Fic: Never mind, I'll find (Brittany/Santana, PG-13)
Title: Never mind, I’ll find
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 3x06
Wordcount: 2800
Summary: She still feels like something’s going to come along at any minute and snatch Brittany away.
They drive home in easy silence after school, Brittany’s hand resting on Santana’s thigh, playing with the hem of her Cheerios skirt. There’s one of Brittany’s mixes blasting from the ipod hooked up to Santana’s speakers, and every now and then out of the corner of her eye Santana sees Brittany’s feet bouncing along like all she wants to do is dance, even when she’s sitting down. She sings along to a couple of the songs she knows, just listens to Brittany when she doesn’t, taking the long way home just so they’ll have a few more minutes together before they have to get out and face the rest of the world.
When Santana pulls into Brittany’s driveway, Brittany leans across the console to kiss her, just because, then laughs at the look on Santana’s face when she pulls away.
“You always look surprised,” Brittany tilts her head to the side like she’s studying her. “Every single time.”
“I just don’t know how I got so lucky,” Santana replies, blush on her cheeks as she looks away at the last second. They might be dating now, but she still isn’t used to how easy this is, and how it feels like she can finally breathe with Brittany by her side.
She still feels, sometimes, like something’s going to come along at any minute and snatch it away.
Brittany smiles that smile she saves for when Santana says something impossibly dorky and tangles their fingers together, tugging softly, “Let’s go listen to the song.”
“Okay,” Santana agrees and reaches for the door.
+
Brittany switches her computer on as Santana flops onto her back on the bed, kicking her sneakers off as she falls. She hears Brittany clicking around, and then Rumour Has It blasts out of her speakers.
The listen for a moment before Santana shakes her head, “The mash up version isn’t in this key. Didn’t Shelby move it up a few steps so it’d match Someone Like You?” She kicks her feet against the bed, “I think it’s in A now.”
Brittany shrugs, and clicks the song to stop it. “It’s higher,” she agrees. She clicks again, “This one’s okay though, right?”
They listen to Someone Like You through once, neither of them moving, then Brittany clicks again and the song replays. She stands and crosses to the bed, sinking down next to Santana, bumping their elbows together as they lie on their backs side by side.
Brittany’s put the song on repeat, and they listen to it twice before Santana speaks in the pause before it starts again, “This song used to make me cry.”
“Why?” Brittany asks, raising herself up on her elbow to get a better look.
Santana just gives her a look.
“Oh,” Brittany says, colouring a little. “You mean before.” She doesn’t need to add the qualifier, doesn’t really need to remind them of what came before this, not now it doesn’t matter. After a second, she rolls onto her side and wraps her arm around Santana’s waist, head burrowing into her shoulder. Santana smiles into her hair and covers her hand with her own.
They listen to the song through once more, not really paying attention, just revelling in the closeness, then Brittany says, “Sing to me, San.”
“You heard me at practice,” Santana murmurs into her head, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.
“I like the way you sing.” Brittany replies, rubbing her fingers against the back of Santana’s hand gently. “Your voice is so pretty.”
Santana huffs a little, like it’s some chore to sing for Brittany, watching the curve of her lips as she smiles into Santana’s shoulder and squeezes her hand. She joins in with the first verse, singing the words low against Brittany’s head.
Before she gets to the last line Brittany leans up and presses their lips together, tongue brushing against her bottom lip, and she forgets the song entirely.
+
When they play the tape, she doesn’t hear anything past the word ‘lesbian.’ The edges of her vision dim until all she can see is the screen, her smiling face from sophomore year mocking her, ringed by ugly red pen. She can’t feel anything except the sobs crawling up her throat, desperately trying to get out, and she presses her hands to her chest to try and urge them back down. It doesn’t work. She half sobs, half chokes, and then her breath is catching in her throat every time she tries to inhale, noisy sobs wracking her body. She drops her hands back down into her lap, and then hugs herself tightly instead, her fingers curling in on themselves.
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
She doesn’t even hear what Sue says, though some far away part of her mind registers that she’s actually apologising before she’s on her feet, tears streaming down her face, blurting out the first thing that runs through her head. “I haven’t even told my parents yet.”
And then she’s gone, running down the corridor she once danced down with Brittany, which makes everything so much worse, somehow, in a way she doesn’t really grasp. Her sneakers slap against the floor, and she’s only really aware that she’s heading for the Troubletones' makeshift choir room when she bursts through the door. The room is empty but for Shelby sitting at the piano, picking out a slow arpeggio, and Brittany leaning up against it, matching the notes Shelby plays.
“Britt.” Santana sobs, voice catching in the back of her throat, and she sees the look of concern on Brittany’s face for just a second before she’s in her arms, not caring that Shelby is there or the rest of the group could walk in at any minute.
“Santana, what’s wrong?” Shelby asks, but she can’t answer her. She doesn’t know how to answer her. Because what’s wrong is every fucking nightmare she ever had just came true, and how can she explain that without explaining she and Brittany, and the lockers, and Landslide and Songbird and everything else stretching back to that day they met at kindergarten.
She curls into Brittany’s chest, both her arms folded between them, grasping at the front of Brittany’s cheerleader uniform. She still can’t speak past her tears, but Brittany’s arms come up to wrap around her tightly, gathering her together without saying a word. One of Brittany’s hands moves up to her neck, smoothing a few flyaways comfortingly, her thumb tracing the line of her jaw softly.
Santana presses her face into Brittany’s chest and wishes she never had to let go.
“I’m sorry, Britt. I’m so sorry. Everyone knows. Everyone is going to know. There’s an advert and-my parents-on the television-my parents, Britt.” She’s surprised Brittany can even understand what she’s saying through her tears but she does. Brittany always knows.
Brittany’s hand stills in her hair for just a second, the longest second of Santana’s life, and then she whispers, “I don’t care, San, I love you,” against the top of her head and Santana starts to cry even harder.
“Santana?” Shelby asks again, coming round from the other side of the piano, “Brittany? What’s happened?”
Brittany shifts a little against her but keeps her arms around her, just lifts her head and looks Shelby straight in the eye, “Santana’s my girlfriend, and everyone’s about to find out.”
Santana’s never loved Brittany more than she does in that moment. Despite the way her mind is jumping around from one imagined conversation with her parents to the next, she registers that Brittany said it like that to prove her point; that it’s not that everyone is going to find out Santana is a lesbian, it’s that everyone’s is going to find out she’s Brittany’s girlfriend. It’s about the two of them now, and Brittany took that on without a second thought.
She presses her face into Brittany’s neck, brushing her lips against her collarbone, and wishes she could be that brave.
After the silence hangs between them for a second longer, Santana turns her head just to see Shelby’s reaction, because if it’s bad and she’s going to have to leave the Troubletones as well she thinks she might actually throw up, so she sees the way Shelby’s face softens, and the way she looks at them, like she wishes she knew how to make it better. She takes a step closer and lays a comforting hand on Santana’s back. Santana doesn’t shrug it off.
“Do you want me to cancel the mash-off? Everyone else is in the auditorium already.”
Brittany pulls back a fraction so she can meet Santana’s eyes, and wipes at her tears with her thumb. “Do you want to go home?” Her eyes search Santana’s tearful ones before she brushes the back of her hand against Santana’s other cheek.
Santana sniffs and shakes her head mutely. If she goes home she has to see her parents, and then she has to tell her parents, and she still has no idea how she’s going to do that. At least if she stays she can put it off for another couple of hours. And she’ll have Brittany, so.
“Are you sure?” Shelby’s hand stays on her back, and Santana has to swallow before she answers.
“I’m sure.” She forces out, voice rough and scratchy from her tears. “I just-give me a minute.”
Shelby nods and heads for the door. “Come to the auditorium when you’re ready, okay?” She pauses with her hand on the handle, “And take your time. I know this seems like the end of the world right now, but it’ll get better. I promise.”
Brittany nods for them both, and pulls Santana closer again, wrapping her arms around her tightly as Shelby shuts the door behind her. “It’ll be okay, baby,” she murmurs against the shell of Santana’s ear, once they’re alone. “It’ll be okay.”
Santana wants to believe her, she does, and the quiet strength of Brittany wrapped around her helps, filling her senses. She tells her everything that happened in Sue’s office, and Brittany listens in silence, breathing evenly against her cheek. They stand there for a long time when Santana’s finished speaking, locked together with Brittany’s fingers tangled in her hair.
Eventually, Santana’s tears dry and she steps away, murmuring about how they have to get changed for their performance, but Brittany tugs on her hand and pulls her back, one hand coming up to cup her cheek and guide their lips together. It’s one kiss, simple and closed-mouthed, Brittany’s lips pressed hard against hers like she’s trying to put something into it she doesn’t know how to say. After a second she pulls back and rests her forehead against Santana’s.
“I’m here.” She says finally, finding Santana’s gaze and holding it, “I’m here.”
+
On the way to the auditorium, Brittany holds her hand tightly, fingers laced together like she never wants to let go.
+
Santana gets changed in silence, hurrying into her dress while the rest of the group stretches their muscles out at the side of the stage. Her fingers fumble, so Brittany helps her, combing out her pony and redoing it on the side. Her fingers trail down Santana’s cheek when she’s done, and Santana forces herself to look up at her, seeing her in her dress for the first time.
“You look beautiful, Britt,” she does, the one bright spot in this awful, awful day. Then her eyes fall again, and she picks at a piece of lint on her dress listlessly.
“So do you,” Brittany ducks her head and smiles, searching for Santana’s eyes again. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.”
+
She doesn’t know how she gets through the performance. She sees Finn sitting in the front row with his arm round Rachel’s shoulder, and all she thinks is I’m going to kill him and then she deflates a little and thinks, I want to sit like that with Brittany, instead. It’s just not fair. None of this is fair.
The lyrics don’t help. Rumours and giving things she couldn’t give don’t help, not at all, and she can feel Brittany’s eyes on her the whole way through, meeting her gaze every time she spins.
She feels like there’s a lot of spinning in the choreography.
She can’t really see the New Directions through the lights, and all she can hear is rumourrumourrumour, and she feels like she’s turning faster and faster, a blur in a black dress. She’s dancing on pure muscle memory, probably a step behind the others, but she doesn’t really care. Her throat is sore from earlier, and every high note scratches against the back of it, like they’re being ripped out of her.
Every single one hurts.
When the song finishes, they’ve stepped closer to the front of the stage, under the lights, and Finn and Rachel come into focus. She watches as he whispers something in her ear, and something inside her snaps. She’s running on emotion, now, when she jumps down off the stage and starts to shout. She avoids slipping into Spanish, but only because she wants Finn to understand what she’s saying. She wants him to know what he’s done to her.
When she slaps him, there’s stunned silence for a moment, and then Brittany jumps down behind her and loops an arm around her waist, trying to pull her away. “He’s not worth it,” she says, as much anger in her voice as Santana has ever heard, and even Finn looks shocked at the way Brittany is looking at him.
She tries to wriggle out of her grasp, but Brittany’s hooked her fingers into her dress somehow, and she refuses to let go. “It’s his fault, Britt,” she snarls, not really at Brittany but more at herself. “It’s all his fault.”
She watches as Kurt’s eyes flick between them, something like dawning horror on his face, and how even Rachel shrugs out from under Finn’s arm, eyes darting away uncomfortably. “This is all your fault,” she says again, tears at the corners of her eyes.
She can feel her throat starting to close up again, and wipes her hand across her eyes furiously, trying to brush away the tears before they fall. Brittany pulls her closer, away from the seats and Finn and the way everyone is looking at them, until Santana is pressed into her side, all along the length of her. It would have made everything worse, before, having Brittany standing there with her, the arm wrapped around her back irrefutable proof of the way she feels, but now Santana leans into her, grateful for her silent strength.
She huffs out a breath, swallows, tries to stop the tears from falling. Everyone is looking at her, looking at her and Brittany, and she has to get out before they see her fall apart. She takes a step and Brittany senses her intention immediately. Her arm drops and she takes Santana’s hand and then glares around the room, daring someone to say something.
Santana doesn’t even look.
Just before Brittany pulls them through the doors she think she hears Kurt say, “Finn, what the hell did you do?”
+
They walk in silence to Santana’s car, Santana desperately trying to stay calm, even though part of her feels like she’s heading for her execution. She manages to hold the tears back until she’s sitting behind the wheel, then she crumples in on herself again, sobbing noisily as Brittany reaches across the console for her.
Santana’s hands wrap around Brittany’s neck, her face against Brittany’s chest again as Brittany presses kisses to the side of her face, behind her ear, into her hair, anywhere she can reach. She murmurs comforting noises into Santana’s ear between kisses, rubbing circles into her back with one hand and holding her tightly with the other.
“I don’t want to go home,” Santana chokes out, fingers pressing tighter against Brittany’s neck. “Can we-can we just stay here? Just for a little while.”
“Just for a little while,” Brittany agrees thickly, and Santana realises for the first time that there are tears on her face too. It makes her cry even harder. She presses desperate kisses to Brittany’s cheeks, trying to kiss the watery trails away, but all she succeeds in doing is wiping her own tears against Brittany’s face, and that makes Brittany cry harder, her mouth squashed against Santana’s face so that she can feel every sob as it leaves her throat.
They hold on to each other, fingers digging into soft skin, and try to remember how to breathe.
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 3x06
Wordcount: 2800
Summary: She still feels like something’s going to come along at any minute and snatch Brittany away.
They drive home in easy silence after school, Brittany’s hand resting on Santana’s thigh, playing with the hem of her Cheerios skirt. There’s one of Brittany’s mixes blasting from the ipod hooked up to Santana’s speakers, and every now and then out of the corner of her eye Santana sees Brittany’s feet bouncing along like all she wants to do is dance, even when she’s sitting down. She sings along to a couple of the songs she knows, just listens to Brittany when she doesn’t, taking the long way home just so they’ll have a few more minutes together before they have to get out and face the rest of the world.
When Santana pulls into Brittany’s driveway, Brittany leans across the console to kiss her, just because, then laughs at the look on Santana’s face when she pulls away.
“You always look surprised,” Brittany tilts her head to the side like she’s studying her. “Every single time.”
“I just don’t know how I got so lucky,” Santana replies, blush on her cheeks as she looks away at the last second. They might be dating now, but she still isn’t used to how easy this is, and how it feels like she can finally breathe with Brittany by her side.
She still feels, sometimes, like something’s going to come along at any minute and snatch it away.
Brittany smiles that smile she saves for when Santana says something impossibly dorky and tangles their fingers together, tugging softly, “Let’s go listen to the song.”
“Okay,” Santana agrees and reaches for the door.
+
Brittany switches her computer on as Santana flops onto her back on the bed, kicking her sneakers off as she falls. She hears Brittany clicking around, and then Rumour Has It blasts out of her speakers.
The listen for a moment before Santana shakes her head, “The mash up version isn’t in this key. Didn’t Shelby move it up a few steps so it’d match Someone Like You?” She kicks her feet against the bed, “I think it’s in A now.”
Brittany shrugs, and clicks the song to stop it. “It’s higher,” she agrees. She clicks again, “This one’s okay though, right?”
They listen to Someone Like You through once, neither of them moving, then Brittany clicks again and the song replays. She stands and crosses to the bed, sinking down next to Santana, bumping their elbows together as they lie on their backs side by side.
Brittany’s put the song on repeat, and they listen to it twice before Santana speaks in the pause before it starts again, “This song used to make me cry.”
“Why?” Brittany asks, raising herself up on her elbow to get a better look.
Santana just gives her a look.
“Oh,” Brittany says, colouring a little. “You mean before.” She doesn’t need to add the qualifier, doesn’t really need to remind them of what came before this, not now it doesn’t matter. After a second, she rolls onto her side and wraps her arm around Santana’s waist, head burrowing into her shoulder. Santana smiles into her hair and covers her hand with her own.
They listen to the song through once more, not really paying attention, just revelling in the closeness, then Brittany says, “Sing to me, San.”
“You heard me at practice,” Santana murmurs into her head, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.
“I like the way you sing.” Brittany replies, rubbing her fingers against the back of Santana’s hand gently. “Your voice is so pretty.”
Santana huffs a little, like it’s some chore to sing for Brittany, watching the curve of her lips as she smiles into Santana’s shoulder and squeezes her hand. She joins in with the first verse, singing the words low against Brittany’s head.
Before she gets to the last line Brittany leans up and presses their lips together, tongue brushing against her bottom lip, and she forgets the song entirely.
+
When they play the tape, she doesn’t hear anything past the word ‘lesbian.’ The edges of her vision dim until all she can see is the screen, her smiling face from sophomore year mocking her, ringed by ugly red pen. She can’t feel anything except the sobs crawling up her throat, desperately trying to get out, and she presses her hands to her chest to try and urge them back down. It doesn’t work. She half sobs, half chokes, and then her breath is catching in her throat every time she tries to inhale, noisy sobs wracking her body. She drops her hands back down into her lap, and then hugs herself tightly instead, her fingers curling in on themselves.
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
She doesn’t even hear what Sue says, though some far away part of her mind registers that she’s actually apologising before she’s on her feet, tears streaming down her face, blurting out the first thing that runs through her head. “I haven’t even told my parents yet.”
And then she’s gone, running down the corridor she once danced down with Brittany, which makes everything so much worse, somehow, in a way she doesn’t really grasp. Her sneakers slap against the floor, and she’s only really aware that she’s heading for the Troubletones' makeshift choir room when she bursts through the door. The room is empty but for Shelby sitting at the piano, picking out a slow arpeggio, and Brittany leaning up against it, matching the notes Shelby plays.
“Britt.” Santana sobs, voice catching in the back of her throat, and she sees the look of concern on Brittany’s face for just a second before she’s in her arms, not caring that Shelby is there or the rest of the group could walk in at any minute.
“Santana, what’s wrong?” Shelby asks, but she can’t answer her. She doesn’t know how to answer her. Because what’s wrong is every fucking nightmare she ever had just came true, and how can she explain that without explaining she and Brittany, and the lockers, and Landslide and Songbird and everything else stretching back to that day they met at kindergarten.
She curls into Brittany’s chest, both her arms folded between them, grasping at the front of Brittany’s cheerleader uniform. She still can’t speak past her tears, but Brittany’s arms come up to wrap around her tightly, gathering her together without saying a word. One of Brittany’s hands moves up to her neck, smoothing a few flyaways comfortingly, her thumb tracing the line of her jaw softly.
Santana presses her face into Brittany’s chest and wishes she never had to let go.
“I’m sorry, Britt. I’m so sorry. Everyone knows. Everyone is going to know. There’s an advert and-my parents-on the television-my parents, Britt.” She’s surprised Brittany can even understand what she’s saying through her tears but she does. Brittany always knows.
Brittany’s hand stills in her hair for just a second, the longest second of Santana’s life, and then she whispers, “I don’t care, San, I love you,” against the top of her head and Santana starts to cry even harder.
“Santana?” Shelby asks again, coming round from the other side of the piano, “Brittany? What’s happened?”
Brittany shifts a little against her but keeps her arms around her, just lifts her head and looks Shelby straight in the eye, “Santana’s my girlfriend, and everyone’s about to find out.”
Santana’s never loved Brittany more than she does in that moment. Despite the way her mind is jumping around from one imagined conversation with her parents to the next, she registers that Brittany said it like that to prove her point; that it’s not that everyone is going to find out Santana is a lesbian, it’s that everyone’s is going to find out she’s Brittany’s girlfriend. It’s about the two of them now, and Brittany took that on without a second thought.
She presses her face into Brittany’s neck, brushing her lips against her collarbone, and wishes she could be that brave.
After the silence hangs between them for a second longer, Santana turns her head just to see Shelby’s reaction, because if it’s bad and she’s going to have to leave the Troubletones as well she thinks she might actually throw up, so she sees the way Shelby’s face softens, and the way she looks at them, like she wishes she knew how to make it better. She takes a step closer and lays a comforting hand on Santana’s back. Santana doesn’t shrug it off.
“Do you want me to cancel the mash-off? Everyone else is in the auditorium already.”
Brittany pulls back a fraction so she can meet Santana’s eyes, and wipes at her tears with her thumb. “Do you want to go home?” Her eyes search Santana’s tearful ones before she brushes the back of her hand against Santana’s other cheek.
Santana sniffs and shakes her head mutely. If she goes home she has to see her parents, and then she has to tell her parents, and she still has no idea how she’s going to do that. At least if she stays she can put it off for another couple of hours. And she’ll have Brittany, so.
“Are you sure?” Shelby’s hand stays on her back, and Santana has to swallow before she answers.
“I’m sure.” She forces out, voice rough and scratchy from her tears. “I just-give me a minute.”
Shelby nods and heads for the door. “Come to the auditorium when you’re ready, okay?” She pauses with her hand on the handle, “And take your time. I know this seems like the end of the world right now, but it’ll get better. I promise.”
Brittany nods for them both, and pulls Santana closer again, wrapping her arms around her tightly as Shelby shuts the door behind her. “It’ll be okay, baby,” she murmurs against the shell of Santana’s ear, once they’re alone. “It’ll be okay.”
Santana wants to believe her, she does, and the quiet strength of Brittany wrapped around her helps, filling her senses. She tells her everything that happened in Sue’s office, and Brittany listens in silence, breathing evenly against her cheek. They stand there for a long time when Santana’s finished speaking, locked together with Brittany’s fingers tangled in her hair.
Eventually, Santana’s tears dry and she steps away, murmuring about how they have to get changed for their performance, but Brittany tugs on her hand and pulls her back, one hand coming up to cup her cheek and guide their lips together. It’s one kiss, simple and closed-mouthed, Brittany’s lips pressed hard against hers like she’s trying to put something into it she doesn’t know how to say. After a second she pulls back and rests her forehead against Santana’s.
“I’m here.” She says finally, finding Santana’s gaze and holding it, “I’m here.”
+
On the way to the auditorium, Brittany holds her hand tightly, fingers laced together like she never wants to let go.
+
Santana gets changed in silence, hurrying into her dress while the rest of the group stretches their muscles out at the side of the stage. Her fingers fumble, so Brittany helps her, combing out her pony and redoing it on the side. Her fingers trail down Santana’s cheek when she’s done, and Santana forces herself to look up at her, seeing her in her dress for the first time.
“You look beautiful, Britt,” she does, the one bright spot in this awful, awful day. Then her eyes fall again, and she picks at a piece of lint on her dress listlessly.
“So do you,” Brittany ducks her head and smiles, searching for Santana’s eyes again. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.”
+
She doesn’t know how she gets through the performance. She sees Finn sitting in the front row with his arm round Rachel’s shoulder, and all she thinks is I’m going to kill him and then she deflates a little and thinks, I want to sit like that with Brittany, instead. It’s just not fair. None of this is fair.
The lyrics don’t help. Rumours and giving things she couldn’t give don’t help, not at all, and she can feel Brittany’s eyes on her the whole way through, meeting her gaze every time she spins.
She feels like there’s a lot of spinning in the choreography.
She can’t really see the New Directions through the lights, and all she can hear is rumourrumourrumour, and she feels like she’s turning faster and faster, a blur in a black dress. She’s dancing on pure muscle memory, probably a step behind the others, but she doesn’t really care. Her throat is sore from earlier, and every high note scratches against the back of it, like they’re being ripped out of her.
Every single one hurts.
When the song finishes, they’ve stepped closer to the front of the stage, under the lights, and Finn and Rachel come into focus. She watches as he whispers something in her ear, and something inside her snaps. She’s running on emotion, now, when she jumps down off the stage and starts to shout. She avoids slipping into Spanish, but only because she wants Finn to understand what she’s saying. She wants him to know what he’s done to her.
When she slaps him, there’s stunned silence for a moment, and then Brittany jumps down behind her and loops an arm around her waist, trying to pull her away. “He’s not worth it,” she says, as much anger in her voice as Santana has ever heard, and even Finn looks shocked at the way Brittany is looking at him.
She tries to wriggle out of her grasp, but Brittany’s hooked her fingers into her dress somehow, and she refuses to let go. “It’s his fault, Britt,” she snarls, not really at Brittany but more at herself. “It’s all his fault.”
She watches as Kurt’s eyes flick between them, something like dawning horror on his face, and how even Rachel shrugs out from under Finn’s arm, eyes darting away uncomfortably. “This is all your fault,” she says again, tears at the corners of her eyes.
She can feel her throat starting to close up again, and wipes her hand across her eyes furiously, trying to brush away the tears before they fall. Brittany pulls her closer, away from the seats and Finn and the way everyone is looking at them, until Santana is pressed into her side, all along the length of her. It would have made everything worse, before, having Brittany standing there with her, the arm wrapped around her back irrefutable proof of the way she feels, but now Santana leans into her, grateful for her silent strength.
She huffs out a breath, swallows, tries to stop the tears from falling. Everyone is looking at her, looking at her and Brittany, and she has to get out before they see her fall apart. She takes a step and Brittany senses her intention immediately. Her arm drops and she takes Santana’s hand and then glares around the room, daring someone to say something.
Santana doesn’t even look.
Just before Brittany pulls them through the doors she think she hears Kurt say, “Finn, what the hell did you do?”
+
They walk in silence to Santana’s car, Santana desperately trying to stay calm, even though part of her feels like she’s heading for her execution. She manages to hold the tears back until she’s sitting behind the wheel, then she crumples in on herself again, sobbing noisily as Brittany reaches across the console for her.
Santana’s hands wrap around Brittany’s neck, her face against Brittany’s chest again as Brittany presses kisses to the side of her face, behind her ear, into her hair, anywhere she can reach. She murmurs comforting noises into Santana’s ear between kisses, rubbing circles into her back with one hand and holding her tightly with the other.
“I don’t want to go home,” Santana chokes out, fingers pressing tighter against Brittany’s neck. “Can we-can we just stay here? Just for a little while.”
“Just for a little while,” Brittany agrees thickly, and Santana realises for the first time that there are tears on her face too. It makes her cry even harder. She presses desperate kisses to Brittany’s cheeks, trying to kiss the watery trails away, but all she succeeds in doing is wiping her own tears against Brittany’s face, and that makes Brittany cry harder, her mouth squashed against Santana’s face so that she can feel every sob as it leaves her throat.
They hold on to each other, fingers digging into soft skin, and try to remember how to breathe.