Fic: Z-Day - Chapter 3: Getting Caught
Title: Z-Day (Chapter 3: Getting Caught)
Pairing: Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce
Rating: R
Summary: Santana and Brittany face the unthinkable -- and the inevitable -- in post-apocalyptic Zombieland.
Word Count: ~1400
Disclaimer: Still don't own Zombieland or Glee.
I shook my head. It was the kind of promise you made when you didn’t think you’d ever have to follow through on it. Or if you thought you’d be the one to get bitten first, and if she couldn’t do it, you could always blow your own head off. But the idea of Brittany shooting herself made my stomach lurch, and I grabbed the gun swiftly. I laid it on the kitchen counter next to a bowl of guacamole dip.
“I made you guacamole,” I said quietly.
She stepped closer and cupped my cheek. “You just scooped that out of a jar.”
I tried to laugh but it got stuck halfway out and ended up a choked sob. “We were doing so good, though,” I said.
“I’m so sorry…”
I buried my face in her shoulder.
*
“God, look at her thighs.”
Brittany tilted her head. “They’re kind of…”
“Huge?” I flipped to the next page in our senior yearbook. The books had just come in that day, but only nerds spent time looking through them at school. “Probably because she was already packing on the baby weight.” I scoffed. “You’d think after Quinn they would’ve been a little more careful about spreading their legs for anything with a dick.”
“I heard it was Sam’s, and when she told him he proposed and she punched him in the face.”
“Is that how he got a black eye? I thought Puck nailed him in a locker room fight.”
Brittany giggled. “Nailed him?”
“I meant-well, they probably did that too. Makes more sense.”
“At least we don’t have to worry about babies,” she said, leaning into me.
I kissed her shoulder. “Not yet, anyway.”
She eyed me skeptically. “You can’t get me pregnant, right?”
I laughed. “No.”
“Good.”
“Want me to get you not-pregnant right now?” I pushed her back on the bed and straddled her waist, raising my eyebrows playfully.
Her eyes sparkled and she pulled me down into a bruising kiss, pulling my bottom lip between her teeth. I slid my hand beneath her Cheerios top and traced my fingers across her abdomen, delighting at the way her muscles quivered. She whimpered and raised her hips.
“Santana - are you - holy mother of Jesus!”
I scrambled off Brittany so fast I nearly fell off the bed. My mother, looking the most frazzled I’d ever seen, stood in my doorway. A button was missing on her blouse so it was open a little too far; her hair that had been perfectly blow-dried when she left for work this morning was unkempt (“fly-aways” would have been way too nice a term); she was missing one of her pumps, and her ankle - I was pretty sure…
“Mom, are you bleeding?”
She opened her mouth a few times, still staring at us. My whole body felt like I’d been submerged in a lava pit in hell. The kind where they cover the surface in gasoline and light it on fire, so even if you make it out of the lava, you’re still fucking screwed.
“With the way my day is going, I feel like I should have expected this,” she said faintly, backing out of the room and teetering unevenly down the stairs.
I couldn’t move.
“San?” Brittany said quietly.
I stared blankly at the empty doorway. “She’s going to kick me out. She’s going to kill me, and then she’s going to kick me out of the house.”
“If you’re already dead, does that matter?”
Not even Brittany’s naively blunt charm could help, though.
“I have to talk to her,” I said. “I have to tell her it was just…”
“Just what?”
I turned to Britt hopelessly. “Fuck. I don’t know. I don’t know how to fix this.”
“I don’t think it’s broken,” she said.
“Are you kidding me? Did you see her face?”
“She looked kind of homeless. Plus, I’m sure she already knew about us.”
“I don’t think so.”
“We’re about as subtle as a freight train.”
“Do you even know what that is?”
“Don’t get mad at me just because you’re scared of her.”
“I have to say something.”
“You could tell her we were practicing for Cheerios.”
“Britt, that doesn’t make any sense. Besides, then she’d think Cheerios was some huge lezzie orgy all the time.”
“If you’re just going to be mean when I try to help then I’m going home.” She lifted the window open, but stopped with one foot on the sill and cocked her head to the side. “Why is Patches running around on your front lawn?”
What the fuck was the homeless guy from the QuikE Mart doing at my house? “Is he… drooling?” I said.
“At least he’s not barking,” Brittany said.
*
That was about two weeks after Patient Zero. I’d seen a couple things on the news since, but mostly by accident when I was walking through the living room after dinner and my parents had the TV on. Kids talked about it at school, but the kind of kids who talked about it weren’t people who would dare talk to me. Except maybe Puck, who was wrapped up in the idea of a zombie invasion and kept telling me he always knew it would happen, and how did I feel now about making fun of him for all those nights he played Resident Evil instead of letting me suck his cock.
The thing that really sucked, though, was that Puck was one of the first of our friends to go, about a week later. I think he may have forgotten that you don’t build up immunity and win bonus lives for killing the most zombies. You either get a couple extra moments of your own life, or lose the last minutes of it.
Like me, my mom also thought the zombie panic was a load of bullshit, until the day she walked in on me and Britt. We had nothing to do with her revelation, but it turns out she’d been freaking out that I’d be coming home while Patches was terrorizing our front lawn. He’d chased her down like a fucking cheetah and bit her. Bit. The police came and tried to cart him off, but he was, like, viciously biting them, too. It was fucking gross. Then one of the officers put a bullet through his head while I covered Brittany’s ears and pushed her face into my shoulder. My mom stared at us with this unreadable Stepford expression, before announcing quietly that she was going to the hospital. She didn’t come back.
That was when it got personal, and I was actually thankful that I’d dated Puck long enough for him to take me to the firing range (not a typical date, I know - but in his defense, I’m pretty sure that was when he’d awarded himself lezbro status, even if I hadn’t acknowledged it yet). Plus, clones of Patches were multiplying in Lima - it’s a small town, that shit spread quick - so Brittany and I took off, keeping our escape to just the two of us. The fewer people you had to worry about getting bitten and turning on you, the better. All I wanted was to be where the undead weren’t, which proved harder and harder as time went on. And beyond that? I didn’t have a plan.
I squeezed Brittany tighter and kissed her neck, trying not to look at her mangled wrist. “I have a plan,” I mumbled into her skin.
“Uh, yeah,” she said, as though it were obvious, and reached for the gun again. I pushed her hand away.
“A different one,” I said.
“What, you want me to rip you to shreds in a few hours?”
“No. Something else.”
She tightened her arms around me. “I think we’re running out of options,” she said.
I shook my head, trembling. “This can’t be all there is.”
Pairing: Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce
Rating: R
Summary: Santana and Brittany face the unthinkable -- and the inevitable -- in post-apocalyptic Zombieland.
Word Count: ~1400
Disclaimer: Still don't own Zombieland or Glee.
I shook my head. It was the kind of promise you made when you didn’t think you’d ever have to follow through on it. Or if you thought you’d be the one to get bitten first, and if she couldn’t do it, you could always blow your own head off. But the idea of Brittany shooting herself made my stomach lurch, and I grabbed the gun swiftly. I laid it on the kitchen counter next to a bowl of guacamole dip.
“I made you guacamole,” I said quietly.
She stepped closer and cupped my cheek. “You just scooped that out of a jar.”
I tried to laugh but it got stuck halfway out and ended up a choked sob. “We were doing so good, though,” I said.
“I’m so sorry…”
I buried my face in her shoulder.
*
“God, look at her thighs.”
Brittany tilted her head. “They’re kind of…”
“Huge?” I flipped to the next page in our senior yearbook. The books had just come in that day, but only nerds spent time looking through them at school. “Probably because she was already packing on the baby weight.” I scoffed. “You’d think after Quinn they would’ve been a little more careful about spreading their legs for anything with a dick.”
“I heard it was Sam’s, and when she told him he proposed and she punched him in the face.”
“Is that how he got a black eye? I thought Puck nailed him in a locker room fight.”
Brittany giggled. “Nailed him?”
“I meant-well, they probably did that too. Makes more sense.”
“At least we don’t have to worry about babies,” she said, leaning into me.
I kissed her shoulder. “Not yet, anyway.”
She eyed me skeptically. “You can’t get me pregnant, right?”
I laughed. “No.”
“Good.”
“Want me to get you not-pregnant right now?” I pushed her back on the bed and straddled her waist, raising my eyebrows playfully.
Her eyes sparkled and she pulled me down into a bruising kiss, pulling my bottom lip between her teeth. I slid my hand beneath her Cheerios top and traced my fingers across her abdomen, delighting at the way her muscles quivered. She whimpered and raised her hips.
“Santana - are you - holy mother of Jesus!”
I scrambled off Brittany so fast I nearly fell off the bed. My mother, looking the most frazzled I’d ever seen, stood in my doorway. A button was missing on her blouse so it was open a little too far; her hair that had been perfectly blow-dried when she left for work this morning was unkempt (“fly-aways” would have been way too nice a term); she was missing one of her pumps, and her ankle - I was pretty sure…
“Mom, are you bleeding?”
She opened her mouth a few times, still staring at us. My whole body felt like I’d been submerged in a lava pit in hell. The kind where they cover the surface in gasoline and light it on fire, so even if you make it out of the lava, you’re still fucking screwed.
“With the way my day is going, I feel like I should have expected this,” she said faintly, backing out of the room and teetering unevenly down the stairs.
I couldn’t move.
“San?” Brittany said quietly.
I stared blankly at the empty doorway. “She’s going to kick me out. She’s going to kill me, and then she’s going to kick me out of the house.”
“If you’re already dead, does that matter?”
Not even Brittany’s naively blunt charm could help, though.
“I have to talk to her,” I said. “I have to tell her it was just…”
“Just what?”
I turned to Britt hopelessly. “Fuck. I don’t know. I don’t know how to fix this.”
“I don’t think it’s broken,” she said.
“Are you kidding me? Did you see her face?”
“She looked kind of homeless. Plus, I’m sure she already knew about us.”
“I don’t think so.”
“We’re about as subtle as a freight train.”
“Do you even know what that is?”
“Don’t get mad at me just because you’re scared of her.”
“I have to say something.”
“You could tell her we were practicing for Cheerios.”
“Britt, that doesn’t make any sense. Besides, then she’d think Cheerios was some huge lezzie orgy all the time.”
“If you’re just going to be mean when I try to help then I’m going home.” She lifted the window open, but stopped with one foot on the sill and cocked her head to the side. “Why is Patches running around on your front lawn?”
What the fuck was the homeless guy from the QuikE Mart doing at my house? “Is he… drooling?” I said.
“At least he’s not barking,” Brittany said.
*
That was about two weeks after Patient Zero. I’d seen a couple things on the news since, but mostly by accident when I was walking through the living room after dinner and my parents had the TV on. Kids talked about it at school, but the kind of kids who talked about it weren’t people who would dare talk to me. Except maybe Puck, who was wrapped up in the idea of a zombie invasion and kept telling me he always knew it would happen, and how did I feel now about making fun of him for all those nights he played Resident Evil instead of letting me suck his cock.
The thing that really sucked, though, was that Puck was one of the first of our friends to go, about a week later. I think he may have forgotten that you don’t build up immunity and win bonus lives for killing the most zombies. You either get a couple extra moments of your own life, or lose the last minutes of it.
Like me, my mom also thought the zombie panic was a load of bullshit, until the day she walked in on me and Britt. We had nothing to do with her revelation, but it turns out she’d been freaking out that I’d be coming home while Patches was terrorizing our front lawn. He’d chased her down like a fucking cheetah and bit her. Bit. The police came and tried to cart him off, but he was, like, viciously biting them, too. It was fucking gross. Then one of the officers put a bullet through his head while I covered Brittany’s ears and pushed her face into my shoulder. My mom stared at us with this unreadable Stepford expression, before announcing quietly that she was going to the hospital. She didn’t come back.
That was when it got personal, and I was actually thankful that I’d dated Puck long enough for him to take me to the firing range (not a typical date, I know - but in his defense, I’m pretty sure that was when he’d awarded himself lezbro status, even if I hadn’t acknowledged it yet). Plus, clones of Patches were multiplying in Lima - it’s a small town, that shit spread quick - so Brittany and I took off, keeping our escape to just the two of us. The fewer people you had to worry about getting bitten and turning on you, the better. All I wanted was to be where the undead weren’t, which proved harder and harder as time went on. And beyond that? I didn’t have a plan.
I squeezed Brittany tighter and kissed her neck, trying not to look at her mangled wrist. “I have a plan,” I mumbled into her skin.
“Uh, yeah,” she said, as though it were obvious, and reached for the gun again. I pushed her hand away.
“A different one,” I said.
“What, you want me to rip you to shreds in a few hours?”
“No. Something else.”
She tightened her arms around me. “I think we’re running out of options,” she said.
I shook my head, trembling. “This can’t be all there is.”