Fic: i-80 west, part four b (Brittany/Santana, R)
Title: i-80 west, part four b
Characters: Brittany/Santana (w/ Quinn, Sam, Mike/Tina)
Length: 12.5k
Rating: R
Summary: Brittany and Santana graduate high school and spend one last summer in Lima before leaving for college.
“Britt,” Santana says, letting herself be pulled along. “Where are we going?”
“Bathroom?” Brittany asks, glancing back to make sure Santana catches her meaning.
She does because she bites at her bottom lip before she speaks, voice a little bit lower than it had been before, “What about the rules?”
“Our rules or Rachel’s rules?” Brittany asks, a little surprised at the edge in her voice. She swallows to try and clear her throat.
“Our rules,” Santana says at once, fixing her with an odd look. “I don’t care about Berry’s rules.”
“There’s no rule against making out,” Brittany says softly, turning to smile at her when they reach the bathroom door, “Unless you don’t wanna.”
Santana swallows visibly, glancing at the door and then back towards the noise drifting up from the stairs. She leans back against the door, fumbling behind her for the handle, her other hand tangling into Brittany’s hair behind her ear and urging her closer.
“Kiss me,” she says softly, glancing up through her lashes, and Brittany does as she’s told, finding her lips as Santana tumbles them backwards through the door, and then pushes Brittany up against it, her whole body leaning into her and pinning her there as the kiss deepens.
She almost thinks it’s not really an end of high school party unless one of them is pushing the other against a door and trying to work their fingers into her clothes, and Brittany hums into Santana’s mouth and kisses her hard, tasting a weird combination of tequila and strawberries from her lip gloss, so uniquely Santana that it makes her toes curl inside her sneakers as she pulls her closer.
Santana threads a hand into her hair and stands on her tiptoes so that they’re the same height, leaning against Brittany to hold herself up as she sucks on Brittany’s jaw. It takes Brittany back to their freshman and sophomore years, when every party ended with them pressed against each other in the dark, Santana tasting like whatever cheap whiskey Puck had gotten hold of and refusing to meet her eyes.
It’s all so different now, easy and light the way Brittany always wanted and always knew it could be, and when she pulls back a little from Santana to find her eyes, Santana meets them and grins hard, bumping her nose against Brittany’s a little, “Hey.”
“Hi,” Brittany murmurs back, reaching to brush a strand of hair away from Santana’s face. Brittany really wants to tell her that she loves her, but Santana’s still kind of a weepy drunk, even if it’s mostly happy tears these days instead of sad and frustrated ones, and she doesn’t want to risk it. She presses their lips together instead and tries to kiss the words into her mouth, which is really the only way she knows how to kiss Santana, and the only way she’s ever kissed Santana, ever since they were fourteen.
Santana’s hands are starting to creep towards her waist when someone bangs on the door, and Santana laughs and pulls back, burying her head in Brittany’s shoulder.
“Britt,” Mike bangs his fist against the door again, so hard Brittany can feel the vibrations rumble through her bones and into Santana. “Britt,” he says again, “I’m gonna do it now.”
“Yeah,” Santana shoots back through the door, “That’s what Britts and I are trying to do too. Go away.”
Brittany stifles her laugh with her hand and shushes her, pushing her away towards the sink when her hand starts to creep again. “Remember the rules,” she whispers so Mike can’t hear, watching Santana pout but nod, straightening her dress a little where Brittany twisted it with her hands.
“Are you okay?” Brittany calls through the door, glancing at Santana one last time as she turns away.
There’s a second’s delay before he says no, almost like he’s weighing up if Santana will remember and rib him about it after, but Santana’s too busy looking at her quizzically to really register the response, unsure what’s going on.
“I gotta go talk to Mike,” Brittany says, pulling Santana in for another quick kiss then breaking away before it can deepen.
Santana sighs like she’s the most put upon person in the world, and it almost makes Brittany want to lean back in but she resists, just reaches behind her to unlock the door and grip the handle. “Come back to the party?” Brittany says, ignoring Santana’s faint mumbles of protest, and waits until Santana nods and says she’ll be right behind her before she opens the door.
Brittany nearly collides with Mike, still standing with his hand half raised and a surprised look on his face like he was about to start banging again, and he stares at her for a moment then averts his eyes quickly and shifts awkwardly. “Um, Britt? Your shirt.”
“Right,” she says, pulling it back down from where Santana had pushed it up above her bra on one side, fighting a little when she realises the reason it was hooked there is because Santana had managed to get some of it stuck under her bra strap and then grins brightly once she’s covered. “So Tina?”
“Tina,” Mike agrees. He swallows and fishes his hand into his pocket, and Brittany knows he’s searching for the ring, just to check it’s still there.
“Just like we said, Mike, you got this.” She bumps her fist against his and nudges him with her shoulder until he smiles and nods, and then follows him back down to the party.
+
Santana stumbles into her side just as Mike is pulling Tina away from everyone else and opening the ring box to offer it to her, and Brittany hears her suck in her breath and murmur, “Shit,” under her breath.
“What’s he doing?” She asks after a second, voice kind of high, and when Brittany glances at her she’s still staring like she doesn’t understand what she’s seeing.
“Giving her a ring,” Brittany says softly, reaching down to tangle her fingers through Santana’s. “Promising he’ll still be with her even if he’s not with her with her when he’s in New York.”
Santana shivers a little and leans into her, just enough so that Brittany notices, and she doesn’t know if it’s because of the drink or if she’s cold or.
“He’s asking her to marry him?” Santana asks wonderingly, like the thought hadn’t even really occurred to her. They watch in silence, bodies kind of curling into each other like they’re being pulled by some invisible force, and then Santana snorts and says, “But he isn’t even kneeling.”
Brittany shakes her head, because she and Mike had talked about this and it wasn’t a proposal, just a promise that they’d still be together when they were far away. Brittany likes the idea of it, the old fashioned romance of it, like they were going steady in some old fifties movie and Mike was giving her his class ring or a pin or something.
She glances down at the friendship bracelet on Santana’s wrist out of the corners of her eyes so Santana won’t notice, then twists the arm not holding Santana’s hand a little so she can feel the weight of her own bracelet against her skin.
“Shit,” Santana says again, like that covers it all, watching Tina break into a smile and slip the ring onto her finger before falling into Mike’s arms.
“I know,” Brittany says, because she does, tightening her hand around Santana’s fingers without really thinking about it.
The silence between them stretches, filled with the steady thump-thump of the song from the stereo. They’re close together now, so close Brittany can feel the warm press of Santana all down the length of her, and she lets go of Santana’s hand to bring her arm up around Santana’s shoulder, fingers curling around her tightly and pressing into her skin.
Santana hides her face against Brittany’s arm and Brittany feels her lips through the thin material of her shirt, opening and closing like she’s trying to say something.
They stay there for a minute, watching Mike and Tina finally break apart and grin at each other and then Santana whispers, “When I ask y’to marry me I’ma go down on one knee,” voice hushed and a little hoarse, like it’s the biggest secret in the world. Her words are a little slurred from the alcohol but Brittany can hear the sincerity in them, and it feels a little like they’re balanced on the edge of something and about to fall off.
Everything just kind of fades, like her eyes and ears have suddenly stopped working and all she has is her hands to make sense of the world; she can’t hear the music anymore or see her friends, her entire world narrowed to the feeling of Santana against her side, her skin tingling everywhere it meets hers. Santana is silent, her face still pressed into her arm, and Brittany is almost afraid to breathe in case she ruins it so she holds the air in her lungs until it starts to burn then exhales slowly, fingers stroking against Santana’s arm carefully.
Santana shifts a little and it’s like the music comes back on, like her ears are popping like on the plane to New York junior year while Santana held her hand under a blanket where no-one could see.
Brittany turns to look at her, mouth opening to say something she hasn’t really thought of yet, but then Santana’s already pulling away to grab a bottle of something from the drinks table and striding across the room towards Mike and Tina shouting, “Changs! Let’s do shots!” and the moment is lost.
+
They’re dancing with Sam and Mercedes when they hear running feet on the stairs and the bathroom door slamming upstairs, and Brittany exchanges a quizzical glance with Mercedes before Santana sighs and says, “That’s Rachel.”
“How do you know?” Mercedes asks, folding her arms over her chest and cocking her head to the side, waiting for an explanation.
“Because there’s always a point at a party where some crying girl locks herself in a bathroom because of some douchebag guy,” Santana says matter of factly, sipping at her drink. “We’re at a party at Rachel Berry’s house. You think the diva ain’t gonna show up to her own show?”
“Finn isn’t worth crying over,” Brittany says, pulling her face, and feels a stab of satisfaction when the others agree with her.
“Don’t worry,” Santana says to Mercedes, who’s looking over at the stairs like she wants to go and help. “Every crying girl has a gay guy to talk her down.” She points over at Kurt disappearing up the stairs, “He’ll get rid of Finn and help her reapply her mascara.”
+
When Rachel comes down, it’s just after they’ve heard the faint sound of the front door slamming, and when Brittany looks for him Finn is nowhere to be found. Kurt and Blaine drag Rachel onto the dance floor, and Brittany watches Santana nod at her, a kind of impressed expression on her face, until Rachel smiles back shyly and twirls under Kurt’s arm.
+
Mike gets her a rum and coke and then dances with her until the room starts to spin a little, just around the edges. She feels kind of like she’s moving in slow motion, like all her limbs are heavy and the air is pushing back against her and offering resistance. It’s like she’s dancing under water only she can breathe here, and when she looks at Mike he’s got the same dreamy expression on his face like he can feel it too.
Her eyes drift shut as Mike grabs her hand and twirls her around, trusting him to keep her from bouncing into people while she sees the lights shift through her eyelids, light and dark then dark and light over and over.
She feels hands on her waist and knows they’re Santana’s; feels warm breath against her neck and knows Santana’s lips are about to fasten on her pulse point and suck until her knees buckle; and she lets herself fall backwards into her, body curling and seeking and pressing and-
+
Santana goes to get their coats while Brittany hugs everyone goodbye, wrapping her arms around Mike and Tina extra tight, pretending she doesn’t notice the tears in their eyes, and it’s only when she hears shouting and turns to look that she sees Kurt sprinting after Santana like he’s about to hit her.
She’s taken three steps towards them before her brain catches up and she starts to laugh as she realises Santana’s got Kurt’s jacket on with all the ridiculous straps and buttons fastened up wrong and Blaine’s doubled up watching them run round, laughing at how ridiculous it looks on her and the utter horror on Kurt’s face. Kurt’s shouting about how it’s dry clean only and she better not spill anything on it, and Brittany steps into her path and grabs her when she gets too close.
She pulls the jacket off Santana, which isn’t easy because Santana’s hunched over laughing at the look on Kurt’s face and won’t pay attention, but she manages and pushes the jacket back towards Kurt as Blaine comes over to stand next to them, still laughing a little as he leans into Kurt’s side.
Kurt turns the jacket over in his hands to double check it’s all clean, and then glares at Santana, eyes narrowed like she’d actually insulted him, “What the hell, Santana?”
“I was just making sure you guys remembered how to laugh,” Santana says, voice suddenly serious as she fixes them with a look and points a finger at them. She sways on her feet a little and then catches herself as Blaine wraps his arm around Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt turns into him, smile just starting to tug at the corners of his mouth. “And I looked good,” Santana adds, with a little bit of swagger as she starts to pull Brittany away, “Don’t deny it!”
And then they all crack up as they break apart, and head their separate ways.
+
Just before they get to the door Quinn steps in front of them, and they all stare at each other for about three seconds before Santana starts sobbing hysterically and Quinn tries to roll her eyes through the tears in them but just sort of fails. No one moves, and it’s like there’s some kind of force-field between them keeping them apart, and it’s just so stupid that Brittany tries to laugh a little, only it catches in her throat and she can’t, she can’t.
“I don’t want to go to Yale without you,” Quinn mumbles sort of desperately, swallowing hard against her sobs, and Brittany steps forward, force-field be damned, and wraps her arms around her tightly, burying her face in her hair as Santana thuds into her back and tries to wrap her arms around the both of them.
“You know your cell will still work in New Haven, right?” Santana asks brokenly from over Brittany’s shoulder, and Quinn huffs out a stilted laugh even though Brittany doesn’t understand why.
“Shut up and let me be nice to you,” Quinn replies quickly, sniffing hard between the words, “For five minutes.” And then Santana takes a step to the side and worms her way between Quinn and Brittany, until she has one arm round Brittany’s back and the other fisted in the front of Quinn’s jacket while Brittany holds them both close, foreheads bumping every time one of them takes a breath.
Quinn feels small in her arms, and Santana feels small between them, and she wonders if she feels small to them and why they’re still so small when they’re supposed to be grown up. Santana would probably know why, if she asked, or Quinn maybe, but Brittany doesn’t. It doesn’t make any sense, and the more she thinks about it the more her heart tightens painfully in her chest, so she just pulls them both closer and tries not to think at all.
+
Quinn turns down a ride with Mike and Tina so she can leave with them, and they walk in silence, Quinn in the middle with Santana on one side and Brittany on the other, arms linked together tightly.
“I still can’t believe we survived high school,” Quinn says eventually, once they’re nearly at her house.
“I can’t believe a lot of things,” Santana replies quickly, glancing down at Quinn’s legs and then up at Brittany, eyes soft in the dark.
Brittany smiles back bashfully, until Quinn glances between them and rolls her eyes, and Santana laughs and shoves her with her hip.
“We had each other,” Brittany says once they’ve stopped scuffling, and turns her head to find Quinn’s eyes, “Maybe not as much as we should have sometimes, but.”
Quinn shakes her head and doesn’t say anything, and Santana pulls her closer so she can rest her head on her shoulder as they walk, so that Brittany has to unhook their arms and take Quinn’s hand instead, rubbing her thumb into the space between her knuckles the same way she does with Santana.
“I love you guys,” Quinn mumbles softly, when they come to a stop outside her house and just stare at each other, unsure what to say or do.
Santana sniffs and nods, pulling Quinn into a tight hug, and Brittany’s pretty sure she hears her whisper, “Love you too,” into Quinn’s hair.
They break apart and grin at each other, Santana wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand and rolling her eyes at herself while Quinn laughs through the tears falling down her cheeks.
Brittany watches them for a long moment before she slides her arms around Quinn’s stomach from behind, pressing her face into her hair and kissing her softly on the cheek, just because. “I love you too, Quinn.”
“I know, Britt,” Quinn laughs and half turns to nudge Brittany with her nose. “I know.”
+
“Hey Britt, you remember that song?” Santana asks when they’re on the way home, stumbling every now and then and leaning into Brittany as they cover the streets between her house and Quinn’s. She hums something that’s probably supposed to be a tune, but Brittany can’t hear her that well because everything sounds like it’s coming from far away.
“What song?”
“That song from The OC,” Santana prompts her, swaying a little on her feet. “You know, California, here we come…” she sings, louder than she should in the late night streets and then laughs when Brittany tries to shush her.
“Sing with me, Britty,” she whines sweetly, coming to a stop and tugging on her hand.
Brittany rolls her eyes but she’s laughing all the same, whisper-singing the words against her lips when she leans in to kiss her.
Santana’s the first one to pull back, her eyes shining brightly in the dark in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol she’s drank, and then she pulls on Brittany’s hand and starts to run, until Brittany has to break into a jog to keep up, breathless and giggling as the world spins around them and Santana sings “California, here we come!” over and over again, as loudly as she can.
+
Brittany fumbles with her key trying to unlock the door, pretty sure the lock keeps moving every time the key gets close, and Santana laughs into her shoulder in an attempt to muffle her giggles. Santana kicks her shoes off when they finally get inside and nearly overbalances, clutching at Brittany’s hand to try and hold herself up, and Brittany chokes back her laughter at the look on her face, like Santana’s surprised the floor isn’t quite where she left it.
“You look so cute right now,” Brittany tells her shutting the door a little more loudly than she should, and Santana’s eyes flash as she comes closer, backing Brittany into the wall, hands finding her hips and tugging their bodies together.
“You look cute all the time,” Santana replies after a second, leaning closer to kiss her jaw and trail her lips up to her ear.
“Good comeback,” Brittany deadpans, hands sliding into Santana’s hair as she tilts her head to offer her more room.
Santana huffs out a breath of air against her neck and she shivers, the rush of air feeling cold against the hot spots Santana’s been sucking on. She’s just biting her lip and tugging Santana’s face up so she can kiss her when a distant part of her mind registers footsteps on the stairs.
“Brittany Pierce!” her mom whisper-shouts, torn between anger and needing to be quiet so as not to wake her dad or sister. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She freezes, feeling all the colour drain from her face, but Santana springs away from her so fast she nearly crashes into the opposite wall, swaying a little on her feet as her hands twist nervously against each other. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Pierce. I-“ she stutters, bringing her hand up to cover her face and looking horrified.
“Mom, we were just going to bed,” Brittany adds her voice coming out a little louder than she intended, and then she winces at how that sounds. “I mean-“
“Go and get a glass of water. Both of you,” she adds when Santana doesn’t move. “And go to bed.” Brittany thinks her mom almost blushes at her choice of words, then adds, “I mean go to sleep!”
Brittany kind of wishes her mom hadn’t reconciled herself to them sleeping in the same room even when they told her they were dating, because it makes everything so much more awkward when she’s telling them to go to bed five seconds after catching them making out against a wall, and Santana looks at her like she’s wishing the earth could swallow her up at any moment, blushing so furiously she looks like she’ll never stop.
She walks into the kitchen carefully, placing her feet deliberately as she grabs a glass and fills it, waiting for Santana to do the same, watching as her hand shakes a little and her knuckles turn white around the glass. Lord Tubbington raises his head to regard them lazily from his bed, and Brittany isn’t sure how but even he looks like he’s disappointed in them.
She didn’t even know cats could be disappointed.
“Stop looking at us like that,” she whispers sternly, and Santana starts, nearly spilling her water, like her mom has come into the kitchen and caught them again, even though they’re not even doing anything.
Santana huffs out a sharp breath when Brittany reaches out a hand to steady her and lurches away from her, the water in her glass swaying dangerously close to the edge. “Stop it,” Santana hisses, eyes wide and panicked as she takes a deliberate step away from her before following her back to the stairs, so that Brittany couldn’t reach out and touch her even if she tried, and they file past her mom in silence, heads downcast and eyes on the floor.
Her mom follows them until they’re at Brittany’s door, and it somehow feels like Brittany can hear the way she’s glaring at them, so that she wants to cover her ears and ask her to stop. She looks disappointed when she whispers, “Go to sleep, right now. I’ll talk to you about this in the morning,” and that’s the worst thing of all, worse even than the promise of a conversation in the morning, and Brittany bites her lip and nods.
“We’re sorry, mom.” She whispers, putting her hand against the doorframe to steady herself, “We’ll go to sleep now.”
“You better,” her mom mutters as she disappears down the hall, pausing outside Ashley’s door to check she’s still asleep before she disappears into her own room.
Brittany closes the door softly and turns round to find Santana face down on the bed, arms wrapped around her head. “Oh my fucking God,” she whispers hoarsely, sounding more than a little hysterical.
Brittany puts her water down on the desk and cross the room to sink down next to her, feeling Santana slide towards her a little as the bed dips under her weight. “Well,” Brittany says, “That was fun.” She reaches out to put her hand on Santana’s back and then jumps when Santana rolls away from her quickly, eyes wide as she stops on the very edge of the bed, as far away from Brittany as she can get.
“Oh my God don’t touch me,” Santana says frantically. “Your mom’ll see through the walls or something.”
Brittany stifles a giggle, aware that they still have to be quiet, and reaches towards her again, “Come on, San, that was funny.”
“That was mortifying!” Santana replies, the edge back in her voice. “Your mom saw me trying to give you a hickey! Oh my God. I’m so glad we’re leaving in two days. I can never come home again.”
Brittany watches her murmur to herself frantically, the words getting quieter and quieter until she can’t hear them at all, and then she leans forward on her elbows to kiss her and cut her off, Santana going stiff against her. She brings her hands up like she wants to push Brittany away, but they tangle into Brittany’s shirt instead and pull her closer at the last minute, almost like they can’t help themselves.
“Stop it,” Santana whispers against her lips, but she kisses her back anyway, and Brittany smiles into the next kiss, tracing her fingertips against Santana’s cheekbones softly.
“Say it was funny,” Brittany says, grinning through the darkness, and Santana shakes her head, fighting the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I can’t, I have PTSD,” she replies with a shake of her head, but she’s smiling now, and Brittany grins back, tucking a strand of Santana’s hair behind her ear, well pleased with herself.
“My mom caught us making out,” Brittany whispers, exhaling heavily. “Two days before we leave for college. Like, we almost made it out but no.”
“Oh God,” Santana murmurs again, running her hand through her hair and flopping backwards to sink into the pillows again.
Brittany lies down next to her, bumping Santana’s elbow with hers and knocking their feet together. Santana’s silent, eyes shut and her hands crossed over her stomach, and Brittany rolls onto her side and nuzzles closer, pressing a kiss against her shoulder. “She wants to talk to us in the morning.”
Santana groans and pulls the pillow over her head. “I’ll just sneak out your window instead. She’ll never know I was here.”
“I don’t think she’s going to forget you giving her oldest daughter a hickey in the hallway,” Brittany grins, trying not to laugh at the noise Santana makes, somewhere between a strangled cough and a laugh.
+
“Baby,” Brittany murmurs later, “You can’t sleep in your dress.”
Santana shifts a little against her chest, tightening the hand in her hair and half shaking her head, “But I’m comfy.”
“I’ll undress you,” Brittany says, trailing her fingers down Santana’s back until she shivers, trying to find the zipper.
“The rules,” Santana says through a yawn, as Brittany finds the little piece of metal and tugs it down slowly. “No naked people when drunk.”
“It’s no sex when drunk,” Brittany replies softly, kissing her shoulder and rolling them over and into a sitting position so she can get her dress off. “Because we’re not sixteen any more, right?”
She pushes the rest of the thought away, of nights in the dark after parties and alcohol, of avoiding eyes, choked off gasps, and the panic behind Santana’s eyes, replacing them with sunlight and smiling kisses, roller coasters and prom night, the way Santana feels pressed against her as she pulls her closer instead.
Santana nods sleepily as Brittany runs the finger tips of one hand over Santana’s skin, over her shoulders and collarbones and then lower to rest in the small of her back as she unhooks her bra with the other. Santana is soft in her arms, letting Brittany lead her out of her clothes with perfect trust, and she replaces the fabric with the tips of her fingers and her lips, kissing a trail over Santana’s skin.
When Santana is in nothing but her underwear, lacy and black and perfect in a way Brittany can’t stop staring at, she slides her arms around Brittany’s neck and murmurs, “Now you, Britty,” into her ear, using the tiny voice she only ever uses when they’re alone together, and Brittany can feel herself shivering against her.
“I want to feel you,” Santana nuzzles into her, until her forehead is pressed against Brittany’s and all she can see is Santana’s eyes, brown and deep, just for her.
“Okay,” Brittany pulls away just long enough to get her shirt over her head and reach around to unhook her bra, standing up to kick her pants down her legs and pull her socks off quickly, and then she sinks into the bed and Santana’s arms, fitting their bodies together and finding her lips easily, openmouthed and sweet.
Santana kisses her softly; her lips, her neck, her jaw, her shoulder, again and again, breathing out against her skin and sighing happily, holding her close like she never wants to let go.
“I love you so much,” she says, looking up to find her eyes, summer sadness mingling with the happiness in her gaze. She pushes her hand between them and rests it over Brittany’s heart, palm warm and solid, flat against her chest, until Brittany imagines her heart can feel it there too, like Santana is holding it in her hands and feeling it beat.
She thinks how Santana has always held her heart, ever since she can remember.
“I love you too,” Brittany says, lifting her hand to mirror the gesture on Santana’s chest, fingers brushing against the skin reverently. Santana’s skin is soft under her hand, and she can feel the faint thud of her heart, reassuringly constant against her palm.
Santana murmurs happily and pulls her closer with the arm she still has around her, so that Brittany is half on top of her and half next to her, legs tangled together as she curls into Santana’s chest, their hands still over each other’s hearts.
“Stay there, Britty,” Santana murmurs softly, so quiet Brittany almost doesn’t hear it, and Brittany presses one last soft kiss to her chest before her eyes flutter closed and she drifts off to sleep.
+
Brittany wakes up to her mom’s voice coming through the door, the hand between her and Santana numb from being squashed between them all night. She thinks the banging she can hear might be her head before she realises it’s her mom knocking, and she squints against the light, too bright even with the shades down, as Santana stirs underneath her.
“Brittany! I want you downstairs in ten minutes. Santana too, please.”
Santana blinks up at her, the arm around her tightening like she isn’t quite sure where she is, and then she squints up at her and says, “I slept in my contacts. Ow.” She blinks again and rubs at her eyes, wincing. “Was that your-oh crap, your mom caught us last night.” Her eyes go comically wide and Brittany laughs, pinning her in place when she tries to get away.
“Stay away from the window,” Brittany rests her chin on her hands and grins up at her, “Just breathe, baby, you’ll be fine.”
Santana shakes her head and stares at her, mouth opening like she wants to say something only no words come out. She swallows instead and rubs at her eyes again as Brittany flexes her hand, waiting for it wake up so she can stroke the frown away from between Santana’s eyebrows.
“We need to get dressed,” Santana says eventually, once she’s calmed down enough for her breathing to even out. “And you have to pretend like you’ve never seen me naked.”
“That second part sounds kind of hard,” Brittany says, kissing Santana’s jaw before she pulls away. “I’d never forget something like that you know.”
She climbs out of bed and pulls herself up to her full height, stretching her arms above her head and rolling onto the balls of her feet, feeling her joints pop. It takes her a second to remember she’s naked, and when she looks, Santana is staring at her slack jawed, eyes a little bit unfocused.
“San?”
“We’re so fucking screwed,” Santana groans, falling back against the pillows and pulling the covers up over her head. “Completely screwed.”
+
“So what do you have to say for yourselves?” Her mom asks as soon as they appear in the kitchen door and stand in front of her, shifting from side to side nervously. She’d almost had to drag Santana in by her arm, but when she’d realised that meant they’d be touching where Brittany’s mom could see Santana had swatted hands away, holding her head up defiantly and taking a step before she’d followed her through the door.
Brittany tries to ignore the headache hiding in her temples and think of something to say that isn’t, “I’m sorry my girlfriend had me pressed up against a wall,” but Santana beats her to it, breathing hitching in her throat as she starts to speak.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Pierce,” Santana says, looking more contrite than Santana has ever seen her. “It was totally inappropriate, and I know you trust us and we betrayed that trust-“
Her mom holds up her hand and Santana cuts off at once, glancing at Brittany as she pales under her mom’s gaze. “Brittany?” Her mom says, turning to look at her. “Do you have anything to say?”
“We won’t do it again?” Brittany tries, fighting hard to keep from smiling as the lie leaves her lips. She hangs her head as her mom looks at her, waiting. “I’m sorry.”
Her mom sighs and her eyes soften a little, “I expect better from both of you than coming home drunk. I know you’re going to college, and I’m not naïve, but you have to look after yourselves better than that.”
Santana’s head kind of snaps up while her mom is talking, and she glances at Brittany sideways, one eyebrow quirked and a question behind her eyes. Brittany nods a little because she caught it too, before she says, “You’re mad because we were drunk?” slowly and carefully, like her mom might startle.
Her mom just stares at her, and then over at Santana, eyes narrowing when both of them look suddenly relieved.
“You weren’t mad because we were making out and stuff?” Brittany can feel herself blushing but forces herself to meet her mom’s gaze, waiting for her to say something.
“You were having trouble standing up, you are underage, and I could smell the tequila from the top of the stairs,” her mom says, eyebrows rising incredulously. “And you think I was angry that you were kissing your girlfriend?”
“Oh,” Santana says softly beside her, the kind of noise you make when you finally work out the answer to a really hard riddle, but Brittany doesn’t think her mom hears her.
“You’re going to college tomorrow, and you were drunk last night. You were okay but you’re going to be in California and then you won’t be walking down three streets to get home, and you won’t always be together. I need you two to be smarter than that and to take better care of yourselves, okay? You’re both still so young and-“
“Mom,” Brittany says, not sure what she’s going to say but needing to say something, because she hates seeing that look in her mom’s eyes, and it’s only really starting to sink in that they’re actually leaving tomorrow and they won’t be back until Winter break.
“We’ll totally take care of each other,” Santana says once it’s obvious Brittany isn’t going to say anything else. “We always take care of each other, Mrs. Pierce. I’m sorry I didn’t do that last night.” She swallows and takes a step closer, “We’ll do better, I promise.”
Brittany holds her breath, waiting for her mom to say something, watching them both stare at each other, Santana with her jaw set trying to look brave while her mom’s expression turns from love to pride to heartbreak and back almost faster than she can follow.
She wants to say that she can look after herself and that Santana can too, that they look after each other because they want to not because they have to, that she knows they messed up a little but that they’ll be okay, and she watches her mom nod as her eyes soften and she starts to smile.
“I’m sorry,” her mom says, shaking her head. “I know this is supposed to be a happy time for you. I just worry about you-about both of you-so much. You’re still my baby, Brittany. You always will be.”
“It’s okay, mom,” Brittany says, stepping closer to pull her into a hug, feeling her mom’s arms come up to wrap around her at once, just like when she was little. “I think you can have summer sadness too.”
+
Santana’s mom calls while they’re slumped on the sofa eating cereal from the box and watching cartoons, and she’s so loud Santana has to turn the volume down on her phone, rubbing her head and wincing as she listens to her. Santana doesn’t really say anything, just kind of grunts in agreement down the phone and when she hangs up she grimaces at Brittany and says, “I gotta go home. Abuela’s coming over and my dad somehow managed to take the day off work. I completely forgot and I’m already late.”
“That’s okay,” Brittany says, climbing to her feet and pulling Santana up after her. “The last day should be family day, I think.”
Santana glances at her and doesn’t say anything, following her to the door and picking her purse up from where she left it next to Brittany’s the night before. It still feels like she’s going to say to something, and Brittany peers at her for a minute, trying to see what’s hiding behind her eyes, but Santana blinks and pushes her glasses further up on her nose, using them as an excuse to squirm away.
“Have a good day, sweetheart,” Brittany says, pulling her into a hug so tight she can feel Santana’s heartbeat against her chest.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Santana says against her ear, and when she pulls back to smile at her, her expression is kind of surprised like she’s only really hearing the words for the first time even though she’s the one saying them.
“We’re leaving tomorrow, San.” Brittany grins, wide and easy. She thinks her smile might be infectious because Santana starts to grin too, like they’re sharing a secret. “Can you believe it? We won’t be home for months.”
Santana glances around them like she’s checking if they’re alone, and then she leans in to whisper, “No matter where I am, I’m always at home when I’m with you,” and Brittany feels her breath catch in her throat.
No one ever believes how sweet Santana can be, but it’s the moments like this, when she says the ridiculous things that Brittany has always loved best and kept locked in her heart, the moments that make her fall in love all over again, that Brittany treasures as the special parts of Santana that only she gets to see.
“San,” Brittany murmurs, cupping her face in her hands and kissing her sort of desperately, trying to put everything she doesn’t know how to say into the contact, thumbs pressing into her cheeks as she tries to breathe her in.
They kiss for long moments, and Brittany thinks somewhere in the back of her mind how it might be their last kiss in Lima for months, and that makes her kiss Santana harder, until they’re both gasping for air and leaning into each other, holding on like they never want to let go.
Part Five