Fic: i-80 west, part three a (Brittany/Santana, R)
Title: i-80 west, part three a
Characters: Brittany/Santana (w/ Quinn, Sam, Mike/Tina)
Length: 16.3k
Rating: R
Summary: Brittany and Santana graduate high school and spend one last summer in Lima before leaving for college.
A/N: Thanks as always to JJ for betaing and putting up with my questions and whining. And thank you to everyone for reading! I really appreciate the comments.
She wakes up at noon, eyes blinking furiously against the too bright sunlight streaming through the gap in the shades.
It takes a minute or so for her tired brain to work, and when she remembers that yesterday was graduation and today is the start of the summer and she has her very naked girlfriend pressed against her back, she can’t keep the grin off her face. Brittany’s still asleep, pressed so close that Santana can feel every breath she takes against the back of her neck, and she brings her arm up to cover the one Brittany has looped around her waist, rubbing her fingers against the skin until Brittany stirs behind her.
“What time is it?” Brittany mumbles after a moment, mostly into her hair so Santana can hardly hear her.
Santana reaches for her phone on the nightstand and flicks her thumb against the screen until it unlocks. “Five after twelve,” she says with a little bit of a groan, dropping her phone and curling back into Brittany’s body, murmuring contentedly when Brittany pulls her closer, nudging her nose into the space between her shoulder and neck. “We should get up,” she adds after a moment, even though she can’t think of anything she’d rather do less.
“Can’t,” Brittany murmurs, pressing a clumsy kiss to her shoulder, and then another, a little higher, against her neck.
“Why not?” Santana squirms a little when Brittany kisses her again, before pulling away and rolling over in the circle of Brittany’s arms to face her. Brittany’s lips stretch into a smile, and she reaches up with her free hand to tuck a strand of Santana’s hair behind her ear, rubbing her finger there until Santana laughs and wraps her fingers around Brittany’s to pull her hand away.
“Can’t do this if we do,” Brittany whispers, smiling against her lips right before she kisses her, slow and sweet.
It’s a good morning kiss and an I love you kiss and a just because kiss, and Santana melts into, losing herself to the feel of Brittany’s arms around her.
Brittany kisses her again, and she guesses staying in bed would be okay, just for a little bit longer.
+
Brittany’s mom knocks on their door some time in the afternoon and says something about how if they sleep any longer, they won’t want to sleep for the rest of the week.
They haven’t been asleep for hours, but Santana wouldn’t mind if Brittany’s mom never found that out.
“We should maybe get food,” Santana murmurs once they’ve heard Brittany’s mom’s footsteps retreat down the hall. She lifts her head from Brittany’s chest to look at her, fingertips tracing Brittany’s cheek until Brittany grins and turns her head to kiss them, one by one.
“If you want,” Brittany replies easily, pulling Santana close for one last kiss before climbing out of bed.
Santana can’t stop herself from watching Brittany pad over to her closet to find clothes, still naked and not caring at all. She moves with an easy confidence Santana has always loved, and she rolls onto her stomach and rests her chin on her arms in front of her, watching as Brittany pulls on her clothes slowly and her skin starts to disappear.
Santana isn’t even aware that she’s staring until Brittany turns after pulling a t-shirt over her head and smiles a little, half shy and half amused. “See something you like?”
Santana grins and raises her chin defiantly, “Yeah, my girl.” She shrugs a little, grin turning into a smirk, until Brittany laughs and tosses some clean clothes towards the bed.
“Come on, stud,” Brittany says, rolling her eyes a little, “Your girl’s hungry.”
+
In the kitchen, Brittany grabs some cereal while Santana gets the bowls and the milk, and it’s so damned domestic that Santana has to resist the urge to roll her eyes a little when Brittany takes the milk from her hands and pours it over two bowls of cereal, a lot for her and less for Santana, just the way she likes it.
They sit at the counter eating, bodies curled towards each other, Brittany on the right and Santana on the left, so that they can still play at entwining the fingers of their off-hands together while they eat. They’re murmuring about nothing of importance when Brittany’s mom comes in and huffs at them as she bustles around putting the cereal box and milk away, and Santana winces and sneaks a glance at Brittany as though they’ve been caught doing something wrong.
“Mom, we would have done that,” Brittany protests, pausing with a spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth.
“Sorry,” Santana adds quickly, looking down into her bowl, kind of by reflex.
“I thought you two had all these big plans for the summer!” Mrs. Pierce says, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve wasted the entire day!”
“Mom, we have, like, three months left,” Brittany protests lightly, then hurriedly goes on when her mom looks like she’s about to speak again, “And we have big plans for college, so we’re building up to them.” Her hesitancy turns it into an almost question and Santana shoots her a covert smile.
Brittany’s mom shakes her head at them fondly, eyes softer now than they had been before. “It’s just… you might miss it, when you’re gone. So don’t waste the time you have left.”
The idea that she might miss anything about Lima is so ridiculous that Santana almost scoffs, and then she watches as Brittany stands and pulls her mom into a hug, and her heart drops into her stomach. She hasn’t really thought about it before because she was so focused on getting out of Lima with Brittany at her side, but Brittany has so many things that are worth staying for and she’s still willing to give that up to go with her.
The thought gives her that ache in her chest again, the one that hurts but in a good way somehow, and she thinks she might start to hyperventilate until Brittany sits back down and slips her left hand into Santana’s right, still resting against the counter.
“What’s wrong?” Brittany asks after a second, once her mom has left, taking in Santana’s wide eyes and shallow breathing. “Is it the cereal?”
Santana shakes her head and then blurts out, “I really fucking love you okay?” in a jumble, slightly more pathetic than she intended.
Brittany just wrinkles her nose and gives her that look, the one that says she’s being silly, but she’s not, she’s not being silly at all, so she leans forward and kisses her hard, until Brittany nearly falls backwards off her stool and has to grab onto the counter to stop herself. Brittany laughs into her mouth as Santana pulls her back upright, then kisses her again, a little more softly this time, before pulling back and just looking at her, unsure how to say the things she wants to say.
After a moment, Brittany slides her arm around Santana’s back, curling her fingers around her hip, and pulling her closer against her side. Santana leans into her and exhales slowly, and then Brittany smiles at her through her lashes and bumps her head against Santana’s, and they sit there for a while, finishing their cereal.
+
They give Quinn a ride to her physical therapy session on Wednesday, Santana carrying her bag and pretending she doesn’t notice when Quinn starts to lean on Brittany the higher they get up the four flights of stairs to the rehab center.
She still can’t believe it’s only been three and a half months since the accident. Sometimes, she isn’t even sure how Quinn is still alive, never mind just about managing to walk around and use her hands like the bones weren’t broken in so many places she lost count.
Quinn’s therapist is one of her dad’s friends, and he doesn’t mind when they sit at the back of the room during the sessions. In the weeks after the accident, it’d been because they’d refused to leave Quinn’s side, and now it’s just because Quinn is used to them being there, used to the way they laugh and joke to keep her mind off the fact she still can’t quite make her left hand grip things right, and the way her foot still twists a little when she walks.
Santana catcalls whenever Quinn drops the ball she’s supposed to be tossing from one hand to the other, until Quinn narrows her eyes and throws it at Santana’s head. She misses for the fifth session in a row, and Santana darts a hand out to grab it before it can rebound off the wall and back towards Quinn. “Maybe next time you’ll actually hit me,” Santana smirks, before she throws it back as gently as she can and watches Quinn catch it clumsily.
It’s the first time she has, and Brittany cheers like Quinn just scored the winning touchdown in a football game, waving her arms a little like she’s back on the Cheerios. It’s such an overreaction that they all burst out laughing, Santana leaning against Brittany for support while Quinn huffs out a breathy laugh and leans back against the wall, letting the ball fall out of her hand and bounce away.
Her therapist picks it up, and looks backwards and forwards between them all before he says, “Honestly, sometimes I can’t even tell that you guys are friends,” and the expression on his face makes them laugh harder than ever, until Quinn crosses the room on shaky legs to fall down beside them and shove at Santana.
Santana just keeps laughing, until she can feel tears at the corners of her eyes when Quinn says, “You’re such an ass,” and then Brittany wraps her arms around them both and pulls them close to get them to stop.
+
Her mom calls her on Saturday and when Santana pulls away from where she’s cuddled up on the sofa with Brittany to answer, her mom says, “Oh, so my only daughter is still alive then?” in the same sarcastic voice Santana had perfected in middle school.
“Mom, I texted you every day to say I was at Britt’s,” Santana protests as Brittany turns to look at her, and she’d roll her eyes if she didn’t think her mom would hear somehow. “And you answered me so I know you got them.”
“That’s not the point,” her mom says after a second’s hesitation. “You’ll come home tomorrow for church and lunch with your abuela.”
It’s not an offer so Santana doesn’t bother to argue, just glances at Brittany and moves a little closer, leaning in to her so the phone is between both their heads before she asks, “Can Britt come?”
“Honestly, do the two of you ever spend any time apart?” Santana can hear the smile in her mom’s voice, the little hint of good natured exasperation, and she grins a little because no they don’t, not really.
“Not really,” Brittany says cheerfully into the phone, echoing her thoughts.
There’s silence for a minute, and when her mom speaks Santana’s sure it’s because she’s been trying to suppress a laugh. “I’m hanging up now,” she says, as flatly as she can, the words softened by the smile Santana is sure is on her lips, and then the line disconnects.
+
Santana still feels a little weird about going to church if she’s honest, and a lifetime of Catholicism still leaves her a little bit worried that God might smite her on the spot if she holds Brittany’s hand during mass, even if she doesn’t really believe in a lot of it the way her parents or abuela do. It’s kind of weird that Brittany’s there at all, instead of just waiting outside afterwards to pick her up, to take her home and ruin her pretty church clothes and pull the pins out of her hair, and then she shudders and crosses herself reflexively at the thought, wondering absently if you could go to hell for thinking about that in a church.
She sits sandwiched between Brittany and her grandmother and listens to the priest talk, watching Brittany out of the corners of her eyes just because she looks so beautiful in the light blue dress she’d insisted on wearing, the Sunday best dress that matches her eyes so perfectly. She doesn’t realise she’s staring until Brittany turns and catches her, and then she looks away embarrassed and re-crosses her legs, forcing her eyes to stare straight ahead and fix on the priest instead.
She’s never really been all that religious despite a lifetime of church attendance, but she still worries about what the people might think; if they can tell Brittany is her girlfriend, and if Father Michaels will still let her take Communion when the time comes without denouncing her as a sinner in front of everyone. She spends more time watching the rows of people than listening to the priest’s words, and when she meets the eyes of an older woman her abuela knows and sees the way she glances at Brittany beside her, Santana holds herself a little further apart from her before she can help herself.
Brittany glances at her, and after a moment, she shifts until their legs are pressed together, joined all the way down from hip to ankle, and Santana lets herself enjoy the warmth of it for a second before her eyes widen in panic and she moves closer to her abuela and away from Brittany. It’s kind of stupid, because it’s not like anyone can even see their feet touching from where they’re sitting, but she still feels guilty, somehow.
For some reason, all she can think is that if people see their feet touching then they’ll know all the other ways they touch each other too, and she swears Father Michaels is looking at her more than anyone else every time he talks about sin.
Brittany glances at her with amusement in her eyes and moves her foot over to brush against Santana’s again, and Santana shifts away, sliding closer to her abuela. Brittany sort of snorts under her breath and kicks her foot closer again, and this time Santana has to twist in her seat to avoid her. She just manages to stop herself from falling into her abuela, and her grandmother’s eyes narrow as she glares at them, until Santana freezes, staring down at her lap contritely, half wondering how Brittany managed to look so suddenly innocent the second her abuela turned to look at them.
Her abuela’s friend is staring at them now with a disapproving expression on her face too, and Santana hangs her head until Brittany nudges her with a gentle elbow and brushes her fingers against her wrist comfortingly.
Santana takes a breath and then slides her fingers between Brittany’s, gripping her hand tightly, and if she wasn’t going to hell before she’s almost sure she is now.
+
After, when they get outside and stand by the car waiting for Santana’s parents to stop talking to people they know, Brittany leans into her side and says, “God didn’t smite us or whatever it was you were worried about.” She grins and moves a little closer, until her face is all Santana can see, all pretty blue eyes and the dusting of freckles Brittany always gets in the summer, and Santana has to fight hard to look away because all she wants to do is take her face in her hands and kiss her.
“I wasn’t really worried,” Santana lies quickly, bumping her shoulder against Brittany’s and glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. “That’s a stupid thing to worry about,” Santana doesn’t mean it to, but it comes out a little bit like a question, and Brittany’s eyes go soft and she shakes her head slowly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind Santana’s ear.
“Really stupid,” she says solemnly, in a way that means it isn’t, until Santana laughs and stands up on her tip toes to press a tiny kiss to the corner of her mouth quickly, before anyone can see.
+
“What’s that?” Brittany asks a couple of days later, voice scratchy with sleep, waking up and rolling over to nudge at Santana with her head until Santana lifts her arm and wraps it around her back, pulling her up against her side.
Santana shifts a little to accommodate her, dropping her knees back down from where they’re drawn up in front of her and adjusting the sheets so Brittany’s tucked in. “S’my list of stuff we have to do before college.” She’s been sitting up in bed for a while, scribbling notes while Brittany sleeps on next to her, not really having the heart to wake her when they’ve got nothing in particular to do.
Brittany reaches over and tugs at Santana’s notepad a little so she can see better, and Santana watches as her eyes skip down the list. “‘Buy sheets?’” Brittany asks after a moment, tapping the page and then sliding her finger down to the next line to read, “‘Britt needs bathroom-slash-kitchen stuff too(?)’” She brushes her fingers against Santana’s and snuggles further into her side, “My mom said she was gonna get all that stuff for me.”
“Oh,” Santana says quickly, feeling her face grow warm. “I just thought we could-it doesn’t matter.”
She moves to scribble it out, but Brittany reaches across and stops her hand. “San,” she says, voice soft, “Do you wanna get that stuff together?”
Santana looks at her helplessly for a second and then stutters, “I just, I thought we-”
“Okay,” Brittany interrupts, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “I’ll tell my mom.”
Santana avoids Brittany’s eyes and nods shyly, and then Brittany chuckles and leans up to kiss her, one hand threading into her hair and the other sliding down to her hip to pull her back down into the bed.
+
Buying sheets is a kind of surreal experience, as it turns out.
Sheets and Things is full of middle aged couples asking each other whether or not they think this or that cushion will go with the colour palette in the living room, and Santana wants to leave almost as soon as they come in, especially when an assistant by the door side eyes their joined hands a little bit as they walk past him.
She can’t wait to get the fuck out of this town, sometimes.
Brittany gives her hand a squeeze and pulls her towards the bedding, dodging around a young couple with a wailing baby and an older couple examining throws. Santana tucks herself into Brittany’s side and watches the older couple surreptitiously over Brittany’s shoulder, holding up various shades of blue between them and then rejecting them one by one.
“Do you think they’ve been married forever?” Santana asks after a moment, watching them finally decide on a navy blue throw and toss it into their basket next to a cushion. They look comfortable together, like they’re worn in somehow, and Santana wonders if anyone ever thinks she and Brittany look like that, like they absolutely belong together no questions asked.
Brittany turns around to glance at them, then shrugs noncommittally, “Well they’re pretty old, so probably.” She holds up a packet of sheets in a light shade of turquoise and tugs on Santana’s other hand to get her to turn back around, “Do you like this colour?”
Brittany’s just staring at her expectantly, waiting for an answer, but Santana’s brain can’t seem to come up with one. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it is, somehow, and Santana gets the warm feeling in her belly again. “S’pretty, Britt-Britt,” she gets out eventually, then smiles a little and adds, “Like you.”
Brittany’s face breaks into a shy smile, and she glances down at the sheets again, “I like it too.”
And then Brittany drops two sets of sheets and pillowcases in a deeper shade of turquoise into the basket Santana is carrying, and hooks her arm through Santana’s to pull her off to look at duvets, and Santana thinks it wouldn’t be so bad, being married for ever, not really.
+
The first day Santana manages to wake Brittany up before ten they go and see her grandmother, because she keeps calling and leaving vaguely threatening messages on Santana’s voicemail in mixed English and Spanish talking about how Santana had better see her a lot before she leaves in the fall because she’s getting old and she might not be there when she decides to come back for visits. Santana had rolled her eyes the first time, because honestly that woman was going to outlive them all just to spite the old ladies at her church, but after the third message she’d started to feel guilty and asked Brittany if they could go visit on a day that wasn’t a Sunday.
They drive over to Lima Heights Adjacent in Santana’s car, Brittany fiddling with the radio and squinting against the sunlight while Santana covers the familiar roads quickly, locking the doors when they leave the good part of town with a quick glance over at Brittany, which she knows is kind of silly, but it’s also kind of not, so.
“‘Member when we used to have sleepovers at your grandma’s when we were in grade school?” Brittany says suddenly, shading her eyes from the sun. “And she used to make us those sandwiches.”
“Chimichurris,” Santana agrees quickly with a grin. Her abuela makes them for her all the time, and they’re still maybe the greatest thing she’s ever eaten.
Brittany bites her lip and her eyes flash. “Say that again,” she says, voice low in her throat.
Santana does, rolls the r’s a little more than she did before, just because, until Brittany laughs and looks away and Santana fixes her eyes back on the road, well pleased with herself.
She still remembers the way her abuela used to make them huge piles of food when they got in from school, and how they’d sit around the kitchen table talking and drawing and eating while her grandmother watched over them. Her grandmother would always put their drawings up on the fridge until they were covering each other up, a hundred variations of Santana and Brittany in cartoon form, holding hands in front of her grandmother’s house under a sunny blue sky.
They weren’t on the fridge any more. Sometimes she wants to ask her abuela if she still has them, but there’s an unspoken rule that they don’t talk about those four months when the fridge and the kitchen were empty, before her grandmother had called her out of the blue and told her to come over and to bring Brittany with her.
“You kissed me for the first time in the kitchen,” Santana says softly, eyes fixed on the road in front of her. “When we were doing the dishes, the summer before freshman year.” She bites her lip and makes a left turn, waiting for Brittany to say something.
Her abuela had been dozing off in front of the television and Santana had never been more terrified. She can’t really remember exactly what happened now, just remembers that Brittany had been kissing her on the cheek for weeks in a way that made her stomach flutter and made her hate herself in equal measure, and that she’d looked over at Brittany drying a plate and really wanted to kiss her, with every fibre of her being, and that Brittany had set the plate down and then looked over at her, eyes catching like she was reading some secret message in Santana’s expression. Brittany had moved closer to her slowly, as though she was waiting for Santana to stop her, and she’d tasted like strawberry gum when she kissed her softly, lips barely pressing against Santana’s before they were gone. She remembers the way she’d stared at Brittany, breathing hard but unable to keep the smile from the corners of her mouth, struggling to find something to say to explain away what they’d just done, and how Brittany just had this look on her face that said finally before she leaned in and kissed her again.
“I wish I hadn’t been so scared,” Santana says eventually, because it’s the truth, both back then when she kissed Brittany in the kitchen, and for all the times she kissed her in secret, in bedrooms and locker rooms and under the bleachers, before senior year.
Brittany’s hand slides into hers in her lap, and she laces her fingers through Santana’s and squeezes softly. “I know,” Brittany says simply, half a sad smile on her face.
They drive the rest of the way in silence, and when Santana pulls into her abuela’s driveway, Brittany unclips her belt and leans over to press her lips to Santana’s cheek quickly, before she gets out.
+
“Abuelita?” Santana shoves her key back into her purse and steps into the hallway, glancing into the tiny living room quickly. It’s empty, but the television is on in the corner, and Santana can hear noises coming from the kitchen so she nods her head in that direction at Brittany, before crossing the room and heading for the door.
Her grandmother is washing dishes in the sink, but she turns when they come in and her whole face lights up when she sees them.
“Hola,” Santana says, crossing the room to hug her as Brittany echoes the greeting behind her.
Her grandmother gives her a squeeze and then pulls back to look at her with narrowed eyes, “So you remembered where your abuela lived, eh? Por fin!”
“Abuela!” Santana protests, as Brittany chuckles behind her. “It’s only been two weeks since graduation! And I saw you on Sunday!”
“Two weeks is a long time when you’re as old as I am, and Sundays don’t count - you’re there to see God not me,” her abuela narrows her eyes and surveys her appearance critically, then glances over at Brittany as well. Her eyes sweep up and down their bodies, and she clucks her tongue against her teeth and draws in a sharp breath. “You girls are so skinny,” she complains, “Can’t I make you something to eat?”
Brittany nudges Santana with her elbow, and Santana says, “Chimi?” quickly, with a hopeful expression on her face.
“Sí, siéntense,” her abuela says, bustling around the kitchen and pulling things out of cupboards and the refrigerator while Brittany and Santana draw out the chairs and sit down like she told them, hiding their grins.
+
They eat their sandwiches slowly, answering her abuela’s questions about their colleges and plans for next year. She narrows her eyes a little when Brittany explains she’s sharing an apartment with a friend she knows from dance class who went to Berkeley the year before, and clucks her tongue.
“And why are you two not living together, huh? It’s bad enough you’re going to California but you’re not even going to be together?” She folds her arms and looks over at them, daring them to speak, and Santana’s reminded of the way her abuela looked whenever she did something wrong as a kid and has to resist the urge to apologise.
“I have to live in the dorms my first year, abuela,” Santana says, around a mouthful of food.
“No hables con la boca llena! And that’s no excuse!” She definitely looks like she did when Santana was little now, eyes narrowed and glaring at them each in turn.
Santana swallows her food quickly and says, “Well-“ about to say it’s a pretty good excuse actually, before she gets interrupted again, this time by Brittany.
“We’ll be okay, Mrs. Lopez. We’ll see each other every weekend,” she flashes a smile at Santana and then looks back at Santana’s grandmother. “I’ll make sure she gets enough to eat and doesn’t go out late at night, and I’ll get her to call you all the time and stuff.”
Her abuela nods, eyes softening a little as a smile forms on her face, “Santana, if you ever let this girl go I’m going to fly out to California just to smack you.”
“Abuela!” Santana laughs in disbelief while Brittany grins proudly next to her, and bumps their feet together under the table.
+
“San,” Brittany whispers urgently a little later, while Santana’s abuela has gone to get something from the other room. “You didn’t tell her about the road trip did you?”
“Do I look like I’m crazy?” Santana shoots back quickly, eyes flicking to the door to check her abuela can’t hear them. “We’ll, like, call her from Indiana or something.”
“When we’re in California,” Brittany corrects her quickly, “And we’ll tell her we flew.”
+
They hang out by Quinn’s pool when they have nothing better to do, Brittany and Santana sharing a sun lounger while Quinn sits on the one next to them with a towel over her legs and loose shirt fastened around her, hiding the scars Santana knows are there, left over from the crash and all the surgery after.
She hates that she thinks it, but part of her wonders if the scars on her skin match the scars high school left on her insides, and then she’s pulling away from Brittany and rolling onto her side to prop herself up on an elbow and eye Quinn over the top of her sun glasses. “You won’t get a suntan dressed like that, you know.”
Quinn shrugs like she doesn’t care, but Santana can see her shift uncomfortably under her gaze, and Brittany leans over her side to look at Quinn too. “You’re still super pretty, Quinn,” she says in the guileless way she has, and Santana knows Brittany is the only person that Quinn would ever let say that without snapping some insult back.
Quinn shakes her head and tugs at the towel over her legs, keeping her eyes on it when she says, “They just look wrong.” She swallows and shrugs a little, glancing up at them, “I’m okay, I just- They look wrong, so.” She shrugs again, and tightens her hand around the edge of the towel until her knuckles whiten.
Santana hardly dares move, aware that it’s the first time Quinn’s really spoken about how she feels after what happened when they’d usually just tease each other or pretend everything was fine.
She opens her mouth but no words come out, and then Quinn exhales noisily and looks away, the moment stretching until it’s just starting to become uncomfortable.
Brittany’s the first one to move, scrambling over the lounger and Santana until she’s standing in front of Quinn and tugging her hand from the towel gently. “Come and get in the pool with me,” she says softly, ducking her head to find Quinn’s eyes.
Santana watches as Brittany pulls Quinn to her feet, then leads her by the hand to the edge of the pool and helps her slide in. They tread water for a minute, still joined at the hands, and then Brittany swims a little closer before pointing down through the water with her free hand. She leans in close to Quinn’s ear, so close her lips are touching the shell of Quinn’s ear, and then Santana hears her whisper, “Now my legs look wrong too.”
Santana’s heart feels like it’s about to burst in her chest, and Quinn is looking at Brittany with exactly the same expression on her face, like she can’t quite believe Brittany is real, which is kind of how Santana feels some of the time, too.
Or maybe all the time, to be honest.
Santana hears Quinn’s breath hitch in her throat, and then she’s sliding her arms around Brittany’s neck and hugging her while Brittany kicks furiously to keep them above water, looking over at Santana helplessly as they start to sink a little, until Santana gets to her feet and jumps in next to them, wrapping her arms around both of them to help keep them afloat.
+
Santana used to love sleeping in in the summer, but this one is different somehow, and she keeps waking up at stupid times thinking of things they need to do before they leave, and then worrying about them, unable to get back to sleep. The fifth time it happens, she tosses and turns in bed, trying to get comfortable enough to go back to sleep, Brittany murmuring complaints next to her each time she moves out of reach.
She’s starting to realise that driving across half the country is kind of terrifying and that there’s so many things they need to sort out before they leave, and every time she closes her eyes she just thinks of something else, until her mental list of things they have to do is longer than the actual list tucked inside Brittany’s desk drawer.
It’s all just sort of scary, and she snuggles a little close to Brittany without really thinking about it, until Brittany throws an arm over her stomach and buries her face in her hair.
She still can’t sleep, and she watches the light creep under the shades slowly, until she sighs, and inches out from under Brittany’s arm carefully so she doesn’t wake her. She turns on Brittany’s computer and surfs aimlessly for a while, checking facebook and writing stupid shit on Sam’s wall just because, before she yawns and runs a hand over her face, sitting up a little straighter, and heads for Google Maps.
By the time Brittany wakes up, stretching out her whole body before climbing out of bed and padding over to slide her arms around Santana’s shoulders, Santana has three pages of notes on the route from Lima to Berkeley, a list of places they can stay and exactly how far they can drive each day. Brittany leans over to look at the notes, eyes taking it all in slowly.
“That kind of makes it real,” Brittany says finally, eyes fixed on Santana’s handwriting covering the pages.
She’s still hanging around Santana’s neck, and Santana swallows against Brittany’s arm then reaches a hand up to wrap around her wrist, “You still want to though, right?” She asks quickly, “Because if we need to change the plan-“
Brittany cuts her off with a kiss, just a quick press of her lips to Santana’s, and then she’s pulling back and saying, “Do I want to spend a week living out of my car with you, staying at motels and eating crappy diner food, while driving 2000 miles to go to college?” Brittany pulls her face into a mock frown, like she’s actually thinking it over, and Santana realises she’s holding her breath, even though she knows Brittany’s kidding.
“It does sound kind of crazy when you put it like that,” Santana mumbles eventually, glancing down at all her notes, suddenly embarrassed.
“It sounds kind of perfect,” Brittany corrects her, lips moving against Santana’s neck as she talks, and then Santana turns, threading her fingers into Brittany’s tousled hair and kissing her, hard, until Brittany whimpers into her mouth and pulls her back toward the bed.
part three b
Characters: Brittany/Santana (w/ Quinn, Sam, Mike/Tina)
Length: 16.3k
Rating: R
Summary: Brittany and Santana graduate high school and spend one last summer in Lima before leaving for college.
A/N: Thanks as always to JJ for betaing and putting up with my questions and whining. And thank you to everyone for reading! I really appreciate the comments.
She wakes up at noon, eyes blinking furiously against the too bright sunlight streaming through the gap in the shades.
It takes a minute or so for her tired brain to work, and when she remembers that yesterday was graduation and today is the start of the summer and she has her very naked girlfriend pressed against her back, she can’t keep the grin off her face. Brittany’s still asleep, pressed so close that Santana can feel every breath she takes against the back of her neck, and she brings her arm up to cover the one Brittany has looped around her waist, rubbing her fingers against the skin until Brittany stirs behind her.
“What time is it?” Brittany mumbles after a moment, mostly into her hair so Santana can hardly hear her.
Santana reaches for her phone on the nightstand and flicks her thumb against the screen until it unlocks. “Five after twelve,” she says with a little bit of a groan, dropping her phone and curling back into Brittany’s body, murmuring contentedly when Brittany pulls her closer, nudging her nose into the space between her shoulder and neck. “We should get up,” she adds after a moment, even though she can’t think of anything she’d rather do less.
“Can’t,” Brittany murmurs, pressing a clumsy kiss to her shoulder, and then another, a little higher, against her neck.
“Why not?” Santana squirms a little when Brittany kisses her again, before pulling away and rolling over in the circle of Brittany’s arms to face her. Brittany’s lips stretch into a smile, and she reaches up with her free hand to tuck a strand of Santana’s hair behind her ear, rubbing her finger there until Santana laughs and wraps her fingers around Brittany’s to pull her hand away.
“Can’t do this if we do,” Brittany whispers, smiling against her lips right before she kisses her, slow and sweet.
It’s a good morning kiss and an I love you kiss and a just because kiss, and Santana melts into, losing herself to the feel of Brittany’s arms around her.
Brittany kisses her again, and she guesses staying in bed would be okay, just for a little bit longer.
+
Brittany’s mom knocks on their door some time in the afternoon and says something about how if they sleep any longer, they won’t want to sleep for the rest of the week.
They haven’t been asleep for hours, but Santana wouldn’t mind if Brittany’s mom never found that out.
“We should maybe get food,” Santana murmurs once they’ve heard Brittany’s mom’s footsteps retreat down the hall. She lifts her head from Brittany’s chest to look at her, fingertips tracing Brittany’s cheek until Brittany grins and turns her head to kiss them, one by one.
“If you want,” Brittany replies easily, pulling Santana close for one last kiss before climbing out of bed.
Santana can’t stop herself from watching Brittany pad over to her closet to find clothes, still naked and not caring at all. She moves with an easy confidence Santana has always loved, and she rolls onto her stomach and rests her chin on her arms in front of her, watching as Brittany pulls on her clothes slowly and her skin starts to disappear.
Santana isn’t even aware that she’s staring until Brittany turns after pulling a t-shirt over her head and smiles a little, half shy and half amused. “See something you like?”
Santana grins and raises her chin defiantly, “Yeah, my girl.” She shrugs a little, grin turning into a smirk, until Brittany laughs and tosses some clean clothes towards the bed.
“Come on, stud,” Brittany says, rolling her eyes a little, “Your girl’s hungry.”
+
In the kitchen, Brittany grabs some cereal while Santana gets the bowls and the milk, and it’s so damned domestic that Santana has to resist the urge to roll her eyes a little when Brittany takes the milk from her hands and pours it over two bowls of cereal, a lot for her and less for Santana, just the way she likes it.
They sit at the counter eating, bodies curled towards each other, Brittany on the right and Santana on the left, so that they can still play at entwining the fingers of their off-hands together while they eat. They’re murmuring about nothing of importance when Brittany’s mom comes in and huffs at them as she bustles around putting the cereal box and milk away, and Santana winces and sneaks a glance at Brittany as though they’ve been caught doing something wrong.
“Mom, we would have done that,” Brittany protests, pausing with a spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth.
“Sorry,” Santana adds quickly, looking down into her bowl, kind of by reflex.
“I thought you two had all these big plans for the summer!” Mrs. Pierce says, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve wasted the entire day!”
“Mom, we have, like, three months left,” Brittany protests lightly, then hurriedly goes on when her mom looks like she’s about to speak again, “And we have big plans for college, so we’re building up to them.” Her hesitancy turns it into an almost question and Santana shoots her a covert smile.
Brittany’s mom shakes her head at them fondly, eyes softer now than they had been before. “It’s just… you might miss it, when you’re gone. So don’t waste the time you have left.”
The idea that she might miss anything about Lima is so ridiculous that Santana almost scoffs, and then she watches as Brittany stands and pulls her mom into a hug, and her heart drops into her stomach. She hasn’t really thought about it before because she was so focused on getting out of Lima with Brittany at her side, but Brittany has so many things that are worth staying for and she’s still willing to give that up to go with her.
The thought gives her that ache in her chest again, the one that hurts but in a good way somehow, and she thinks she might start to hyperventilate until Brittany sits back down and slips her left hand into Santana’s right, still resting against the counter.
“What’s wrong?” Brittany asks after a second, once her mom has left, taking in Santana’s wide eyes and shallow breathing. “Is it the cereal?”
Santana shakes her head and then blurts out, “I really fucking love you okay?” in a jumble, slightly more pathetic than she intended.
Brittany just wrinkles her nose and gives her that look, the one that says she’s being silly, but she’s not, she’s not being silly at all, so she leans forward and kisses her hard, until Brittany nearly falls backwards off her stool and has to grab onto the counter to stop herself. Brittany laughs into her mouth as Santana pulls her back upright, then kisses her again, a little more softly this time, before pulling back and just looking at her, unsure how to say the things she wants to say.
After a moment, Brittany slides her arm around Santana’s back, curling her fingers around her hip, and pulling her closer against her side. Santana leans into her and exhales slowly, and then Brittany smiles at her through her lashes and bumps her head against Santana’s, and they sit there for a while, finishing their cereal.
+
They give Quinn a ride to her physical therapy session on Wednesday, Santana carrying her bag and pretending she doesn’t notice when Quinn starts to lean on Brittany the higher they get up the four flights of stairs to the rehab center.
She still can’t believe it’s only been three and a half months since the accident. Sometimes, she isn’t even sure how Quinn is still alive, never mind just about managing to walk around and use her hands like the bones weren’t broken in so many places she lost count.
Quinn’s therapist is one of her dad’s friends, and he doesn’t mind when they sit at the back of the room during the sessions. In the weeks after the accident, it’d been because they’d refused to leave Quinn’s side, and now it’s just because Quinn is used to them being there, used to the way they laugh and joke to keep her mind off the fact she still can’t quite make her left hand grip things right, and the way her foot still twists a little when she walks.
Santana catcalls whenever Quinn drops the ball she’s supposed to be tossing from one hand to the other, until Quinn narrows her eyes and throws it at Santana’s head. She misses for the fifth session in a row, and Santana darts a hand out to grab it before it can rebound off the wall and back towards Quinn. “Maybe next time you’ll actually hit me,” Santana smirks, before she throws it back as gently as she can and watches Quinn catch it clumsily.
It’s the first time she has, and Brittany cheers like Quinn just scored the winning touchdown in a football game, waving her arms a little like she’s back on the Cheerios. It’s such an overreaction that they all burst out laughing, Santana leaning against Brittany for support while Quinn huffs out a breathy laugh and leans back against the wall, letting the ball fall out of her hand and bounce away.
Her therapist picks it up, and looks backwards and forwards between them all before he says, “Honestly, sometimes I can’t even tell that you guys are friends,” and the expression on his face makes them laugh harder than ever, until Quinn crosses the room on shaky legs to fall down beside them and shove at Santana.
Santana just keeps laughing, until she can feel tears at the corners of her eyes when Quinn says, “You’re such an ass,” and then Brittany wraps her arms around them both and pulls them close to get them to stop.
+
Her mom calls her on Saturday and when Santana pulls away from where she’s cuddled up on the sofa with Brittany to answer, her mom says, “Oh, so my only daughter is still alive then?” in the same sarcastic voice Santana had perfected in middle school.
“Mom, I texted you every day to say I was at Britt’s,” Santana protests as Brittany turns to look at her, and she’d roll her eyes if she didn’t think her mom would hear somehow. “And you answered me so I know you got them.”
“That’s not the point,” her mom says after a second’s hesitation. “You’ll come home tomorrow for church and lunch with your abuela.”
It’s not an offer so Santana doesn’t bother to argue, just glances at Brittany and moves a little closer, leaning in to her so the phone is between both their heads before she asks, “Can Britt come?”
“Honestly, do the two of you ever spend any time apart?” Santana can hear the smile in her mom’s voice, the little hint of good natured exasperation, and she grins a little because no they don’t, not really.
“Not really,” Brittany says cheerfully into the phone, echoing her thoughts.
There’s silence for a minute, and when her mom speaks Santana’s sure it’s because she’s been trying to suppress a laugh. “I’m hanging up now,” she says, as flatly as she can, the words softened by the smile Santana is sure is on her lips, and then the line disconnects.
+
Santana still feels a little weird about going to church if she’s honest, and a lifetime of Catholicism still leaves her a little bit worried that God might smite her on the spot if she holds Brittany’s hand during mass, even if she doesn’t really believe in a lot of it the way her parents or abuela do. It’s kind of weird that Brittany’s there at all, instead of just waiting outside afterwards to pick her up, to take her home and ruin her pretty church clothes and pull the pins out of her hair, and then she shudders and crosses herself reflexively at the thought, wondering absently if you could go to hell for thinking about that in a church.
She sits sandwiched between Brittany and her grandmother and listens to the priest talk, watching Brittany out of the corners of her eyes just because she looks so beautiful in the light blue dress she’d insisted on wearing, the Sunday best dress that matches her eyes so perfectly. She doesn’t realise she’s staring until Brittany turns and catches her, and then she looks away embarrassed and re-crosses her legs, forcing her eyes to stare straight ahead and fix on the priest instead.
She’s never really been all that religious despite a lifetime of church attendance, but she still worries about what the people might think; if they can tell Brittany is her girlfriend, and if Father Michaels will still let her take Communion when the time comes without denouncing her as a sinner in front of everyone. She spends more time watching the rows of people than listening to the priest’s words, and when she meets the eyes of an older woman her abuela knows and sees the way she glances at Brittany beside her, Santana holds herself a little further apart from her before she can help herself.
Brittany glances at her, and after a moment, she shifts until their legs are pressed together, joined all the way down from hip to ankle, and Santana lets herself enjoy the warmth of it for a second before her eyes widen in panic and she moves closer to her abuela and away from Brittany. It’s kind of stupid, because it’s not like anyone can even see their feet touching from where they’re sitting, but she still feels guilty, somehow.
For some reason, all she can think is that if people see their feet touching then they’ll know all the other ways they touch each other too, and she swears Father Michaels is looking at her more than anyone else every time he talks about sin.
Brittany glances at her with amusement in her eyes and moves her foot over to brush against Santana’s again, and Santana shifts away, sliding closer to her abuela. Brittany sort of snorts under her breath and kicks her foot closer again, and this time Santana has to twist in her seat to avoid her. She just manages to stop herself from falling into her abuela, and her grandmother’s eyes narrow as she glares at them, until Santana freezes, staring down at her lap contritely, half wondering how Brittany managed to look so suddenly innocent the second her abuela turned to look at them.
Her abuela’s friend is staring at them now with a disapproving expression on her face too, and Santana hangs her head until Brittany nudges her with a gentle elbow and brushes her fingers against her wrist comfortingly.
Santana takes a breath and then slides her fingers between Brittany’s, gripping her hand tightly, and if she wasn’t going to hell before she’s almost sure she is now.
+
After, when they get outside and stand by the car waiting for Santana’s parents to stop talking to people they know, Brittany leans into her side and says, “God didn’t smite us or whatever it was you were worried about.” She grins and moves a little closer, until her face is all Santana can see, all pretty blue eyes and the dusting of freckles Brittany always gets in the summer, and Santana has to fight hard to look away because all she wants to do is take her face in her hands and kiss her.
“I wasn’t really worried,” Santana lies quickly, bumping her shoulder against Brittany’s and glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. “That’s a stupid thing to worry about,” Santana doesn’t mean it to, but it comes out a little bit like a question, and Brittany’s eyes go soft and she shakes her head slowly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind Santana’s ear.
“Really stupid,” she says solemnly, in a way that means it isn’t, until Santana laughs and stands up on her tip toes to press a tiny kiss to the corner of her mouth quickly, before anyone can see.
+
“What’s that?” Brittany asks a couple of days later, voice scratchy with sleep, waking up and rolling over to nudge at Santana with her head until Santana lifts her arm and wraps it around her back, pulling her up against her side.
Santana shifts a little to accommodate her, dropping her knees back down from where they’re drawn up in front of her and adjusting the sheets so Brittany’s tucked in. “S’my list of stuff we have to do before college.” She’s been sitting up in bed for a while, scribbling notes while Brittany sleeps on next to her, not really having the heart to wake her when they’ve got nothing in particular to do.
Brittany reaches over and tugs at Santana’s notepad a little so she can see better, and Santana watches as her eyes skip down the list. “‘Buy sheets?’” Brittany asks after a moment, tapping the page and then sliding her finger down to the next line to read, “‘Britt needs bathroom-slash-kitchen stuff too(?)’” She brushes her fingers against Santana’s and snuggles further into her side, “My mom said she was gonna get all that stuff for me.”
“Oh,” Santana says quickly, feeling her face grow warm. “I just thought we could-it doesn’t matter.”
She moves to scribble it out, but Brittany reaches across and stops her hand. “San,” she says, voice soft, “Do you wanna get that stuff together?”
Santana looks at her helplessly for a second and then stutters, “I just, I thought we-”
“Okay,” Brittany interrupts, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “I’ll tell my mom.”
Santana avoids Brittany’s eyes and nods shyly, and then Brittany chuckles and leans up to kiss her, one hand threading into her hair and the other sliding down to her hip to pull her back down into the bed.
+
Buying sheets is a kind of surreal experience, as it turns out.
Sheets and Things is full of middle aged couples asking each other whether or not they think this or that cushion will go with the colour palette in the living room, and Santana wants to leave almost as soon as they come in, especially when an assistant by the door side eyes their joined hands a little bit as they walk past him.
She can’t wait to get the fuck out of this town, sometimes.
Brittany gives her hand a squeeze and pulls her towards the bedding, dodging around a young couple with a wailing baby and an older couple examining throws. Santana tucks herself into Brittany’s side and watches the older couple surreptitiously over Brittany’s shoulder, holding up various shades of blue between them and then rejecting them one by one.
“Do you think they’ve been married forever?” Santana asks after a moment, watching them finally decide on a navy blue throw and toss it into their basket next to a cushion. They look comfortable together, like they’re worn in somehow, and Santana wonders if anyone ever thinks she and Brittany look like that, like they absolutely belong together no questions asked.
Brittany turns around to glance at them, then shrugs noncommittally, “Well they’re pretty old, so probably.” She holds up a packet of sheets in a light shade of turquoise and tugs on Santana’s other hand to get her to turn back around, “Do you like this colour?”
Brittany’s just staring at her expectantly, waiting for an answer, but Santana’s brain can’t seem to come up with one. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it is, somehow, and Santana gets the warm feeling in her belly again. “S’pretty, Britt-Britt,” she gets out eventually, then smiles a little and adds, “Like you.”
Brittany’s face breaks into a shy smile, and she glances down at the sheets again, “I like it too.”
And then Brittany drops two sets of sheets and pillowcases in a deeper shade of turquoise into the basket Santana is carrying, and hooks her arm through Santana’s to pull her off to look at duvets, and Santana thinks it wouldn’t be so bad, being married for ever, not really.
+
The first day Santana manages to wake Brittany up before ten they go and see her grandmother, because she keeps calling and leaving vaguely threatening messages on Santana’s voicemail in mixed English and Spanish talking about how Santana had better see her a lot before she leaves in the fall because she’s getting old and she might not be there when she decides to come back for visits. Santana had rolled her eyes the first time, because honestly that woman was going to outlive them all just to spite the old ladies at her church, but after the third message she’d started to feel guilty and asked Brittany if they could go visit on a day that wasn’t a Sunday.
They drive over to Lima Heights Adjacent in Santana’s car, Brittany fiddling with the radio and squinting against the sunlight while Santana covers the familiar roads quickly, locking the doors when they leave the good part of town with a quick glance over at Brittany, which she knows is kind of silly, but it’s also kind of not, so.
“‘Member when we used to have sleepovers at your grandma’s when we were in grade school?” Brittany says suddenly, shading her eyes from the sun. “And she used to make us those sandwiches.”
“Chimichurris,” Santana agrees quickly with a grin. Her abuela makes them for her all the time, and they’re still maybe the greatest thing she’s ever eaten.
Brittany bites her lip and her eyes flash. “Say that again,” she says, voice low in her throat.
Santana does, rolls the r’s a little more than she did before, just because, until Brittany laughs and looks away and Santana fixes her eyes back on the road, well pleased with herself.
She still remembers the way her abuela used to make them huge piles of food when they got in from school, and how they’d sit around the kitchen table talking and drawing and eating while her grandmother watched over them. Her grandmother would always put their drawings up on the fridge until they were covering each other up, a hundred variations of Santana and Brittany in cartoon form, holding hands in front of her grandmother’s house under a sunny blue sky.
They weren’t on the fridge any more. Sometimes she wants to ask her abuela if she still has them, but there’s an unspoken rule that they don’t talk about those four months when the fridge and the kitchen were empty, before her grandmother had called her out of the blue and told her to come over and to bring Brittany with her.
“You kissed me for the first time in the kitchen,” Santana says softly, eyes fixed on the road in front of her. “When we were doing the dishes, the summer before freshman year.” She bites her lip and makes a left turn, waiting for Brittany to say something.
Her abuela had been dozing off in front of the television and Santana had never been more terrified. She can’t really remember exactly what happened now, just remembers that Brittany had been kissing her on the cheek for weeks in a way that made her stomach flutter and made her hate herself in equal measure, and that she’d looked over at Brittany drying a plate and really wanted to kiss her, with every fibre of her being, and that Brittany had set the plate down and then looked over at her, eyes catching like she was reading some secret message in Santana’s expression. Brittany had moved closer to her slowly, as though she was waiting for Santana to stop her, and she’d tasted like strawberry gum when she kissed her softly, lips barely pressing against Santana’s before they were gone. She remembers the way she’d stared at Brittany, breathing hard but unable to keep the smile from the corners of her mouth, struggling to find something to say to explain away what they’d just done, and how Brittany just had this look on her face that said finally before she leaned in and kissed her again.
“I wish I hadn’t been so scared,” Santana says eventually, because it’s the truth, both back then when she kissed Brittany in the kitchen, and for all the times she kissed her in secret, in bedrooms and locker rooms and under the bleachers, before senior year.
Brittany’s hand slides into hers in her lap, and she laces her fingers through Santana’s and squeezes softly. “I know,” Brittany says simply, half a sad smile on her face.
They drive the rest of the way in silence, and when Santana pulls into her abuela’s driveway, Brittany unclips her belt and leans over to press her lips to Santana’s cheek quickly, before she gets out.
+
“Abuelita?” Santana shoves her key back into her purse and steps into the hallway, glancing into the tiny living room quickly. It’s empty, but the television is on in the corner, and Santana can hear noises coming from the kitchen so she nods her head in that direction at Brittany, before crossing the room and heading for the door.
Her grandmother is washing dishes in the sink, but she turns when they come in and her whole face lights up when she sees them.
“Hola,” Santana says, crossing the room to hug her as Brittany echoes the greeting behind her.
Her grandmother gives her a squeeze and then pulls back to look at her with narrowed eyes, “So you remembered where your abuela lived, eh? Por fin!”
“Abuela!” Santana protests, as Brittany chuckles behind her. “It’s only been two weeks since graduation! And I saw you on Sunday!”
“Two weeks is a long time when you’re as old as I am, and Sundays don’t count - you’re there to see God not me,” her abuela narrows her eyes and surveys her appearance critically, then glances over at Brittany as well. Her eyes sweep up and down their bodies, and she clucks her tongue against her teeth and draws in a sharp breath. “You girls are so skinny,” she complains, “Can’t I make you something to eat?”
Brittany nudges Santana with her elbow, and Santana says, “Chimi?” quickly, with a hopeful expression on her face.
“Sí, siéntense,” her abuela says, bustling around the kitchen and pulling things out of cupboards and the refrigerator while Brittany and Santana draw out the chairs and sit down like she told them, hiding their grins.
+
They eat their sandwiches slowly, answering her abuela’s questions about their colleges and plans for next year. She narrows her eyes a little when Brittany explains she’s sharing an apartment with a friend she knows from dance class who went to Berkeley the year before, and clucks her tongue.
“And why are you two not living together, huh? It’s bad enough you’re going to California but you’re not even going to be together?” She folds her arms and looks over at them, daring them to speak, and Santana’s reminded of the way her abuela looked whenever she did something wrong as a kid and has to resist the urge to apologise.
“I have to live in the dorms my first year, abuela,” Santana says, around a mouthful of food.
“No hables con la boca llena! And that’s no excuse!” She definitely looks like she did when Santana was little now, eyes narrowed and glaring at them each in turn.
Santana swallows her food quickly and says, “Well-“ about to say it’s a pretty good excuse actually, before she gets interrupted again, this time by Brittany.
“We’ll be okay, Mrs. Lopez. We’ll see each other every weekend,” she flashes a smile at Santana and then looks back at Santana’s grandmother. “I’ll make sure she gets enough to eat and doesn’t go out late at night, and I’ll get her to call you all the time and stuff.”
Her abuela nods, eyes softening a little as a smile forms on her face, “Santana, if you ever let this girl go I’m going to fly out to California just to smack you.”
“Abuela!” Santana laughs in disbelief while Brittany grins proudly next to her, and bumps their feet together under the table.
+
“San,” Brittany whispers urgently a little later, while Santana’s abuela has gone to get something from the other room. “You didn’t tell her about the road trip did you?”
“Do I look like I’m crazy?” Santana shoots back quickly, eyes flicking to the door to check her abuela can’t hear them. “We’ll, like, call her from Indiana or something.”
“When we’re in California,” Brittany corrects her quickly, “And we’ll tell her we flew.”
+
They hang out by Quinn’s pool when they have nothing better to do, Brittany and Santana sharing a sun lounger while Quinn sits on the one next to them with a towel over her legs and loose shirt fastened around her, hiding the scars Santana knows are there, left over from the crash and all the surgery after.
She hates that she thinks it, but part of her wonders if the scars on her skin match the scars high school left on her insides, and then she’s pulling away from Brittany and rolling onto her side to prop herself up on an elbow and eye Quinn over the top of her sun glasses. “You won’t get a suntan dressed like that, you know.”
Quinn shrugs like she doesn’t care, but Santana can see her shift uncomfortably under her gaze, and Brittany leans over her side to look at Quinn too. “You’re still super pretty, Quinn,” she says in the guileless way she has, and Santana knows Brittany is the only person that Quinn would ever let say that without snapping some insult back.
Quinn shakes her head and tugs at the towel over her legs, keeping her eyes on it when she says, “They just look wrong.” She swallows and shrugs a little, glancing up at them, “I’m okay, I just- They look wrong, so.” She shrugs again, and tightens her hand around the edge of the towel until her knuckles whiten.
Santana hardly dares move, aware that it’s the first time Quinn’s really spoken about how she feels after what happened when they’d usually just tease each other or pretend everything was fine.
She opens her mouth but no words come out, and then Quinn exhales noisily and looks away, the moment stretching until it’s just starting to become uncomfortable.
Brittany’s the first one to move, scrambling over the lounger and Santana until she’s standing in front of Quinn and tugging her hand from the towel gently. “Come and get in the pool with me,” she says softly, ducking her head to find Quinn’s eyes.
Santana watches as Brittany pulls Quinn to her feet, then leads her by the hand to the edge of the pool and helps her slide in. They tread water for a minute, still joined at the hands, and then Brittany swims a little closer before pointing down through the water with her free hand. She leans in close to Quinn’s ear, so close her lips are touching the shell of Quinn’s ear, and then Santana hears her whisper, “Now my legs look wrong too.”
Santana’s heart feels like it’s about to burst in her chest, and Quinn is looking at Brittany with exactly the same expression on her face, like she can’t quite believe Brittany is real, which is kind of how Santana feels some of the time, too.
Or maybe all the time, to be honest.
Santana hears Quinn’s breath hitch in her throat, and then she’s sliding her arms around Brittany’s neck and hugging her while Brittany kicks furiously to keep them above water, looking over at Santana helplessly as they start to sink a little, until Santana gets to her feet and jumps in next to them, wrapping her arms around both of them to help keep them afloat.
+
Santana used to love sleeping in in the summer, but this one is different somehow, and she keeps waking up at stupid times thinking of things they need to do before they leave, and then worrying about them, unable to get back to sleep. The fifth time it happens, she tosses and turns in bed, trying to get comfortable enough to go back to sleep, Brittany murmuring complaints next to her each time she moves out of reach.
She’s starting to realise that driving across half the country is kind of terrifying and that there’s so many things they need to sort out before they leave, and every time she closes her eyes she just thinks of something else, until her mental list of things they have to do is longer than the actual list tucked inside Brittany’s desk drawer.
It’s all just sort of scary, and she snuggles a little close to Brittany without really thinking about it, until Brittany throws an arm over her stomach and buries her face in her hair.
She still can’t sleep, and she watches the light creep under the shades slowly, until she sighs, and inches out from under Brittany’s arm carefully so she doesn’t wake her. She turns on Brittany’s computer and surfs aimlessly for a while, checking facebook and writing stupid shit on Sam’s wall just because, before she yawns and runs a hand over her face, sitting up a little straighter, and heads for Google Maps.
By the time Brittany wakes up, stretching out her whole body before climbing out of bed and padding over to slide her arms around Santana’s shoulders, Santana has three pages of notes on the route from Lima to Berkeley, a list of places they can stay and exactly how far they can drive each day. Brittany leans over to look at the notes, eyes taking it all in slowly.
“That kind of makes it real,” Brittany says finally, eyes fixed on Santana’s handwriting covering the pages.
She’s still hanging around Santana’s neck, and Santana swallows against Brittany’s arm then reaches a hand up to wrap around her wrist, “You still want to though, right?” She asks quickly, “Because if we need to change the plan-“
Brittany cuts her off with a kiss, just a quick press of her lips to Santana’s, and then she’s pulling back and saying, “Do I want to spend a week living out of my car with you, staying at motels and eating crappy diner food, while driving 2000 miles to go to college?” Brittany pulls her face into a mock frown, like she’s actually thinking it over, and Santana realises she’s holding her breath, even though she knows Brittany’s kidding.
“It does sound kind of crazy when you put it like that,” Santana mumbles eventually, glancing down at all her notes, suddenly embarrassed.
“It sounds kind of perfect,” Brittany corrects her, lips moving against Santana’s neck as she talks, and then Santana turns, threading her fingers into Brittany’s tousled hair and kissing her, hard, until Brittany whimpers into her mouth and pulls her back toward the bed.
part three b