Fic: i-80 west, part five a (Brittany/Santana, R)
Title: i-80 west, part five a
Characters: Brittany/Santana (w/ Quinn, Sam)
Length: 20k
Rating: R
Summary: Brittany and Santana graduate high school and spend one last summer in Lima before leaving for college.
A/N: Super thanks to JJ for not only the usual cheerleading and betaing, but also story time and research assistance. I also have to say thanks to my girlfriend, who puts up with a lot, not least me writing when I should be hanging out with her.
She wakes up an hour before her alarm is due to go off and it takes her a moment to remember why Brittany isn’t next to her, arm slung around her waist and face buried in her hair. It feels kind of wrong that she isn’t there, and she rolls over and kicks her legs out, like if only she moves enough she’ll find Brittany hiding at the edge of the bed.
She stretches her hands out in both directions and finds nothing but cold sheets, and she sighs and opens her eyes, finally admitting defeat. She reaches for her cell phone automatically, and flicks her thumb against the screen as she rolls over onto her belly, grinning when she sees she already has nine texts from Brittany.
are you awake? i can’t sleep xxx
(5.23am)
---
saaaaaaaan xxx
(5.35am)
---
ur so rude
(5.45am)
---
ok not really xxxxxx :)
(5.47am)
---
lord tubbington is trying to pack himself into my boxes :(
(6.01am)
---
now ash is too xxx
(6.06am)
---
some of my boxes broke, can u bring more? xxx
(6.08am)
---
its ok my mom fixed it xxx
(6.19am)
---
SAN WAKE UP WE’RE GOING TO CALIFORNIA AND I LOVE U :) :) :) xxxxx
(6.24am)
---
Santana laughs into her pillow and taps her fingers against the screen quickly, and then grins even harder when the reply comes back almost at once.
i love u too u dork xxxxx
(6.33am)
---
ps we should probs check the trunk for pint sized before we leave
(6.33am)
---
and tubbs
(6.33am)
---
:D :D :D hi sleepyhead xxx
(6.34am)
---
+
She showers on autopilot, almost letting the too hot water burn her skin because she’s just staring at the tiles and trying to process the fact that this is the last shower she’ll take in Lima until December at least. She didn’t know she could miss something so commonplace as a shower, and by the time she’s stepped out of it her skin is red and tender all over, so that the towel feels like it’s scratching her skin, like she’s shedding something she doesn’t need anymore.
She feels like she’s been reborn, or whatever cliché it is people use at times like these.
She eats the bowl of cereal her mom hands her without tasting it, and when she realises it’s a bowl of Cheerios she laughs so hard she nearly drops the bowl. Her laughter sounds wrong somehow, like there’s some weird edge in it she’s never heard before, just a little bit hysterical and higher pitched than usual, and her mom stares at her for a long moment before asking if she’s okay.
Her dad insists on carrying all her boxes downstairs for her, and she packs them into her car carefully, making sure there’s still room for Brittany’s things. He reaches out to touch her head more than once, the same way he had when she was a kid, palm warm and comforting against her scalp, and she wonders if he even knows he’s doing it.
Nothing feels real, and she sees everything like it’s happening to someone else instead of her, hovering over it all just trying to remember how it looks.
Her mom brushes her fingers against her arm every time they walk past each other and she barely feels it. It’s like her arm doesn’t belong to her, like the synapses in her brain and nerves aren’t firing properly and everything’s on a delay.
It’s not until she slams the trunk shut that she starts to feel the excitement running through her, at the way her fingertips tingle and itch every time she touches something and remembers it might be the last time she does.
She walks up the stairs to her room slowly, telling her parents she just needs to check she didn’t forget anything, fingers trailing up the banister reverently with each step she takes. She stands in the doorway, mostly empty now but for the odd things she’s leaving behind; a couple of books sitting forlornly on her shelves, the Stanford acceptance letter still pinned to her noticeboard.
She lets herself just breathe for a minute, eyes lingering on the way the sunlight filters through the window onto the bed, and suddenly all she can see is blonde hair and smiling blue eyes, a whispered gasp in her ear, the feel of lips against hers, warm and familiar.
She hears a door slam downstairs and comes back to herself, and it takes her a second to realise she’s hugging herself, fingers curled into her shirt tightly, and then she drops her arms to her sides self consciously even though there’s no-one there to see her.
She doesn’t really know why she’s here because she checked she had everything the night before, checking off the list she’s had on her desk for more than a month and stacking the maps she’d printed by her car keys in the bowl downstairs.
It isn’t possible for her to be more ready for this moment, and yet she still feels completely unprepared, the way she did when Brittany asked her to dance at prom, or when they’d been about to go on stage at Nationals. She feels like she’s missing something, only she doesn’t know what it is.
She doesn’t know what makes her do it, but she crosses the room to her desk and reaches into the back of the bottom drawer and feels around, just in case there’s something stuck at the back, and her fingers find what feels like a photograph wedged into some small gap in the wood. She tugs, curiosity getting the better of her, and after a moment it comes loose and she pulls it out carefully, fingers curled around the paper.
She realises what it is a second before she smoothes it open, and sure enough there’s she and Brittany scrunched together in one sleeping bag on a camping trip they’d taken with Brittany’s parents when they were eight years old, grinning and laughing at Brittany’s dad as he’d taken the photo. They both look tiny, all elbows and angles, little Brittany pressed into little Santana’s back with her arms wrapped around her neck and her chin resting on Santana’s shoulder like she never wants to let go.
Even then they kind of looked like two halves of the same whole, perfect and innocent, ready to spend their whole lives together.
“Are you ready to go?” Her mom’s voice behind her startles her and she turns quickly, hand closing around the picture tightly. “Did you find something else you wanted to take?”
Santana shakes her head mutely and glances down at the picture in her hand and then across to her noticeboard where there’s still one picture of her and Brittany from a month before, sharing a sun lounger by Quinn’s pool. “I just need to-“ Santana trails off and reaches to pluck a pin from the cork, trying to flatten the picture again from where it was caught in the drawer, then pushes the pin back in delicately, trapping the photograph next to its newer twin.
She smiles at them there, eight years old and eighteen, smiling and together, and nods her head.
“Okay,” she says, “Let’s go.”
+
She says goodbye to her parents on the porch, her mom wrapping her in a tearful hug while her dad puts a hand on her back and demands that she recite the route they’re taking from memory in this nervous voice she’s never heard him use before. Her mom’s starting to sob into her hair, and it actually helps a little that she has to pry her off and deposit her in her dad’s arms just so she can get in the car because it means she can think about something else other than the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes and how small her mom looks suddenly, leaning against her dad for support.
“You better call every time you cross state lines!” Her dad says, mouth tight as he smiles, wrapping an arm around her mother’s shoulders to pull her close.
“I’ll call you from Indiana when we stop for lunch,” Santana says, and the words feel like magic on her tongue.
“And every night,” her mom says, words muffled from the way her head is pressed into Santana’s dad’s chest. “And I want to talk to Brittany too.”
Santana turns the key in the ignition and feels the car rumble into life, and then she’s looking at her house, and looking at her parents, and saying “I love you” and “I’ll be fine” while her mom cries and her dad blinks, and then she pulls out of the drive and watches it all disappear.
+
All the way to Brittany’s house she feels like she’s blinking and missing things, like one second she’s pulling out of her street, the next she’s turning on to Brittany’s block and then she’s in the driveway without any real memory of having got there. She just sort of sits there, knuckles white where they grip the wheel, and she takes a second to rub her hands over her face before she gets out of the car, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes until everything’s blurry and she has to wait for it to snap back into focus.
She walks up the driveway slowly, breathing hard like her lungs can’t take in enough oxygen. It’s stupid, it’s so stupid, but she feels like this is the last time she’ll ever be here even though she knows that it isn’t. They’ll be home for winter break, and it’s not like Brittany’s house won’t be here when they get back, but it all feels so final somehow, in a way she can’t really put her finger on so she settles instead for just trying to take it all in.
Her eyes flick from Brittany’s house to the huge old tree in the yard, that she’d actually climbed up a couple of times sophomore year to get to Brittany’s window and into her bed, and then to Brittany’s mom’s car sitting in front of the garage, the same one that used to ferry them around before they got their licences, sitting pinky-linked in the back seat.
She comes to a stop and takes a breath, feeling the air catch in her lungs.
There are some things she can’t take with her, no matter how much she wants to.
She’s not sure how long she stands there, but when she moves again she finds boxes on the porch and the front door open, and she pauses awkwardly, wondering if she should knock or just go in. The decision’s taken away from her by the sight of Ashley sitting on the bottom step of the staircase with a scowl on her face, kicking her feet against the floor.
“What’s wrong, Pint-sized?” The words are out and she’s moving before she thinks about it, coming to a stop in front of her and moving to crouch down so they’re at the same height. “Where is everyone?”
“Upstairs packing,” Ashley says sullenly, kicking a little harder at the floor and narrowly avoiding Santana. “And nothing’s wrong.”
“Really?” Santana reaches out a hand to her slowly, not really sure what makes her do it but just because it’s the only thing she can think to do. “Cuz it looks like something’s wrong.”
Ashley’s eyes finally lift up from the floor long enough to glare at her-Santana’s pretty sure she stole that expression from her, as well as the scowl-and pushes her hand away. “Go away,” she says, looking back down at the floor, “I don’t like you.”
“What did I do?” Santana asks, wounded.
Ashley mumbles something that Santana doesn’t catch, and when she reaches for her again Ashley shakes her head and pushes her away, turning to run up the stairs and nearly colliding with Brittany coming the other way with a box in her arms.
“Ash, stop being a brat!” Brittany shouts after her, coming to a stop half up the stairs and turning to watch her go so that Santana isn’t even sure if she’s seen her there. She climbs the stairs quickly and quietly as she can, until she’s on the step just below Brittany’s and smiling up at her, reaching to take the box from her hands.
Brittany starts a little but recovers quickly, mouth stretching into a smile at the sight of her there, her eyes going soft the way they only really do when Santana does something Brittany thinks is cute, which Santana figures is carrying the box but, whatever, it looked heavy, so.
“Hey,” Brittany says softly.
“Hi,” Santana grins back, and they stand there just grinning at each other like they’re sharing a secret, like there’s nothing and no one else in the world, until Mrs. Pierce appears at the top stairs and asks them what they’re doing.
+
It doesn’t take them long to pack the car up. Mr. Pierce helps them shift things around so there’s plenty of room, and Santana’s kind of amazed at how much they can fit in her trunk. She slams it shut with Brittany next to her and glances sideways to find her staring at it with the same slightly confused expression that she’s been wearing all morning, like nothing makes sense no matter how long she looks at it and she doesn’t know what to do.
“Are you okay?” Santana whispers, watching as Brittany’s eyes find her own and she nods softly.
“I think someone put the confundus charm on me,” Brittany says softly, looking a little bit dazed and reaching over to take Santana’s hand and tangle their fingers together.
Santana’s a little embarrassed at the way she grabs onto Brittany’s hand tightly, like it’s the only thing stopping her from floating away, and she forces herself to relax her grip as she nods, “Yeah. Yeah, I think they got me too.”
Brittany turns her whole body to get a better look at her, leaning into her a little to nudge her with her shoulder. “You’re my awesome beautiful, super smart, crazy hot girlfriend, right?”
Santana smiles a little in spite of herself. “I’m your girlfriend,” she says carefully, shaking her head a little at the rest.
“And we’re going to California?” Brittany says, pulling her face into a mock frown. “I got that right?”
“I’m your girlfriend and we’re going to California,” Santana says, and suddenly it’s the easiest thing in the world. She watches the fake confusion fall from Brittany’s face and feels some of the anxiousness that’s been tugging at the very edges of her all morning drift away with it.
“Then I think the charm is already wearing off,” Brittany nudges her with her shoulder again and grins, tugging on her hand a little. “As long as we remember who we are and where we’re going? We’ll be okay.”
“I am so in love with you,” Santana murmurs because it’s never been more true, leaning in to press a kiss to her jaw quickly before Brittany’s parents notice.
“Just don’t forget it,” Brittany says with a soft eyed smile, and Santana nods, sure she’s making the easiest promise in the world.
+
Brittany pulls Santana with her when she goes to her parents, and Santana almost doesn’t want to go with her, fairly sure that Brittany should get to say goodbye to her parents alone the same way she did, but Brittany won’t let go so she has no choice but to follow her back towards the porch, watching the way Brittany’s parents wear the same sad-proud expression hers did and how Mrs. Pierce is starting to sniff loudly, tears spilling out of the corners of her eyes.
Ashley still hasn’t come back, and Santana watches Brittany smile at her dad and hug her mom tightly, pulling back to murmur variations of the things her parents had said to her, before Mrs. Pierce chokes out a sob and pulls Santana into a hug before she knows what’s happening.
“Mom,” Brittany says with a little bit of a laugh when Santana gasps for air, “She can’t breathe.”
Mrs. Pierce’s arms are tight around her, and Santana’s arms come up to wrap around her shyly, still a little bit awkward, just like every other time Brittany’s mom has hugged her this summer.
“Promise me you’ll look after her,” Mrs. Pierce whispers into her ear so no-one else can hear, and Santana feels her heart squeeze painfully at the way Brittany’s mom’s breath hitches on the words.
“Promise me you’ll look after each other,” Mrs. Pierce whispers again, just before she pulls away to find Santana’s eyes.
Part of her wants to say how Mrs. Pierce doesn’t even have to ask, that she doesn’t have to promise anything, because looking after Brittany is just sort of her default mode of being, and Brittany always, always looks after her even when Santana doesn’t even know there’s anything wrong, but the way Mrs. Pierce asked, like she was trusting Santana with the most precious thing in the world, makes her nod her head and wipe furiously at her eyes against the tears threatening to fall.
“I promise,” Santana whispers softly, while Brittany looks backwards and forwards between them curiously, and Mrs. Pierce shuts her eyes for a moment and nods, squeezing Santana’s shoulder with the hand she still has there before she lets go.
Santana takes a step back, swallowing against the lump in her throat while Brittany hugs her dad. Mr. Pierce looks at Santana for a moment after he lets go of Brittany, and Santana fights the urge to fidget and toe the ground with her shoe, forcing herself to stand there and meet his eyes steadily, unsure if she should say anything or not. The moment stretches, and then he holds out his hand to shake Santana’s without saying anything, an unreadable expression on his face as Santana takes his hand slowly.
She isn’t sure why but she feels like she’s passed some kind of test, and she stands a little taller as they shake hands, his large hand covering her smaller one, calloused and warm around her fingers.
“Drive safely, Santana,” he says as he lets go, eyes fixed on her face carefully, and Santana nods and meets his eyes.
“Yes sir,” she says seriously, voice coming out a little higher than she intended. His stern look softens into a smile and Santana feels herself smile back without even realising she’s doing it.
“Dad…” Brittany laughs a little and shakes her head, one hand snaking out to reach for Santana’s. “Don’t be weird.”
Santana ducks her head and tries to wipe the smile off her face, but she thinks Brittany’s already seen it because she’s giving her that look that makes Santana blush and look away, and she wonders if there’ll ever be a day when Brittany stops looking at her like that, pure love shining in her eyes.
“Are you leaving now?” a tiny voice says suddenly, and when Santana’s looks, she sees Ashley peering around the doorframe, half sheepish, and half angry.
Brittany nods at her and Ashley kicks her foot against the frame of the door, a little harder than strictly necessary. She swallows, and when she speaks the words come out a little stilted, like she’s trying hard to keep her voice steady. “Couldn’t you-“ she scowls again but Santana can see the tears in her eyes now, “Couldn’t you just stay instead?”
“Oh honey,” Mrs. Pierce says, but before anyone has time to move Ashley is running straight for Brittany and Santana, dodging round Brittany’s arms and slamming into Santana’s legs, wrapping her arms around Santana’s waist and pressing her face into her stomach.
Santana reels a little where she stands, blinking down at Ashley’s mop of blonde hair helplessly, like she doesn’t really see it. Brittany’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and Santana’s fairly sure she’s wearing an identical expression, and she slides her arms around Ashley’s shoulders loosely and pats her back carefully, like she might break.
She can feel rather than see the way she’s crying against her, face buried in her jacket, and she tightens her grip around her and tries to rub comforting circles into her back. “Hey, come on. We’ll be back before you know it.”
“Sister stealer,” Ashley mumbles, glaring up at her through tear-filled eyes. “I don’t like you.”
“Then why are you hugging me?” Santana asks, eyebrows shooting up.
“Shut up,” Ashley says after a moment, like it’s some huge insult, and Santana has to work hard to hide the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Brittany’s parents are exchanging amused glances, and Brittany’s face stretches into a smile as she watches the two of them, Ashley still tucked against Santana’s front.
“I don’t like you either, Pint-sized,” Santana tells her seriously, trying to make her eyes innocent but failing, because she’s being kind of adorable the way Brittany used to be when they were little, and Santana was never much good at not losing whatever serious expression she was trying to maintain whenever that happened.
Ashley squints up at her and hiccups a little, eyes still narrowed, “Good.”
“Good,” Santana echoes, and pulls her closer.
+
It feels like no time passes until they’re leaving; one minute Brittany is trying to prise Ashley off of Santana and swinging her around in a hug, then she’s hugging her parents again while they promise to drive safe and call every chance they get, and the next they’re buckled into their seats as Santana turns the key in the ignition and waits for it to catch.
She exhales and twists her hands round the wheel, squeezing tightly before looking over at Brittany, “Should we-should we go?” She swallows and peers out the window at Brittany’s mom and dad, Ashley sandwiched between them with the scowl back on her face, rubbing furiously at her eyes to try and wipe the tears away.
Brittany reaches across to trace her cheekbone with her fingers and it pulls Santana back to them, back to the car, and the way her GPS is telling her follow the road until she has to turn left and then she swallows again against the sudden scratchiness in her throat.
“Are you ready, Britty?”
“Let’s go, baby,” Brittany whispers, leaning forward to press their lips together softly, quick and warm for just a second. “Let’s go have an adventure.”
“Okay,” she takes another breath as her foot hits the gas.
+
Santana pulls out of Brittany’s driveway slowly, watching Brittany twist round in her seat and lean out of the window to wave, until they have to turn at the end of the street and her house disappears from view. She kind of feels like her heart is trying to jump out of her throat, especially when Brittany’s hand slides over the console to rest on her knee and squeeze, like it’s the only place it belongs. Santana glances at her GPS nervously, even though she knows the route out of Lima by heart, and she glances sideways at Brittany when they have to stop at a red light and finds her watching her, eyes light blue and shining.
Her chest tightens the further they get from home, and they’re not even out of the city limits before her hands start shaking, just a little, where they grip the wheel. She hopes Brittany won’t notice, and then realises how ridiculous that thought is, because Brittany notices everything, including things she doesn’t even notice herself, and sure enough Brittany’s hand on her knee squeezes a little, and then she murmurs, “What’s wrong?”
“We’re leaving,” Santana whispers softly, as the buildings start to thin out and turn into fields, stretching on and on. “Britt, we’re leaving.”
Brittany laughs, really laughs, and Santana risks a glance at her out of the corner of her eye. “I know, baby. I know.”
Brittany grins at her until Santana starts to grin back, and then she’s flooring the gas pedal as they leave Lima behind, hurtling towards route 30 as Brittany turns the volume up on the stereo, until it’s so loud they can’t hear the sound of the engine, until they can’t even hear themselves think, until Brittany grabs her hand and they’re laughing and singing and leaving everything familiar behind.
+
She’s been out of state before, on vacations with her parents and for Nationals with Cheerios and glee, and she had Brittany with her for some of those, although mostly it was before they were really together so sometimes she thinks it shouldn’t count. The point is, this shouldn’t feel so special, and it shouldn’t make her shiver a little when Brittany leans over and says, “I think we’re in Indiana now,” with this little bit of wonder in her voice.
It does though, and she doesn’t know if it’s because they’re alone without parents or teachers or their friends for really the first time in their lives, or if it’s because Brittany keeps looking over at her with this huge smile on her face that never seems to fade, singing along to the random selection of songs that Santana’s ipod is playing when she knows the words and bopping her head along to the ones she doesn’t.
She doesn’t want to speak in case she breaks the spell, and she loses track of how long they stay like that, Brittany holding onto her hand until Santana needs to use her turn signals or mess with some control on her dash, and then tangling their fingers together again as soon as she’s done.
+
They’ve just skirted the edges of Fort Wayne when Brittany lets go of her hand to shift in her seat and reach for her bag on the backseat, and Santana side eyes her a little and slows down, watching the way the seatbelt isn’t quite around Brittany the way it’s supposed to be.
“Britt, what are you doing?”
Brittany mumbles something Santana doesn’t catch, and when she turns back around she has her camera in her hands, fingers twisting the cap off delicately as she brings it up to eye level and peers through the viewfinder. “I told Quinn I’d document the trip,” she says as she squints through the camera at the fields outside the window as though she’s sizing them up.
“I hope Quinn likes fields,” Santana mutters, checking her mirrors as she switches lanes.
She hears Brittany laugh, “There are other things to take pictures of.”
“Like wh-” she starts to say, and then Brittany’s grinning at her as the flash goes off and all she can see is stars.
“Jesus,” Santana complains, blinking her eyes in turns so that she always has one on the road. “Are you trying to kill us?”
Brittany ignores her and turns the dial so that she can see the photo on the screen, and then she bites her lip to keep from laughing. “I think I got your good side,” she says flatly, grinning even wider when Santana looks offended.
“All my sides are good sides.”
“Um,” Brittany says through her laughter, and then ducks when Santana’s hand reaches out to swat at her.
“Keep your hands on the wheel,” Brittany admonishes her in her softest voice, and Santana rolls her eyes a little as she does what she’s told.
“Good,” Brittany says, lifting the camera to her eye again. “Now let me get the good sides.”
Santana wears her Brittany-smile and waits for the shutter to click.
+
They stop for gas in Merriville, mostly because they’re hungry and Santana figures she might as well kill two birds with one stone, and she fills the tank while Brittany goes to see what candy the gas station offers, even though there’s a hot dog place just next door that seems like a better idea.
She leans against the car when she’s done and waits for Brittany to come back, trying to catch sight of her and see what’s taking so long, but she can’t see her at all, and she pushes the momentary surge of panic away, because it’s not like she could be anywhere else.
She remembers the promise she made to Brittany’s mom, and bites her lip, just a little.
It’s still easy to remember the way she used to feel the year before, and even though she hasn’t felt like that for a long time, she can feel it all come back, as easy as slipping into an old coat.
She feels a little bit like she was waiting for the catch, and now she’s found it.
They’re going to California together.
She takes a step closer to the store anxiously and twists her hands together, searching for a glimpse of blonde hair.
Some part of her mind wonders if she’d feel the same way if they were still back in Lima, and she pushes the thought away because she’d know where to look for Brittany in Lima; she’d be at the dance studio or the Lima Bean or in Quinn’s backyard next to the pool, grinning at her in a bikini.
She doesn’t know where to look when she has the whole world to search.
She shakes her head to try and clear it, aware she’s being ridiculous and that Brittany is on the other side of the wall, buying Dots or whatever candy has caught her eye, and she leans back against her car, twirling her keys round her finger as she waits, forcing herself to just breathe and wait.
It feels like forever until the gas station door swings open, and then Brittany is in front of her, smiling and perfect in a way Santana will never really get over, clutching two oversized slushies in her hands and waving them in front of her. “I got red and blue,” she says, as though Santana hadn’t just been having a minor panic attack at her extended absence. “I wasn’t sure which one you’d want.”
“Blue,” Santana says, embarrassed at the way her voice comes out, just a little bit cracked. She coughs and reaches for it, brushing her fingers against Brittany’s a little longer than she has to, just to make sure she’s really there.
Brittany peers at her as she hands it over but Santana avoids her eyes, and she Brittany looks away too, reaching behind her to open the door for her. “Wanna go get a hot dog?” she asks quietly, eyes serious when Santana finally meets them, and Santana nods and climbs into her seat.
+
They get a dog each and split some fries, and even years of Cheerios conditioning isn’t enough to make her feel guilty about that. They eat in the car so they can drink their slushies too, and Santana catches Brittany sneaking glances at her like she might catch her feelings on her face more readily while she’s distracted by her food.
Santana picks at the fries delicately and tries to put a smile on her face, which is made harder by the fact that her panic faded while they were buying their food and now she’s mostly embarrassed by the way she acted. If she freaked out when Brittany was ten feet away in a gas station how will she act when she’s in Berkeley?
She glances sideways and finds Brittany watching her again, and she feels the first genuine smile tugging at her lips at the sight of Brittany attacking her hot dog, ketchup and mustard smeared at the corner of her mouth.
“Baby, you have a little something,” Santana wipes at her own mouth to show her, and Brittany grins, her eyes flashing.
“Here?” She asks, sticking her finger in the ketchup before poking at the opposite side of her mouth, so she looks like she has a tomato coloured grin.
“Not quite,” Santana says, pointing to her own mouth again.
“Oh,” Brittany says, sticking her finger in the sauce again. “You mean here.” She rubs at her lips with her finger until Santana laughs and drops the fries she’s holding. “Did I get it?”
“Not even close,” Santana says shaking her head at how ridiculous she is. She reaches for a napkin, “Want me to?”
Brittany nods and tilts her chin up, the better for Santana to see, and Santana laughs at the look on her face. “Okay,” she says, and then she drops the napkin and leans forward to kiss the mess from her lips, sticky and sweet as Brittany hums into her mouth in surprise. She sucks it away slowly, tip of her tongue flicking out against Brittany’s lips, and feels Brittany lean into her, seeking more contact.
“Did you get it all?” Brittany asks when they break apart, licking her lips as though she’s checking, eyes never leaving Santana’s.
“You’re good,” Santana grins and picks up another fry.
“Oh,” Brittany says, glancing down at the half eaten hot dog in her lap before looking up at Santana again. Quick as a flash, her finger reaches down to scoop up more of the goopy ketchup-mustard mixture, and then she’s rubbing it on her bottom lip and grinning wickedly. “How about now?”
Santana pretends to sigh as she leans in but it’s undone by the smile on her face, her fingers finding the hinge of Brittany’s jaw as she tilts her head up again. “You missed a bit,” she says against her lips, and tries her best to kiss it all away.
+
They talk about inconsequential things while they drive, both still a little bit in awe of what they’re doing and where they’re going. Brittany chews at the straw in her slushie and holds on to Santana’s hand whenever she can, rubbing her thumb into the space between the knuckles, just because.
They put Santana’s ipod on shuffle and make fun of her music selection, that ranges from Billie Holliday to Amy Winehouse, from Lady Gaga to Nicki Minaj, from Oh Land to Grimes and back again. After a while, Brittany asks her why every song on her ipod is being sung by a woman with a bit of a smirk, and Santana laughs when Brittany starts swiping through the albums to try and find one that isn’t.
“Shut up,” Santana says, “Or I’ll put Closer to Fine on.”
Brittany just looks at her steadily, eyes soft in the way that means she’s never loved her so much, and then she says, “How did you ever convince people you were straight?” and Santana has to clutch the wheel to keep from swerving as she bursts out laughing and gasps for air.
+
They get to Davenport during rush hour, and their route takes them through the whole city to get to the motel Santana picked out for them, so they end up sitting in traffic and inching forward slowly, Brittany’s feet starting to get twitchy the way they do whenever she’s forced to sit still for so long.
“We have to stay in this motel?” Brittany asks, as she watches another motel go past the window and stares after it a little wistfully.
“It’s on my list,” Santana says, like that should be enough, and Brittany nods, accepting her answer. It’s not like she picked the place arbitrarily; it’s close to food and a gas station and close to i-80 so they can leave easily in the morning, but right now, staring at tail lights and feeling like they’ve gone nowhere in the last half hour, that seems like a pretty poor trade.
She huffs out a lungful of air and watches Brittany roll the window down and stick her head out as she glances at her GPS again to see how much longer they have left.
“Ten minutes, my ass,” she mutters as she inches forward again and then Brittany leans back in her seat and giggles, covering her hand with her own.
+
They have to drive past what feels like all the restaurants in Iowa before they get to the motel, and it takes all of Santana’s self control not to pull over and grab a burger to wait out the traffic.
There’s a tiny part of her mind that mutters something about hot dogs and burgers not being the kinds of things a grown up person should eat all the time but she pushes it away, because fuck it, what’s the point of college if you can’t eat shitty food all day.
The motel parking lot is almost empty, and Santana pulls into a spot close to the building and reaches for her overnight bag on the back seat, waiting for Brittany to do the same. Brittany tries to take her hand as they head to the desk, and Santana hates herself a little bit when she links her arm instead with an apologetic glance sideways.
She watches Brittany hide her surprise and then pull her arm closer, until their hips are bumping with every step they take and they’re both smiling conspiratorially. When they get to the door, Santana holds it open for Brittany and watches Brittany’s eyes soften as she steps past her, waiting for her on the other side.
The clerk sees them coming and smiles politely, asking if they have a reservation and Santana shakes her head and asks for a room, glancing sideways at Brittany when she says, “A Queen is fine,” a little nervously, like she’s half expecting him to refuse her.
She kind of feels like she’s trying to get away with something she can’t really put into words, and waits for the clerk to call her on it. He doesn’t though, just nods and taps away at the computer, and Brittany nudges her with her hip and shoots her a shy smile as she fiddles with the strap on the bag slung across her shoulders. Santana charges the room to her credit card and ignores Brittany’s whispered, “I’ll get dinner,” as they take the key and go in the direction the clerk tells them, back outside and up the stairs to room 204.
Brittany leans into her back while she fiddles with the key and tries to get the door open, pressing kisses to her neck as she wraps an arm around her stomach in a way that’s nothing but distracting, and when she finally gets the door open they practically fall through it, Santana stumbling forward until Brittany pulls her back up with the arm still around her waist.
“Careful,” Brittany whispers into her ear, and Santana shivers a little at the feel of it, hot and breathy just for her. She leans back into her, letting her hands come up to tangle into Brittany’s hair as Brittany walks them forwards so she can shut the door.
“So what do we do now?” Brittany asks, kissing the curve of Santana’s shoulder, and sliding her other arm around her waist.
Santana spins in the circle of her arms and pulls the bag over her head and drops it beside them, shrugging her own off her shoulder as she does so. Brittany raises her eyebrows as Santana reaches for her hand and pulls her towards the bed, laughing a little at the look on her face. “Not that,” she says softly, flopping down onto her back and pulling Brittany down next to her, rolling her eyes at Brittany’s fake pout. Brittany snuggles into her side and rests her chin on her hands on Santana’s chest, watching her expectantly.
“Just look where we are,” Santana says, playing with the ends of Brittany’s hair with one hand as she waves the other around like she’s showing off some kind of prize.
“In a crappy motel in Iowa?” Brittany asks, wrinkling her nose a little.
Santana rolls onto her side and props herself up on an elbow, dislodging Brittany. “No, I mean just- We’re in Iowa. And earlier we were in Illinois, and Indiana, and before that we were in Ohio.”
“And we still have a bunch of states to go...” Brittany trails off uncertainly, and Santana can tell she still hasn’t quite got it, that she can’t quite feel the excitement and the fear in the air, mixing together so she can’t tell one from the other, ever since they left Brittany’s driveway.
“We’re going to California,” Santana tries again, only that doesn’t really help, and Brittany laughs a little as she reaches over to tuck a strand of Santana’s hair behind her ear.
“Yeah, I know. Did you forget? Did the confundus charm come back? Should I check for dark wizards under the bed?” She makes a show of looking around the room and Santana laughs and wraps a hand around her back to pull her closer, until they’re pressed up against each other with no space between them, her face buried in Brittany’s hair as Brittany’s lips graze her neck, so that she can feel every breath she takes, warm as she breathes out and then cool when she breathes in against her neck.
“You’re gonna have to stop being surprised every time we go somewhere new,” Brittany whispers against her skin, but Santana can hear the warmth and affection in it, and when she pulls back a little to look at her, Brittany just smiles fondly and presses a kiss to her forehead.
“But I’m going somewhere new with you,” Santana says after a moment, like that should explain it all, and watches as Brittany’s eyes go impossibly deep.
“Santana,” she murmurs softly, and it sounds like a prayer, fingers brushing against her jaw softly as her eyes search her face for something Santana doesn’t know, finally settling on hers as Brittany shakes her head gently, like she doesn’t know what to do with her.
Santana tries to look away, but Brittany pushes her hand between them and hooks her fingers round her jaw to bring her back, and then she laughs this incredulous sort of laugh and leans forward to kiss her, using her hand to keep her steady.
Santana loses herself to the feel of Brittany’s lips and the warmth of her all down the front of her, lets Brittany suck her bottom lip between both of hers and brush her tongue into her mouth as her fingers stroke steadily against her cheek. She tangles her hands into Brittany’s hair and presses closer, Brittany’s hand warm and solid in the small of her back as it inches under her clothes, skin against skin.
She keeps it there, palm flat against her spine, holding her close as the kiss deepens and slows, Brittany’s lips meeting hers harder and longer, like she’s trying to put some emotion into it that Santana doesn’t understand because the other thing she ever feels when Brittany kisses her is loved, and that doesn’t grow or lessen depending on the kiss. She wants to tell her that but Brittany’s lips stop her words, and a moment later they’re gone, the thought forgotten along with everything else in her head.
It feels sort of magical, like they’re in their own special world and there’s nothing and no-one else, which is silly because they’re only in a cheap hotel room in Iowa, lying on a lumpy bed with scratchy sheets, but it feels like it’s theirs in a way she can’t really explain.
Brittany kisses her softly, lips barely grazing hers, tiny little kisses that Santana loves because they’re so uniquely Brittany, light and quick and then gone only to return a second later. She smiles into the kisses the same way Brittany does, laughing a little as Brittany starts to hum every time she presses their mouths together.
“Britt,” she murmurs between kisses, trying to ignore the way her stomach flips over when Brittany catches that place behind her ear with her fingertip, how she feels warmth pool low in her belly. “Britt, we should go eat.”
Brittany only pulls back far enough to bump their foreheads together and when Santana opens her eyes she’s so close that all she can see is clear blue. “You’re hungry?” she asks, and Santana hears the breathlessness in her voice and feels another pang run through her.
She presses a kiss to Brittany’s jaw and glances up at her through her lashes, “If we go out now,” she says shyly, watching Brittany’s eyes darken at the sound of her voice, low in her throat. “We have the whole rest of the night to-to...”
Brittany cuts her off with one last kiss before she rolls away from her and climbs off the bed, before leaning back in, one knee pressed into the mattress to offer Santana her hand and pull her to her feet.
+
They drive back the way they came, pointing out all the restaurants they passed on the way until one of them catches their eye and they end up at a Mexican place not far from where they’re staying. They get tacos and eat them slowly, sitting opposite each other in a booth and nudging their feet together under the table, exchanging shy glances over their food and laughing at nothing at all.
She leans across the table to steal some of Brittany’s food while she’s sipping her drink, and Brittany pretends to get all offended and knock her hand away, only Santana grabs it at the last second and tangles their fingers together, watching Brittany’s eyes get soft as she smiles shyly and pushes her plate towards her across the table, offering her another bite.
She thinks their waitress thinks they’re a little bit crazy, because she keeps shooting them these concerned looks whenever they bust up laughing, and after a while she starts skirting their table altogether until she has to come and take their plates away and ask if they want anything else.
Brittany tries to meet her eyes with her easy open smile but the woman avoids her gaze, stacking their dishes and wrapping her fingers around them carefully, and it’s only when she glances down at their still joined hands that Santana realises what her problem is, and then she slides her fingers out of Brittany’s and folds her hands in her lap, suddenly very interested in staring at the table as Brittany asks for the check.
Brittany tries to take her hand again while when they go to pay, but Santana wraps her arms around her middle instead and ignores the way Brittany’s face falls into a little bit of a frown. They pay in silence-true to her word back at the motel, Brittany hands over the cash before Santana has a chance to reach for her credit card-and it’s not until they’re outside that Brittany says anything.
“Are you okay?” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as they cross the parking lot, and Santana nods, just a little too quickly.
“Yeah,” she says softly, unlocking the car and opening the door, but Brittany tugs on her hand and spins her before she can climb inside, so that she’s leaning back against the seat with Brittany pressed up against her, feet either side of hers, her hands finding her hips easily.
“Hey,” Brittany says, leaning down a little to find her eyes, knocking her nose against hers and smiling until Santana does too. “That’s better,” she says softly, and leans in to press one chaste kiss to her lips. “Screw her,” she whispers when she pulls back, and waits for Santana to nod and scramble inside before she shuts the door.
+
She lets Brittany pull her from the car and up the stairs to their room when they get back to the motel, and it’s not until they’re cuddled up on the bed again, Brittany on her back while Santana snuggles into her side with her head on her chest, that she remembers she hasn’t called her parents yet even though she said she’d call them from Indiana and again when they got to Iowa.
She curses and pulls away from Brittany slowly, like she doesn’t want to, catching the little whine Brittany makes in the back of her throat as she watches her go.
“I forgot to call my mom,” Santana says, bending down on one knee to rummage through her bag. “She’s gonna kill me.”
She hadn’t bothered to take her cellphone to dinner, and when she pulls it out she has four missed calls from her parents, texts from Sam and Quinn, as well as two voicemails from her mom, one gently scolding, the other panicked and scared, begging Santana to call her as soon as she gets the message.
She straightens up and sits on the edge of the bed, back taut like a drawn bow string, staring at her screen like it’s some dangerous animal about to attack. After a second the weight on the bed shifts and then Brittany slides into place behind her, her legs either side of Santana’s hips, one arm around her waist as she rests her head on her shoulder and looks down at her phone, reading the messages over her shoulder.
She feels warm against her, and Santana feels herself relax into her just a little, the tension leaving her like Brittany is drawing poison from a wound.
She dials her home number quickly, like she’s ripping off a band-aid, wincing a little in anticipation when her mom answers on the second ring, almost as though she’d been waiting by the phone. She feels a twinge of guilt low in her stomach.
“Mom, it’s me,” she says, leaning back into Brittany and waiting for the shouting to start.
+
Once she’s calmed down, her mom makes her tell her about everywhere they’ve driven through, but there’s only so many words she knows to describe the way the fields they see out of the window all along the route look, and after she says “Green,” for the fourth time she can practically hear her mom rolling her eyes through the phone.
“You could show a little more excitement, Santana, even if everything does mostly look the same.”
“You wanted me to be alive,” Santana grouses, “Not have a sudden love of farmland,” and then her mom laughs down the phone for so long it turns into a sort of muffled sob, and Santana hears her breath catch.
“I miss you, mija,” she says and Santana nods, bumping against Brittany at her back.
“I miss you too, mom,” and she’s surprised when she realises just how much she means it.
+
She replies to Quinn’s text with Brittany still pressed into her back, content to watch her fingers tap against the screen and directing her to add an extra word here and there when she wants to say something too. She laughs when she opens Sam’s message to find a picture of the batsignal shining in the sky, though Brittany’s face scrunches up on confusion.
Im in Iowa, ull have to handle this one urself bruce.
(9.21pm)
---
She laughs again when his reply comes back almost at once, feeling a pang in her chest.
b safe kate.
(9.23pm)
---
“Who’s Kate?” Brittany asks, and Santana shakes her head as she slides her phone onto the table next to the bed, feeling Brittany’s arms tighten around her waist as she pulls her back against her.
“Batwoman,” Santana says hesitantly, because sometimes your girlfriend just doesn’t need to know how one boy managed to turn you into the biggest dork alive, and she watches Brittany try to hide a giggle, biting her lips into the corners of her mouth to keep from smiling.
“Okay,” she says, trying and failing to look completely serious, and Santana’s eyes narrow, daring her to say something else.
“You’re Batwoman. And Sam’s who, Batman?” She manages to hold her expression for another second before she bursts out laughing, and then Santana pulls away, leaving her to hunch forward over her stomach as she giggles. It takes her a minute to catch the offended look on Santana’s face and then she makes more of an effort to straighten up though it mostly fails. “You’re kind of cute sometimes,” she says with a grin.
“I’m going to take my contacts out,” Santana huffs out, pulling the case from her bag and heading for the bathroom, ignoring the sound of laughter still drifting over from the bed.
+
When she comes back from the bathroom, Brittany is lying on her stomach on the bed, her phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder as she looks at the photos she took on her camera earlier in the day. Santana sits down next to her, the bed dipping under her weight, and Brittany glances at her as she talks, angling the camera better so she can see too.
She listens and realises Brittany’s mom is on the other end of the line, and she leans down to press a kiss to Brittany’s shoulder through the thin cotton of her tshirt and whispers, “I’m going to get ready for bed.” Brittany nods and watches her go as she continues to talk to her mom, her eyes never leaving her as she crosses the room, light and interested as Santana pulls her washbag and pjs out of her bag and heads for the bathroom.
She stares at herself for a moment in the mirror, wondering if she looks any different in Iowa than she did in Ohio, squinting a little at her reflection before she shakes her head and pulls her shirt over her head, dropping it onto the counter carelessly as she runs the water and waits for it to heat up. She washes her face slowly, the warmth suffusing her skin as she washes away the day, mustard and ketchup in Indiana, endless fields in Iowa, Brittany’s kisses on the bed.
She feels better when she’s done, but also like she’s lost something too.
Brittany comes in when she’s brushing her teeth, and she holds her toothbrush out wordlessly until Santana squeezes the toothpaste onto her brush and watches her in the mirror as she slides into place next to her, bumping their elbows together as they brush because she’s standing on the wrong side, until they start giggling and catching each other’s eyes in the mirror.
Santana doesn’t want the moment to end, and her teeth are probably as clean as they’ve ever been when she finally spits out the last mouthful of foam and wipes her mouth on the towel, watching as Brittany carries on brushing carefully.
She gathers her things and covers them with her discarded shirt, making a bundle in her arms. “I’ll get changed in the other room,” she says, trying to take a step past her towards the door, but Brittany moves to block her quickly, her free arm grabbing her hip as she grins and leans forward to kiss her messily, tasting like toothpaste and leaving traces of it on her lips.
Santana laughs into her mouth, pulling back and wiping the foam from her lips as she watches Brittany smirk. “Okay,” Brittany says softly, moving closer to the sink.
+
She strips off her clothes quickly, taking a moment to fold them across the chair in the corner next to her bag before pulling on her sleep shirt and shorts, tucking her glasses into their case carefully and setting them down on the table next to the bed so she can find them in the morning. She suddenly doesn’t quite know what to do with herself, and she debates turning the television on, just so there’s some noise in the room other than her own heartbeat as she waits for Brittany, wondering at the way it suddenly speeds up and beats erratically, even though this is nothing they haven’t done a million times before, just transplanted to Iowa instead of in their own rooms.
She sits on the edge of her bed, then moves back to lean against the headboard, stretching her legs out in front of her, then pulling them up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, before reaching for the remote for the TV and flicking it on. The screen is too bright in the dim room, and she turns it off again quickly, squinting against the sudden light.
She doesn’t know why she’s acting this way, but she’s suddenly seeing everything with eyes that don’t feel like her own, and every movement feels stilted and awkward. She fidgets, tucking her feet under the covers and then pulling them out again, waiting for Brittany to come and give her some hint of what to do.
Part five b
Characters: Brittany/Santana (w/ Quinn, Sam)
Length: 20k
Rating: R
Summary: Brittany and Santana graduate high school and spend one last summer in Lima before leaving for college.
A/N: Super thanks to JJ for not only the usual cheerleading and betaing, but also story time and research assistance. I also have to say thanks to my girlfriend, who puts up with a lot, not least me writing when I should be hanging out with her.
She wakes up an hour before her alarm is due to go off and it takes her a moment to remember why Brittany isn’t next to her, arm slung around her waist and face buried in her hair. It feels kind of wrong that she isn’t there, and she rolls over and kicks her legs out, like if only she moves enough she’ll find Brittany hiding at the edge of the bed.
She stretches her hands out in both directions and finds nothing but cold sheets, and she sighs and opens her eyes, finally admitting defeat. She reaches for her cell phone automatically, and flicks her thumb against the screen as she rolls over onto her belly, grinning when she sees she already has nine texts from Brittany.
are you awake? i can’t sleep xxx
(5.23am)
---
saaaaaaaan xxx
(5.35am)
---
ur so rude
(5.45am)
---
ok not really xxxxxx :)
(5.47am)
---
lord tubbington is trying to pack himself into my boxes :(
(6.01am)
---
now ash is too xxx
(6.06am)
---
some of my boxes broke, can u bring more? xxx
(6.08am)
---
its ok my mom fixed it xxx
(6.19am)
---
SAN WAKE UP WE’RE GOING TO CALIFORNIA AND I LOVE U :) :) :) xxxxx
(6.24am)
---
Santana laughs into her pillow and taps her fingers against the screen quickly, and then grins even harder when the reply comes back almost at once.
i love u too u dork xxxxx
(6.33am)
---
ps we should probs check the trunk for pint sized before we leave
(6.33am)
---
and tubbs
(6.33am)
---
:D :D :D hi sleepyhead xxx
(6.34am)
---
+
She showers on autopilot, almost letting the too hot water burn her skin because she’s just staring at the tiles and trying to process the fact that this is the last shower she’ll take in Lima until December at least. She didn’t know she could miss something so commonplace as a shower, and by the time she’s stepped out of it her skin is red and tender all over, so that the towel feels like it’s scratching her skin, like she’s shedding something she doesn’t need anymore.
She feels like she’s been reborn, or whatever cliché it is people use at times like these.
She eats the bowl of cereal her mom hands her without tasting it, and when she realises it’s a bowl of Cheerios she laughs so hard she nearly drops the bowl. Her laughter sounds wrong somehow, like there’s some weird edge in it she’s never heard before, just a little bit hysterical and higher pitched than usual, and her mom stares at her for a long moment before asking if she’s okay.
Her dad insists on carrying all her boxes downstairs for her, and she packs them into her car carefully, making sure there’s still room for Brittany’s things. He reaches out to touch her head more than once, the same way he had when she was a kid, palm warm and comforting against her scalp, and she wonders if he even knows he’s doing it.
Nothing feels real, and she sees everything like it’s happening to someone else instead of her, hovering over it all just trying to remember how it looks.
Her mom brushes her fingers against her arm every time they walk past each other and she barely feels it. It’s like her arm doesn’t belong to her, like the synapses in her brain and nerves aren’t firing properly and everything’s on a delay.
It’s not until she slams the trunk shut that she starts to feel the excitement running through her, at the way her fingertips tingle and itch every time she touches something and remembers it might be the last time she does.
She walks up the stairs to her room slowly, telling her parents she just needs to check she didn’t forget anything, fingers trailing up the banister reverently with each step she takes. She stands in the doorway, mostly empty now but for the odd things she’s leaving behind; a couple of books sitting forlornly on her shelves, the Stanford acceptance letter still pinned to her noticeboard.
She lets herself just breathe for a minute, eyes lingering on the way the sunlight filters through the window onto the bed, and suddenly all she can see is blonde hair and smiling blue eyes, a whispered gasp in her ear, the feel of lips against hers, warm and familiar.
She hears a door slam downstairs and comes back to herself, and it takes her a second to realise she’s hugging herself, fingers curled into her shirt tightly, and then she drops her arms to her sides self consciously even though there’s no-one there to see her.
She doesn’t really know why she’s here because she checked she had everything the night before, checking off the list she’s had on her desk for more than a month and stacking the maps she’d printed by her car keys in the bowl downstairs.
It isn’t possible for her to be more ready for this moment, and yet she still feels completely unprepared, the way she did when Brittany asked her to dance at prom, or when they’d been about to go on stage at Nationals. She feels like she’s missing something, only she doesn’t know what it is.
She doesn’t know what makes her do it, but she crosses the room to her desk and reaches into the back of the bottom drawer and feels around, just in case there’s something stuck at the back, and her fingers find what feels like a photograph wedged into some small gap in the wood. She tugs, curiosity getting the better of her, and after a moment it comes loose and she pulls it out carefully, fingers curled around the paper.
She realises what it is a second before she smoothes it open, and sure enough there’s she and Brittany scrunched together in one sleeping bag on a camping trip they’d taken with Brittany’s parents when they were eight years old, grinning and laughing at Brittany’s dad as he’d taken the photo. They both look tiny, all elbows and angles, little Brittany pressed into little Santana’s back with her arms wrapped around her neck and her chin resting on Santana’s shoulder like she never wants to let go.
Even then they kind of looked like two halves of the same whole, perfect and innocent, ready to spend their whole lives together.
“Are you ready to go?” Her mom’s voice behind her startles her and she turns quickly, hand closing around the picture tightly. “Did you find something else you wanted to take?”
Santana shakes her head mutely and glances down at the picture in her hand and then across to her noticeboard where there’s still one picture of her and Brittany from a month before, sharing a sun lounger by Quinn’s pool. “I just need to-“ Santana trails off and reaches to pluck a pin from the cork, trying to flatten the picture again from where it was caught in the drawer, then pushes the pin back in delicately, trapping the photograph next to its newer twin.
She smiles at them there, eight years old and eighteen, smiling and together, and nods her head.
“Okay,” she says, “Let’s go.”
+
She says goodbye to her parents on the porch, her mom wrapping her in a tearful hug while her dad puts a hand on her back and demands that she recite the route they’re taking from memory in this nervous voice she’s never heard him use before. Her mom’s starting to sob into her hair, and it actually helps a little that she has to pry her off and deposit her in her dad’s arms just so she can get in the car because it means she can think about something else other than the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes and how small her mom looks suddenly, leaning against her dad for support.
“You better call every time you cross state lines!” Her dad says, mouth tight as he smiles, wrapping an arm around her mother’s shoulders to pull her close.
“I’ll call you from Indiana when we stop for lunch,” Santana says, and the words feel like magic on her tongue.
“And every night,” her mom says, words muffled from the way her head is pressed into Santana’s dad’s chest. “And I want to talk to Brittany too.”
Santana turns the key in the ignition and feels the car rumble into life, and then she’s looking at her house, and looking at her parents, and saying “I love you” and “I’ll be fine” while her mom cries and her dad blinks, and then she pulls out of the drive and watches it all disappear.
+
All the way to Brittany’s house she feels like she’s blinking and missing things, like one second she’s pulling out of her street, the next she’s turning on to Brittany’s block and then she’s in the driveway without any real memory of having got there. She just sort of sits there, knuckles white where they grip the wheel, and she takes a second to rub her hands over her face before she gets out of the car, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes until everything’s blurry and she has to wait for it to snap back into focus.
She walks up the driveway slowly, breathing hard like her lungs can’t take in enough oxygen. It’s stupid, it’s so stupid, but she feels like this is the last time she’ll ever be here even though she knows that it isn’t. They’ll be home for winter break, and it’s not like Brittany’s house won’t be here when they get back, but it all feels so final somehow, in a way she can’t really put her finger on so she settles instead for just trying to take it all in.
Her eyes flick from Brittany’s house to the huge old tree in the yard, that she’d actually climbed up a couple of times sophomore year to get to Brittany’s window and into her bed, and then to Brittany’s mom’s car sitting in front of the garage, the same one that used to ferry them around before they got their licences, sitting pinky-linked in the back seat.
She comes to a stop and takes a breath, feeling the air catch in her lungs.
There are some things she can’t take with her, no matter how much she wants to.
She’s not sure how long she stands there, but when she moves again she finds boxes on the porch and the front door open, and she pauses awkwardly, wondering if she should knock or just go in. The decision’s taken away from her by the sight of Ashley sitting on the bottom step of the staircase with a scowl on her face, kicking her feet against the floor.
“What’s wrong, Pint-sized?” The words are out and she’s moving before she thinks about it, coming to a stop in front of her and moving to crouch down so they’re at the same height. “Where is everyone?”
“Upstairs packing,” Ashley says sullenly, kicking a little harder at the floor and narrowly avoiding Santana. “And nothing’s wrong.”
“Really?” Santana reaches out a hand to her slowly, not really sure what makes her do it but just because it’s the only thing she can think to do. “Cuz it looks like something’s wrong.”
Ashley’s eyes finally lift up from the floor long enough to glare at her-Santana’s pretty sure she stole that expression from her, as well as the scowl-and pushes her hand away. “Go away,” she says, looking back down at the floor, “I don’t like you.”
“What did I do?” Santana asks, wounded.
Ashley mumbles something that Santana doesn’t catch, and when she reaches for her again Ashley shakes her head and pushes her away, turning to run up the stairs and nearly colliding with Brittany coming the other way with a box in her arms.
“Ash, stop being a brat!” Brittany shouts after her, coming to a stop half up the stairs and turning to watch her go so that Santana isn’t even sure if she’s seen her there. She climbs the stairs quickly and quietly as she can, until she’s on the step just below Brittany’s and smiling up at her, reaching to take the box from her hands.
Brittany starts a little but recovers quickly, mouth stretching into a smile at the sight of her there, her eyes going soft the way they only really do when Santana does something Brittany thinks is cute, which Santana figures is carrying the box but, whatever, it looked heavy, so.
“Hey,” Brittany says softly.
“Hi,” Santana grins back, and they stand there just grinning at each other like they’re sharing a secret, like there’s nothing and no one else in the world, until Mrs. Pierce appears at the top stairs and asks them what they’re doing.
+
It doesn’t take them long to pack the car up. Mr. Pierce helps them shift things around so there’s plenty of room, and Santana’s kind of amazed at how much they can fit in her trunk. She slams it shut with Brittany next to her and glances sideways to find her staring at it with the same slightly confused expression that she’s been wearing all morning, like nothing makes sense no matter how long she looks at it and she doesn’t know what to do.
“Are you okay?” Santana whispers, watching as Brittany’s eyes find her own and she nods softly.
“I think someone put the confundus charm on me,” Brittany says softly, looking a little bit dazed and reaching over to take Santana’s hand and tangle their fingers together.
Santana’s a little embarrassed at the way she grabs onto Brittany’s hand tightly, like it’s the only thing stopping her from floating away, and she forces herself to relax her grip as she nods, “Yeah. Yeah, I think they got me too.”
Brittany turns her whole body to get a better look at her, leaning into her a little to nudge her with her shoulder. “You’re my awesome beautiful, super smart, crazy hot girlfriend, right?”
Santana smiles a little in spite of herself. “I’m your girlfriend,” she says carefully, shaking her head a little at the rest.
“And we’re going to California?” Brittany says, pulling her face into a mock frown. “I got that right?”
“I’m your girlfriend and we’re going to California,” Santana says, and suddenly it’s the easiest thing in the world. She watches the fake confusion fall from Brittany’s face and feels some of the anxiousness that’s been tugging at the very edges of her all morning drift away with it.
“Then I think the charm is already wearing off,” Brittany nudges her with her shoulder again and grins, tugging on her hand a little. “As long as we remember who we are and where we’re going? We’ll be okay.”
“I am so in love with you,” Santana murmurs because it’s never been more true, leaning in to press a kiss to her jaw quickly before Brittany’s parents notice.
“Just don’t forget it,” Brittany says with a soft eyed smile, and Santana nods, sure she’s making the easiest promise in the world.
+
Brittany pulls Santana with her when she goes to her parents, and Santana almost doesn’t want to go with her, fairly sure that Brittany should get to say goodbye to her parents alone the same way she did, but Brittany won’t let go so she has no choice but to follow her back towards the porch, watching the way Brittany’s parents wear the same sad-proud expression hers did and how Mrs. Pierce is starting to sniff loudly, tears spilling out of the corners of her eyes.
Ashley still hasn’t come back, and Santana watches Brittany smile at her dad and hug her mom tightly, pulling back to murmur variations of the things her parents had said to her, before Mrs. Pierce chokes out a sob and pulls Santana into a hug before she knows what’s happening.
“Mom,” Brittany says with a little bit of a laugh when Santana gasps for air, “She can’t breathe.”
Mrs. Pierce’s arms are tight around her, and Santana’s arms come up to wrap around her shyly, still a little bit awkward, just like every other time Brittany’s mom has hugged her this summer.
“Promise me you’ll look after her,” Mrs. Pierce whispers into her ear so no-one else can hear, and Santana feels her heart squeeze painfully at the way Brittany’s mom’s breath hitches on the words.
“Promise me you’ll look after each other,” Mrs. Pierce whispers again, just before she pulls away to find Santana’s eyes.
Part of her wants to say how Mrs. Pierce doesn’t even have to ask, that she doesn’t have to promise anything, because looking after Brittany is just sort of her default mode of being, and Brittany always, always looks after her even when Santana doesn’t even know there’s anything wrong, but the way Mrs. Pierce asked, like she was trusting Santana with the most precious thing in the world, makes her nod her head and wipe furiously at her eyes against the tears threatening to fall.
“I promise,” Santana whispers softly, while Brittany looks backwards and forwards between them curiously, and Mrs. Pierce shuts her eyes for a moment and nods, squeezing Santana’s shoulder with the hand she still has there before she lets go.
Santana takes a step back, swallowing against the lump in her throat while Brittany hugs her dad. Mr. Pierce looks at Santana for a moment after he lets go of Brittany, and Santana fights the urge to fidget and toe the ground with her shoe, forcing herself to stand there and meet his eyes steadily, unsure if she should say anything or not. The moment stretches, and then he holds out his hand to shake Santana’s without saying anything, an unreadable expression on his face as Santana takes his hand slowly.
She isn’t sure why but she feels like she’s passed some kind of test, and she stands a little taller as they shake hands, his large hand covering her smaller one, calloused and warm around her fingers.
“Drive safely, Santana,” he says as he lets go, eyes fixed on her face carefully, and Santana nods and meets his eyes.
“Yes sir,” she says seriously, voice coming out a little higher than she intended. His stern look softens into a smile and Santana feels herself smile back without even realising she’s doing it.
“Dad…” Brittany laughs a little and shakes her head, one hand snaking out to reach for Santana’s. “Don’t be weird.”
Santana ducks her head and tries to wipe the smile off her face, but she thinks Brittany’s already seen it because she’s giving her that look that makes Santana blush and look away, and she wonders if there’ll ever be a day when Brittany stops looking at her like that, pure love shining in her eyes.
“Are you leaving now?” a tiny voice says suddenly, and when Santana’s looks, she sees Ashley peering around the doorframe, half sheepish, and half angry.
Brittany nods at her and Ashley kicks her foot against the frame of the door, a little harder than strictly necessary. She swallows, and when she speaks the words come out a little stilted, like she’s trying hard to keep her voice steady. “Couldn’t you-“ she scowls again but Santana can see the tears in her eyes now, “Couldn’t you just stay instead?”
“Oh honey,” Mrs. Pierce says, but before anyone has time to move Ashley is running straight for Brittany and Santana, dodging round Brittany’s arms and slamming into Santana’s legs, wrapping her arms around Santana’s waist and pressing her face into her stomach.
Santana reels a little where she stands, blinking down at Ashley’s mop of blonde hair helplessly, like she doesn’t really see it. Brittany’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and Santana’s fairly sure she’s wearing an identical expression, and she slides her arms around Ashley’s shoulders loosely and pats her back carefully, like she might break.
She can feel rather than see the way she’s crying against her, face buried in her jacket, and she tightens her grip around her and tries to rub comforting circles into her back. “Hey, come on. We’ll be back before you know it.”
“Sister stealer,” Ashley mumbles, glaring up at her through tear-filled eyes. “I don’t like you.”
“Then why are you hugging me?” Santana asks, eyebrows shooting up.
“Shut up,” Ashley says after a moment, like it’s some huge insult, and Santana has to work hard to hide the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Brittany’s parents are exchanging amused glances, and Brittany’s face stretches into a smile as she watches the two of them, Ashley still tucked against Santana’s front.
“I don’t like you either, Pint-sized,” Santana tells her seriously, trying to make her eyes innocent but failing, because she’s being kind of adorable the way Brittany used to be when they were little, and Santana was never much good at not losing whatever serious expression she was trying to maintain whenever that happened.
Ashley squints up at her and hiccups a little, eyes still narrowed, “Good.”
“Good,” Santana echoes, and pulls her closer.
+
It feels like no time passes until they’re leaving; one minute Brittany is trying to prise Ashley off of Santana and swinging her around in a hug, then she’s hugging her parents again while they promise to drive safe and call every chance they get, and the next they’re buckled into their seats as Santana turns the key in the ignition and waits for it to catch.
She exhales and twists her hands round the wheel, squeezing tightly before looking over at Brittany, “Should we-should we go?” She swallows and peers out the window at Brittany’s mom and dad, Ashley sandwiched between them with the scowl back on her face, rubbing furiously at her eyes to try and wipe the tears away.
Brittany reaches across to trace her cheekbone with her fingers and it pulls Santana back to them, back to the car, and the way her GPS is telling her follow the road until she has to turn left and then she swallows again against the sudden scratchiness in her throat.
“Are you ready, Britty?”
“Let’s go, baby,” Brittany whispers, leaning forward to press their lips together softly, quick and warm for just a second. “Let’s go have an adventure.”
“Okay,” she takes another breath as her foot hits the gas.
+
Santana pulls out of Brittany’s driveway slowly, watching Brittany twist round in her seat and lean out of the window to wave, until they have to turn at the end of the street and her house disappears from view. She kind of feels like her heart is trying to jump out of her throat, especially when Brittany’s hand slides over the console to rest on her knee and squeeze, like it’s the only place it belongs. Santana glances at her GPS nervously, even though she knows the route out of Lima by heart, and she glances sideways at Brittany when they have to stop at a red light and finds her watching her, eyes light blue and shining.
Her chest tightens the further they get from home, and they’re not even out of the city limits before her hands start shaking, just a little, where they grip the wheel. She hopes Brittany won’t notice, and then realises how ridiculous that thought is, because Brittany notices everything, including things she doesn’t even notice herself, and sure enough Brittany’s hand on her knee squeezes a little, and then she murmurs, “What’s wrong?”
“We’re leaving,” Santana whispers softly, as the buildings start to thin out and turn into fields, stretching on and on. “Britt, we’re leaving.”
Brittany laughs, really laughs, and Santana risks a glance at her out of the corner of her eye. “I know, baby. I know.”
Brittany grins at her until Santana starts to grin back, and then she’s flooring the gas pedal as they leave Lima behind, hurtling towards route 30 as Brittany turns the volume up on the stereo, until it’s so loud they can’t hear the sound of the engine, until they can’t even hear themselves think, until Brittany grabs her hand and they’re laughing and singing and leaving everything familiar behind.
+
She’s been out of state before, on vacations with her parents and for Nationals with Cheerios and glee, and she had Brittany with her for some of those, although mostly it was before they were really together so sometimes she thinks it shouldn’t count. The point is, this shouldn’t feel so special, and it shouldn’t make her shiver a little when Brittany leans over and says, “I think we’re in Indiana now,” with this little bit of wonder in her voice.
It does though, and she doesn’t know if it’s because they’re alone without parents or teachers or their friends for really the first time in their lives, or if it’s because Brittany keeps looking over at her with this huge smile on her face that never seems to fade, singing along to the random selection of songs that Santana’s ipod is playing when she knows the words and bopping her head along to the ones she doesn’t.
She doesn’t want to speak in case she breaks the spell, and she loses track of how long they stay like that, Brittany holding onto her hand until Santana needs to use her turn signals or mess with some control on her dash, and then tangling their fingers together again as soon as she’s done.
+
They’ve just skirted the edges of Fort Wayne when Brittany lets go of her hand to shift in her seat and reach for her bag on the backseat, and Santana side eyes her a little and slows down, watching the way the seatbelt isn’t quite around Brittany the way it’s supposed to be.
“Britt, what are you doing?”
Brittany mumbles something Santana doesn’t catch, and when she turns back around she has her camera in her hands, fingers twisting the cap off delicately as she brings it up to eye level and peers through the viewfinder. “I told Quinn I’d document the trip,” she says as she squints through the camera at the fields outside the window as though she’s sizing them up.
“I hope Quinn likes fields,” Santana mutters, checking her mirrors as she switches lanes.
She hears Brittany laugh, “There are other things to take pictures of.”
“Like wh-” she starts to say, and then Brittany’s grinning at her as the flash goes off and all she can see is stars.
“Jesus,” Santana complains, blinking her eyes in turns so that she always has one on the road. “Are you trying to kill us?”
Brittany ignores her and turns the dial so that she can see the photo on the screen, and then she bites her lip to keep from laughing. “I think I got your good side,” she says flatly, grinning even wider when Santana looks offended.
“All my sides are good sides.”
“Um,” Brittany says through her laughter, and then ducks when Santana’s hand reaches out to swat at her.
“Keep your hands on the wheel,” Brittany admonishes her in her softest voice, and Santana rolls her eyes a little as she does what she’s told.
“Good,” Brittany says, lifting the camera to her eye again. “Now let me get the good sides.”
Santana wears her Brittany-smile and waits for the shutter to click.
+
They stop for gas in Merriville, mostly because they’re hungry and Santana figures she might as well kill two birds with one stone, and she fills the tank while Brittany goes to see what candy the gas station offers, even though there’s a hot dog place just next door that seems like a better idea.
She leans against the car when she’s done and waits for Brittany to come back, trying to catch sight of her and see what’s taking so long, but she can’t see her at all, and she pushes the momentary surge of panic away, because it’s not like she could be anywhere else.
She remembers the promise she made to Brittany’s mom, and bites her lip, just a little.
It’s still easy to remember the way she used to feel the year before, and even though she hasn’t felt like that for a long time, she can feel it all come back, as easy as slipping into an old coat.
She feels a little bit like she was waiting for the catch, and now she’s found it.
They’re going to California together.
She takes a step closer to the store anxiously and twists her hands together, searching for a glimpse of blonde hair.
Some part of her mind wonders if she’d feel the same way if they were still back in Lima, and she pushes the thought away because she’d know where to look for Brittany in Lima; she’d be at the dance studio or the Lima Bean or in Quinn’s backyard next to the pool, grinning at her in a bikini.
She doesn’t know where to look when she has the whole world to search.
She shakes her head to try and clear it, aware she’s being ridiculous and that Brittany is on the other side of the wall, buying Dots or whatever candy has caught her eye, and she leans back against her car, twirling her keys round her finger as she waits, forcing herself to just breathe and wait.
It feels like forever until the gas station door swings open, and then Brittany is in front of her, smiling and perfect in a way Santana will never really get over, clutching two oversized slushies in her hands and waving them in front of her. “I got red and blue,” she says, as though Santana hadn’t just been having a minor panic attack at her extended absence. “I wasn’t sure which one you’d want.”
“Blue,” Santana says, embarrassed at the way her voice comes out, just a little bit cracked. She coughs and reaches for it, brushing her fingers against Brittany’s a little longer than she has to, just to make sure she’s really there.
Brittany peers at her as she hands it over but Santana avoids her eyes, and she Brittany looks away too, reaching behind her to open the door for her. “Wanna go get a hot dog?” she asks quietly, eyes serious when Santana finally meets them, and Santana nods and climbs into her seat.
+
They get a dog each and split some fries, and even years of Cheerios conditioning isn’t enough to make her feel guilty about that. They eat in the car so they can drink their slushies too, and Santana catches Brittany sneaking glances at her like she might catch her feelings on her face more readily while she’s distracted by her food.
Santana picks at the fries delicately and tries to put a smile on her face, which is made harder by the fact that her panic faded while they were buying their food and now she’s mostly embarrassed by the way she acted. If she freaked out when Brittany was ten feet away in a gas station how will she act when she’s in Berkeley?
She glances sideways and finds Brittany watching her again, and she feels the first genuine smile tugging at her lips at the sight of Brittany attacking her hot dog, ketchup and mustard smeared at the corner of her mouth.
“Baby, you have a little something,” Santana wipes at her own mouth to show her, and Brittany grins, her eyes flashing.
“Here?” She asks, sticking her finger in the ketchup before poking at the opposite side of her mouth, so she looks like she has a tomato coloured grin.
“Not quite,” Santana says, pointing to her own mouth again.
“Oh,” Brittany says, sticking her finger in the sauce again. “You mean here.” She rubs at her lips with her finger until Santana laughs and drops the fries she’s holding. “Did I get it?”
“Not even close,” Santana says shaking her head at how ridiculous she is. She reaches for a napkin, “Want me to?”
Brittany nods and tilts her chin up, the better for Santana to see, and Santana laughs at the look on her face. “Okay,” she says, and then she drops the napkin and leans forward to kiss the mess from her lips, sticky and sweet as Brittany hums into her mouth in surprise. She sucks it away slowly, tip of her tongue flicking out against Brittany’s lips, and feels Brittany lean into her, seeking more contact.
“Did you get it all?” Brittany asks when they break apart, licking her lips as though she’s checking, eyes never leaving Santana’s.
“You’re good,” Santana grins and picks up another fry.
“Oh,” Brittany says, glancing down at the half eaten hot dog in her lap before looking up at Santana again. Quick as a flash, her finger reaches down to scoop up more of the goopy ketchup-mustard mixture, and then she’s rubbing it on her bottom lip and grinning wickedly. “How about now?”
Santana pretends to sigh as she leans in but it’s undone by the smile on her face, her fingers finding the hinge of Brittany’s jaw as she tilts her head up again. “You missed a bit,” she says against her lips, and tries her best to kiss it all away.
+
They talk about inconsequential things while they drive, both still a little bit in awe of what they’re doing and where they’re going. Brittany chews at the straw in her slushie and holds on to Santana’s hand whenever she can, rubbing her thumb into the space between the knuckles, just because.
They put Santana’s ipod on shuffle and make fun of her music selection, that ranges from Billie Holliday to Amy Winehouse, from Lady Gaga to Nicki Minaj, from Oh Land to Grimes and back again. After a while, Brittany asks her why every song on her ipod is being sung by a woman with a bit of a smirk, and Santana laughs when Brittany starts swiping through the albums to try and find one that isn’t.
“Shut up,” Santana says, “Or I’ll put Closer to Fine on.”
Brittany just looks at her steadily, eyes soft in the way that means she’s never loved her so much, and then she says, “How did you ever convince people you were straight?” and Santana has to clutch the wheel to keep from swerving as she bursts out laughing and gasps for air.
+
They get to Davenport during rush hour, and their route takes them through the whole city to get to the motel Santana picked out for them, so they end up sitting in traffic and inching forward slowly, Brittany’s feet starting to get twitchy the way they do whenever she’s forced to sit still for so long.
“We have to stay in this motel?” Brittany asks, as she watches another motel go past the window and stares after it a little wistfully.
“It’s on my list,” Santana says, like that should be enough, and Brittany nods, accepting her answer. It’s not like she picked the place arbitrarily; it’s close to food and a gas station and close to i-80 so they can leave easily in the morning, but right now, staring at tail lights and feeling like they’ve gone nowhere in the last half hour, that seems like a pretty poor trade.
She huffs out a lungful of air and watches Brittany roll the window down and stick her head out as she glances at her GPS again to see how much longer they have left.
“Ten minutes, my ass,” she mutters as she inches forward again and then Brittany leans back in her seat and giggles, covering her hand with her own.
+
They have to drive past what feels like all the restaurants in Iowa before they get to the motel, and it takes all of Santana’s self control not to pull over and grab a burger to wait out the traffic.
There’s a tiny part of her mind that mutters something about hot dogs and burgers not being the kinds of things a grown up person should eat all the time but she pushes it away, because fuck it, what’s the point of college if you can’t eat shitty food all day.
The motel parking lot is almost empty, and Santana pulls into a spot close to the building and reaches for her overnight bag on the back seat, waiting for Brittany to do the same. Brittany tries to take her hand as they head to the desk, and Santana hates herself a little bit when she links her arm instead with an apologetic glance sideways.
She watches Brittany hide her surprise and then pull her arm closer, until their hips are bumping with every step they take and they’re both smiling conspiratorially. When they get to the door, Santana holds it open for Brittany and watches Brittany’s eyes soften as she steps past her, waiting for her on the other side.
The clerk sees them coming and smiles politely, asking if they have a reservation and Santana shakes her head and asks for a room, glancing sideways at Brittany when she says, “A Queen is fine,” a little nervously, like she’s half expecting him to refuse her.
She kind of feels like she’s trying to get away with something she can’t really put into words, and waits for the clerk to call her on it. He doesn’t though, just nods and taps away at the computer, and Brittany nudges her with her hip and shoots her a shy smile as she fiddles with the strap on the bag slung across her shoulders. Santana charges the room to her credit card and ignores Brittany’s whispered, “I’ll get dinner,” as they take the key and go in the direction the clerk tells them, back outside and up the stairs to room 204.
Brittany leans into her back while she fiddles with the key and tries to get the door open, pressing kisses to her neck as she wraps an arm around her stomach in a way that’s nothing but distracting, and when she finally gets the door open they practically fall through it, Santana stumbling forward until Brittany pulls her back up with the arm still around her waist.
“Careful,” Brittany whispers into her ear, and Santana shivers a little at the feel of it, hot and breathy just for her. She leans back into her, letting her hands come up to tangle into Brittany’s hair as Brittany walks them forwards so she can shut the door.
“So what do we do now?” Brittany asks, kissing the curve of Santana’s shoulder, and sliding her other arm around her waist.
Santana spins in the circle of her arms and pulls the bag over her head and drops it beside them, shrugging her own off her shoulder as she does so. Brittany raises her eyebrows as Santana reaches for her hand and pulls her towards the bed, laughing a little at the look on her face. “Not that,” she says softly, flopping down onto her back and pulling Brittany down next to her, rolling her eyes at Brittany’s fake pout. Brittany snuggles into her side and rests her chin on her hands on Santana’s chest, watching her expectantly.
“Just look where we are,” Santana says, playing with the ends of Brittany’s hair with one hand as she waves the other around like she’s showing off some kind of prize.
“In a crappy motel in Iowa?” Brittany asks, wrinkling her nose a little.
Santana rolls onto her side and props herself up on an elbow, dislodging Brittany. “No, I mean just- We’re in Iowa. And earlier we were in Illinois, and Indiana, and before that we were in Ohio.”
“And we still have a bunch of states to go...” Brittany trails off uncertainly, and Santana can tell she still hasn’t quite got it, that she can’t quite feel the excitement and the fear in the air, mixing together so she can’t tell one from the other, ever since they left Brittany’s driveway.
“We’re going to California,” Santana tries again, only that doesn’t really help, and Brittany laughs a little as she reaches over to tuck a strand of Santana’s hair behind her ear.
“Yeah, I know. Did you forget? Did the confundus charm come back? Should I check for dark wizards under the bed?” She makes a show of looking around the room and Santana laughs and wraps a hand around her back to pull her closer, until they’re pressed up against each other with no space between them, her face buried in Brittany’s hair as Brittany’s lips graze her neck, so that she can feel every breath she takes, warm as she breathes out and then cool when she breathes in against her neck.
“You’re gonna have to stop being surprised every time we go somewhere new,” Brittany whispers against her skin, but Santana can hear the warmth and affection in it, and when she pulls back a little to look at her, Brittany just smiles fondly and presses a kiss to her forehead.
“But I’m going somewhere new with you,” Santana says after a moment, like that should explain it all, and watches as Brittany’s eyes go impossibly deep.
“Santana,” she murmurs softly, and it sounds like a prayer, fingers brushing against her jaw softly as her eyes search her face for something Santana doesn’t know, finally settling on hers as Brittany shakes her head gently, like she doesn’t know what to do with her.
Santana tries to look away, but Brittany pushes her hand between them and hooks her fingers round her jaw to bring her back, and then she laughs this incredulous sort of laugh and leans forward to kiss her, using her hand to keep her steady.
Santana loses herself to the feel of Brittany’s lips and the warmth of her all down the front of her, lets Brittany suck her bottom lip between both of hers and brush her tongue into her mouth as her fingers stroke steadily against her cheek. She tangles her hands into Brittany’s hair and presses closer, Brittany’s hand warm and solid in the small of her back as it inches under her clothes, skin against skin.
She keeps it there, palm flat against her spine, holding her close as the kiss deepens and slows, Brittany’s lips meeting hers harder and longer, like she’s trying to put some emotion into it that Santana doesn’t understand because the other thing she ever feels when Brittany kisses her is loved, and that doesn’t grow or lessen depending on the kiss. She wants to tell her that but Brittany’s lips stop her words, and a moment later they’re gone, the thought forgotten along with everything else in her head.
It feels sort of magical, like they’re in their own special world and there’s nothing and no-one else, which is silly because they’re only in a cheap hotel room in Iowa, lying on a lumpy bed with scratchy sheets, but it feels like it’s theirs in a way she can’t really explain.
Brittany kisses her softly, lips barely grazing hers, tiny little kisses that Santana loves because they’re so uniquely Brittany, light and quick and then gone only to return a second later. She smiles into the kisses the same way Brittany does, laughing a little as Brittany starts to hum every time she presses their mouths together.
“Britt,” she murmurs between kisses, trying to ignore the way her stomach flips over when Brittany catches that place behind her ear with her fingertip, how she feels warmth pool low in her belly. “Britt, we should go eat.”
Brittany only pulls back far enough to bump their foreheads together and when Santana opens her eyes she’s so close that all she can see is clear blue. “You’re hungry?” she asks, and Santana hears the breathlessness in her voice and feels another pang run through her.
She presses a kiss to Brittany’s jaw and glances up at her through her lashes, “If we go out now,” she says shyly, watching Brittany’s eyes darken at the sound of her voice, low in her throat. “We have the whole rest of the night to-to...”
Brittany cuts her off with one last kiss before she rolls away from her and climbs off the bed, before leaning back in, one knee pressed into the mattress to offer Santana her hand and pull her to her feet.
+
They drive back the way they came, pointing out all the restaurants they passed on the way until one of them catches their eye and they end up at a Mexican place not far from where they’re staying. They get tacos and eat them slowly, sitting opposite each other in a booth and nudging their feet together under the table, exchanging shy glances over their food and laughing at nothing at all.
She leans across the table to steal some of Brittany’s food while she’s sipping her drink, and Brittany pretends to get all offended and knock her hand away, only Santana grabs it at the last second and tangles their fingers together, watching Brittany’s eyes get soft as she smiles shyly and pushes her plate towards her across the table, offering her another bite.
She thinks their waitress thinks they’re a little bit crazy, because she keeps shooting them these concerned looks whenever they bust up laughing, and after a while she starts skirting their table altogether until she has to come and take their plates away and ask if they want anything else.
Brittany tries to meet her eyes with her easy open smile but the woman avoids her gaze, stacking their dishes and wrapping her fingers around them carefully, and it’s only when she glances down at their still joined hands that Santana realises what her problem is, and then she slides her fingers out of Brittany’s and folds her hands in her lap, suddenly very interested in staring at the table as Brittany asks for the check.
Brittany tries to take her hand again while when they go to pay, but Santana wraps her arms around her middle instead and ignores the way Brittany’s face falls into a little bit of a frown. They pay in silence-true to her word back at the motel, Brittany hands over the cash before Santana has a chance to reach for her credit card-and it’s not until they’re outside that Brittany says anything.
“Are you okay?” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as they cross the parking lot, and Santana nods, just a little too quickly.
“Yeah,” she says softly, unlocking the car and opening the door, but Brittany tugs on her hand and spins her before she can climb inside, so that she’s leaning back against the seat with Brittany pressed up against her, feet either side of hers, her hands finding her hips easily.
“Hey,” Brittany says, leaning down a little to find her eyes, knocking her nose against hers and smiling until Santana does too. “That’s better,” she says softly, and leans in to press one chaste kiss to her lips. “Screw her,” she whispers when she pulls back, and waits for Santana to nod and scramble inside before she shuts the door.
+
She lets Brittany pull her from the car and up the stairs to their room when they get back to the motel, and it’s not until they’re cuddled up on the bed again, Brittany on her back while Santana snuggles into her side with her head on her chest, that she remembers she hasn’t called her parents yet even though she said she’d call them from Indiana and again when they got to Iowa.
She curses and pulls away from Brittany slowly, like she doesn’t want to, catching the little whine Brittany makes in the back of her throat as she watches her go.
“I forgot to call my mom,” Santana says, bending down on one knee to rummage through her bag. “She’s gonna kill me.”
She hadn’t bothered to take her cellphone to dinner, and when she pulls it out she has four missed calls from her parents, texts from Sam and Quinn, as well as two voicemails from her mom, one gently scolding, the other panicked and scared, begging Santana to call her as soon as she gets the message.
She straightens up and sits on the edge of the bed, back taut like a drawn bow string, staring at her screen like it’s some dangerous animal about to attack. After a second the weight on the bed shifts and then Brittany slides into place behind her, her legs either side of Santana’s hips, one arm around her waist as she rests her head on her shoulder and looks down at her phone, reading the messages over her shoulder.
She feels warm against her, and Santana feels herself relax into her just a little, the tension leaving her like Brittany is drawing poison from a wound.
She dials her home number quickly, like she’s ripping off a band-aid, wincing a little in anticipation when her mom answers on the second ring, almost as though she’d been waiting by the phone. She feels a twinge of guilt low in her stomach.
“Mom, it’s me,” she says, leaning back into Brittany and waiting for the shouting to start.
+
Once she’s calmed down, her mom makes her tell her about everywhere they’ve driven through, but there’s only so many words she knows to describe the way the fields they see out of the window all along the route look, and after she says “Green,” for the fourth time she can practically hear her mom rolling her eyes through the phone.
“You could show a little more excitement, Santana, even if everything does mostly look the same.”
“You wanted me to be alive,” Santana grouses, “Not have a sudden love of farmland,” and then her mom laughs down the phone for so long it turns into a sort of muffled sob, and Santana hears her breath catch.
“I miss you, mija,” she says and Santana nods, bumping against Brittany at her back.
“I miss you too, mom,” and she’s surprised when she realises just how much she means it.
+
She replies to Quinn’s text with Brittany still pressed into her back, content to watch her fingers tap against the screen and directing her to add an extra word here and there when she wants to say something too. She laughs when she opens Sam’s message to find a picture of the batsignal shining in the sky, though Brittany’s face scrunches up on confusion.
Im in Iowa, ull have to handle this one urself bruce.
(9.21pm)
---
She laughs again when his reply comes back almost at once, feeling a pang in her chest.
b safe kate.
(9.23pm)
---
“Who’s Kate?” Brittany asks, and Santana shakes her head as she slides her phone onto the table next to the bed, feeling Brittany’s arms tighten around her waist as she pulls her back against her.
“Batwoman,” Santana says hesitantly, because sometimes your girlfriend just doesn’t need to know how one boy managed to turn you into the biggest dork alive, and she watches Brittany try to hide a giggle, biting her lips into the corners of her mouth to keep from smiling.
“Okay,” she says, trying and failing to look completely serious, and Santana’s eyes narrow, daring her to say something else.
“You’re Batwoman. And Sam’s who, Batman?” She manages to hold her expression for another second before she bursts out laughing, and then Santana pulls away, leaving her to hunch forward over her stomach as she giggles. It takes her a minute to catch the offended look on Santana’s face and then she makes more of an effort to straighten up though it mostly fails. “You’re kind of cute sometimes,” she says with a grin.
“I’m going to take my contacts out,” Santana huffs out, pulling the case from her bag and heading for the bathroom, ignoring the sound of laughter still drifting over from the bed.
+
When she comes back from the bathroom, Brittany is lying on her stomach on the bed, her phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder as she looks at the photos she took on her camera earlier in the day. Santana sits down next to her, the bed dipping under her weight, and Brittany glances at her as she talks, angling the camera better so she can see too.
She listens and realises Brittany’s mom is on the other end of the line, and she leans down to press a kiss to Brittany’s shoulder through the thin cotton of her tshirt and whispers, “I’m going to get ready for bed.” Brittany nods and watches her go as she continues to talk to her mom, her eyes never leaving her as she crosses the room, light and interested as Santana pulls her washbag and pjs out of her bag and heads for the bathroom.
She stares at herself for a moment in the mirror, wondering if she looks any different in Iowa than she did in Ohio, squinting a little at her reflection before she shakes her head and pulls her shirt over her head, dropping it onto the counter carelessly as she runs the water and waits for it to heat up. She washes her face slowly, the warmth suffusing her skin as she washes away the day, mustard and ketchup in Indiana, endless fields in Iowa, Brittany’s kisses on the bed.
She feels better when she’s done, but also like she’s lost something too.
Brittany comes in when she’s brushing her teeth, and she holds her toothbrush out wordlessly until Santana squeezes the toothpaste onto her brush and watches her in the mirror as she slides into place next to her, bumping their elbows together as they brush because she’s standing on the wrong side, until they start giggling and catching each other’s eyes in the mirror.
Santana doesn’t want the moment to end, and her teeth are probably as clean as they’ve ever been when she finally spits out the last mouthful of foam and wipes her mouth on the towel, watching as Brittany carries on brushing carefully.
She gathers her things and covers them with her discarded shirt, making a bundle in her arms. “I’ll get changed in the other room,” she says, trying to take a step past her towards the door, but Brittany moves to block her quickly, her free arm grabbing her hip as she grins and leans forward to kiss her messily, tasting like toothpaste and leaving traces of it on her lips.
Santana laughs into her mouth, pulling back and wiping the foam from her lips as she watches Brittany smirk. “Okay,” Brittany says softly, moving closer to the sink.
+
She strips off her clothes quickly, taking a moment to fold them across the chair in the corner next to her bag before pulling on her sleep shirt and shorts, tucking her glasses into their case carefully and setting them down on the table next to the bed so she can find them in the morning. She suddenly doesn’t quite know what to do with herself, and she debates turning the television on, just so there’s some noise in the room other than her own heartbeat as she waits for Brittany, wondering at the way it suddenly speeds up and beats erratically, even though this is nothing they haven’t done a million times before, just transplanted to Iowa instead of in their own rooms.
She sits on the edge of her bed, then moves back to lean against the headboard, stretching her legs out in front of her, then pulling them up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, before reaching for the remote for the TV and flicking it on. The screen is too bright in the dim room, and she turns it off again quickly, squinting against the sudden light.
She doesn’t know why she’s acting this way, but she’s suddenly seeing everything with eyes that don’t feel like her own, and every movement feels stilted and awkward. She fidgets, tucking her feet under the covers and then pulling them out again, waiting for Brittany to come and give her some hint of what to do.
Part five b