fic: if my heart was a compass - 7/10 - glee, brittany/santana, nc-17
Title: If My Heart Was A Compass (7/10)
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Quinn, Puck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5,062 (of ~56k)
Timeline: Season 1
Summary: Santana Lopez has a plan. A three-point plan. A really fucking efficient three-point plan that's going to get her the hell out of Ohio. This is her story.
Notes: I am so freaking pumped for gleefsbigbang, and you should be too. That is all. This was not a shameless pimp for ARTISTS. Please, for the love of god, if you can open Photoshop and you like Glee, go sign up. (You should also be excited because there are almost 60 writers who have pledged, and some of them are proven BIG HITTERS.) Okay, PSA over. Enjoy the update. :)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Santana doesn't hear anything from her mother for two weeks. That's nothing new.
She actually gets a little worried that the older Lopez had gone and driven her car off a cliff or something - are there even cliffs in Ohio? - but Quinn, of all people, makes some phone calls and discovers that Santana's mother is actually back at work. ("She leaves for Madrid this afternoon," she'd said, and Santana doesn't even bother asking how.)
So life moves on. School, Cheerios, Glee, Brittany. There's still something empty where she used to have a family years and years ago, but there's a roof over her head and a bank account she has access to and chicken wings in her belly, so you know. She deals.
The end of the school year is approaching. With it comes nationals for Cheerios and regionals for Glee, and they keep Santana busy. And busy? Is good.
Mr. Schue assigns them a Lady Gaga number, which is awesome. Santana invites Brittany and Quinn over to work on their costumes together, and Quinn looks relieved to get time away from the Puckermans.
That's how the three of them end up on the floor of Santana's living room on a Friday night, printed images of Gaga outfits strewn around them.
Quinn finds hers first. "This dress will hide my baby bump perfectly," she announces proudly.
"How," Santana asks, "are we going to make that big spiky thing?"
Brittany is next, and of course she picks the only one that involves marine life, to substitute those ducks or whatever she likes so much. "Except, maybe with a bra," she decides, tilting her head at the white Xs taped over Lady Gaga's nipples.
"Where," Santana asks, "are we going to get a giant plastic lobster?"
Santana has a hard time choosing between two looks, but then Brittany purrs, "You'd look so sexy in black lace," and the decision becomes obvious.
First, they scour Santana's closet, then Brittany's closet, and all of Quinn's old clothes are probably in boxes somewhere in the Fabray home, so they leave that one alone. After visiting three thrift shops, an art supplies store, Walmart, and the Home Depot, they've collected enough materials to start on their costumes.
Brittany's mother offers them supper, which they gladly accept. Once everyone is fed, they find themselves back on the floor of Santana's living room, except this time, surrounded by old clothes, ribbons, lace, wires, everything. Even a giant plastic lobster that Quinn had dug out of a pile of rejected toys at Walmart. Santana's pretty sure the only things Walmart doesn't carry are human souls, and even that's arguable.
Santana spends most of the next hour in her bra and panties while Brittany tries to wrap rolls of lace around her to measure. Quinn is making use of the Lopez's old sewing machine in an attempt to attach wiring to the hem of this bright pink dress she'd picked up second-hand for five bucks. Brittany's hands sliding against Santana's skin is actually kind of distracting, but Quinn's there, so the chance of Santana getting away with anything is pretty much negative three. Too bad.
"I have some news," Quinn says. "Well, Rachel does, actually."
Santana makes a face. "Since when did you start hanging out with Barbra Streisand?"
"She dragged me and Mercedes to-"
"Same question," Santana interrupts, "different diva."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Will you let me finish?" she huffs. "Okay, we were spying on Vocal Adrenaline for some Gaga ideas, and it turns out, their coach?" She lowers her voice. "Is Rachel's mom."
Santana and Brittany both stop what they're doing and turn to Quinn.
"That," Santana says, "is thoroughly fucked up."
Brittany looks confused. "How did she even know?"
"Apparently she had a tape of her mom singing," Quinn replies. "Ms. Corcoran has an incredible voice. Really distinct."
"I bet that Jesse kid was in on it," Santana points out. "Knew he was up to no good the moment I saw him and the head of hair he's clearly acquainted with an oil rig."
Quinn frowns. "I didn't even think of that. But anyway, I think it freaked Rachel out pretty bad."
"Did you two just leave her there with her mom?" Santana asks.
"She told us to go," Quinn answers, "but we waited for her outside. She didn't take long. I don't think it went very well, but she didn't want to talk about it."
"Rachel not wanting to talk," Santana echoes skeptically. "The end of the world is near."
"We should do something for her," Brittany pipes up. "Like make a list of the pros and cons of having two gay dads. Or chicken soup."
"Rachel's a vegan," Quinn says gently. "But maybe we could invite her here? Help her with her costume."
"Veto," Santana interjects immediately.
"Oh, come on, she could probably use a friend right about now," Quinn insists. "And she has a pretty unique perspective about this whole being gay thing you and Britt have going on."
"Oh my god, Q," Santana cries, horrified. "Veto!"
"Relax," Quinn laughs, rising to get her phone. "I was joking about the last part."
Rachel doesn't answer her phone though, so Brittany texts Rachel an encouraging message and refuses to work on their costumes until Santana does the same. She receives a long, appreciative kiss from Brittany for her effort, so whatever. Rachel Berry can suck it.
Quinn is actually a pretty good seamstress. Guess it helps having a Martha Stewart reincarnate as a mother. Biological mother, anyway, because that distinction has become important. Quinn helps Santana stitch everything together and manages to find a way to attach the lobster to Brittany's head without decapitating her. Operation Gaga turns out to be a success.
By the time the main parts of their costumes are finished, it's really late, and they're all exhausted. Santana sets up the couch for Quinn, and Brittany insists that she and Santana sleep on the floor of the living room to keep Quinn company. Quinn makes them promise no funny business, and Santana tells her about the bus ride to sectionals to gross her out. It works.
But Quinn doesn't complain when Brittany and Santana spread some blankets on the floor and curl up together.
Santana is nearly asleep when she hears Brittany say, "We miss you in Cheerios, Quinn."
From the couch, Quinn lets out a sigh. "I really miss you guys."
"How's Puck treating you?" Santana asks.
"He has his moments," Quinn replies, but she sounds resigned. "He wants to name the baby Jackie Daniels."
Santana chuckles knowingly. "That's kind of cute."
"For a puppy or an iPod, maybe," Quinn grumbles.
"My iPod's name is Frank," Brittany offers around a yawn.
"Puck's okay most of the time. It's his mom looking at me like I'm some tramp." After a moment, Quinn groans. "I have to pee," she announces, rising from the couch.
"Goodnight," Brittany mumbles to nobody in particular, pressing herself closer to Santana.
By the time Quinn returns from her bathroom trip, Brittany is fast asleep. Quinn crawls back onto the couch as quietly as she can. Santana begins to drift off too, but the sound of the front door jars her awake. She sits up, alert.
Brittany rouses. "San?"
"Don't wake up," Santana whispers, pressing a quick kiss to Brittany's forehead. "I'll be right back." She pushes herself to her feet.
"M'kay," Brittany murmurs, pulling the blankets that Santana has abandoned to her chest.
Santana walks cautiously toward the front of the house, and a light suddenly turning on startles her. She reaches for something to defend herself with and ends up with Quinn's spike ball contraption thing in her hand. Well, shit. The spikes aren't even sharp.
Santana pushes on and nearly walks right into her mother, who mirrors her expression of surprise. Santana doesn't even have time to process anything besides relief and the same eternal longing she's promised herself so many times that she would never again feel.
"Mama?"
"Santana, why are you still awake?" her mother asks, squinting. "What on earth is that thing?"
"Something for Glee," she explains, knowing her mother has no idea what she's talking about. Santana puts Quinn's prop down and doesn't bother elaborating. "What are you doing here?" she asks, a little more hostile than she'd meant to.
Her mother frowns. "Don't be disrespectful," she warns. "I still pay the bills around here." Santana looks down, and her mother sighs, deflating. "Mija, I quit my job."
Santana's head snaps up. "What?"
Her mother smiles faintly. "Two weeks notice means I still have to leave tomorrow, but I let them know today."
Santana swallows hard, throat dry. "Mama…"
Her mother leads her into the kitchen and sits her down. Santana's heart hurts, and she struggles against the tears burning against her eyelids. The older woman takes Santana's hands into hers, and Santana just stares at them, unsure what to think. She doesn't even recognize her mother's hands, wrinkled by the passing of time.
"Brittany's mom reached out to me." Her mother's voice is even.
Santana looks up, surprised. "Britt-" Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. "Britt didn't say anything about that."
"I don't think she knew." Her mother presses Santana's palms together. "We talked for hours. About you, and how well you were doing in school, that you'd been promoted to head cheerleader, that you and Brittany joined your school's show choir. I needed her to explain what that even was." Her mother's teary laughter is filled with remorse. Santana's heart clenches, and she looks down in an attempt to hide her own tears. Her mother takes a breath and continues, "I was sitting there staring at the ceiling of this hotel room in the middle of Barcelona as another woman told me about my daughter's life, and I-" She releases Santana's hands and reaches to cup Santana's tear-streaked cheeks. "I don't want to do that anymore, Mija. I'm so sorry…"
"This doesn't make everything okay," Santana croaks, even as she shuts her eyes and leans into her mother's touch. "You can't just… pretend like the last four years didn't happen. Make promises you never keep." She tears herself away and rockets out of her seat, distancing herself to clear her head. She bristles. "I can take care of myself."
Her mother stands as well. "I know. I know you can."
Santana shakes her head as a thought occurs to her. "And if you can't accept me and Brittany, I'm not doing any of this."
"I can work on that," her mother pledges. "Santana, no será perfecta, pero te quiero."
Santana squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block out everything that's happening. It's too much all at once, and she's spent so long convincing herself to accept the impossibility of reconciliation that she's unprepared for any of this.
Because for a moment, Santana recognizes this woman, remembers her as the one who'd forced her little tomboy to play with the shy new girl with the bright blue eyes all those years ago. The memory overwhelms her.
"I need some time to-to process this," Santana manages to say, her voice shaky. "Go get some rest, Mama. You look exhausted."
Her mother takes a step forward. "Mija…"
Santana holds up her hands defensively. "Por favor, Mama," she says quietly, the Spanish sounding foreign to her own ears. "Necesito algo de tiempo."
Santana knows that ultimately, as a minor, she doesn't have a single say in what her mother does or doesn't do as long as they fit within the confines of the law. But she also knows that her chest hurts, and she really wants to lie down and hold Brittany and not be standing in front of her mother all teary and vulnerable.
Her mother hesitates one moment before relenting. The fact that the older woman steps aside to let Santana leave the kitchen first means nothing and everything. Her mother begins climbing the stairs, but Santana stays put, and her mother turns around to look at her.
"Girl's night," Santana preempts. "Brittany and Quinn are over. We're bunking it out in the living room."
Her mother nods and steps back down toward her. Santana shuts her eyes as her mother cradles her cheeks and presses an affectionate kiss to the crown of her head. Santana squeezes back tears and doesn't open her eyes until long after her mother's hands are gone and the older woman has disappeared into the second floor.
Santana remains at the base of the stairs, gulping in breaths of air to try and calm her nerves.
"Santana?" It's Quinn. "Hey," she says softly, "everything okay?"
Without turning around, Santana wipes clumsily at her cheeks. "Yeah, go back to sleep, Q."
Quinn ignores Santana's instruction, and Santana feels gentle arms sliding around her from behind. It's not the same as being wrapped up in Brittany, but Santana draws comfort from Quinn, who doesn't ask any questions, doesn't try to turn her around, just holds her steady and lets her cry.
When Santana finally manages to calm down, Quinn nudges her back into the living room and onto the couch. As Quinn slides onto the floor next to Brittany, Santana frowns and pulls Quinn back up.
"I'm not going to be responsible for your baby popping out with nine fingers because you squashed one sleeping on the floor," Santana whispers, trying not to wake a still-sleeping Brittany.
"You can't squ-" Quinn shakes her head. "Take the couch, Santana. Me and my baby will be just fine on the floor."
But Santana doesn't let go of Quinn. "Get up here," she grumbles. "I want Brittany, anyway."
From the floor, Brittany stirs. Santana quickly pulls Quinn onto the couch and slips down to curl up next to Brittany. Immediately, Brittany reaches out an arm and folds it over Santana's waist, murmuring something unintelligible as she settles against her. Santana brushes Brittany's hair away from her face and leaves a kiss on her cheek.
Physically and emotionally spent, Santana falls into an exhausted but dreamless slumber.
--
Saturday morning, the first thing Santana notices is her searing headache. The second is that Brittany and Quinn are already awake, and they're giggling about something. Santana groans as she rolls over, back aching from a night on the floor. Brittany's hands are sudden and warm on Santana's cheeks, and she peppers kisses all across Santana's face.
"Good morning!"
Santana chuckles as she tries to blink the sleep from her eyes. Despite Brittany's affection, it feels like someone has been repeatedly punching her square in the face, and she's sure her eyelids are puffy as hell from all the bawling she's suddenly making a habit of doing. Santana groans again. Fucking mornings. But Brittany is nothing if not unnaturally cheery in the a.m., which used to drive Santana nuts. Getting to hear Brittany's laughter first thing in the morning though is really not a bad deal.
Brittany is smiling down at Santana when her eyes finally focus, but the blonde quickly sobers up. "You okay, San?" she murmurs. "Quinn said your mom showed up last night."
"Yeah," Santana replies, sitting up. Blankets pool around her lap, and she picks aimlessly at them. "She quit her job," she adds without looking up.
Brittany touches Santana's arm tenderly. "That's good, right?"
"How do I know she's not just going to change her mind?" Santana snaps. Brittany doesn't flinch, and Santana covers her eyes. "I'm sorry. It's too early for this."
Brittany moves to sit behind Santana, her arms wrapping around Santana's midsection. Quinn readjusts herself to lean against the couch, pulling Santana's newly-abandoned pillow to cushion her back.
"I think you should give her a shot," Quinn says, but there's a darkness to her words that Santana can't exactly pinpoint.
Santana looks at Quinn. "If your mom offers to reconcile tomorrow, would you go for it?"
"Yeah," Quinn replies quietly without missing a beat.
The response surprises Santana. "Why? She's treated you like shit."
Quinn half-shrugs. "She's my mom."
"Q, she let your psycho f-"
"Santana," Quinn interrupts, but there is no venom in her words. "Family is family. We don't get to choose our biology. Look, my parents are tough to be around, I know, but I want to believe that my mom still cares about me."
Santana frowns. "Don't you think that's a little naïve? She kicked your ass out."
"She's living in an emotionally abusive marriage, San." Quinn lowers her eyes and shrugs. "I'd be no better than her if I didn't forgive her for her choices, even if they meant horrible consequences for me."
"But she-"
"I hate her still, you know," Quinn cuts in again. Her delivery is soft, even as her words turn harsh. "Every day. I resent her for not standing up for me. Sometimes a lot; recently a little less. But don't you think that people can change? That I've changed. And you too, Santana."
Santana feels Brittany's arms tightening around her, almost in confirmation. She turns her head slightly to look at the blonde pressed to her back, and she knows that Quinn has a point. Doesn't mean she's ready to admit it yet, so Santana stays silent.
Quinn continues, "And you know what they say about blood and water."
"I think that's bullshit," Santana is quick to dismiss.
"Everyone deserves a second chance, Santana." Quinn's hand moves momentarily to her belly. "You yourself have certainly gotten a few of those from this one," she points out, reaching to brush affectionately against Brittany's shoulder.
Brittany sweeps Santana's dark hair to one side, exposing neck, and she presses a kiss to the skin there. "San, let your mom prove she's changed," she urges quietly. "If her being around gets to be too much, you can always stay with me for a few nights while you figure it out."
Before she can reply, approaching footsteps make Santana tense up. Her mother appears at the edge of the living room with bloodshot eyes but a cautious smile. Her line of sight immediately turns to Quinn's extended belly, but she doesn't comment on it.
"Buenos días, mijas."
"Buenos días," Quinn echoes.
"I'm going to make you girls some breakfast. Is that okay?"
"Could you make eggs?" Brittany pipes up.
Santana's mother smiles a little. "Of course."
Brittany brushes a hand across Santana's side. "Do you remember," she asks softly, "how I used to call your mom Mrs. Lopeggs whenever she made me eggs?"
Santana looks down at her lap. "That was a long time ago, B."
Brittany just holds her tighter in response.
Santana feels her mother's eyes on her, so she shrugs and says, "I'll have whatever. Quinn really wants bacon, but if she's reaching for the jar of Vlasic or the tub of Ben & Jerry's in the fridge, stop her. She's not eating that nasty shit here."
"Language, Mija."
Santana bristles. "You do not get to mother me."
Brittany clamps a hand over Santana's mouth. Quinn jumps up and offers to help Santana's mother with breakfast. Santana is steeling herself for a confrontation, but Quinn somehow manages to pull the older woman away. Santana isn't even sure the two of them have ever met, but if Santana's mother wants a daughter to alleviate her guilt, Santana decides that she can have someone who actually wants a mom in return.
Brittany waits until the sounds of pans banging against each other can be heard from the kitchen before dropping her hand.
Her voice is quiet but admonishing. "San."
Santana sighs. "Can you blame me for forgetting how this relationship is supposed to work?"
Brittany rests her chin on Santana's shoulder. "No, but I think you should go apologize."
Santana wrinkles her nose in disgust. "What? I'm not doing that."
"I really want this to work out for you," Brittany urges, shifting against Santana's back. "But you're going to have to stop hating her before that can happen."
"I know," Santana mutters, deflating. "And I don't. I don't hate her, Britt. I just feel pretty messed up about the whole thing right now." She turns her head to look at Brittany. "She has to leave again, you know."
"What? Why?"
"She gave her two weeks notice yesterday," Santana explains, "so I guess she still has to stick around while they rearrange everyone's schedules or something. Find people to fill her usual routes."
Brittany tilts her head and presses a kiss to Santana's neck. "She'll be back," Brittany murmurs.
"Maybe." Santana looks straight ahead, her words detached. "Maybe not. I mean, all she ever does is leave."
"She won't have a job in two weeks, San," Brittany reminds her gently.
"Doesn't mean she's going to come home," Santana argues. She groans. "Whatever, I don't care."
"Yeah, you do." Brittany slides a hand under Santana's shirt and gently strokes the skin across her abdomen. "I know you still love her," she adds softly, her chin pressing lightly against Santana's shoulder as she speaks.
Santana opens her mouth to protest, but Brittany's sincerity stops her, and she finds herself suddenly fighting tears. Santana clenches her jaw and tries to focus on Brittany's touch instead of Brittany's words, because the truth in them stings. On some level, Santana has taught herself not to care, not to love, not to anything when it comes to her mother. No expectations means no disappointments; isn't that the way it's supposed to go? But as much as it pisses her off to admit, Santana knows that some part of her is always going to be that affection-starved thirteen-year-old girl who still daydreams about her parents reuniting like in every fucking movie targeted to thirteen-year-old girls. It's all bullshit.
Brittany, apparently sensing the tension in Santana's muscles, tightens her grip around Santana's midsection. "It'd be easier on you," she says close to Santana's ear, "if you let yourself trust her."
"I don't know how to do that," Santana replies quietly, her voice scratchy.
Brittany presses her face against Santana's shoulder. "Do you trust me?"
Santana doesn't hesitate. "With my life."
"And I trust your mom," Brittany continues, "so maybe you could trust her through me."
Santana forces a chuckle. "I don't think it works like that, B." Santana is quiet for a moment, then, "Did you know that your mom called my mom?"
Brittany doesn't lift her face from Santana's shoulder. "Yeah."
"What the hell," Santana snaps. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"My mom asked me not to," Brittany answers. "I'm sorry, don't be upset."
"I'm not," Santana says after a moment. "I get why your mom asked you to do that." She twists her body around and smiles faintly at Brittany. "Hey, Britt?"
"Mm?"
"Nothing. L-listen," Santana stammers, eyes briefly lowering. "I really just-thank you."
Brittany smiles. "For what? My mom was the one who called. I didn't even-"
"Not that." Santana leans back, her head falling to Brittany's shoulder. "You kept me sane," she exhales, staring straight up at the ceiling. "You keep me going, you know?"
Brittany's hand moves up to Santana's collarbone, and she presses lightly. "I know."
Santana chuckles, tilting her head slightly. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Brittany echoes with a grin, suddenly rising and pulling Santana up with her. She presses a kiss to the corner of Santana's mouth, but her smile wavers and then fades."You should've woken me up last night, instead of Quinn."
"I didn't wake Quinn up." Santana clarifies. "She probably just needed to pee for the two hundredth time."
Brittany watches Santana for a moment with sad eyes. "You should've woken me up," she repeats.
"Britt, I was fine. I am fine." Santana gently skims Brittany's arm. "Besides, you were all cuddled up on the floor. I didn't want to wake you."
"I would've gotten up for you," Brittany insists.
Santana smiles faintly. "I know you would've." She cups Brittany's cheeks and adds, "I really just wanted to sleep and you helped me do that, so I'd call it a success, okay?"
"Okay," Brittany replies, mirroring Santana's smile. "Will you just apologize to your mom? She's really trying."
"Fine," Santana acquiesces with a short nod. "But let her and Quinn make us some food first. I'm starving."
The smell of bacon, eggs and coffee wafts from the kitchen as Brittany and Santana approach. Quinn is at the stove, fiddling with a pan of sizzling bacon, while Santana's mother is scooping scrambled eggs onto three plates. Santana catches her mother's eye but quickly looks away. Mercifully, the toaster oven chooses that moment to ding.
"Mija," her mother says, her voice even but ever-cautious. "Could you get the toast out of there?"
Santana almost says something stupid but Brittany is squeezing her hand so she stops herself and quietly makes herself useful.
Through breakfast, Santana mostly stays quiet and lets Quinn and Brittany entertain her mother with stories about school and Glee. By the time Quinn starts yakking about their Gaga outfits, Santana has wolfed down her entire breakfast, and the fact that she no longer has something to busy her mouth with makes her uncomfortable. How the hell is Quinn so engaged in conversation with this woman anyway? Maybe it's easier since they're strangers. No pressure.
Santana stands up a little more noisily than she would've liked and walks over to the coffee machine. As she's pouring herself a cup, Brittany sidles up to her and leans in next to her ear.
"I'm gonna take Quinn to my place, okay?" Brittany whispers, just quietly enough so that neither Quinn nor Santana's mother can overhear.
A knot forms in Santana's stomach, but she nods.
"Call me when you're done," Brittany continues, "or just come over." She wraps her arms around Santana's torso and squeezes gently. "I love you."
Santana spins around and presses a quick kiss to Brittany's lips, craving the contact. "Love you too."
Santana's mother is eyeing them warily as they move back to the table. Santana tightens her grip around the handle of her coffee mug and slides back into her seat. Brittany, however, chooses to stay standing. She clears her throat rather loudly, and Santana has to hide her smile because Brittany's never been particularly discreet, but Santana has a feeling this is going to be plain embarrassing.
"Quinn," Brittany begins.
Quinn turns and smiles. "Yes?"
"I need your help," Brittany states.
"Sure, Britt," Quinn replies. "What is it?"
"I need your help," Brittany repeats, chewing at her lip, "with um, math homework. It's due tomorrow."
Quinn frowns. "Tomorrow's Sunday."
"It's for… Sunday school."
Quinn's frown deepens. "What? There's no-"
Under the table, Santana swings her leg in Quinn's general direction and catches the blonde's shin. Quinn spins to Santana, looking ready to bitch, when realization strikes her features.
"Oh, I-" Quinn stands up and moves her empty plate and utensils to the sink. She turns to Santana's mother with a smile. "Thanks for everything, Ms. Lopez."
Brittany skips toward Santana's mother, leans down and envelopes her in a hug, which seems to surprise the older woman. "I've missed you," Brittany murmurs affectionately.
Santana looks away and takes a gulp of coffee. It burns her throat going down.
Brittany pulls away from Santana's mother and reaches out to brush her knuckles against Santana's jaw. "See you later, San."
Santana catches Brittany's hand as she's withdrawing and gives it a quick squeeze. "Later, Britt. Quinn."
Quinn tilts her head in acknowledgement and leaves the kitchen. Brittany follows closely behind.
Santana stares silently into her mug until she hears the front door open and close, which turns out to be a really fucking long time. Not entirely surprising, given Brittany's mastery at being easily sidetracked and Quinn's baby bump probably getting in the way of her tying her own damn shoes, but still. It puts Santana on edge.
"Mija," her mother finally broaches, "I have to leave this afternoon."
"I know," Santana replies without looking up.
"But I'll be back. Two weeks, and then that's it."
Santana takes a sip of coffee, trying to ignore the slow burn in her chest. "What about money?"
Her mother shakes her head. "Don't you worry about that. I'm going to do everything I can to make this work again."
Santana doesn't say anything.
"I'll call you," her mother continues, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. "Every night that I'm not in the air, I promise."
"I don't want promises," Santana says coldly.
Her mother sighs. "I don't have the power to turn back time, Santana," she says gently. "Is that what you expect?"
Santana hardens. "I stopped expecting anything from you when you decided to quit being my mom."
"Santana…"
Santana shuts her eyes and thinks about Brittany. She takes a breath. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I-I want this to work too. I just… forget sometimes, what it was like."
Her mother nods delicately. "Un día a la vez, okay?"
Santana finally looks up. Her mother's eyes are bright with unshed tears, and her cheeks are hollow, almost hauntingly so. Santana finds sorrow, and remorse, and so much guilt in her mother's features. It overwhelms her, and she swallows against the lump forming in her throat.
"I-okay," Santana finally says, unsure but willing to try. "One day at a time."
Her mother leans forward in her seat. "Will you tell me about school?" she asks. "I want to know more about this Glee Club, and your friends. Quinn seems like a nice girl. How did she-?"
"Get knocked up?" Santana chuckles dryly. "That is actually a really long story."
Her mother smiles faintly. "I've got five hours."
Santana only hesitates for a moment before launching into an elaborate retelling of Quinn's fall from grace. It's easier than she'd imagined, and from there, she segues into stories about Glee, and Cheerios, even Rachel's stupid Christmas party. And through everything, Santana's mother smiles and laughs and clucks disapprovingly when Santana accidentally calls Rachel 'Man-Hands'.
She doesn't venture anywhere near Brittany, but then her mom probably prefers it that way.
And when the clock hits three and her mother has to leave again, it's different, somehow. For one, Santana doesn't want to punch a wall or light the house on fire, so that's a pretty good start.
Part 8
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Quinn, Puck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5,062 (of ~56k)
Timeline: Season 1
Summary: Santana Lopez has a plan. A three-point plan. A really fucking efficient three-point plan that's going to get her the hell out of Ohio. This is her story.
Notes: I am so freaking pumped for gleefsbigbang, and you should be too. That is all. This was not a shameless pimp for ARTISTS. Please, for the love of god, if you can open Photoshop and you like Glee, go sign up. (You should also be excited because there are almost 60 writers who have pledged, and some of them are proven BIG HITTERS.) Okay, PSA over. Enjoy the update. :)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Santana doesn't hear anything from her mother for two weeks. That's nothing new.
She actually gets a little worried that the older Lopez had gone and driven her car off a cliff or something - are there even cliffs in Ohio? - but Quinn, of all people, makes some phone calls and discovers that Santana's mother is actually back at work. ("She leaves for Madrid this afternoon," she'd said, and Santana doesn't even bother asking how.)
So life moves on. School, Cheerios, Glee, Brittany. There's still something empty where she used to have a family years and years ago, but there's a roof over her head and a bank account she has access to and chicken wings in her belly, so you know. She deals.
The end of the school year is approaching. With it comes nationals for Cheerios and regionals for Glee, and they keep Santana busy. And busy? Is good.
Mr. Schue assigns them a Lady Gaga number, which is awesome. Santana invites Brittany and Quinn over to work on their costumes together, and Quinn looks relieved to get time away from the Puckermans.
That's how the three of them end up on the floor of Santana's living room on a Friday night, printed images of Gaga outfits strewn around them.
Quinn finds hers first. "This dress will hide my baby bump perfectly," she announces proudly.
"How," Santana asks, "are we going to make that big spiky thing?"
Brittany is next, and of course she picks the only one that involves marine life, to substitute those ducks or whatever she likes so much. "Except, maybe with a bra," she decides, tilting her head at the white Xs taped over Lady Gaga's nipples.
"Where," Santana asks, "are we going to get a giant plastic lobster?"
Santana has a hard time choosing between two looks, but then Brittany purrs, "You'd look so sexy in black lace," and the decision becomes obvious.
First, they scour Santana's closet, then Brittany's closet, and all of Quinn's old clothes are probably in boxes somewhere in the Fabray home, so they leave that one alone. After visiting three thrift shops, an art supplies store, Walmart, and the Home Depot, they've collected enough materials to start on their costumes.
Brittany's mother offers them supper, which they gladly accept. Once everyone is fed, they find themselves back on the floor of Santana's living room, except this time, surrounded by old clothes, ribbons, lace, wires, everything. Even a giant plastic lobster that Quinn had dug out of a pile of rejected toys at Walmart. Santana's pretty sure the only things Walmart doesn't carry are human souls, and even that's arguable.
Santana spends most of the next hour in her bra and panties while Brittany tries to wrap rolls of lace around her to measure. Quinn is making use of the Lopez's old sewing machine in an attempt to attach wiring to the hem of this bright pink dress she'd picked up second-hand for five bucks. Brittany's hands sliding against Santana's skin is actually kind of distracting, but Quinn's there, so the chance of Santana getting away with anything is pretty much negative three. Too bad.
"I have some news," Quinn says. "Well, Rachel does, actually."
Santana makes a face. "Since when did you start hanging out with Barbra Streisand?"
"She dragged me and Mercedes to-"
"Same question," Santana interrupts, "different diva."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Will you let me finish?" she huffs. "Okay, we were spying on Vocal Adrenaline for some Gaga ideas, and it turns out, their coach?" She lowers her voice. "Is Rachel's mom."
Santana and Brittany both stop what they're doing and turn to Quinn.
"That," Santana says, "is thoroughly fucked up."
Brittany looks confused. "How did she even know?"
"Apparently she had a tape of her mom singing," Quinn replies. "Ms. Corcoran has an incredible voice. Really distinct."
"I bet that Jesse kid was in on it," Santana points out. "Knew he was up to no good the moment I saw him and the head of hair he's clearly acquainted with an oil rig."
Quinn frowns. "I didn't even think of that. But anyway, I think it freaked Rachel out pretty bad."
"Did you two just leave her there with her mom?" Santana asks.
"She told us to go," Quinn answers, "but we waited for her outside. She didn't take long. I don't think it went very well, but she didn't want to talk about it."
"Rachel not wanting to talk," Santana echoes skeptically. "The end of the world is near."
"We should do something for her," Brittany pipes up. "Like make a list of the pros and cons of having two gay dads. Or chicken soup."
"Rachel's a vegan," Quinn says gently. "But maybe we could invite her here? Help her with her costume."
"Veto," Santana interjects immediately.
"Oh, come on, she could probably use a friend right about now," Quinn insists. "And she has a pretty unique perspective about this whole being gay thing you and Britt have going on."
"Oh my god, Q," Santana cries, horrified. "Veto!"
"Relax," Quinn laughs, rising to get her phone. "I was joking about the last part."
Rachel doesn't answer her phone though, so Brittany texts Rachel an encouraging message and refuses to work on their costumes until Santana does the same. She receives a long, appreciative kiss from Brittany for her effort, so whatever. Rachel Berry can suck it.
Quinn is actually a pretty good seamstress. Guess it helps having a Martha Stewart reincarnate as a mother. Biological mother, anyway, because that distinction has become important. Quinn helps Santana stitch everything together and manages to find a way to attach the lobster to Brittany's head without decapitating her. Operation Gaga turns out to be a success.
By the time the main parts of their costumes are finished, it's really late, and they're all exhausted. Santana sets up the couch for Quinn, and Brittany insists that she and Santana sleep on the floor of the living room to keep Quinn company. Quinn makes them promise no funny business, and Santana tells her about the bus ride to sectionals to gross her out. It works.
But Quinn doesn't complain when Brittany and Santana spread some blankets on the floor and curl up together.
Santana is nearly asleep when she hears Brittany say, "We miss you in Cheerios, Quinn."
From the couch, Quinn lets out a sigh. "I really miss you guys."
"How's Puck treating you?" Santana asks.
"He has his moments," Quinn replies, but she sounds resigned. "He wants to name the baby Jackie Daniels."
Santana chuckles knowingly. "That's kind of cute."
"For a puppy or an iPod, maybe," Quinn grumbles.
"My iPod's name is Frank," Brittany offers around a yawn.
"Puck's okay most of the time. It's his mom looking at me like I'm some tramp." After a moment, Quinn groans. "I have to pee," she announces, rising from the couch.
"Goodnight," Brittany mumbles to nobody in particular, pressing herself closer to Santana.
By the time Quinn returns from her bathroom trip, Brittany is fast asleep. Quinn crawls back onto the couch as quietly as she can. Santana begins to drift off too, but the sound of the front door jars her awake. She sits up, alert.
Brittany rouses. "San?"
"Don't wake up," Santana whispers, pressing a quick kiss to Brittany's forehead. "I'll be right back." She pushes herself to her feet.
"M'kay," Brittany murmurs, pulling the blankets that Santana has abandoned to her chest.
Santana walks cautiously toward the front of the house, and a light suddenly turning on startles her. She reaches for something to defend herself with and ends up with Quinn's spike ball contraption thing in her hand. Well, shit. The spikes aren't even sharp.
Santana pushes on and nearly walks right into her mother, who mirrors her expression of surprise. Santana doesn't even have time to process anything besides relief and the same eternal longing she's promised herself so many times that she would never again feel.
"Mama?"
"Santana, why are you still awake?" her mother asks, squinting. "What on earth is that thing?"
"Something for Glee," she explains, knowing her mother has no idea what she's talking about. Santana puts Quinn's prop down and doesn't bother elaborating. "What are you doing here?" she asks, a little more hostile than she'd meant to.
Her mother frowns. "Don't be disrespectful," she warns. "I still pay the bills around here." Santana looks down, and her mother sighs, deflating. "Mija, I quit my job."
Santana's head snaps up. "What?"
Her mother smiles faintly. "Two weeks notice means I still have to leave tomorrow, but I let them know today."
Santana swallows hard, throat dry. "Mama…"
Her mother leads her into the kitchen and sits her down. Santana's heart hurts, and she struggles against the tears burning against her eyelids. The older woman takes Santana's hands into hers, and Santana just stares at them, unsure what to think. She doesn't even recognize her mother's hands, wrinkled by the passing of time.
"Brittany's mom reached out to me." Her mother's voice is even.
Santana looks up, surprised. "Britt-" Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. "Britt didn't say anything about that."
"I don't think she knew." Her mother presses Santana's palms together. "We talked for hours. About you, and how well you were doing in school, that you'd been promoted to head cheerleader, that you and Brittany joined your school's show choir. I needed her to explain what that even was." Her mother's teary laughter is filled with remorse. Santana's heart clenches, and she looks down in an attempt to hide her own tears. Her mother takes a breath and continues, "I was sitting there staring at the ceiling of this hotel room in the middle of Barcelona as another woman told me about my daughter's life, and I-" She releases Santana's hands and reaches to cup Santana's tear-streaked cheeks. "I don't want to do that anymore, Mija. I'm so sorry…"
"This doesn't make everything okay," Santana croaks, even as she shuts her eyes and leans into her mother's touch. "You can't just… pretend like the last four years didn't happen. Make promises you never keep." She tears herself away and rockets out of her seat, distancing herself to clear her head. She bristles. "I can take care of myself."
Her mother stands as well. "I know. I know you can."
Santana shakes her head as a thought occurs to her. "And if you can't accept me and Brittany, I'm not doing any of this."
"I can work on that," her mother pledges. "Santana, no será perfecta, pero te quiero."
Santana squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block out everything that's happening. It's too much all at once, and she's spent so long convincing herself to accept the impossibility of reconciliation that she's unprepared for any of this.
Because for a moment, Santana recognizes this woman, remembers her as the one who'd forced her little tomboy to play with the shy new girl with the bright blue eyes all those years ago. The memory overwhelms her.
"I need some time to-to process this," Santana manages to say, her voice shaky. "Go get some rest, Mama. You look exhausted."
Her mother takes a step forward. "Mija…"
Santana holds up her hands defensively. "Por favor, Mama," she says quietly, the Spanish sounding foreign to her own ears. "Necesito algo de tiempo."
Santana knows that ultimately, as a minor, she doesn't have a single say in what her mother does or doesn't do as long as they fit within the confines of the law. But she also knows that her chest hurts, and she really wants to lie down and hold Brittany and not be standing in front of her mother all teary and vulnerable.
Her mother hesitates one moment before relenting. The fact that the older woman steps aside to let Santana leave the kitchen first means nothing and everything. Her mother begins climbing the stairs, but Santana stays put, and her mother turns around to look at her.
"Girl's night," Santana preempts. "Brittany and Quinn are over. We're bunking it out in the living room."
Her mother nods and steps back down toward her. Santana shuts her eyes as her mother cradles her cheeks and presses an affectionate kiss to the crown of her head. Santana squeezes back tears and doesn't open her eyes until long after her mother's hands are gone and the older woman has disappeared into the second floor.
Santana remains at the base of the stairs, gulping in breaths of air to try and calm her nerves.
"Santana?" It's Quinn. "Hey," she says softly, "everything okay?"
Without turning around, Santana wipes clumsily at her cheeks. "Yeah, go back to sleep, Q."
Quinn ignores Santana's instruction, and Santana feels gentle arms sliding around her from behind. It's not the same as being wrapped up in Brittany, but Santana draws comfort from Quinn, who doesn't ask any questions, doesn't try to turn her around, just holds her steady and lets her cry.
When Santana finally manages to calm down, Quinn nudges her back into the living room and onto the couch. As Quinn slides onto the floor next to Brittany, Santana frowns and pulls Quinn back up.
"I'm not going to be responsible for your baby popping out with nine fingers because you squashed one sleeping on the floor," Santana whispers, trying not to wake a still-sleeping Brittany.
"You can't squ-" Quinn shakes her head. "Take the couch, Santana. Me and my baby will be just fine on the floor."
But Santana doesn't let go of Quinn. "Get up here," she grumbles. "I want Brittany, anyway."
From the floor, Brittany stirs. Santana quickly pulls Quinn onto the couch and slips down to curl up next to Brittany. Immediately, Brittany reaches out an arm and folds it over Santana's waist, murmuring something unintelligible as she settles against her. Santana brushes Brittany's hair away from her face and leaves a kiss on her cheek.
Physically and emotionally spent, Santana falls into an exhausted but dreamless slumber.
--
Saturday morning, the first thing Santana notices is her searing headache. The second is that Brittany and Quinn are already awake, and they're giggling about something. Santana groans as she rolls over, back aching from a night on the floor. Brittany's hands are sudden and warm on Santana's cheeks, and she peppers kisses all across Santana's face.
"Good morning!"
Santana chuckles as she tries to blink the sleep from her eyes. Despite Brittany's affection, it feels like someone has been repeatedly punching her square in the face, and she's sure her eyelids are puffy as hell from all the bawling she's suddenly making a habit of doing. Santana groans again. Fucking mornings. But Brittany is nothing if not unnaturally cheery in the a.m., which used to drive Santana nuts. Getting to hear Brittany's laughter first thing in the morning though is really not a bad deal.
Brittany is smiling down at Santana when her eyes finally focus, but the blonde quickly sobers up. "You okay, San?" she murmurs. "Quinn said your mom showed up last night."
"Yeah," Santana replies, sitting up. Blankets pool around her lap, and she picks aimlessly at them. "She quit her job," she adds without looking up.
Brittany touches Santana's arm tenderly. "That's good, right?"
"How do I know she's not just going to change her mind?" Santana snaps. Brittany doesn't flinch, and Santana covers her eyes. "I'm sorry. It's too early for this."
Brittany moves to sit behind Santana, her arms wrapping around Santana's midsection. Quinn readjusts herself to lean against the couch, pulling Santana's newly-abandoned pillow to cushion her back.
"I think you should give her a shot," Quinn says, but there's a darkness to her words that Santana can't exactly pinpoint.
Santana looks at Quinn. "If your mom offers to reconcile tomorrow, would you go for it?"
"Yeah," Quinn replies quietly without missing a beat.
The response surprises Santana. "Why? She's treated you like shit."
Quinn half-shrugs. "She's my mom."
"Q, she let your psycho f-"
"Santana," Quinn interrupts, but there is no venom in her words. "Family is family. We don't get to choose our biology. Look, my parents are tough to be around, I know, but I want to believe that my mom still cares about me."
Santana frowns. "Don't you think that's a little naïve? She kicked your ass out."
"She's living in an emotionally abusive marriage, San." Quinn lowers her eyes and shrugs. "I'd be no better than her if I didn't forgive her for her choices, even if they meant horrible consequences for me."
"But she-"
"I hate her still, you know," Quinn cuts in again. Her delivery is soft, even as her words turn harsh. "Every day. I resent her for not standing up for me. Sometimes a lot; recently a little less. But don't you think that people can change? That I've changed. And you too, Santana."
Santana feels Brittany's arms tightening around her, almost in confirmation. She turns her head slightly to look at the blonde pressed to her back, and she knows that Quinn has a point. Doesn't mean she's ready to admit it yet, so Santana stays silent.
Quinn continues, "And you know what they say about blood and water."
"I think that's bullshit," Santana is quick to dismiss.
"Everyone deserves a second chance, Santana." Quinn's hand moves momentarily to her belly. "You yourself have certainly gotten a few of those from this one," she points out, reaching to brush affectionately against Brittany's shoulder.
Brittany sweeps Santana's dark hair to one side, exposing neck, and she presses a kiss to the skin there. "San, let your mom prove she's changed," she urges quietly. "If her being around gets to be too much, you can always stay with me for a few nights while you figure it out."
Before she can reply, approaching footsteps make Santana tense up. Her mother appears at the edge of the living room with bloodshot eyes but a cautious smile. Her line of sight immediately turns to Quinn's extended belly, but she doesn't comment on it.
"Buenos días, mijas."
"Buenos días," Quinn echoes.
"I'm going to make you girls some breakfast. Is that okay?"
"Could you make eggs?" Brittany pipes up.
Santana's mother smiles a little. "Of course."
Brittany brushes a hand across Santana's side. "Do you remember," she asks softly, "how I used to call your mom Mrs. Lopeggs whenever she made me eggs?"
Santana looks down at her lap. "That was a long time ago, B."
Brittany just holds her tighter in response.
Santana feels her mother's eyes on her, so she shrugs and says, "I'll have whatever. Quinn really wants bacon, but if she's reaching for the jar of Vlasic or the tub of Ben & Jerry's in the fridge, stop her. She's not eating that nasty shit here."
"Language, Mija."
Santana bristles. "You do not get to mother me."
Brittany clamps a hand over Santana's mouth. Quinn jumps up and offers to help Santana's mother with breakfast. Santana is steeling herself for a confrontation, but Quinn somehow manages to pull the older woman away. Santana isn't even sure the two of them have ever met, but if Santana's mother wants a daughter to alleviate her guilt, Santana decides that she can have someone who actually wants a mom in return.
Brittany waits until the sounds of pans banging against each other can be heard from the kitchen before dropping her hand.
Her voice is quiet but admonishing. "San."
Santana sighs. "Can you blame me for forgetting how this relationship is supposed to work?"
Brittany rests her chin on Santana's shoulder. "No, but I think you should go apologize."
Santana wrinkles her nose in disgust. "What? I'm not doing that."
"I really want this to work out for you," Brittany urges, shifting against Santana's back. "But you're going to have to stop hating her before that can happen."
"I know," Santana mutters, deflating. "And I don't. I don't hate her, Britt. I just feel pretty messed up about the whole thing right now." She turns her head to look at Brittany. "She has to leave again, you know."
"What? Why?"
"She gave her two weeks notice yesterday," Santana explains, "so I guess she still has to stick around while they rearrange everyone's schedules or something. Find people to fill her usual routes."
Brittany tilts her head and presses a kiss to Santana's neck. "She'll be back," Brittany murmurs.
"Maybe." Santana looks straight ahead, her words detached. "Maybe not. I mean, all she ever does is leave."
"She won't have a job in two weeks, San," Brittany reminds her gently.
"Doesn't mean she's going to come home," Santana argues. She groans. "Whatever, I don't care."
"Yeah, you do." Brittany slides a hand under Santana's shirt and gently strokes the skin across her abdomen. "I know you still love her," she adds softly, her chin pressing lightly against Santana's shoulder as she speaks.
Santana opens her mouth to protest, but Brittany's sincerity stops her, and she finds herself suddenly fighting tears. Santana clenches her jaw and tries to focus on Brittany's touch instead of Brittany's words, because the truth in them stings. On some level, Santana has taught herself not to care, not to love, not to anything when it comes to her mother. No expectations means no disappointments; isn't that the way it's supposed to go? But as much as it pisses her off to admit, Santana knows that some part of her is always going to be that affection-starved thirteen-year-old girl who still daydreams about her parents reuniting like in every fucking movie targeted to thirteen-year-old girls. It's all bullshit.
Brittany, apparently sensing the tension in Santana's muscles, tightens her grip around Santana's midsection. "It'd be easier on you," she says close to Santana's ear, "if you let yourself trust her."
"I don't know how to do that," Santana replies quietly, her voice scratchy.
Brittany presses her face against Santana's shoulder. "Do you trust me?"
Santana doesn't hesitate. "With my life."
"And I trust your mom," Brittany continues, "so maybe you could trust her through me."
Santana forces a chuckle. "I don't think it works like that, B." Santana is quiet for a moment, then, "Did you know that your mom called my mom?"
Brittany doesn't lift her face from Santana's shoulder. "Yeah."
"What the hell," Santana snaps. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"My mom asked me not to," Brittany answers. "I'm sorry, don't be upset."
"I'm not," Santana says after a moment. "I get why your mom asked you to do that." She twists her body around and smiles faintly at Brittany. "Hey, Britt?"
"Mm?"
"Nothing. L-listen," Santana stammers, eyes briefly lowering. "I really just-thank you."
Brittany smiles. "For what? My mom was the one who called. I didn't even-"
"Not that." Santana leans back, her head falling to Brittany's shoulder. "You kept me sane," she exhales, staring straight up at the ceiling. "You keep me going, you know?"
Brittany's hand moves up to Santana's collarbone, and she presses lightly. "I know."
Santana chuckles, tilting her head slightly. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Brittany echoes with a grin, suddenly rising and pulling Santana up with her. She presses a kiss to the corner of Santana's mouth, but her smile wavers and then fades."You should've woken me up last night, instead of Quinn."
"I didn't wake Quinn up." Santana clarifies. "She probably just needed to pee for the two hundredth time."
Brittany watches Santana for a moment with sad eyes. "You should've woken me up," she repeats.
"Britt, I was fine. I am fine." Santana gently skims Brittany's arm. "Besides, you were all cuddled up on the floor. I didn't want to wake you."
"I would've gotten up for you," Brittany insists.
Santana smiles faintly. "I know you would've." She cups Brittany's cheeks and adds, "I really just wanted to sleep and you helped me do that, so I'd call it a success, okay?"
"Okay," Brittany replies, mirroring Santana's smile. "Will you just apologize to your mom? She's really trying."
"Fine," Santana acquiesces with a short nod. "But let her and Quinn make us some food first. I'm starving."
The smell of bacon, eggs and coffee wafts from the kitchen as Brittany and Santana approach. Quinn is at the stove, fiddling with a pan of sizzling bacon, while Santana's mother is scooping scrambled eggs onto three plates. Santana catches her mother's eye but quickly looks away. Mercifully, the toaster oven chooses that moment to ding.
"Mija," her mother says, her voice even but ever-cautious. "Could you get the toast out of there?"
Santana almost says something stupid but Brittany is squeezing her hand so she stops herself and quietly makes herself useful.
Through breakfast, Santana mostly stays quiet and lets Quinn and Brittany entertain her mother with stories about school and Glee. By the time Quinn starts yakking about their Gaga outfits, Santana has wolfed down her entire breakfast, and the fact that she no longer has something to busy her mouth with makes her uncomfortable. How the hell is Quinn so engaged in conversation with this woman anyway? Maybe it's easier since they're strangers. No pressure.
Santana stands up a little more noisily than she would've liked and walks over to the coffee machine. As she's pouring herself a cup, Brittany sidles up to her and leans in next to her ear.
"I'm gonna take Quinn to my place, okay?" Brittany whispers, just quietly enough so that neither Quinn nor Santana's mother can overhear.
A knot forms in Santana's stomach, but she nods.
"Call me when you're done," Brittany continues, "or just come over." She wraps her arms around Santana's torso and squeezes gently. "I love you."
Santana spins around and presses a quick kiss to Brittany's lips, craving the contact. "Love you too."
Santana's mother is eyeing them warily as they move back to the table. Santana tightens her grip around the handle of her coffee mug and slides back into her seat. Brittany, however, chooses to stay standing. She clears her throat rather loudly, and Santana has to hide her smile because Brittany's never been particularly discreet, but Santana has a feeling this is going to be plain embarrassing.
"Quinn," Brittany begins.
Quinn turns and smiles. "Yes?"
"I need your help," Brittany states.
"Sure, Britt," Quinn replies. "What is it?"
"I need your help," Brittany repeats, chewing at her lip, "with um, math homework. It's due tomorrow."
Quinn frowns. "Tomorrow's Sunday."
"It's for… Sunday school."
Quinn's frown deepens. "What? There's no-"
Under the table, Santana swings her leg in Quinn's general direction and catches the blonde's shin. Quinn spins to Santana, looking ready to bitch, when realization strikes her features.
"Oh, I-" Quinn stands up and moves her empty plate and utensils to the sink. She turns to Santana's mother with a smile. "Thanks for everything, Ms. Lopez."
Brittany skips toward Santana's mother, leans down and envelopes her in a hug, which seems to surprise the older woman. "I've missed you," Brittany murmurs affectionately.
Santana looks away and takes a gulp of coffee. It burns her throat going down.
Brittany pulls away from Santana's mother and reaches out to brush her knuckles against Santana's jaw. "See you later, San."
Santana catches Brittany's hand as she's withdrawing and gives it a quick squeeze. "Later, Britt. Quinn."
Quinn tilts her head in acknowledgement and leaves the kitchen. Brittany follows closely behind.
Santana stares silently into her mug until she hears the front door open and close, which turns out to be a really fucking long time. Not entirely surprising, given Brittany's mastery at being easily sidetracked and Quinn's baby bump probably getting in the way of her tying her own damn shoes, but still. It puts Santana on edge.
"Mija," her mother finally broaches, "I have to leave this afternoon."
"I know," Santana replies without looking up.
"But I'll be back. Two weeks, and then that's it."
Santana takes a sip of coffee, trying to ignore the slow burn in her chest. "What about money?"
Her mother shakes her head. "Don't you worry about that. I'm going to do everything I can to make this work again."
Santana doesn't say anything.
"I'll call you," her mother continues, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. "Every night that I'm not in the air, I promise."
"I don't want promises," Santana says coldly.
Her mother sighs. "I don't have the power to turn back time, Santana," she says gently. "Is that what you expect?"
Santana hardens. "I stopped expecting anything from you when you decided to quit being my mom."
"Santana…"
Santana shuts her eyes and thinks about Brittany. She takes a breath. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I-I want this to work too. I just… forget sometimes, what it was like."
Her mother nods delicately. "Un día a la vez, okay?"
Santana finally looks up. Her mother's eyes are bright with unshed tears, and her cheeks are hollow, almost hauntingly so. Santana finds sorrow, and remorse, and so much guilt in her mother's features. It overwhelms her, and she swallows against the lump forming in her throat.
"I-okay," Santana finally says, unsure but willing to try. "One day at a time."
Her mother leans forward in her seat. "Will you tell me about school?" she asks. "I want to know more about this Glee Club, and your friends. Quinn seems like a nice girl. How did she-?"
"Get knocked up?" Santana chuckles dryly. "That is actually a really long story."
Her mother smiles faintly. "I've got five hours."
Santana only hesitates for a moment before launching into an elaborate retelling of Quinn's fall from grace. It's easier than she'd imagined, and from there, she segues into stories about Glee, and Cheerios, even Rachel's stupid Christmas party. And through everything, Santana's mother smiles and laughs and clucks disapprovingly when Santana accidentally calls Rachel 'Man-Hands'.
She doesn't venture anywhere near Brittany, but then her mom probably prefers it that way.
And when the clock hits three and her mother has to leave again, it's different, somehow. For one, Santana doesn't want to punch a wall or light the house on fire, so that's a pretty good start.
Part 8