do you wanna come over tomorrow?” she asked, and Santana nodded.
“Duh.”
They grinned at each other and without a word, scampered down to the basement to play with Santana’s Legos.
“All right, goodnight girls,” Brittany’s mother said, once she’d finally managed to get them both into pajamas and tucked into bed.
“Goodnight!” they chorused, giggling, but Brittany’s mother just put out the light and closed the door halfway. Let them stay up a little late. It was Saturday after all.
“Now what?” Santana whispered, throwing off the covers. They’d both fallen asleep early at the Lopezes’ the night before, so she was ready to spend the night making a fort out of Brittany’s blankets and pillows.
“Um. Can we read?” Brittany asked hesitantly. Santana was already dragging all the bedclothes onto the floor.
“Podemos leer in the fort!” Santana said proudly, grinning at Brittany in such a way that she could not say no to building a fort.
Santana was really good at it, anyway, and in a little while, she’d strung up a tent, using Brittany’s bed and her desk and all the blankets. Then she piled stuffed animals and pillows inside, and Brittany took her book and settled in the nest. Santana crawled in beside her with a flashlight. “¿Qué leemos?” she asked eagerly, reaching for the book, but Brittany yanked it back.
“I’m going to read,” she announced, and Santana only looked surprised for a moment before she was bathing Brittany in a smile of pride.
“Lee,” she ordered, resting her head on Brittany’s shoulder.
“The night Max wore his wolf suit,” she began, and Santana felt something in her chest flutter, “and made mischief of one kind and another, his mother called him wild thing, and Max said--"
“¡Te voy a comer!” Santana couldn’t help saying along with Brittany, who almost got derailed, but she saw that Santana was delighted, so she forged ahead.
“I’ll eat you up!” she said again, uninterrupted, and Santana beamed at her.
By the time Max was back home in his own room, Santana was falling asleep, arm flung across Brittany’s waist, head secure on Brittany’s shoulder. “And it was still hot,” Brittany whispered, and Santana smiled sleepily.
“That was really good, Britt,” she murmured. “I like it in English a lot.”
Brittany had never felt smarter.
Epilogue
“Dios mío, Britt, why is this so hard for you?” Santana asked, at the end of her rope.
“I don’t know,” Brittany said faintly, snatching her Spanish workbook out of the other girl’s hands.
“Oh, hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell,” Santana said contritely.
“You think I’m dumb,” Brittany muttered, dejected.
“Of course I don’t think you’re dumb,” Santana said, smoothing mussed blonde hair. She kissed Brittany’s forehead. “¿Quieres leer?” she offered, smiling.
They were sixteen, and Brittany had never tired of hearing Santana read Goodnight Moon to her. Perhaps more surprisingly, Santana had never felt they’d outgrown it. “Come ‘ere,” Santana said, and Brittany cuddled under her arm as they sat together on the floor.
Santana didn’t need to look at the pages-she could have recited this for Brittany in both English and Spanish-but she knew the other girl still liked the pictures. They were charming, in a way. When she’d finished reading, Brittany kissed her, and she smiled and smoothed blonde hair back from a fair forehead. “Let’s finish this Spanish, huh?” she said, and Brittany sighed.
“I’m never going to get it,” she said, defeated.
“Aw, hey. You’ve always been able to understand me just fine,” Santana reminded her.
“Well, yeah,” Brittany said, as though that were no revelation.
“What do you mean?” Santana asked.
Brittany kissed her jaw. “I’ve always been able to understand you, Santana. Not Spanish.”
Santana had never felt denser. “I love you,” she whispered.
“Te amo,” Brittany replied, a slow smile spreading across her face.
“At least you learned that much,” Santana said fondly, and Brittany stopped her teasing with a kiss.
Author: mallardeer
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None, no references to the show
Summary: The first book Santana learned to read was Goodnight Moon.
Author's Note: I honestly have no idea where this came from. I was just thinking about bedtime stories, and then... Well, I told you I was addicted to mini-Brittana. Also, my Spanish is a little rusty, but I think it's readable. Feel free to tell me if it's not.
Warnings: This is totally angst-free fluff. And it gets somewhat nauseating at the very end. I can't help myself! Just putting that out there.
The first book Santana learned to read was Goodnight Moon. She was five, and she was still struggling with English, but when her mother saw her trying to read all on her own, she sat down with her and helped her. “Bueno, Santana,” she praised, when her small daughter had finished the book.
“En inglés, Mamá,” Santana scowled, and her mother laughed and kissed her head.
“Well done,” Ana Lopez grinned, and Santana beamed and threw her arms around her mother’s neck. “Now, m’ija. Do the other kids give you trouble because of your English?”
“No, Mamá,” Santana said with finality, and for a brief moment Ana wondered if her rather fierce daughter had done something to ensure this, but she decided not to entertain those ideas. “Es el favorito de Brittany.”
“¿Este libro?”
“Sí,” Santana nodded, and her mother smiled.
“¿Y cuál es tu favorito?” she asked, and Santana answered, without hesitation,
“¡Donde viven los monstruos!” and got up to caper about the living room, like Max in his wolf suit.
“Haciendo una travesura tras otra,” her mother murmured, and she reached out and grabbed Santana around the waist. [“Making mischief of one kind and another.”]
Giggling, the little girl fell into her mother’s lap. “Otra vez, Mamá. Necesito practicar,” she insisted, and her mother obliged.
By the time they’d finished the story again, it was time for dinner. Santana carefully put the book away on the shelf next to the couch and trotted after her mother into the kitchen.
The next day, after their kindergarten class let out for the afternoon, Brittany tugged Santana to the playground, but Santana went reluctantly. “What’s the matter?” Brittany asked, frowning slightly.
“Nothing,” Santana answered, hating to see the frown. “My dad va a venir.”
“I know. But we can play first,” Brittany said.
“No quiero.”
“But you always want to. And I wanna go on the swings,” Brittany said, pulling on Santana’s arm, and Santana found she couldn’t say no.
So they played on the swings for a few minutes until Daniel Lopez came to collect them, playfully scooping a girl up in each arm, and even though he did that every day, they both squealed and playfully punched his chest as he carried them to the car. As he buckled them each into their seats, they kissed his scratchy cheeks, and he tousled their messy hair and drove them home.
At the Lopezes’, there were peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and then there was supposed to be naptime, but Santana often protested. Loudly. This afternoon, though, she merely picked a book off the shelf in the living room, took Brittany’s hand, and followed her father to her bedroom. “What have we here, Santanita?” Daniel asked, sitting down on the end of her bed.
Brittany climbed up beside him, and Santana launched herself into his lap. “Goodnight Moon,” she said, opening it, and Brittany giggled delightedly.
“That’s my favorite, San,” she said.
“Yo sé,” Santana said importantly, and her father smiled. “You hold it. Voy a leerlo,” she instructed.
“Bien, m’ija,” Daniel said, a little in awe of his small daughter wanting to read an entire book, as she still mostly refused to speak English. That had never stopped Brittany from understanding her, though.
“In the great green room, there was a telephone and a red balloon. And a picture of a cow jumping over the moon,” Santana read slowly, as her dad turned the pages for her.
Brittany leaned her head against his arm, and he drew her closer, so Santana could show her the pictures. By the time they’d said goodnight to noises everywhere, Brittany was fast asleep. Santana smiled up at her dad, and he kissed her and took the book from her.
“That’s some good English you have there, m’ija,” he said, winking at her.
She scowled, but not really, because she was happy she’d been able to read for Brittany. And she didn’t even protest when her dad tucked her in next to her sleeping best friend. “You can watch some TV when you wake up, okay?” he promised, and she nodded, grinning.
Both girls got a whiskery kiss on the forehead, and then Santana actually fell asleep, snuggled in close to Brittany.
The first book Brittany learned to read, all the way through, was Where the Wild Things Are. She was almost seven, because reading didn’t come as easily to her as it did to the other kids in her class, but Santana always helped her. And when Santana helped her, she stopped speaking Spanish, and when Santana stopped speaking Spanish, the teacher stopped having to yell at her.
They were halfway through first grade, and Santana was in the smart reading group, along with Quinn Fabray, and Brittany had been left behind with Finn Hudson and Noah Puckerman. Finn was okay, but Brittany thought he was even dumber than she was, but Noah was mean. He was only in the retards’ group because he didn’t feel like trying. Santana punched anyone who called their reading group the retards’ group, but Brittany still heard it. But as long as Santana didn’t think she was dumb, she didn’t really care.
One Friday afternoon, Santana’s dad came to collect them after school, as usual, but this time Quinn came home with them too. Brittany had almost perfected Where the Wild Things Are, but she didn’t want to try it in front of Quinn. “What’s up with you today?” Santana asked, noticing Brittany hadn’t said anything since they’d gotten home.
“Nothing,” Brittany said, shrugging, and Santana scowled.
“Aw, leave her alone, Santana,” Quinn said authoritatively, offering Brittany a friendly smile, which Brittany weakly returned.
So Santana played mostly with Quinn that afternoon, and Brittany watched and tried to go over the words in the book in her head. After dinner, Quinn’s mom came to collect her, and Santana asked if Brittany could stay. “Of course,” Daniel answered, making both girls grin.
“What do you wanna do?” Santana asked, hoping now that Quinn was gone, Brittany would talk to her again.
But Brittany just shrugged, and Santana got frustrated. “¿Cuál es tu problema?” she demanded.
“Santana,” her father scolded, but Brittany only shrugged again.
“I don’t have a problem,” she said, but her best friend knew when she was lying.
“Ven,” she said, tugging on Brittany’s wrist, and Brittany followed her to the living room. “Siéntate,” she ordered, pointing to the couch, so Brittany sat.
Santana pulled a familiar, well-worn book from the self and scrambled onto the couch beside her. “Okay?” she asked, opening the book so that it was half in her lap and half in Brittany’s.
“Okay,” Brittany said, smiling, and Santana grinned and began to read.
When she finished, Brittany’s head was on her shoulder, but she wasn’t quite asleep. “Estás bien,” Santana whispered and kissed her hair.
“Thank you,” Brittany murmured. “San?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you have Where the Wild Things Are? In English?”
“No, only in Spanish,” she said, shrugging. “I’ve never even heard it in English.”
“Really?” Brittany asked, lifting her head up.
“Really,” Santana said, smiling. “I could read it to you in Spanish,” she offered, but Brittany shook her head.
“Do you wanna come over tomorrow?” she asked, and Santana nodded.
“Duh.”
They grinned at each other and without a word, scampered down to the basement to play with Santana’s Legos.
“All right, goodnight girls,” Brittany’s mother said, once she’d finally managed to get them both into pajamas and tucked into bed.
“Goodnight!” they chorused, giggling, but Brittany’s mother just put out the light and closed the door halfway. Let them stay up a little late. It was Saturday after all.
“Now what?” Santana whispered, throwing off the covers. They’d both fallen asleep early at the Lopezes’ the night before, so she was ready to spend the night making a fort out of Brittany’s blankets and pillows.
“Um. Can we read?” Brittany asked hesitantly. Santana was already dragging all the bedclothes onto the floor.
“Podemos leer in the fort!” Santana said proudly, grinning at Brittany in such a way that she could not say no to building a fort.
Santana was really good at it, anyway, and in a little while, she’d strung up a tent, using Brittany’s bed and her desk and all the blankets. Then she piled stuffed animals and pillows inside, and Brittany took her book and settled in the nest. Santana crawled in beside her with a flashlight. “¿Qué leemos?” she asked eagerly, reaching for the book, but Brittany yanked it back.
“I’m going to read,” she announced, and Santana only looked surprised for a moment before she was bathing Brittany in a smile of pride.
“Lee,” she ordered, resting her head on Brittany’s shoulder.
“The night Max wore his wolf suit,” she began, and Santana felt something in her chest flutter, “and made mischief of one kind and another, his mother called him wild thing, and Max said--"
“¡Te voy a comer!” Santana couldn’t help saying along with Brittany, who almost got derailed, but she saw that Santana was delighted, so she forged ahead.
“I’ll eat you up!” she said again, uninterrupted, and Santana beamed at her.
By the time Max was back home in his own room, Santana was falling asleep, arm flung across Brittany’s waist, head secure on Brittany’s shoulder. “And it was still hot,” Brittany whispered, and Santana smiled sleepily.
“That was really good, Britt,” she murmured. “I like it in English a lot.”
Brittany had never felt smarter.
Epilogue
“Dios mío, Britt, why is this so hard for you?” Santana asked, at the end of her rope.
“I don’t know,” Brittany said faintly, snatching her Spanish workbook out of the other girl’s hands.
“Oh, hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell,” Santana said contritely.
“You think I’m dumb,” Brittany muttered, dejected.
“Of course I don’t think you’re dumb,” Santana said, smoothing mussed blonde hair. She kissed Brittany’s forehead. “¿Quieres leer?” she offered, smiling.
They were sixteen, and Brittany had never tired of hearing Santana read Goodnight Moon to her. Perhaps more surprisingly, Santana had never felt they’d outgrown it. “Come ‘ere,” Santana said, and Brittany cuddled under her arm as they sat together on the floor.
Santana didn’t need to look at the pages-she could have recited this for Brittany in both English and Spanish-but she knew the other girl still liked the pictures. They were charming, in a way. When she’d finished reading, Brittany kissed her, and she smiled and smoothed blonde hair back from a fair forehead. “Let’s finish this Spanish, huh?” she said, and Brittany sighed.
“I’m never going to get it,” she said, defeated.
“Aw, hey. You’ve always been able to understand me just fine,” Santana reminded her.
“Well, yeah,” Brittany said, as though that were no revelation.
“What do you mean?” Santana asked.
Brittany kissed her jaw. “I’ve always been able to understand you, Santana. Not Spanish.”
Santana had never felt denser. “I love you,” she whispered.
“Te amo,” Brittany replied, a slow smile spreading across her face.
“At least you learned that much,” Santana said fondly, and Brittany stopped her teasing with a kiss.