fic: if my heart was a compass - 8/10 - glee, brittany/santana, nc-17
Title: If My Heart Was A Compass (8/10)
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Quinn, Puck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5,518 (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.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
For the first time in a long time, Santana's mother keeps her word. Every afternoon, Santana's phone rings, and the two Lopez talk for as long as the older one has the time to. Santana learns, for the first time, that her mother's usual routes are to Spain and Germany, and that she's picked up a lot of German and some French from her four years there. Even a little Dutch, which makes Santana smile even though Brittany's family doesn't speak it at all.
It always takes Santana a moment or two to warm up to the conversation, but the consistency is a nice change. With a little prompting from Brittany and occasionally Quinn, Santana manages not to take out her issues on her mother, even though her mother is half the reason they're there.
"She cares, you know," Quinn had said, "which is more than some of us have."
Santana doesn't even have time to sulk and whine about how much she hates feeling things, because it's almost the end of the school year, and a million things are happening at once.
First, that stupid Jesse kid does exactly what Santana had expected him to do the whole time. He defects back to his school of over-privileged snobs. She kind of wants to say she told them so, but it's not even worth the effort. Besides, Santana doesn't want to lose at regionals, especially not to St. James and his group of douchebags, so boasting about the fact that she's apparently the only one in the entire club who has an ounce of foresight seems fairly counterproductive at this point.
Santana doesn't really care. They don't need Jesse to compete, and Rachel will quit moping as soon as she starts noticing Finn's googly eyes again. So as far as Santana is concerned, there's nothing to be worried about. Just sit back and give it some time.
Then Rachel gets egged, and it all goes to hell.
Santana's a tiny bit sympathetic, sure. Mostly because Brittany cares about unborn chicken fetuses too and doesn't discriminate against people with big noses, and when Brittany's upset, Santana's sure to get a little pissed herself. Santana doesn't care enough to do anything about it though, and anyway, as much as Rachel irritates the living daylights out of her, Santana has to admit the girl's tough. Handles a lot of shit on a daily basis, you know. So Santana's sure she'll be fine in time for regionals, and that's as far as she really cares about Rachel's well-being.
Quinn though, she has a different idea.
Quinn always has different ideas. Even back when she was a Cheerio, she'd be pulling schemes out of her ass, and Santana had always been forced to go along with it. Now, the obligation to play along stems from friendship rather than a mad status grab, but still. Doesn't mean Santana has to like it, especially when it involves Quinn tricking her into spending time with one Rachel Berry.
Friday night, Quinn calls Santana up and asks her to help push some boxes around. Remember the part about everything happening all at once? Yeah, here's the second: Quinn is moving in with Mercedes. Santana really shouldn't be surprised. She's seen the toll Puck's mom was taking on Quinn, and Puck doesn't exactly have a sterling reputation when it comes to being responsible, so it might actually turn out to be a good thing. Whatever helps Quinn not pop out her baby before the little thing's ready.
But when Santana shows up at Puck's door, ready to do some heavy lifting, she is not prepared to see Rachel moping around in the background.
"Don't freak out," Quinn preempts, and that's never a good sign. "I don't need help packing."
"You lied to me!" Santana cries, not caring that Rachel turns her head to look at them.
Quinn pushes Santana outside and shuts the door behind her. "You would've never come if I'd told the truth!"
"For good reason!" Santana retorts. "What is she even doing here?"
"I invited her," Quinn explains, keeping her calm. "She just needs some friends right now."
"And you expect me to swoop in and be her friend? Are you nuts? You'd have better luck if you randomly grabbed a hobo from the local seven-eleven. I'm leaving."
"Wait, Santana!" Quinn reaches out and grabs hold of Santana's wrist. "She's going through some shit and just wants someone to care. Ask her how she's doing. I remember what that's like, Santana. Nobody deserves that." Her eyes darken. "They say walk a mile in someone else's shoes; I've walked in Rachel's for six months, and some of the things we did to her…"
Despite the sudden and heavy guilt tugging at her heartstrings, Santana shakes Quinn's hand away. "It's a Friday night, Fabray. I have better things to do than make friends with a singing tranny."
She's halfway to her car when Quinn calls out, "Brittany'll be here within the hour."
Santana turns back, and Quinn is already smiling in that self-satisfied way that makes Santana want to smack her. Slowly, Santana walks back to the door and clutches the doorknob.
"Don't," Santana warns as she pushes it open and steps inside.
Quinn grins and follows Santana through the entrance. The door shuts behind them, and Rachel is staring.
"Nice to see you, Santana."
"Yeah, whatever," Santana grunts noncommittally, and she gets an elbow in the side from Quinn, who is damn lucky that baby in her belly is protecting her from Santana going postal on her.
Quinn corrals the other two into the living room. She seats Rachel down on the couch and offers Santana the armchair, probably so Santana doesn't have a go at the mopey little troll.
Santana doesn't even hate Rachel anymore, but come on, this is too easy. And the whole being difficult thing is really just payback for Quinn deceiving her into babysitting Rachel.
Santana waits, for whatever the first activity of this mini-sorority is supposed to be, but Rachel just looks upset and Quinn is just sitting next to her on the couch, holding her hand. Quinn Fabray. Is holding. Rachel Berry's. Hand. It blows Santana's mind. Not that she's even surprised per se, because she figures this is a gesture Quinn would offer Brittany, or even Santana herself (that is, if Quinn doesn't value the merits of having all ten fingers intact), but still. It's weird. Really, really weird.
Santana figures someone is bound to speak at some point, but a minute passes and nobody has. The whole thing is making her kind of uncomfortable, so Santana decides to go first.
"Um, so I don't really know what I'm doing here."
"Just sit there and be supportive," Quinn explains.
"Look," Santana stresses, "if you want me to go beat St. James up, I'll make it happen. But I don't exactly do this moral support shit, especially not for Shorty over here."
"Santana," Rachel addresses dramatically, "have you ever loved someone so much you felt like you couldn't breathe without them?"
Santana rolls her eyes. "No."
"Yes she has and does, Rachel," Quinn cuts in, throwing Santana a dirty look. "She's just trying to act tough. Ignore her."
Santana throws her arms up in the air. "Why the hell did you drag me here if you're going to tell her to ignore me?"
"I'm only telling her to ignore you when you're outright lying," Quinn says calmly. "And you're outright lying."
Santana ignores Quinn and turns to the brunette. "Rachel, look. Jesse used you. Get the fuck over it."
Quinn leans protectively over Rachel. "Santana!"
"What? It's true. Rachel's the one who's always going on about how important it is to overcome adversity and beat the odds. Maybe if she stopped saying it to everyone's faces and actually applied it to this relationship, she'd be fine, and I'd barf a little less in my mouth. It's win-win."
Quinn is covering her eyes, as though horribly regretting the decision to invite Santana, but Rachel actually nods thoughtfully.
"You make a valid point, Santana."
Two sets of disbelieving eyes turn to stare at Rachel.
Rachel continues, "Although I don't appreciate your dismissal of my deep emotional turmoil, logically, I accept your argument."
"O-kay," Santana draws out. "So does that mean-"
"It means," Rachel interrupts, voice rising, "that I am still allowed to grieve the loss of this relationship, just like you did when you and Brittany were fighting."
Santana's gut reaction is to punch Rachel in the face, but she pushes it down, mostly because she knows that Brittany would be upset if Rachel is sporting a bloody nose by the time she shows up. Christ. She is so whipped. But Santana inhales slowly and manages to keep her mouth shut and her fists to herself.
Quinn nudges Rachel. "Do you want to talk about it?" she prompts.
"Not particularly," Rachel replies. "As much as the Jesse debacle is weighing heavily on me, I'm more upset by the fact that my own mother thought it was appropriate to deceive me this way."
"Yeah, that's pretty messed up," Santana agrees, feigning indifference.
"I don't think she meant to hurt me," Rachel adds. "I just-wish things had been different."
Quinn pats Rachel comfortingly on the shoulder, and Santana grimaces. What is going on?
"I wanted it too badly," Rachel says quietly. "A mom."
"She's not your mom," Santana is quick to argue.
Rachel's head bobs in a quick nod. "I know that."
"And even if she were," Santana continues, "she'd still be a grade-A douche."
Rachel smiles faintly. "That was a very valiant attempt at making me feel better, Santana."
"It wasn't really a-" Santana trails off and looks briefly to Quinn before refocusing on Rachel. "I'm just saying, mothers can suck and yours does. That's all. Sometimes there's nothing you can do, and there's no point wasting your energy sulking about it. I would know, okay?"
Rachel opens her mouth, but Quinn cuts her off and shakes her head as discreetly as she can, signaling a big do not ask.
"It's not a big deal, Q," Santana says, unsuccessfully trying to keep her tone hard around the edges. "I can talk about it."
If Quinn is surprised, she doesn't show it. Rachel watches the exchange with curious eyes. Santana suddenly wishes Brittany is already around, and with that thought, she understands why Quinn is holding Rachel's hand. Doesn't make it any less weird though.
Santana takes a quick breath to calm her nerves. "Look, Rachel," she starts, grasping at the words in her head, "you don't have a mom, and maybe it made growing up tougher. Maybe you wished you had someone to take you bra shopping or buy you tampons for the first time, or… whatever." Santana frowns at her own examples. "It probably would've done all of us some good if you could've turned to her about when to lose your goddamn virginity. But you know what? I have one and she didn't do any of that shit for me."
Santana swallows hard against the sudden lump in her throat. She almost wants Rachel to open her big mouth and say something lacking any sense of discretion to give Santana a reason to attack her, but neither Rachel nor Quinn speaks a word.
"You're fucking romanticizing," Santana continues, pushing down her discomfort, "and it's pissing me off. You think you were robbed of your childhood because you didn't grow up with a mother? Isn't that a little unfair to your dads? Mope around all you want about Jesse and reference the shit out of Broadway tragedies - just don't do it to my face - but the thing with Corcoran? Get over it. You don't even know this woman. You don't love her. You didn't lose her; you never had her. And you're better for it." Santana pauses for a moment to make sure she's still glaring at Rachel. "Because," she continues once she has that down, "if she really did whip up a plan to stick St. James in your life only to take him away from you again, then she's fucking psycho and you're better off without her. Without either of them."
Quinn looks mildly confused. "I thought you made up with your mom."
Santana leans back in her seat. "I did."
Quinn frowns. "Then-I don't understand where this is coming from. Shouldn't you of all people sympathize with Rachel's situation?"
"Shelby Corcoran," Santana clarifies, "is nothing like my mom. Or even yours, for that matter. She didn't raise Rachel. She's just a stranger and frankly a piss-poor example of a decent human being."
"She's not as bad as you make her out to be," Rachel pipes up, words quiet. "She was young. She was chasing her dream. And now she has nothing to show for it except a failed acting career and a few show choir championships. She wanted something to hold on to. She thought it could be me, but she was wrong. Ultimately, I understand that." Rachel pauses thoughtfully. "But I appreciate what you're doing, Santana."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Santana grumbles.
"You're demonizing her," Rachel explains, "in an effort to reassure me that I am not at fault. It's rather endearing."
Next to Rachel, Quinn is wearing an amused grin. Santana actually flushes. Well, fuck both of them.
"You are a protective person by nature," Rachel yammers on. "Now that you're in Glee Club, you've grown to see that we aren't the lepers you'd previously pinned us to be. As much as you want to convince people otherwise to preserve your image, you feel a sense of obligation to shield us from those who have wronged us. There's no shame in that, Santana, and it's actually a nice change."
"Whatever, Dr. Phil," Santana dismisses. "I just want to win, okay? And in order to do that, we need you to sing. So snap out of it, Berry. You've put up with worse. I distinctly recall someone duct taping you to the flagpole every morning for two weeks last year."
Quinn immediately flusters. "I-you held her down!" Quinn protests. She turns to Rachel. "I'm really sorry about that, Rach."
"It's fine, Quinn."
But Santana can tell that it's not fine, and it's enough to make Santana feel mildly bad about it.
The doorbell rings then, and Quinn gets up to answer the door. Santana tries not to look at Rachel, in case she's expected to actually care or something. Because no, Santana does not care about Rachel Berry, no matter how much she hadn't deserved the egging, or the shitty excuse for a boyfriend, or even the heartbreak. Actually, the more Santana thinks about it, the more she wants to find that Jesse kid, tie him down, and let Rachel stomp on his face.
Shit. Maybe Santana does care a little. A little.
Santana doesn't have the time to consider the consequences of this revelation, because moments later, Brittany bounds in. After leaning down to greet Santana with a kiss, she takes a seat next to Rachel, occupying the space where Quinn had been seated. Santana frowns, but she finds she is not entirely annoyed, because well, Brittany's here.
Quinn nudges Santana to the side of the armchair and squeezes in next to her.
"Lay off the cheesecake, Fabray."
Quinn rolls her eyes but chooses to otherwise ignore Santana's comment. Santana watches Brittany and Rachel for another minute before turning to Quinn.
"Where's Puck?"
"Last minute moving stuff. He's getting some sturdier boxes for me. He's been out for a while, actually."
"And his family?"
Quinn's lips pull into a straight line. "Puck's mom doesn't like his sister spending too much time around me. Thinks the pregnancy'll rub off on her or something."
"Second-hand pregnancy," Santana remarks with a smirk. "Almost as dangerous as second-hand show tunes."
Quinn stays quiet and looks down at her extended belly. Something in the way she does makes Santana's heart ache. Santana glances over at Brittany and Rachel, who are animatedly engaged in a conversation about Rachel's ugly animal sweater. She turns back to Quinn.
"Hey," she says softly, "I didn't know it was this bad."
Quinn shrugs. "Just recently. I think the reality of the situation is finally setting in on Puck's mom. I've only got about seven weeks to go." She sighs. "Puck has actually been a complete gentleman lately, but I can't handle his mom anymore. I think moving in with Mercedes is going to help."
"Why her?" Santana asks, and it isn't until the words have left her mouth that she realizes how much it'd bugged her - Quinn choosing Mercedes.
"Because she offered," Quinn explains with a short, humorless laugh.
Santana frowns. "You should've just told me that Puck's mom was being a complete bitch to you. I had an empty house."
Quinn shakes her head. "No, Santana, it's not like that. There are laws. My legal rights are being signed around. I couldn't have stayed with you without your mom around."
"Britt's parents would've taken you in," Santana points out.
"Yeah," Quinn replies, "but I guess I just didn't want to be a burden. And anyway, the moment I got kicked off the Cheerios, nobody on the squad even acknowledged my presence, except you when you were trying to be a bitch, and Brittany when you weren't looking. By the time I needed a place to stay, Finn was my only option."
"You pulled away from us," Santana points out, a hint of accusation creeping into her tone.
"That's what you wanted, Santana," Quinn fires back. She sighs, her steely expression tempering. "You certainly didn't make it easy for me to hang on to you." She lowers her voice. "Or Brittany, for that matter. She was always yours first. Her loyalty to you is… I don't even think you realize it sometimes, San."
Santana's chest tightens. "I do. I swear, I do."
Quinn nods. "It's just-Mercedes gets how I feel."
"And what, we don't? Is it like a soul sister thing? Do I need to start getting into jazz and wearing bling?"
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Stop it. You know what I mean."
Santana smirks. "I'm happy for you, Quinn. This'll give Puck a little breathing room too. You guys figured out what's going to happen when the baby comes?"
"We're not keeping her," is all Quinn says.
Santana hears the sound of the front door opening, and a moment later, Puck stumbles into the living room with a small stack of folded cardboard boxes in front of him.
"Hey, what's with the sorority?"
"Just hanging out," Quinn replies.
Puck motions at the boxes. "Where do you want this?"
"Leave them right there," Quinn instructs, rising from the seat. "Most of my stuff is in smaller cartons upstairs. I'll get them."
Puck steps in front of her. "No, stay here. Paint each other's nails. I'll go."
Quinn sits back down, and Puck heads up stairs.
"He's dreamy when he's being chivalrous," Rachel observes, "although I quite enjoy his bad boy persona."
Nobody tells Rachel to stop talking. Quinn has to preemptively pinch Santana's arm, but still.
Rachel smiles really wide, like she's noticed this fact. Quinn pinches Santana again, and Santana retaliates by reaching a hand to mess up Quinn's hair. Stupid morals dictating that punching a pregnant girl in the stomach should be avoided. Especially when said girl is supposed to be a friend.
Puck reappears, his arms full with the first few cartons of Quinn's things. He drops them on the floor and props up one of the flattened boxes he'd brought in earlier.
"Noah, would you like some help with that?"
"Nah, I've got it," Puck replies, dramatically flexing his biceps. "Puckarone's got guns. See?"
"Your arms are charming, Noah, but your brain is admittedly a bit lacking," Rachel comments. "You'll need to tape the bottom of the boxes first." She stands up. "Here, let me show you. Do you own a tape roller?"
"Yeah," Puck replies. "I used to tape that Kurt kid to the school fence every Wednesday, but it hasn't seen much use lately. I'll go get it."
All five of them spend the next half-hour arranging Quinn's possessions into cardboard boxes and closing everything up. There isn't much, actually, but three large boxes manage to get filled. It's kind of sad, Santana thinks, that Quinn's whole life fits into three cardboard containers in the middle of Puck's living room, but Quinn doesn't seem upset about it, so Santana says nothing.
Puck stacks the boxes on top of each other and pushes them against the wall. He turns to Quinn, looking like he wants to say something, but he casts a sideways glance at the other three and seemingly decides against it.
Rachel touches Quinn's arm. "I'd better go. My dads are taking me to a local production of Wicked tonight. That always makes me feel better."
Quinn's arms wrap around Rachel, and the two hug like they've been friends their whole lives. It's kind of creeping Santana out.
As they're pulling apart, Rachel asks, "Do you need help moving tomorrow?"
Quinn shakes her head. "Mercedes and her dad will be here bright and early, and everything should fit in their minivan. Go enjoy your play."
Rachel nods and steps toward Brittany, who pulls her into a tight embrace.
"Keep your chin up," Brittany whispers against Rachel's ear.
Santana is discreetly backing away from the lovefest when Brittany skips over and all but shoves her into Rachel's arms. Santana begrudgingly hugs Rachel.
"Hey, what about me?" Puck complains.
Brittany's arms slide around Puck's torso, and she squeezes gently. The surprised look on Puck's face is priceless, and Santana laughs.
With final goodbyes, Rachel heads to the door; Quinn lets her out.
Quinn smiles at Santana as she closes and locks the front door. "Still mad I coaxed you here?"
"You didn't coax anyone," Santana counters. "You flat-out lied to me."
"To be fair," Quinn points out, "we did end up packing." She grins. "And it wasn't that hard to get you to stay once I mentioned Brittany."
Brittany's arms snake around Santana's body from behind. The blonde's chin rests comfortably on Santana's shoulder. "Is that true?" she murmurs affectionately.
The protest is halfway out Santana's mouth when she pulls it back. "Yeah," she admits, brushing a hand over Brittany's cheek. "I stayed for you."
Brittany's grip tightens around Santana. "You're sweet."
Puck hoots. "Somebody's getting some tonight."
"Shut your mouth, Puck."
Santana does get some that night, but that is so not the point.
--
Quinn moves in with Mercedes the next morning. She insists she doesn't need any help, which is actually a damn good thing, because Brittany keeps Santana up all night (or vice versa; Santana's not too concerned with the phrasing), and they end up spending a lazy Saturday morning cuddled up in bed together.
There's something so peaceful and easy about being with Brittany that Santana has never known with anyone else, even before any of this happened. But it's these idle, quiet moments that really remind Santana of what she has, and where she is. Who she is.
Brittany presses her body closer, her arm coming to rest across Santana's bare chest, and Santana turns to look at the blonde.
"Nationals is tomorrow," Santana says lightly.
Brittany smiles. "Yeah, you excited?"
"You know I love winning," Santana replies with a short laugh, the memory of the previous year's victory rushing to her cheeks. "Remember last year? Remember how it felt to know we were the best?"
"Yeah, that was pretty awesome," Brittany agrees. She pauses thoughtfully. "Too bad Quinn can't come this year."
Santana brushes the back of her hand down the length of Brittany's side, knuckles bumping against toned muscle and arched ribs and a firm hipbone. She fills with an inexplicable guilt.
"I'm sorry I pulled you from Quinn," she says suddenly, surprising even herself.
Brittany is watching her curiously. "You didn't do that."
Santana focuses on the rhythm of Brittany's breathing. "Not directly, but I didn't make it easy for you to stay her friend after Coach kicked her off the squad."
Brittany's eyes darken. "I make my own choices, Santana," she says quietly, a flash of irritation behind her words.
"I know," Santana reassures her. "I'm not saying you don't, but it's just-I would've given up Quinn for you."
"You didn't even like her back then," Brittany points out.
Santana shakes her head. "Even now. Not easily, but if it came down to it, it'd be you, every time."
Brittany softens. "I wouldn't make you choose."
Santana takes a breath. "But I made you choose," she acknowledges with a heavy heart, "and I'm so sorry I did that."
Brittany watches her for a moment, then leans down and presses a light kiss to Santana's lips. "I don't think I'm who you should be apologizing to. Or at least, not the only one."
"I know," Santana sighs. "You know I'm not any good at that shit."
Brittany smiles faintly. "I think she'd appreciate it anyway."
"Yeah, maybe," Santana exhales.
Brittany touches Santana's cheek. "How's it going with your mom?" she asks quietly.
"Not bad," Santana replies, playing absentmindedly with Brittany's hair. "It's a work in progress. She's actually supposed to come back either today or tomorrow. Like, permanently."
Brittany shifts against her. "Has it already been two weeks?"
"No," Santana shrugs, "but the rest is just some paperwork, which she can do from home. She'll only need to take a trip or two to Fort Wayne, and then-I don't know. She'll stick around, I guess."
Brittany props herself up with her elbow and smiles down at Santana. "This is really happening."
"Yeah," Santana breathes, reaching up to touch Brittany's chin.
Brittany leans down to brush her lips lightly against Santana's. "Don't be afraid," she murmurs.
"I'm not," Santana knee-jerks. "I just-I don't remember how to be a daughter. I know I won't be able to stop myself from saying or doing something idiotic and impulsive. Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm going to end up doing everything I know is going to push her away."
Brittany frowns. "Why? Don't do that."
Santana turns away and remains quiet for a long time, just holding Brittany's naked body against hers. Pulling strength from the blonde, because for all of Santana's bruised knuckles, Brittany's the one with the brand of courage that Santana needs.
"San," Brittany prompts softly.
"I don't want to give her a reason to leave again," is out of Santana's lips before she can stop herself, and she shuts her eyes.
"You weren't the reason she left the first time," Brittany states with an uncharacteristically fierce conviction. "Santana," she adds gently when Santana says nothing. "You weren't the reason."
"I know," Santana finally says, turning to face Brittany but keeping her eyes closed as she buries her face against the blonde's shoulder. "I need to shake it off," Santana groans. "I'm starting to sound like Berry did last night."
Brittany kisses the crown of Santana's head. "You shouldn't be so hard on her."
"You weren't even there when I bitched her out last night," Santana complains, though not unkindly.
Brittany chuckles. "As if I needed to be there to know what you said to her."
Santana lifts her head. "Yeah, well, she apparently thought I was defending her."
"Were you?" Brittany asks with a grin.
Santana scoffs. "Hell no."
Brittany's giggle is muffled against Santana's hair. "I think you were." Her hand comes to rest against Santana's hipbone. "I think you really like them," Brittany adds lightly. "Everyone in Glee."
"I do not," Santana grumbles.
Brittany's hand trails up Santana's side, gently stroking. "You like Quinn and Puck."
"That's not everyone," Santana counters, relaxing against Brittany's touch.
"You like Matt," Brittany continues, "and I hope you like Mike because I really like Mike."
Santana shrugs. "They're both okay, but that's still not everyone, Britt."
"Okay, let's see…" Brittany bites her lip thoughtfully, her hand slowing across Santana's ribcage. "Oh, Kurt's on the Cheerios now, and he's pretty cool."
"He's not 'pretty cool'," Santana mocks. "He just has a freakishly wide vocal range, and since he's become Sue Sylvester's new whipping boy, it gives the rest of us a little breathing room, which I'm sure not complaining about."
Brittany hooks a leg over one of Santana's thighs and presses her weight down. "That moisturizing oil he gave you made your skin super soft," Brittany purrs, dropping her head to kiss Santana's neck, tongue brushing her pulse point. "And," Brittany murmurs against Santana's skin, "you seemed to like it when I rubbed it all over your body."
Santana groans, and she instinctively bucks her hips against Brittany's thigh. "That's not fair," she complains around a stifled moan.
Brittany lifts her head and laughs playfully. "You like Kurt."
"But I don't like Mercedes," Santana insists, "or Finn, or that Wheelchair Kid and his death-obsessed girlfriend."
"You've never even said two words to Artie and Tina," Brittany admonishes. "You can't dislike someone if you don't even know them."
"I don't know that Corcoran bitch and I hate her," Santana fires back. When she realizes what she's said, she groans. "I don't like Rachel Berry. It's because Vocal Adrenaline is our main rivals at regionals, okay? And she's their coach, so obviously I'm not going to go and be her best friend."
"Santana," Brittany laughs. "You're so stubborn."
Santana responds by rolling Brittany over and dipping her tongue into the blonde's mouth to shut her up. Brittany doesn't seem to mind, and Santana's skin flushes with arousal when Brittany grabs Santana's hips and hikes her over so that she's properly straddling Brittany's waist. Santana lifts herself up and reaches down impatiently, but Brittany stops her.
"Admit it, Santana," Brittany grunts out. "You like them."
"Oh god, Britt, stop," Santana complains. "I don't want to think about those freaks while we're doing this, okay?"
"Okay, but-"
The rest gets caught in her throat because Santana's hand finds Brittany's clit, and she's rolling her fingers in rough circles to distract Brittany from her train of thought. The moment Santana associates Rachel Berry with sex is the moment she starts her new life as a nun, and she'd really prefer not to have that happen. Like, ever.
Brittany is a lot more complacent now that Santana's fingertips are grazing her where she's most sensitive, and Santana leans down to kiss her, the heat pooling between her thighs as Brittany makes the sexiest whimpering sounds that Santana has ever heard in her life.
The distant sound of a garage door opening pulls Santana from the moment, and her hand stills as she perks her ears to listen more closely. Sure enough, a moment later, the same clunky sound cuts through the air as the garage door shuts.
Santana's eyes widen as she stares down at Brittany.
"Shit," she hisses. "It's my mom."
Brittany tries to sit up, but Santana's weight is still pressed firmly against the length of her body, so the blonde doesn't get far. Santana clamors off Brittany and digs through the covers for their misplaced clothing. She tosses Brittany's at her.
"Get dressed," Santana hisses.
Brittany complies, pulling on her clothes as quickly as Santana finds them. Santana is slipping into her boyshorts when, without warning, she stops and turns to Brittany.
"Wait, wait. You don't have to rush. She knows. We're not hiding this."
Brittany pulls on her bra and slides into her shirt. "Don't test her, Santana," she warns.
Santana frowns and straightens up. The cold air hits her bare chest and she crosses her arms. "I'm not testing her, I'm just saying-"
"San, you have to give her time," Brittany says gently, reaching to pick up her pants off the ground. The clarity in Brittany's eyes is startling. "Even my mom would be freaked out if she walked in on us having sex." Brittany digs out Santana's bra and top and flings them at her. "Hurry up."
Santana dresses quickly, and as her mind finally catches up to the situation, she realizes what she'd almost done: placed her mother in a situation that Santana knows would upset the older woman. It's all in the push and pull, except the intent there had been to push push push. Bad habits die hard.
She hadn't had the good sense to recognize the purpose of her rebellion and stop herself from doing the only thing she knows when it comes to dealing with her mother, but Brittany had caught her. Brittany always catches her.
By the time her mother finds them, they are presentable, and Santana's heart doesn't ache when she's pulled into a tight embrace. It's not exactly familiar yet, but it's a start, and if there's one thing Brittany has taught her, it's new beginnings.
Just to be clear though, Santana does not like everyone in Glee Club. Especially not Rachel Jewnose Berry.
Part 9
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Quinn, Puck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5,518 (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.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
For the first time in a long time, Santana's mother keeps her word. Every afternoon, Santana's phone rings, and the two Lopez talk for as long as the older one has the time to. Santana learns, for the first time, that her mother's usual routes are to Spain and Germany, and that she's picked up a lot of German and some French from her four years there. Even a little Dutch, which makes Santana smile even though Brittany's family doesn't speak it at all.
It always takes Santana a moment or two to warm up to the conversation, but the consistency is a nice change. With a little prompting from Brittany and occasionally Quinn, Santana manages not to take out her issues on her mother, even though her mother is half the reason they're there.
"She cares, you know," Quinn had said, "which is more than some of us have."
Santana doesn't even have time to sulk and whine about how much she hates feeling things, because it's almost the end of the school year, and a million things are happening at once.
First, that stupid Jesse kid does exactly what Santana had expected him to do the whole time. He defects back to his school of over-privileged snobs. She kind of wants to say she told them so, but it's not even worth the effort. Besides, Santana doesn't want to lose at regionals, especially not to St. James and his group of douchebags, so boasting about the fact that she's apparently the only one in the entire club who has an ounce of foresight seems fairly counterproductive at this point.
Santana doesn't really care. They don't need Jesse to compete, and Rachel will quit moping as soon as she starts noticing Finn's googly eyes again. So as far as Santana is concerned, there's nothing to be worried about. Just sit back and give it some time.
Then Rachel gets egged, and it all goes to hell.
Santana's a tiny bit sympathetic, sure. Mostly because Brittany cares about unborn chicken fetuses too and doesn't discriminate against people with big noses, and when Brittany's upset, Santana's sure to get a little pissed herself. Santana doesn't care enough to do anything about it though, and anyway, as much as Rachel irritates the living daylights out of her, Santana has to admit the girl's tough. Handles a lot of shit on a daily basis, you know. So Santana's sure she'll be fine in time for regionals, and that's as far as she really cares about Rachel's well-being.
Quinn though, she has a different idea.
Quinn always has different ideas. Even back when she was a Cheerio, she'd be pulling schemes out of her ass, and Santana had always been forced to go along with it. Now, the obligation to play along stems from friendship rather than a mad status grab, but still. Doesn't mean Santana has to like it, especially when it involves Quinn tricking her into spending time with one Rachel Berry.
Friday night, Quinn calls Santana up and asks her to help push some boxes around. Remember the part about everything happening all at once? Yeah, here's the second: Quinn is moving in with Mercedes. Santana really shouldn't be surprised. She's seen the toll Puck's mom was taking on Quinn, and Puck doesn't exactly have a sterling reputation when it comes to being responsible, so it might actually turn out to be a good thing. Whatever helps Quinn not pop out her baby before the little thing's ready.
But when Santana shows up at Puck's door, ready to do some heavy lifting, she is not prepared to see Rachel moping around in the background.
"Don't freak out," Quinn preempts, and that's never a good sign. "I don't need help packing."
"You lied to me!" Santana cries, not caring that Rachel turns her head to look at them.
Quinn pushes Santana outside and shuts the door behind her. "You would've never come if I'd told the truth!"
"For good reason!" Santana retorts. "What is she even doing here?"
"I invited her," Quinn explains, keeping her calm. "She just needs some friends right now."
"And you expect me to swoop in and be her friend? Are you nuts? You'd have better luck if you randomly grabbed a hobo from the local seven-eleven. I'm leaving."
"Wait, Santana!" Quinn reaches out and grabs hold of Santana's wrist. "She's going through some shit and just wants someone to care. Ask her how she's doing. I remember what that's like, Santana. Nobody deserves that." Her eyes darken. "They say walk a mile in someone else's shoes; I've walked in Rachel's for six months, and some of the things we did to her…"
Despite the sudden and heavy guilt tugging at her heartstrings, Santana shakes Quinn's hand away. "It's a Friday night, Fabray. I have better things to do than make friends with a singing tranny."
She's halfway to her car when Quinn calls out, "Brittany'll be here within the hour."
Santana turns back, and Quinn is already smiling in that self-satisfied way that makes Santana want to smack her. Slowly, Santana walks back to the door and clutches the doorknob.
"Don't," Santana warns as she pushes it open and steps inside.
Quinn grins and follows Santana through the entrance. The door shuts behind them, and Rachel is staring.
"Nice to see you, Santana."
"Yeah, whatever," Santana grunts noncommittally, and she gets an elbow in the side from Quinn, who is damn lucky that baby in her belly is protecting her from Santana going postal on her.
Quinn corrals the other two into the living room. She seats Rachel down on the couch and offers Santana the armchair, probably so Santana doesn't have a go at the mopey little troll.
Santana doesn't even hate Rachel anymore, but come on, this is too easy. And the whole being difficult thing is really just payback for Quinn deceiving her into babysitting Rachel.
Santana waits, for whatever the first activity of this mini-sorority is supposed to be, but Rachel just looks upset and Quinn is just sitting next to her on the couch, holding her hand. Quinn Fabray. Is holding. Rachel Berry's. Hand. It blows Santana's mind. Not that she's even surprised per se, because she figures this is a gesture Quinn would offer Brittany, or even Santana herself (that is, if Quinn doesn't value the merits of having all ten fingers intact), but still. It's weird. Really, really weird.
Santana figures someone is bound to speak at some point, but a minute passes and nobody has. The whole thing is making her kind of uncomfortable, so Santana decides to go first.
"Um, so I don't really know what I'm doing here."
"Just sit there and be supportive," Quinn explains.
"Look," Santana stresses, "if you want me to go beat St. James up, I'll make it happen. But I don't exactly do this moral support shit, especially not for Shorty over here."
"Santana," Rachel addresses dramatically, "have you ever loved someone so much you felt like you couldn't breathe without them?"
Santana rolls her eyes. "No."
"Yes she has and does, Rachel," Quinn cuts in, throwing Santana a dirty look. "She's just trying to act tough. Ignore her."
Santana throws her arms up in the air. "Why the hell did you drag me here if you're going to tell her to ignore me?"
"I'm only telling her to ignore you when you're outright lying," Quinn says calmly. "And you're outright lying."
Santana ignores Quinn and turns to the brunette. "Rachel, look. Jesse used you. Get the fuck over it."
Quinn leans protectively over Rachel. "Santana!"
"What? It's true. Rachel's the one who's always going on about how important it is to overcome adversity and beat the odds. Maybe if she stopped saying it to everyone's faces and actually applied it to this relationship, she'd be fine, and I'd barf a little less in my mouth. It's win-win."
Quinn is covering her eyes, as though horribly regretting the decision to invite Santana, but Rachel actually nods thoughtfully.
"You make a valid point, Santana."
Two sets of disbelieving eyes turn to stare at Rachel.
Rachel continues, "Although I don't appreciate your dismissal of my deep emotional turmoil, logically, I accept your argument."
"O-kay," Santana draws out. "So does that mean-"
"It means," Rachel interrupts, voice rising, "that I am still allowed to grieve the loss of this relationship, just like you did when you and Brittany were fighting."
Santana's gut reaction is to punch Rachel in the face, but she pushes it down, mostly because she knows that Brittany would be upset if Rachel is sporting a bloody nose by the time she shows up. Christ. She is so whipped. But Santana inhales slowly and manages to keep her mouth shut and her fists to herself.
Quinn nudges Rachel. "Do you want to talk about it?" she prompts.
"Not particularly," Rachel replies. "As much as the Jesse debacle is weighing heavily on me, I'm more upset by the fact that my own mother thought it was appropriate to deceive me this way."
"Yeah, that's pretty messed up," Santana agrees, feigning indifference.
"I don't think she meant to hurt me," Rachel adds. "I just-wish things had been different."
Quinn pats Rachel comfortingly on the shoulder, and Santana grimaces. What is going on?
"I wanted it too badly," Rachel says quietly. "A mom."
"She's not your mom," Santana is quick to argue.
Rachel's head bobs in a quick nod. "I know that."
"And even if she were," Santana continues, "she'd still be a grade-A douche."
Rachel smiles faintly. "That was a very valiant attempt at making me feel better, Santana."
"It wasn't really a-" Santana trails off and looks briefly to Quinn before refocusing on Rachel. "I'm just saying, mothers can suck and yours does. That's all. Sometimes there's nothing you can do, and there's no point wasting your energy sulking about it. I would know, okay?"
Rachel opens her mouth, but Quinn cuts her off and shakes her head as discreetly as she can, signaling a big do not ask.
"It's not a big deal, Q," Santana says, unsuccessfully trying to keep her tone hard around the edges. "I can talk about it."
If Quinn is surprised, she doesn't show it. Rachel watches the exchange with curious eyes. Santana suddenly wishes Brittany is already around, and with that thought, she understands why Quinn is holding Rachel's hand. Doesn't make it any less weird though.
Santana takes a quick breath to calm her nerves. "Look, Rachel," she starts, grasping at the words in her head, "you don't have a mom, and maybe it made growing up tougher. Maybe you wished you had someone to take you bra shopping or buy you tampons for the first time, or… whatever." Santana frowns at her own examples. "It probably would've done all of us some good if you could've turned to her about when to lose your goddamn virginity. But you know what? I have one and she didn't do any of that shit for me."
Santana swallows hard against the sudden lump in her throat. She almost wants Rachel to open her big mouth and say something lacking any sense of discretion to give Santana a reason to attack her, but neither Rachel nor Quinn speaks a word.
"You're fucking romanticizing," Santana continues, pushing down her discomfort, "and it's pissing me off. You think you were robbed of your childhood because you didn't grow up with a mother? Isn't that a little unfair to your dads? Mope around all you want about Jesse and reference the shit out of Broadway tragedies - just don't do it to my face - but the thing with Corcoran? Get over it. You don't even know this woman. You don't love her. You didn't lose her; you never had her. And you're better for it." Santana pauses for a moment to make sure she's still glaring at Rachel. "Because," she continues once she has that down, "if she really did whip up a plan to stick St. James in your life only to take him away from you again, then she's fucking psycho and you're better off without her. Without either of them."
Quinn looks mildly confused. "I thought you made up with your mom."
Santana leans back in her seat. "I did."
Quinn frowns. "Then-I don't understand where this is coming from. Shouldn't you of all people sympathize with Rachel's situation?"
"Shelby Corcoran," Santana clarifies, "is nothing like my mom. Or even yours, for that matter. She didn't raise Rachel. She's just a stranger and frankly a piss-poor example of a decent human being."
"She's not as bad as you make her out to be," Rachel pipes up, words quiet. "She was young. She was chasing her dream. And now she has nothing to show for it except a failed acting career and a few show choir championships. She wanted something to hold on to. She thought it could be me, but she was wrong. Ultimately, I understand that." Rachel pauses thoughtfully. "But I appreciate what you're doing, Santana."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Santana grumbles.
"You're demonizing her," Rachel explains, "in an effort to reassure me that I am not at fault. It's rather endearing."
Next to Rachel, Quinn is wearing an amused grin. Santana actually flushes. Well, fuck both of them.
"You are a protective person by nature," Rachel yammers on. "Now that you're in Glee Club, you've grown to see that we aren't the lepers you'd previously pinned us to be. As much as you want to convince people otherwise to preserve your image, you feel a sense of obligation to shield us from those who have wronged us. There's no shame in that, Santana, and it's actually a nice change."
"Whatever, Dr. Phil," Santana dismisses. "I just want to win, okay? And in order to do that, we need you to sing. So snap out of it, Berry. You've put up with worse. I distinctly recall someone duct taping you to the flagpole every morning for two weeks last year."
Quinn immediately flusters. "I-you held her down!" Quinn protests. She turns to Rachel. "I'm really sorry about that, Rach."
"It's fine, Quinn."
But Santana can tell that it's not fine, and it's enough to make Santana feel mildly bad about it.
The doorbell rings then, and Quinn gets up to answer the door. Santana tries not to look at Rachel, in case she's expected to actually care or something. Because no, Santana does not care about Rachel Berry, no matter how much she hadn't deserved the egging, or the shitty excuse for a boyfriend, or even the heartbreak. Actually, the more Santana thinks about it, the more she wants to find that Jesse kid, tie him down, and let Rachel stomp on his face.
Shit. Maybe Santana does care a little. A little.
Santana doesn't have the time to consider the consequences of this revelation, because moments later, Brittany bounds in. After leaning down to greet Santana with a kiss, she takes a seat next to Rachel, occupying the space where Quinn had been seated. Santana frowns, but she finds she is not entirely annoyed, because well, Brittany's here.
Quinn nudges Santana to the side of the armchair and squeezes in next to her.
"Lay off the cheesecake, Fabray."
Quinn rolls her eyes but chooses to otherwise ignore Santana's comment. Santana watches Brittany and Rachel for another minute before turning to Quinn.
"Where's Puck?"
"Last minute moving stuff. He's getting some sturdier boxes for me. He's been out for a while, actually."
"And his family?"
Quinn's lips pull into a straight line. "Puck's mom doesn't like his sister spending too much time around me. Thinks the pregnancy'll rub off on her or something."
"Second-hand pregnancy," Santana remarks with a smirk. "Almost as dangerous as second-hand show tunes."
Quinn stays quiet and looks down at her extended belly. Something in the way she does makes Santana's heart ache. Santana glances over at Brittany and Rachel, who are animatedly engaged in a conversation about Rachel's ugly animal sweater. She turns back to Quinn.
"Hey," she says softly, "I didn't know it was this bad."
Quinn shrugs. "Just recently. I think the reality of the situation is finally setting in on Puck's mom. I've only got about seven weeks to go." She sighs. "Puck has actually been a complete gentleman lately, but I can't handle his mom anymore. I think moving in with Mercedes is going to help."
"Why her?" Santana asks, and it isn't until the words have left her mouth that she realizes how much it'd bugged her - Quinn choosing Mercedes.
"Because she offered," Quinn explains with a short, humorless laugh.
Santana frowns. "You should've just told me that Puck's mom was being a complete bitch to you. I had an empty house."
Quinn shakes her head. "No, Santana, it's not like that. There are laws. My legal rights are being signed around. I couldn't have stayed with you without your mom around."
"Britt's parents would've taken you in," Santana points out.
"Yeah," Quinn replies, "but I guess I just didn't want to be a burden. And anyway, the moment I got kicked off the Cheerios, nobody on the squad even acknowledged my presence, except you when you were trying to be a bitch, and Brittany when you weren't looking. By the time I needed a place to stay, Finn was my only option."
"You pulled away from us," Santana points out, a hint of accusation creeping into her tone.
"That's what you wanted, Santana," Quinn fires back. She sighs, her steely expression tempering. "You certainly didn't make it easy for me to hang on to you." She lowers her voice. "Or Brittany, for that matter. She was always yours first. Her loyalty to you is… I don't even think you realize it sometimes, San."
Santana's chest tightens. "I do. I swear, I do."
Quinn nods. "It's just-Mercedes gets how I feel."
"And what, we don't? Is it like a soul sister thing? Do I need to start getting into jazz and wearing bling?"
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Stop it. You know what I mean."
Santana smirks. "I'm happy for you, Quinn. This'll give Puck a little breathing room too. You guys figured out what's going to happen when the baby comes?"
"We're not keeping her," is all Quinn says.
Santana hears the sound of the front door opening, and a moment later, Puck stumbles into the living room with a small stack of folded cardboard boxes in front of him.
"Hey, what's with the sorority?"
"Just hanging out," Quinn replies.
Puck motions at the boxes. "Where do you want this?"
"Leave them right there," Quinn instructs, rising from the seat. "Most of my stuff is in smaller cartons upstairs. I'll get them."
Puck steps in front of her. "No, stay here. Paint each other's nails. I'll go."
Quinn sits back down, and Puck heads up stairs.
"He's dreamy when he's being chivalrous," Rachel observes, "although I quite enjoy his bad boy persona."
Nobody tells Rachel to stop talking. Quinn has to preemptively pinch Santana's arm, but still.
Rachel smiles really wide, like she's noticed this fact. Quinn pinches Santana again, and Santana retaliates by reaching a hand to mess up Quinn's hair. Stupid morals dictating that punching a pregnant girl in the stomach should be avoided. Especially when said girl is supposed to be a friend.
Puck reappears, his arms full with the first few cartons of Quinn's things. He drops them on the floor and props up one of the flattened boxes he'd brought in earlier.
"Noah, would you like some help with that?"
"Nah, I've got it," Puck replies, dramatically flexing his biceps. "Puckarone's got guns. See?"
"Your arms are charming, Noah, but your brain is admittedly a bit lacking," Rachel comments. "You'll need to tape the bottom of the boxes first." She stands up. "Here, let me show you. Do you own a tape roller?"
"Yeah," Puck replies. "I used to tape that Kurt kid to the school fence every Wednesday, but it hasn't seen much use lately. I'll go get it."
All five of them spend the next half-hour arranging Quinn's possessions into cardboard boxes and closing everything up. There isn't much, actually, but three large boxes manage to get filled. It's kind of sad, Santana thinks, that Quinn's whole life fits into three cardboard containers in the middle of Puck's living room, but Quinn doesn't seem upset about it, so Santana says nothing.
Puck stacks the boxes on top of each other and pushes them against the wall. He turns to Quinn, looking like he wants to say something, but he casts a sideways glance at the other three and seemingly decides against it.
Rachel touches Quinn's arm. "I'd better go. My dads are taking me to a local production of Wicked tonight. That always makes me feel better."
Quinn's arms wrap around Rachel, and the two hug like they've been friends their whole lives. It's kind of creeping Santana out.
As they're pulling apart, Rachel asks, "Do you need help moving tomorrow?"
Quinn shakes her head. "Mercedes and her dad will be here bright and early, and everything should fit in their minivan. Go enjoy your play."
Rachel nods and steps toward Brittany, who pulls her into a tight embrace.
"Keep your chin up," Brittany whispers against Rachel's ear.
Santana is discreetly backing away from the lovefest when Brittany skips over and all but shoves her into Rachel's arms. Santana begrudgingly hugs Rachel.
"Hey, what about me?" Puck complains.
Brittany's arms slide around Puck's torso, and she squeezes gently. The surprised look on Puck's face is priceless, and Santana laughs.
With final goodbyes, Rachel heads to the door; Quinn lets her out.
Quinn smiles at Santana as she closes and locks the front door. "Still mad I coaxed you here?"
"You didn't coax anyone," Santana counters. "You flat-out lied to me."
"To be fair," Quinn points out, "we did end up packing." She grins. "And it wasn't that hard to get you to stay once I mentioned Brittany."
Brittany's arms snake around Santana's body from behind. The blonde's chin rests comfortably on Santana's shoulder. "Is that true?" she murmurs affectionately.
The protest is halfway out Santana's mouth when she pulls it back. "Yeah," she admits, brushing a hand over Brittany's cheek. "I stayed for you."
Brittany's grip tightens around Santana. "You're sweet."
Puck hoots. "Somebody's getting some tonight."
"Shut your mouth, Puck."
Santana does get some that night, but that is so not the point.
--
Quinn moves in with Mercedes the next morning. She insists she doesn't need any help, which is actually a damn good thing, because Brittany keeps Santana up all night (or vice versa; Santana's not too concerned with the phrasing), and they end up spending a lazy Saturday morning cuddled up in bed together.
There's something so peaceful and easy about being with Brittany that Santana has never known with anyone else, even before any of this happened. But it's these idle, quiet moments that really remind Santana of what she has, and where she is. Who she is.
Brittany presses her body closer, her arm coming to rest across Santana's bare chest, and Santana turns to look at the blonde.
"Nationals is tomorrow," Santana says lightly.
Brittany smiles. "Yeah, you excited?"
"You know I love winning," Santana replies with a short laugh, the memory of the previous year's victory rushing to her cheeks. "Remember last year? Remember how it felt to know we were the best?"
"Yeah, that was pretty awesome," Brittany agrees. She pauses thoughtfully. "Too bad Quinn can't come this year."
Santana brushes the back of her hand down the length of Brittany's side, knuckles bumping against toned muscle and arched ribs and a firm hipbone. She fills with an inexplicable guilt.
"I'm sorry I pulled you from Quinn," she says suddenly, surprising even herself.
Brittany is watching her curiously. "You didn't do that."
Santana focuses on the rhythm of Brittany's breathing. "Not directly, but I didn't make it easy for you to stay her friend after Coach kicked her off the squad."
Brittany's eyes darken. "I make my own choices, Santana," she says quietly, a flash of irritation behind her words.
"I know," Santana reassures her. "I'm not saying you don't, but it's just-I would've given up Quinn for you."
"You didn't even like her back then," Brittany points out.
Santana shakes her head. "Even now. Not easily, but if it came down to it, it'd be you, every time."
Brittany softens. "I wouldn't make you choose."
Santana takes a breath. "But I made you choose," she acknowledges with a heavy heart, "and I'm so sorry I did that."
Brittany watches her for a moment, then leans down and presses a light kiss to Santana's lips. "I don't think I'm who you should be apologizing to. Or at least, not the only one."
"I know," Santana sighs. "You know I'm not any good at that shit."
Brittany smiles faintly. "I think she'd appreciate it anyway."
"Yeah, maybe," Santana exhales.
Brittany touches Santana's cheek. "How's it going with your mom?" she asks quietly.
"Not bad," Santana replies, playing absentmindedly with Brittany's hair. "It's a work in progress. She's actually supposed to come back either today or tomorrow. Like, permanently."
Brittany shifts against her. "Has it already been two weeks?"
"No," Santana shrugs, "but the rest is just some paperwork, which she can do from home. She'll only need to take a trip or two to Fort Wayne, and then-I don't know. She'll stick around, I guess."
Brittany props herself up with her elbow and smiles down at Santana. "This is really happening."
"Yeah," Santana breathes, reaching up to touch Brittany's chin.
Brittany leans down to brush her lips lightly against Santana's. "Don't be afraid," she murmurs.
"I'm not," Santana knee-jerks. "I just-I don't remember how to be a daughter. I know I won't be able to stop myself from saying or doing something idiotic and impulsive. Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm going to end up doing everything I know is going to push her away."
Brittany frowns. "Why? Don't do that."
Santana turns away and remains quiet for a long time, just holding Brittany's naked body against hers. Pulling strength from the blonde, because for all of Santana's bruised knuckles, Brittany's the one with the brand of courage that Santana needs.
"San," Brittany prompts softly.
"I don't want to give her a reason to leave again," is out of Santana's lips before she can stop herself, and she shuts her eyes.
"You weren't the reason she left the first time," Brittany states with an uncharacteristically fierce conviction. "Santana," she adds gently when Santana says nothing. "You weren't the reason."
"I know," Santana finally says, turning to face Brittany but keeping her eyes closed as she buries her face against the blonde's shoulder. "I need to shake it off," Santana groans. "I'm starting to sound like Berry did last night."
Brittany kisses the crown of Santana's head. "You shouldn't be so hard on her."
"You weren't even there when I bitched her out last night," Santana complains, though not unkindly.
Brittany chuckles. "As if I needed to be there to know what you said to her."
Santana lifts her head. "Yeah, well, she apparently thought I was defending her."
"Were you?" Brittany asks with a grin.
Santana scoffs. "Hell no."
Brittany's giggle is muffled against Santana's hair. "I think you were." Her hand comes to rest against Santana's hipbone. "I think you really like them," Brittany adds lightly. "Everyone in Glee."
"I do not," Santana grumbles.
Brittany's hand trails up Santana's side, gently stroking. "You like Quinn and Puck."
"That's not everyone," Santana counters, relaxing against Brittany's touch.
"You like Matt," Brittany continues, "and I hope you like Mike because I really like Mike."
Santana shrugs. "They're both okay, but that's still not everyone, Britt."
"Okay, let's see…" Brittany bites her lip thoughtfully, her hand slowing across Santana's ribcage. "Oh, Kurt's on the Cheerios now, and he's pretty cool."
"He's not 'pretty cool'," Santana mocks. "He just has a freakishly wide vocal range, and since he's become Sue Sylvester's new whipping boy, it gives the rest of us a little breathing room, which I'm sure not complaining about."
Brittany hooks a leg over one of Santana's thighs and presses her weight down. "That moisturizing oil he gave you made your skin super soft," Brittany purrs, dropping her head to kiss Santana's neck, tongue brushing her pulse point. "And," Brittany murmurs against Santana's skin, "you seemed to like it when I rubbed it all over your body."
Santana groans, and she instinctively bucks her hips against Brittany's thigh. "That's not fair," she complains around a stifled moan.
Brittany lifts her head and laughs playfully. "You like Kurt."
"But I don't like Mercedes," Santana insists, "or Finn, or that Wheelchair Kid and his death-obsessed girlfriend."
"You've never even said two words to Artie and Tina," Brittany admonishes. "You can't dislike someone if you don't even know them."
"I don't know that Corcoran bitch and I hate her," Santana fires back. When she realizes what she's said, she groans. "I don't like Rachel Berry. It's because Vocal Adrenaline is our main rivals at regionals, okay? And she's their coach, so obviously I'm not going to go and be her best friend."
"Santana," Brittany laughs. "You're so stubborn."
Santana responds by rolling Brittany over and dipping her tongue into the blonde's mouth to shut her up. Brittany doesn't seem to mind, and Santana's skin flushes with arousal when Brittany grabs Santana's hips and hikes her over so that she's properly straddling Brittany's waist. Santana lifts herself up and reaches down impatiently, but Brittany stops her.
"Admit it, Santana," Brittany grunts out. "You like them."
"Oh god, Britt, stop," Santana complains. "I don't want to think about those freaks while we're doing this, okay?"
"Okay, but-"
The rest gets caught in her throat because Santana's hand finds Brittany's clit, and she's rolling her fingers in rough circles to distract Brittany from her train of thought. The moment Santana associates Rachel Berry with sex is the moment she starts her new life as a nun, and she'd really prefer not to have that happen. Like, ever.
Brittany is a lot more complacent now that Santana's fingertips are grazing her where she's most sensitive, and Santana leans down to kiss her, the heat pooling between her thighs as Brittany makes the sexiest whimpering sounds that Santana has ever heard in her life.
The distant sound of a garage door opening pulls Santana from the moment, and her hand stills as she perks her ears to listen more closely. Sure enough, a moment later, the same clunky sound cuts through the air as the garage door shuts.
Santana's eyes widen as she stares down at Brittany.
"Shit," she hisses. "It's my mom."
Brittany tries to sit up, but Santana's weight is still pressed firmly against the length of her body, so the blonde doesn't get far. Santana clamors off Brittany and digs through the covers for their misplaced clothing. She tosses Brittany's at her.
"Get dressed," Santana hisses.
Brittany complies, pulling on her clothes as quickly as Santana finds them. Santana is slipping into her boyshorts when, without warning, she stops and turns to Brittany.
"Wait, wait. You don't have to rush. She knows. We're not hiding this."
Brittany pulls on her bra and slides into her shirt. "Don't test her, Santana," she warns.
Santana frowns and straightens up. The cold air hits her bare chest and she crosses her arms. "I'm not testing her, I'm just saying-"
"San, you have to give her time," Brittany says gently, reaching to pick up her pants off the ground. The clarity in Brittany's eyes is startling. "Even my mom would be freaked out if she walked in on us having sex." Brittany digs out Santana's bra and top and flings them at her. "Hurry up."
Santana dresses quickly, and as her mind finally catches up to the situation, she realizes what she'd almost done: placed her mother in a situation that Santana knows would upset the older woman. It's all in the push and pull, except the intent there had been to push push push. Bad habits die hard.
She hadn't had the good sense to recognize the purpose of her rebellion and stop herself from doing the only thing she knows when it comes to dealing with her mother, but Brittany had caught her. Brittany always catches her.
By the time her mother finds them, they are presentable, and Santana's heart doesn't ache when she's pulled into a tight embrace. It's not exactly familiar yet, but it's a start, and if there's one thing Brittany has taught her, it's new beginnings.
Just to be clear though, Santana does not like everyone in Glee Club. Especially not Rachel Jewnose Berry.
Part 9