Fic: Drabbles
Author's note: Revision is studying for an exam, for anyone who isn't from a place which has that word. Sorry if any confusion occurs.
This is a complete joke. There is no way in hell that it came up with that answer. Someone must have it hacked it or something, which means someone knows, but they can’t. It’s just a stupid computer program. The results mean nothing.
‘Santana! Oh my god, I just got the results of the careers test! I got talk show host!!’
‘What?! That’s great-’
‘I’m thinking about taking Fondue for Two to the network this weekend.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah! Anyway, what’d you get?’
‘Golf instructor.’
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She keeps shuffling closer towards her. Last night Santana was practically falling out of bed because Brittany kept edging her way closer. And now Brittany’s doing it again. They’re in a room with the rest of the Glee girls, and she gets that Brittany’s probably nervous about it being New York and everything, but she can’t do it. She wants to, but then she’d definitely fall asleep and then someone will wake up in the morning and find her wrapped around Brittany with her lips pressed up against the girl’s neck. That’s always how she ends up with Brittany. She can’t do that now. Brittany’s arms snake around her waist and she rolls away. There’s a huff and then the covers are pulled back and Brittany’s getting up; she’s had enough. It’s like the straw that broke the camel’s back. Fuck it, Santana should have just let Brittany do it. Brittany’s half way to the bathroom, and Santana’s sure she sees glistening eyes when she catches hold of a thin wrist and pulls Brittany towards her, she tries to ignore the tears that are threatening to spill out of those blue eyes.
‘I’m sorry.’
Brittany nods.
‘I can’t.’
Brittany’s turning away but Santana tightens her grip. She needs to do something. Not letting go of Brittany’s wrist she drags the girl over to her bags and rummages until she finds her ipod. It’s dark but she can make out the flicker of confusion on Brittany’s face by the dim light filtering through the curtains and off of the small screen in her hand. She places an earphone in her left ear and does the same to Brittany, but not before she’s whispered into it: ‘I may not be wearing the shirt now, but I’ll always dance with you.’ Brittany’s still until the music starts playing and Santana’s worried it’s too little too late, but then arms are wrapping round her, and when the triad of ‘I love you’ kicks in Santana rests her head on supporting shoulders and is held a little tighter, dancing in the dark.
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She’s not even on the squad anymore but Sylvester still speaks to her everyday, or more like insults her, or states some highly politically incorrect thought to her which leaves her confused or just plain weirded out. She’s by her locker when she feels that unnerving presence behind her, and turns around to see the woman standing there.
‘I saw Brittany earlier. Thought you, being a choir freak, would want to know. ’
Santana’s waiting for the sting, or the punch line, but there’s nothing, the dead pan delivery and then she’s stalking off down the corridor. Brittany? Or Britney? She can feel her curiosity get the better of her and she spins round and shouts at the retreating form.
‘My Brittany? Or Britney Spears?’
Sylvester stops, smirk on her face, and Santana realises her fatal mistake. She’s practically come out to a corridor of people, worse, she’s just handed ammunition to the enemy.
She’s expecting hell when Sue hunts them down over lunch, she’ll be known as ‘butchie’ or ‘K.D. Lang’ or there’ll be some cooked up comment about muffs, possibly linking it to her hat, or pussy, by masking it under a grotesque cat comment which will leave Brittany devastated, or something to with rugs, or beavers, or mounds, or something equally as obvious but ‘amusing’ for the woman.
‘Aladdin, I know you’re probably about go and sweep Princess here off on a ‘magic carpet ride’, but think you can refrain from making eyes. It’s the same look Tiger Woods gave me before he showed me his golf club which, to be frank, he doesn’t swing that well.’
Surprisingly tame. She can live with that. And ignore the mental images jumping out of the second statement.
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‘Geez guys, why’s everyone so down?’
She wants to punch him. His never ending optimism is starting to annoy her. Starting? It always has, but right now she just can’t cope, and judging by the rest of the kids, neither can they.
‘Mr Schue, finals are coming up an-’
‘And all of us are dying with revision.’
‘You can speak for yourselves, I, for one, have a very comprehensive schedule which has been in place for the last two months. My revision incorporates both long and short term memory and has never failed me yet, the lowest mark I’ve ev-’
‘Some of us have lives, Berry.’
Brittany nudges her foot and she refrains from shooting her trademark Lopez glare at Little Miss Perfect (at being annoying.)
‘I remember when I was your age and-’
Jesus Christ, he’s off again reliving his high school days. Anyone would think they’re the best days off your freaking life, she’s pretty certain they’re not, especially when she’s hounded by thoughts of exams and plagued by revision. She can’t even shower without thinking she’s taking too long, she’ll get food puzzling out equations and reciting quotes, she even dreams of exam papers. Even the one escape from revision is marred by it all. Brittany said they would ‘motivate’ each other, which in Santana (and usually Brittany) speak means they’ll be fucking so hard they forget exams completely and opt to wing it on the day, but not this time. No. Brittany chooses now to be concerned with proper revision, just when Santana needed the stress relief most, she’d gotten it into her head that they could play revision games, and not the type of games Santana had in mind. They’re playing historical snakes and ladders, which isn’t making much sense to Santana, after having undergone an hour of biological battleships, Spanish Cluedo and chemistry buckaroo, when she decides she can’t take it anymore; if Brittany’s set on actually revising with no action the least they can do is enjoy the view (and then hopefully get sidetracked.) Santana’s got her flashcards and decides flashing is the way to go, a correct answer scores removal of clothes, she gets an answer right and Brittany removes her top. 15 minutes later and Brittany is sitting in her pants and one knee high sock, and Santana is sweating and looking like something akin to the Michelin Man, because wrong answers earn extra clothing.
‘Brittany, I’m sweltering!’
‘I’m sorry, give me an easy question.’
‘The famous tea party in 1773 took place in which state?’
‘It was in Wonderland.’
Santana gawps at Brittany before proceeding to struggle to put on sunglasses, she can’t even bend her arms for layers, and glasses are the only thing left to put on.
‘I’m joking, it’s Boston, I was just wondering what you’d put on.’
Santana ended up sleeping in a raincoat (over the clothes she came in) with leg warmers because Brittany was determined she’d earn a naked Santana. She is still not over that, and so when she zones back into Mr Schue rabbiting on about revision tactics she fakes a tension headache and storms out. She only has to wait two minutes before Brittany rounds the corner, and into the empty corridor, mentioning something about flapping it, before pressing her up against the lockers, and revising the way Santana likes best.