fic: through the bars of a rhyme, 3/8
title: through the bars of a rhyme (3/8)
fandom: glee
pairing: santana lopez/brittany pierce
rating: T
summary: She was tall, lean, and blonde and Santana barely caught a glimpse of her as she bounced down the steps, but it was enough. AU.
A/N: Apparently I'm getting back into the rhythm of writing, because this was very easy to get out. Thanks for all the lovely reviews, they really make it worth it! :)
laying everybody low
The skies were clear the next morning.
Santana slept late. When her alarm went off the first time, she slung a hand out and silenced it, mistakenly thinking she had hit the snooze button. An hour later, Sam's good morning text buzzed on her night table and she startled awake, blinking wearily at the sunlight creeping through her blinds. Shit. She thought, and rolled out of bed immediately, her alarm clock glowing 7:45.
She rushed through her morning shower, thanking god for the hundredth time that all she had to do was pull her hair up into a sleek ponytail, and grabbed a pear on the way out the door. Her parents and brother were long gone. She was in such a rush that she almost forgot her phone, ran back upstairs at the last minute, and, somehow, eventually made it into her car for the mad dash to school.
That was why, when she walked into art class twenty-five minutes late, she had totally forgotten about the new girl who would be sitting beside her. Her whole body was caught up in hesitation for a moment before she let her book bag swing onto the ground and slid effortlessly into her chair.
The girl turned toward her, of course, and smiled.
"Good morning." Brittany had her hands messy with glue and confetti, and Santana found herself staring at the paper strewn about their shared table.
"Morning." She answered, smiling wryly. "Were you really mad at this construction paper earlier, or..." She trailed off, reaching out for a mostly shredded piece of orange paper. Brittany grinned. She picked up a thick piece of cardboard that was thoroughly decorated with scraps of paper and glue, so that it almost resembled a pond full of ducks. Almost.
"It was harder than it looked." Brittany admitted, setting the artwork back down. She frowned at her sticky hands, a brief flash of irritation crossing her features. The glue had formed a thin white layer over her skin and random bits of colorful paper were dotted beneath.
Before she could think about it, Santana took Brittany's hands in her own and began to pick at the glue stuck between her fingers. Brittany promptly burst into laughter and snatched her hands away, her eyes bright.
Santana frowned.
"That tickles." Brittany was breathless with laughter and Santana's mouth quirked up in response.
"Well, if you hold still..." She said, reaching for Brittany's hands again. Brittany offered them willingly, but her arms were tense. The second Santana's fingers touched her palm she snatched them back, laughing. Her gaze was apologetic, though, and Santana merely rolled her eyes and titled her head toward the sink. "I think some soap is required." She gripped one of Brittany's hands and pulled her toward the corner of the classroom.
When Brittany squeezed her hand, Santana tried to ignore an odd little tingle at the bottom of her stomach.
-
A hand flattened on the locker next to Santana's and she glanced over to see Sam, hair flopping against his forehead and a goofy grin plastered across his face. She smiled automatically in response, but she found that it stretched oddly across her face.
"Hey." She closed her locker and Sam instantly reached for her books. "What's up?" Sam shrugged, but his eyes were twinkling.
"I've got good news." They were turning a corner in the hallway, Santana's hand lingering on his elbow.
"So, spill." She glanced up at his face and when she turned her gaze back to the hall, a familiar blonde head crossed her line of vision. God, Brittany was tall. She was frowning at her locker and Santana looked away, trying to focus on what her boyfriend was sharing.
"...so I'm going to start at QB for the first game of the season!" He sounded thrilled.
"What, wait?" She stopped walking suddenly and when he kept grinning at her, Santana threw her arms around him. That same sense of insincerity hit like a rock in her stomach, and she was relieved that he couldn't see her impassive face. She pulled back and before she could process it, he was leaning in for a kiss. His lips had barely brushed hers when she shoved him away. “Sam, could you-“ Her eyes darted over to Brittany and she abruptly bit back her words and the harsh tone they were delivered in. The girl was still preoccupied with her locker, though, and had apparently missed the entire exchange. Santana looked back to Sam, who was openly staring at her. He looked hurt, standing there with her books in his arms, and she swallowed the angry words that unexplainably threatened to burst from the tip of her tongue.
"Sorry." She said, quickly and awkwardly. She was confused at the flash of shame that had burned the inside of her chest when he'd leaned close and at the outburst of hurtful words that had instinctively followed. Sam was still looking hurt, so she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, gently taking her books. "I'm late."
With a final glance into his eyes, where hurt was quickly being replaced by confusion, she turned and aimed down the hall, pointedly not glancing over at the tall blonde girl a few lockers down.
She bit down hard on her lip, something uncomfortable broiling beneath her skin.
-
The ceiling seemed closer than it had been a few years ago. Santana tilted her head a little, squinting at the off white plaster. Tom Petty strummed quietly in the background. It felt good to be all stretched out on her bedroom floor like she was seven again.
“Stop fidgeting.” Quinn instructed from her feet. Santana propped herself up on her elbows and looked down her legs to her half-painted toe nails. Quinn’s eyebrows were scrunched up with concentration and Santana crooked a toe she wasn’t currently painting. Without glancing up, Quinn pinched her, hard, on the arch of her foot.
“Ow, Q, damn.” Santana glared.
“Don’t test me.” Quinn spit back. She looked up, stared straight into Santana’s eyes for a moment, contemplating, and then dropped her gaze back to Santana’s feet. Santana’s eyebrow rose. She let herself down, eyes back on the ceiling, and waited.
The song changed and Bob Seger was crooning pathetically through her speakers.
“I broke up with Finn.” Santana opened her eyes. She stayed perfectly still.
“Come again?”
“He wanted to sing another duet with Rachel and I- I told him not to. He said he could do whatever he wanted. So I broke up with him.” Quinn was carefully painting, her eyes dead set on her task. Santana let this sink in. “What’s so special about this girl?” Quinn bit out suddenly, abandoning her task. “She’s- she’s nothing and she’s ruining my life.” She sounded so confused. She recapped the nail polish and set it to the side, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them.
Santana sat up.
“Finn’s not your whole life.” She said, carefully. “In fact, he’s totally useless.”
“He’s not, though-“ Quinn cut herself off and dipped her chin into the crook of her elbow. “He could- we could have something.”
“Yeah, and I could have something with Puck, but that’s never going to happen. Just because it’s there doesn’t mean it’s right.” Santana stood up. She made sure not to smear her nail polish and reached over to shut off her iPod. When she turned back, Quinn was still staring pointlessly at the spot she had just been sitting in. Santana’s expression softened. “Q?”
The girl looked up, her eyes quickly focusing on Santana’s sympathetic gaze.
“Let’s go get a Blizzard. We can listen to Ashlee Simpson and bitch about Rachel and her Jewish nose.” When Santana offered her hand, Quinn grasped it and stood up.
-
The Lima streets were mostly empty at 9:30 on a Tuesday night. Warm lights shone out of tiny suburb houses and Santana gripped her steering wheel, staring at the road.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Quinn sounded amused and Santana, startled, glanced over at her.
“What?”
“You were just staring at the road for the past, oh-“ Quinn pretended to glance at the clock. “Seven minutes. Has Sam been developing a thing for loud midgets, too? ” She looked falsely sympathetic and Santana rolled her eyes.
“No, that seems to be your specific problem. I was just thinking about how many crunches I’m gonna have to do tomorrow morning to make up for this ridiculousness.” Quinn just squinted at her and then looked back out the window.
Santana’s thoughts went straight back to Brittany.
The glue peeled off in long, stringy strips and Brittany crinkled her nose in disgust. Santana just squirted more soap onto her hands and told her to scrub harder. Soon, the sink was filled with tiny soap bubbles and Brittany’s hands were soft and damp. Santana knew, because she had grabbed one when Brittany tried to flick bubbles into her hair, her blue eyes twinkling.
“Hey!” Santana protested, swiping her fingers through the abundant bubbles and slinging them toward Brittany. The girl laughed and used the hand Santana was gripping to pull her closer. Santana, suddenly a few inches from Brittany’s face, forgot what she was so amused about. Brittany used the temporary distraction to blow the bubbles on their linked hands into Santana’s hair. She laughed happily and pulled away.
Santana frowned, trying to look down at her hair to brush away the bubbles. Brittany moved back in, slowly and carefully, and Santana’s eyes widened.
“Let me-“ Brittany pursed her lips in concentration and Santana was staring and that was really weird and then Brittany reached and touched her softly on the nose. Santana felt the tiny bubble pop against her skin, and then Brittany’s warm finger lingered there.
Santana’s forced her eyes to meet Brittany’s. They were warm and welcoming and they did these amazing, awful, confusing things to Santana’s stomach. Maybe it showed in her eyes, because Brittany pulled away and took their moment with her.
She walked back to their table and Santana found herself staring at the empty space where she had been, wondering what, exactly, had just happened.
Santana turned into the Dairy Queen parking lot on autopilot. Something about the fluorescent lights and tacky plastic scene pulled her back into the present and she looked over at Quinn, who looked just as out of it as she had been a moment ago.
“Hey, Fabray, pick your poison.” Santana turned into the drive thru, waiting for a response. When Quinn didn’t answer, Santana smirked. “Daydreaming about Rachel again?” Quinn’s head snapped in her direction and she glared, but Santana burst out laughing.
“Whatever, Lopez, you’re dating the only lesbian at McKinley, anyway.” Quinn gritted out.
Santana rolled her eyes and ordered for both of them.
-
The outline of a pipe was slowly starting to emerge from her block of wood, and it was all curves and angles. Santana reached blindly for the sandpaper on the corner of the table. Her fingers hit soft skin instead and she brushed the tips of her fingers across it. She was fully engrossed in the piece of wood in her hand and it took her a moment, but she glanced up, confused, a moment later.
Brittany was looking at her with warm blue eyes that had become familiar in the past couple weeks. She looked down at Santana's fingers, which were dancing across her wrist, and then back up.
"Sorry-sandpaper-" Santana mumbled and started to pull her hand away. Brittany caught it before she could go anywhere and Santana felt that familiar curling in her nerves. She had begun to define it as 'happiness' and she associated Brittany with the feeling. She felt the same thing, sometimes, when Sam was pressed close to her. She reasoned that making a new friend- someone she had almost immediately liked better than most of the population of Lima, OH- was making her happy, and she passed it off that way.
"You're going to die at sixty-three." Brittany said seriously. She was staring intently at Santana's palm. "You will adopt a small lizard after you move to Caracas." Santana smiled, despite herself. "You will forget how to tie your shoes and have to wear flip flops for the rest of your life." Santana actually laughed at that and pulled her hand away.
"Um, no. Flip flops are for slobs." Brittany pouted and Santana rolled her eyes. "Fine, okay, I'm destined for the life of a beach bum." She found the sandpaper and turned back to her carving. She was carefully smoothing out the ridges of her pipe when Brittany inched her chair closer. They had secluded themselves in the farthest corner of the classroom and it was really unnecessary for Brittany to move closer since no one could hear them anyway, but she did. She smelled sweet and soft and her hair brushed against Santana's arm.
Santana focused on the calm breaths going in and out of her lungs.
"You know how you said you've never seen the last season of the O.C.?" Brittany asked. Santana lifted an eyebrow.
"Yeah?"
"Well, I rented it last night. I was thinking, maybe, you could come over and we could watch it tonight, or something." Brittany was asking with her eyes more than anything. They were wide and hopeful and totally unnecessary, because Santana had agreed a few syllables ago.
"Sure."
"Yeah? Okay!" Brittany's face was flush with relief and she threw her arms around Santana in a bone crushing hug. The girl was stronger than she looked and she was firm and real against Santana, her arms gentle around her shoulders. Santana was frozen for a second, but she figured out how to work her arms a moment later and wrapped them around Brittany, squeezed once, and pulled away. Her heart was beating rapidly, but Brittany was still smiling, oblivious. She went back to her painting, leaving her chair only inches away. Santana tried to keep working on her stupid pipe, but with Brittany so close it was a pointless exercise. She grew frustrated and set the pipe down, her skin itching uncomfortably where it was centimeters from Brittany.
If there was a single thing she didn't like about her new friend, it was the way she made Santana feel, sometimes, without even trying.
-
The leather in her Mustang was a familiar feeling, soft and yielding and smooth. She didn't understand, then, why she was shifting restlessly on it as she drove to Brittany's house. Her radio played softly but that grew annoying, too, and she switched it off. She was nervous. Which was stupid, because it was just Brittany. They were friends and it was really fucking lame to be nervous about going over to a friend's house. Santana couldn't remember the last time she's been nervous about going over to anyone's house, ever.
The drive was unfortunately short and she found herself sitting in park in front of the Pierces' house a few minutes later. Santana sighed, once, and got out of the car. She trudged up the front walk, eyes dead set on the imposing front door.
She felt exposed in her jeans and flowing top. There was none of the familiar protection of her Cheerios uniform and the title that came with it. She resisted the urge to pull down at her shirt and lifted her head high, instead. She knocked once, heard a rush of footsteps on the other side of the door, and took a step backwards.
The front door swung open to reveal Brittany. All that nervousness just kind of floated away.
Santana smiled.
"Hey.” Brittany held the door open wide for her, and a little blonde girl poked her head out from behind Brittany’s legs. Somewhere further inside, a woman laughed loudly.
Santana stepped inside.
-
Somehow, watching the O.C. turned into curling Brittany’s hair turned into melting marshmallows turned into lying on the trampoline in Brittany’s backyard. There was still a bit of marshmallow on Brittany’s neck and Santana’s eyes kept finding it, even in the dimness of the evening. Brittany was staring up at the empty night sky, her chest rising and falling in her thin, yellow v-neck. Santana turned her gaze to the night. She was looking for whatever had Brittany so fascinated but it was just the same old Lima sky. Endless and open, it stretched out and on until she felt tiny.
She turned her head back towards Brittany and found that the other girl was staring at her.
“It’s quiet out here.” Brittany’s voice was low. Santana blinked. Her body seemed unwilling to respond in any other way. “Too quiet.” Brittany continued. Beneath them, Santana heard Brittany’s little sister crawling around in the grass. “Let’s turn on some music.”
Brittany rolled off the trampoline and crouched on the ground. She growled at her sister who tackled her with a hug. They fell onto the lawn, laughing, and Santana rolled onto her stomach to watch them. Brittany swung Annie onto her back and jogged off to the stereo on the back porch.
Santana was utterly content on that trampoline with the world stretching about her forever.
Iron and Wine’s Tree by the River floated out over the speakers. It took Santana a second to recognize it- that was Quinn’s music, not hers -but when she did, she was surprised. Brittany had pulled Annie onto her shoulders and she was practically skipping back out to the trampoline.
“Dance, Brit, dance!” Annie was squealing in excitement. Brittany hesitated and her eyes found Santana’s across the yard, but she let Annie down. She twirled her once beneath her hand and let her spin out, the small girl laughing breathlessly. With one more glance toward Santana, Brittany lifted her arms up over her head. The movement was so effortlessly natural that Santana held her breath in anticipation.
Then, Brittany started to dance.
Santana suddenly realized what those lean, long legs were for.
It was like a puzzle piece falling into place. The graceful way Brittany walked, her long arms and legs, her gentleness- it all translated into her dancing. It was classic and lovely and it seemed never ending. Brittany spun in slow circles and leapt, once, high into the air. Annie sat cross legged, watching in awe.
Brittany slowed to a stop with the end of the song, a little out of breath. Her skin was flushed beautifully.
Santana had absolutely no words.
Annie hurtled back into Brittany’s arms. Brittany scooped her up, but her gaze never left Santana’s. She was standing in the dark in the green grass, the glow from the house lighting her up, her blonde hair glowing. She stared unabashedly at Santana, whose eyes were still wide and honest.
They understood each other perfectly in that one moment.
fandom: glee
pairing: santana lopez/brittany pierce
rating: T
summary: She was tall, lean, and blonde and Santana barely caught a glimpse of her as she bounced down the steps, but it was enough. AU.
A/N: Apparently I'm getting back into the rhythm of writing, because this was very easy to get out. Thanks for all the lovely reviews, they really make it worth it! :)
laying everybody low
The skies were clear the next morning.
Santana slept late. When her alarm went off the first time, she slung a hand out and silenced it, mistakenly thinking she had hit the snooze button. An hour later, Sam's good morning text buzzed on her night table and she startled awake, blinking wearily at the sunlight creeping through her blinds. Shit. She thought, and rolled out of bed immediately, her alarm clock glowing 7:45.
She rushed through her morning shower, thanking god for the hundredth time that all she had to do was pull her hair up into a sleek ponytail, and grabbed a pear on the way out the door. Her parents and brother were long gone. She was in such a rush that she almost forgot her phone, ran back upstairs at the last minute, and, somehow, eventually made it into her car for the mad dash to school.
That was why, when she walked into art class twenty-five minutes late, she had totally forgotten about the new girl who would be sitting beside her. Her whole body was caught up in hesitation for a moment before she let her book bag swing onto the ground and slid effortlessly into her chair.
The girl turned toward her, of course, and smiled.
"Good morning." Brittany had her hands messy with glue and confetti, and Santana found herself staring at the paper strewn about their shared table.
"Morning." She answered, smiling wryly. "Were you really mad at this construction paper earlier, or..." She trailed off, reaching out for a mostly shredded piece of orange paper. Brittany grinned. She picked up a thick piece of cardboard that was thoroughly decorated with scraps of paper and glue, so that it almost resembled a pond full of ducks. Almost.
"It was harder than it looked." Brittany admitted, setting the artwork back down. She frowned at her sticky hands, a brief flash of irritation crossing her features. The glue had formed a thin white layer over her skin and random bits of colorful paper were dotted beneath.
Before she could think about it, Santana took Brittany's hands in her own and began to pick at the glue stuck between her fingers. Brittany promptly burst into laughter and snatched her hands away, her eyes bright.
Santana frowned.
"That tickles." Brittany was breathless with laughter and Santana's mouth quirked up in response.
"Well, if you hold still..." She said, reaching for Brittany's hands again. Brittany offered them willingly, but her arms were tense. The second Santana's fingers touched her palm she snatched them back, laughing. Her gaze was apologetic, though, and Santana merely rolled her eyes and titled her head toward the sink. "I think some soap is required." She gripped one of Brittany's hands and pulled her toward the corner of the classroom.
When Brittany squeezed her hand, Santana tried to ignore an odd little tingle at the bottom of her stomach.
-
A hand flattened on the locker next to Santana's and she glanced over to see Sam, hair flopping against his forehead and a goofy grin plastered across his face. She smiled automatically in response, but she found that it stretched oddly across her face.
"Hey." She closed her locker and Sam instantly reached for her books. "What's up?" Sam shrugged, but his eyes were twinkling.
"I've got good news." They were turning a corner in the hallway, Santana's hand lingering on his elbow.
"So, spill." She glanced up at his face and when she turned her gaze back to the hall, a familiar blonde head crossed her line of vision. God, Brittany was tall. She was frowning at her locker and Santana looked away, trying to focus on what her boyfriend was sharing.
"...so I'm going to start at QB for the first game of the season!" He sounded thrilled.
"What, wait?" She stopped walking suddenly and when he kept grinning at her, Santana threw her arms around him. That same sense of insincerity hit like a rock in her stomach, and she was relieved that he couldn't see her impassive face. She pulled back and before she could process it, he was leaning in for a kiss. His lips had barely brushed hers when she shoved him away. “Sam, could you-“ Her eyes darted over to Brittany and she abruptly bit back her words and the harsh tone they were delivered in. The girl was still preoccupied with her locker, though, and had apparently missed the entire exchange. Santana looked back to Sam, who was openly staring at her. He looked hurt, standing there with her books in his arms, and she swallowed the angry words that unexplainably threatened to burst from the tip of her tongue.
"Sorry." She said, quickly and awkwardly. She was confused at the flash of shame that had burned the inside of her chest when he'd leaned close and at the outburst of hurtful words that had instinctively followed. Sam was still looking hurt, so she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, gently taking her books. "I'm late."
With a final glance into his eyes, where hurt was quickly being replaced by confusion, she turned and aimed down the hall, pointedly not glancing over at the tall blonde girl a few lockers down.
She bit down hard on her lip, something uncomfortable broiling beneath her skin.
-
The ceiling seemed closer than it had been a few years ago. Santana tilted her head a little, squinting at the off white plaster. Tom Petty strummed quietly in the background. It felt good to be all stretched out on her bedroom floor like she was seven again.
“Stop fidgeting.” Quinn instructed from her feet. Santana propped herself up on her elbows and looked down her legs to her half-painted toe nails. Quinn’s eyebrows were scrunched up with concentration and Santana crooked a toe she wasn’t currently painting. Without glancing up, Quinn pinched her, hard, on the arch of her foot.
“Ow, Q, damn.” Santana glared.
“Don’t test me.” Quinn spit back. She looked up, stared straight into Santana’s eyes for a moment, contemplating, and then dropped her gaze back to Santana’s feet. Santana’s eyebrow rose. She let herself down, eyes back on the ceiling, and waited.
The song changed and Bob Seger was crooning pathetically through her speakers.
“I broke up with Finn.” Santana opened her eyes. She stayed perfectly still.
“Come again?”
“He wanted to sing another duet with Rachel and I- I told him not to. He said he could do whatever he wanted. So I broke up with him.” Quinn was carefully painting, her eyes dead set on her task. Santana let this sink in. “What’s so special about this girl?” Quinn bit out suddenly, abandoning her task. “She’s- she’s nothing and she’s ruining my life.” She sounded so confused. She recapped the nail polish and set it to the side, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them.
Santana sat up.
“Finn’s not your whole life.” She said, carefully. “In fact, he’s totally useless.”
“He’s not, though-“ Quinn cut herself off and dipped her chin into the crook of her elbow. “He could- we could have something.”
“Yeah, and I could have something with Puck, but that’s never going to happen. Just because it’s there doesn’t mean it’s right.” Santana stood up. She made sure not to smear her nail polish and reached over to shut off her iPod. When she turned back, Quinn was still staring pointlessly at the spot she had just been sitting in. Santana’s expression softened. “Q?”
The girl looked up, her eyes quickly focusing on Santana’s sympathetic gaze.
“Let’s go get a Blizzard. We can listen to Ashlee Simpson and bitch about Rachel and her Jewish nose.” When Santana offered her hand, Quinn grasped it and stood up.
-
The Lima streets were mostly empty at 9:30 on a Tuesday night. Warm lights shone out of tiny suburb houses and Santana gripped her steering wheel, staring at the road.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Quinn sounded amused and Santana, startled, glanced over at her.
“What?”
“You were just staring at the road for the past, oh-“ Quinn pretended to glance at the clock. “Seven minutes. Has Sam been developing a thing for loud midgets, too? ” She looked falsely sympathetic and Santana rolled her eyes.
“No, that seems to be your specific problem. I was just thinking about how many crunches I’m gonna have to do tomorrow morning to make up for this ridiculousness.” Quinn just squinted at her and then looked back out the window.
Santana’s thoughts went straight back to Brittany.
The glue peeled off in long, stringy strips and Brittany crinkled her nose in disgust. Santana just squirted more soap onto her hands and told her to scrub harder. Soon, the sink was filled with tiny soap bubbles and Brittany’s hands were soft and damp. Santana knew, because she had grabbed one when Brittany tried to flick bubbles into her hair, her blue eyes twinkling.
“Hey!” Santana protested, swiping her fingers through the abundant bubbles and slinging them toward Brittany. The girl laughed and used the hand Santana was gripping to pull her closer. Santana, suddenly a few inches from Brittany’s face, forgot what she was so amused about. Brittany used the temporary distraction to blow the bubbles on their linked hands into Santana’s hair. She laughed happily and pulled away.
Santana frowned, trying to look down at her hair to brush away the bubbles. Brittany moved back in, slowly and carefully, and Santana’s eyes widened.
“Let me-“ Brittany pursed her lips in concentration and Santana was staring and that was really weird and then Brittany reached and touched her softly on the nose. Santana felt the tiny bubble pop against her skin, and then Brittany’s warm finger lingered there.
Santana’s forced her eyes to meet Brittany’s. They were warm and welcoming and they did these amazing, awful, confusing things to Santana’s stomach. Maybe it showed in her eyes, because Brittany pulled away and took their moment with her.
She walked back to their table and Santana found herself staring at the empty space where she had been, wondering what, exactly, had just happened.
Santana turned into the Dairy Queen parking lot on autopilot. Something about the fluorescent lights and tacky plastic scene pulled her back into the present and she looked over at Quinn, who looked just as out of it as she had been a moment ago.
“Hey, Fabray, pick your poison.” Santana turned into the drive thru, waiting for a response. When Quinn didn’t answer, Santana smirked. “Daydreaming about Rachel again?” Quinn’s head snapped in her direction and she glared, but Santana burst out laughing.
“Whatever, Lopez, you’re dating the only lesbian at McKinley, anyway.” Quinn gritted out.
Santana rolled her eyes and ordered for both of them.
-
The outline of a pipe was slowly starting to emerge from her block of wood, and it was all curves and angles. Santana reached blindly for the sandpaper on the corner of the table. Her fingers hit soft skin instead and she brushed the tips of her fingers across it. She was fully engrossed in the piece of wood in her hand and it took her a moment, but she glanced up, confused, a moment later.
Brittany was looking at her with warm blue eyes that had become familiar in the past couple weeks. She looked down at Santana's fingers, which were dancing across her wrist, and then back up.
"Sorry-sandpaper-" Santana mumbled and started to pull her hand away. Brittany caught it before she could go anywhere and Santana felt that familiar curling in her nerves. She had begun to define it as 'happiness' and she associated Brittany with the feeling. She felt the same thing, sometimes, when Sam was pressed close to her. She reasoned that making a new friend- someone she had almost immediately liked better than most of the population of Lima, OH- was making her happy, and she passed it off that way.
"You're going to die at sixty-three." Brittany said seriously. She was staring intently at Santana's palm. "You will adopt a small lizard after you move to Caracas." Santana smiled, despite herself. "You will forget how to tie your shoes and have to wear flip flops for the rest of your life." Santana actually laughed at that and pulled her hand away.
"Um, no. Flip flops are for slobs." Brittany pouted and Santana rolled her eyes. "Fine, okay, I'm destined for the life of a beach bum." She found the sandpaper and turned back to her carving. She was carefully smoothing out the ridges of her pipe when Brittany inched her chair closer. They had secluded themselves in the farthest corner of the classroom and it was really unnecessary for Brittany to move closer since no one could hear them anyway, but she did. She smelled sweet and soft and her hair brushed against Santana's arm.
Santana focused on the calm breaths going in and out of her lungs.
"You know how you said you've never seen the last season of the O.C.?" Brittany asked. Santana lifted an eyebrow.
"Yeah?"
"Well, I rented it last night. I was thinking, maybe, you could come over and we could watch it tonight, or something." Brittany was asking with her eyes more than anything. They were wide and hopeful and totally unnecessary, because Santana had agreed a few syllables ago.
"Sure."
"Yeah? Okay!" Brittany's face was flush with relief and she threw her arms around Santana in a bone crushing hug. The girl was stronger than she looked and she was firm and real against Santana, her arms gentle around her shoulders. Santana was frozen for a second, but she figured out how to work her arms a moment later and wrapped them around Brittany, squeezed once, and pulled away. Her heart was beating rapidly, but Brittany was still smiling, oblivious. She went back to her painting, leaving her chair only inches away. Santana tried to keep working on her stupid pipe, but with Brittany so close it was a pointless exercise. She grew frustrated and set the pipe down, her skin itching uncomfortably where it was centimeters from Brittany.
If there was a single thing she didn't like about her new friend, it was the way she made Santana feel, sometimes, without even trying.
-
The leather in her Mustang was a familiar feeling, soft and yielding and smooth. She didn't understand, then, why she was shifting restlessly on it as she drove to Brittany's house. Her radio played softly but that grew annoying, too, and she switched it off. She was nervous. Which was stupid, because it was just Brittany. They were friends and it was really fucking lame to be nervous about going over to a friend's house. Santana couldn't remember the last time she's been nervous about going over to anyone's house, ever.
The drive was unfortunately short and she found herself sitting in park in front of the Pierces' house a few minutes later. Santana sighed, once, and got out of the car. She trudged up the front walk, eyes dead set on the imposing front door.
She felt exposed in her jeans and flowing top. There was none of the familiar protection of her Cheerios uniform and the title that came with it. She resisted the urge to pull down at her shirt and lifted her head high, instead. She knocked once, heard a rush of footsteps on the other side of the door, and took a step backwards.
The front door swung open to reveal Brittany. All that nervousness just kind of floated away.
Santana smiled.
"Hey.” Brittany held the door open wide for her, and a little blonde girl poked her head out from behind Brittany’s legs. Somewhere further inside, a woman laughed loudly.
Santana stepped inside.
-
Somehow, watching the O.C. turned into curling Brittany’s hair turned into melting marshmallows turned into lying on the trampoline in Brittany’s backyard. There was still a bit of marshmallow on Brittany’s neck and Santana’s eyes kept finding it, even in the dimness of the evening. Brittany was staring up at the empty night sky, her chest rising and falling in her thin, yellow v-neck. Santana turned her gaze to the night. She was looking for whatever had Brittany so fascinated but it was just the same old Lima sky. Endless and open, it stretched out and on until she felt tiny.
She turned her head back towards Brittany and found that the other girl was staring at her.
“It’s quiet out here.” Brittany’s voice was low. Santana blinked. Her body seemed unwilling to respond in any other way. “Too quiet.” Brittany continued. Beneath them, Santana heard Brittany’s little sister crawling around in the grass. “Let’s turn on some music.”
Brittany rolled off the trampoline and crouched on the ground. She growled at her sister who tackled her with a hug. They fell onto the lawn, laughing, and Santana rolled onto her stomach to watch them. Brittany swung Annie onto her back and jogged off to the stereo on the back porch.
Santana was utterly content on that trampoline with the world stretching about her forever.
Iron and Wine’s Tree by the River floated out over the speakers. It took Santana a second to recognize it- that was Quinn’s music, not hers -but when she did, she was surprised. Brittany had pulled Annie onto her shoulders and she was practically skipping back out to the trampoline.
“Dance, Brit, dance!” Annie was squealing in excitement. Brittany hesitated and her eyes found Santana’s across the yard, but she let Annie down. She twirled her once beneath her hand and let her spin out, the small girl laughing breathlessly. With one more glance toward Santana, Brittany lifted her arms up over her head. The movement was so effortlessly natural that Santana held her breath in anticipation.
Then, Brittany started to dance.
Santana suddenly realized what those lean, long legs were for.
It was like a puzzle piece falling into place. The graceful way Brittany walked, her long arms and legs, her gentleness- it all translated into her dancing. It was classic and lovely and it seemed never ending. Brittany spun in slow circles and leapt, once, high into the air. Annie sat cross legged, watching in awe.
Brittany slowed to a stop with the end of the song, a little out of breath. Her skin was flushed beautifully.
Santana had absolutely no words.
Annie hurtled back into Brittany’s arms. Brittany scooped her up, but her gaze never left Santana’s. She was standing in the dark in the green grass, the glow from the house lighting her up, her blonde hair glowing. She stared unabashedly at Santana, whose eyes were still wide and honest.
They understood each other perfectly in that one moment.