Fic: In Which Santana Lopez Is Not Anything Like a Lizard

[mallardeer]

Brittany/Santana
(also featuring Satan/Wheezy bffship and mentions of Brittany/Artie)
3200 words

In which I more or less rewrite “Duets,” just for the hell of it.

She should have been leaving-it was late, and her dad was sure to yell at her when she got home-but instead of getting off of Brittany’s bed, she turned and buried her face in her friend’s neck. Brittany laughed and pulled her closer. “I love your sweet lady kisses,” she mumbled, and Santana smirked.

“Mmm. It’s a nice break from all that scissoring,” she said slyly, planting wet kisses along Brittany’s neck.

Brittany giggled and tugged her closer, and she lifted her head up, watching those bright blue eyes. She leaned forward to softly kiss Brittany’s lips, but when Brittany started kissing her back, she pulled away. “What if…you and I sang together, for the duets project?” she asked, watching those eyes again.

“Really?” Brittany asked, quirking a smile. She reached up to brush a stray piece of hair back from Santana’s hair. “I thought you wanted to win.”

“Britt…” Santana protested, but Brittany shook her head.

“We both know I’m really only there to dance. I thought you’d want someone who can sing. Mercedes or someone.”

“Mercedes,” Santana repeated, blinking, and she sat up.

“Well, yeah!” Brittany said, grinning. “I know you guys were fighting or whatever, that last time, but you sounded super hot together.”

“Yeah,” Santana said dully, and she let Brittany pull her back on top of her. She and Mercedes could definitely win that free dinner at Breadstix together, but… Then she wouldn’t get to go with Brittany.

And she was starting to realize that she only really wanted to go anywhere with Brittany. She’d been so sure-so completely sure-her best friend had known how she felt, but was just waiting for her to be the one to say something. Santana always did things at her own pace, and Brittany knew that. How could she not know this?

Brittany was kissing her again, gently, searchingly, but she wasn’t feeling anything. She wrenched herself away and sat up, pulling her hair into its customary ponytail. “What’s up?” Brittany worried, sitting up.

“I’m late. My dad’s gonna kill me,” Santana muttered. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Brittany agreed, confused, but Santana didn’t have it in her to try to explain herself.

Without a backward glance at her best friend, she left, flinging herself outside into the late fall darkness.

***

“Why would I wanna do a duet with you?” Mercedes demanded the next morning, when Santana caught her on the way to her locker. “We can’t stand each other.”

Santana sighed. “Look, Wheezy; I realize I’ve tried to punch you a couple times, and sometimes when you’re not looking, I put weird things in your food,” she allowed. “But it’s a new year. And you and I are the best singers at this school.”

“I don’t get what the big deal is. It’s just a free trip to Breadstix,” Mercedes said, clearly disinterested.

“Um, I’m sorry. Have you been to Breadstix? They are legally forbidden to stop bring you breadsticks. One time, I brought a wheelbarrow, and when the manager tried to stop me from filling it up, I called the corporate office and got her fired.” This may have been true, but it certainly wasn’t the reason she was almost begging Mercedes to be her duet partner. But she was a good actor; she knew Mercedes would believe it.

“Well, I guess our voices do sorta go together,” Mercedes said slowly, and Santana forced a smile.

“Mmhmm. That’s right, girl. And if we do a duet together, we can probably finally put that shrieking harpie in her place.”

“Now you’re talking,” Mercedes said, clearly still irritated about Rachel always stealing her thunder.

“Excellent. Choir room after school? Think of some song choices, and we’ll discuss.”

“You got it, Satan.”

“Charming,” Santana smirked, but she just headed on her way.

She spent the rest of the day going through her iPod, but every damn song that came up just reminded her off Brittany, and at lunch, she finally just tossed the thing into her backpack and stalked out of the cafeteria. “Fucking hopeless,” she muttered, beyond irritated with herself. “This is where feelings fucking get you. Into some miserable wallowing mess.”

“Who’re you talking to, Santana?” Brittany asked, and she jumped.

“No one. Myself. No one,” she muttered, and Brittany just blinked at her.

“Where have you been all day? I’ve been looking for you,” she said.

Santana shrugged. “Been trying to work on my duet with Mercedes. Who are you singing with?”

“Well, everyone’s paired up already, so I asked Artie. You know he’s not really a robot?” she whispered, and Santana had to bite back her laugh.

“Yeah, Britt,” she said. “It’s just a chair.”

“Right,” Brittany nodded, grinning, and Santana shook her head.

“I’ll see you at practice, okay?” she said, heading on her way.

“Oh. Okay! See ya, San,” Brittany said, surprised, watching her go.

Cheerios practice was at four, so she and Mercedes had about an hour to try to run through something, and all they kept doing was yelling at each other, frustrated. “Your songs suck,” Santana muttered.

“Well, you couldn’t even come up with one damn song,” Mercedes retorted. “Honestly, Santana, why are we doing this?”

“Because we want to win,” Santana said, but even Mercedes could hear the insincerity this time.

“Be real with me,” she ordered, sitting down beside Santana. “Why aren’t you doing this with Brittany?”

“Brittany?” Santana spluttered. “Why would I-?”

“No, no. No,” Mercedes interrupted. “I said be real with me.”

Santana sighed and let her shoulders slump. “She’s…not the strongest singer. I…like to win,” she offered, and Mercedes nodded once.

“Fine. You won’t be real with me, I’m picking the song, and you’re singing it, or you’re finding yourself a new duet partner.”

“What?” Santana demanded angrily. “That’s the fucking reason. I want to win. Are you still unclear on how amazing those breadsticks are?”

“Nothing is that amazing,” Mercedes insisted, but Santana just sat and scowled. “All right. Here’s the song,” she said brightly, and she pressed play on her iPod.

As Tina Turner wailed, Santana’s ears grew warm, but reacting negatively would put that smug look on Wheezy’s face again, and she simply could not have that. “Yeah,” she said slowly, making herself smirk just the right way. “Yeah, we can rock this song.”

“Yeah. We can,” Mercedes said with a sly smile.

They rehearsed again the next day and again with the band the afternoon after that, and as Santana grew more confident in how absolutely killer she and Wheezy actually sounded together, she started to feel even more awful about what was happening-or not happening-with Brittany. As the band packed up their instruments, she sat on one of the chairs and took a pull of water from her Cheerios water bottle, trying not to wonder about what Brittany and Artie would be singing together. And if they were rehearsing right now. Maybe in Britt’s room.

“What is with the doom and gloom on your face?” Mercedes demanded. “We are actually going to win this, you know.”

“I know,” Santana sighed.

“You really don’t care, huh?”

“She didn’t want to sing with me,” Santana muttered, and Mercedes actually looked shocked.

“You asked her?”

“Of course I asked her. She’s my best friend. And we never got to do that ballad assignment together, because you chumps wanted to sing to Quinn and Finn.”

“Oh, you loved that, you sappy bitch,” Mercedes taunted, and Santana huffed and got up. “Hey, sit,” she urged, grabbing Santana’s wrist. “Spill it.”

“Why should I? Like you said, we can’t stand each other.”

“Eh, we can overlook that for now,” Mercedes said, and Santana saw a glint in her eye that was clearing only interested in this for the gossip. But there was also actual concern in her face, and since this was the one thing she couldn’t seem to actually talk to her best friend about, she just started babbling.

“I asked her if she wanted to sing together, and she laughed at me, because she thought I’d want to win, and she knows she’s not the best singer, so she thought I’d ask you, because we sound really good together, and then I could go and get all those breadsticks, and like, breadsticks are fucking great and all, but I’ve never actually been there without her, and I really didn’t want to go without her, and I thought she’d know that, and she just…laughed at me.”

Mercedes just sat there, stunned, so Santana stood up and walked to the piano, arms crossed over her chest. “Whoa. You really are a sappy bitch,” she said finally, and it was all Santana could do not to haul off and slap her. But she’d been working on her temper since that awful fight with Quinn, and she was managing to control her violent impulses as well.

So she just stood beside the piano and ground her teeth. “You fucking asked, Wheezy.”

“Well, it’s just like I thought, then. This song is perfect.”

“You think I’m singing this to her?” Santana asked, aghast. When she whirled around to find that fucking smug look on Mercedes’ face, she had to clench her fists until she nearly broke the skin on her palms to keep from smacking her.

“Absolutely you are.”

“She’s not even going to know it,” Santana sighed, suddenly deflated. “I mean… I thought she knew, and she… She laughed. She fucking laughed when I asked her to sing with me.”

“You know that girl doesn’t always catch on to things right away,” Mercedes said gently. “I mean, I would think you know that better than anyone.”

Santana sighed but kind of nodded, and Mercedes smiled. “Just sing the song. We’ll go first. She’ll understand this time.”

The next day at glee rehearsal, Mercedes stuck to Santana like glue, apparently worried she’d chicken out or something, but if there was one thing Santana was not, it was cowardly. So when Mr. Schue asked for volunteers to go first, her hand shot up before Mercedes could even react. “Santana, excellent. And who’s your partner?” Mr. Schue asked happily, and Mercedes got to her feet. “All right, ladies. But no fighting this time,” he said skeptically, but Mercedes and Santana shot him identical smirks as they took their places.

“Hit it,” Mercedes ordered the band, before Santana had time to look at the rest of the club, and then there was nothing but the song and their silly choreography and how goddamn awesome she knew they sounded together.

Their teammates knew it too, because halfway through the song, it was all she could to do hear the band over their enthusiastic hollering. She forced herself not to look at Brittany, because if she was just grooving along like the rest of them, Santana didn’t know if she could take it.

When they finished, the choir room erupted, and Mr. Schue jumped out of his chair to congratulate them. Brittany had turned in her chair to talk to Rachel and Finn, and Santana had to pretend that didn’t bother her. “And just so you know,” she said, forcing her bravado, “I’ve already bought custom bibs for me and Mercedes here. You know why? Cuz we’s be goin’ to Breadstix.”

Mercedes grinned and slapped her hand and took her back to their seats. “You hear that guys?” Mr. Schue beamed. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

After rehearsal, Santana actually started to leave with Mercedes, but Brittany caught up with them. “Hey! You guys were amazing,” she said. “You’ve got my vote.”

“You haven’t even heard anyone else, Britt,” Santana said coldly, but Brittany just smiled.

“You always had my vote, silly,” she said. “Good job, Mercedes!”

“Thanks, Britt,” Mercedes grinned, and Brittany headed out to meet Artie. “You idiot,” she said, whacking Santana’s shoulder. “Talk to her.”

“She didn’t fucking get it,” Santana said through gritted teeth. “I just… Got up there and did that, and she didn’t fucking get it.”

Mercedes sighed. Then she shoved Santana into the hallway. “Talk to her,” she ordered, but Santana stood outside the door, arms crossed over her chest.

“You are ridiculous,” Mercedes said, so Santana turned and headed down the hall, in the opposite direction Brittany had gone.

***

The next few days, she avoided Brittany as best she could, because it was all just too much. Fucking feelings! They were useless, and they’d gotten her nowhere, and now she couldn’t even enjoy fooling around with Brittany anymore, because suddenly that wasn’t enough. And fucking Puck was locked up, so she couldn’t fool around with him either, and she lay in her bed at night, alone and frustrated, and punched the mattress.

And then in school at the end of the week, she was greeted with gossip that Brittany and Artie were actually dating, and she just lost her mind. She went and found that little twerp in the lunch room and made it clear that since Brittany had sex with basically everyone, she was using him for one thing and one thing only: a duet partner. “And the only thing that you can give Brittany that she can’t get anywhere else? Is super choice parking,” she said snidely, and she didn’t even feel bad about it.

What the hell did Brittany think she was doing, actually dating that guy? He couldn’t possibly be better in bed than she was. She couldn’t possibly actually like him. Santana seethed and stomped off campus. There was no need to stick around school for the rest of the day.

But there was glee rehearsal that day, so she eventually did come back, and she sat with Mercedes, both of them expecting to win the competition, and well, at least she’d get a free meal out of all this mess, and maybe she even liked Mercedes a little bit. As far as she could tell, the girl hadn’t told a damn soul about anything she’d said about Brittany. And that was a little bit comforting.

Then fucking Quinn won, with that stupid prettyboy, and she couldn’t stop herself. She burst into frustrated tears. Mercedes awkwardly patted her back, but Santana just shrugged her off and managed to compose herself. “Just…perfect,” she sighed.

“Come on. I’ll take you to Breadstix anyway,” Mercedes offered, as everyone else gathered their things. “You did get those bibs and all.” She tried a friendly smile, but Santana just glared at her. “Your sulking is out of control,” Mercedes chastised. “Come on. I’m taking you out tomorrow night.”

Santana didn’t really want to argue, so she just didn’t, and the next night, she met Mercedes at Breadstix. Sam and Quinn were there too, on their damn free date, and she almost wanted to go punch one or both of them, but Mercedes firmly steered her to their own table, and she plunked down on the side of the booth farthest away from the happy couple.

She let Mercedes do all the talking, because she was still just…angry about everything, but eventually she began to enjoy herself, and maybe she even smiled once or twice at some dumb story the other girl told. “You’re all right, Wheezy,” she finally said, and Mercedes just rolled her eyes.

Wheezy may have been all right, but Santana still wasn’t going to let her actually pay for this like they were friends, and as they argued over the bill, she happened to glance past across the restaurant to see Brittany at a booth, alone. “How long has she been there?” she hissed, before she could stop herself, and Mercedes turned.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see her when we came in.”

“She’s not with him, is she?” Santana asked, scowling again, and Mercedes sighed.

“Go find out,” she said, kicking her leg.

“Fuck, what was that for?” Santana asked, but she got up and slowly walked over to Brittany’s table.

It was soon clear she was alone, because she was actually trying to push a meatball across her plate with her nose, even with the seat across from her empty. Santana’s heart shattered, and she propelled herself into the booth.

“San!” Brittany cried, startled, lifting her head up, and Santana smiled and wiped some marinara sauce off of her friend’s nose with her thumb. “What’re you doing?”

“What’re you doing?” she asked, trying to blink back the tears in her eyes. “Where’s your Tramp?”

“Apparently, I’m the tramp,” Brittany mumbled, and Santana’s heart fell. “Artie said I was a big slut, for not taking his virginity seriously or something. I didn’t really understand, but he yelled at me. And made me feel horrible.”

Santana swallowed hard. At least part of that was her fault. “Why did you even want to date him anyway?”

“I don’t know. He seemed nice. And you have your thing with Puck, so…”

“I told you, sex is not-”

“Yeah, yeah. Sex is not dating,” Brittany sighed, stabbing the meatball absently with her fork. “Well, I don’t know, you’ve been avoiding me, and…I guess I wanted it to be dating, just one time.”

“But why with him?” Santana asked plaintively, and Brittany’s eyes finally focused on hers.

“Why not with you?” she asked, as Santana saw everything finally clicking into place in her friend’s mind.

“Fuck, Britt. Yes,” she muttered, looking away.

“That’s why you wanted to sing with me?” Brittany asked. “Oh, San, I…” she stammered, clearly at a loss.

“You, I mean… You really had no idea?”

Brittany shook her head. “I mean, I know you love me, and I love you, I do, but I thought we were just…having fun.”

“We are-we were-I mean…” Santana spluttered. “But you… And we…”

“And your song… Was that for me?” Brittany asked, clearly feeling awful. “Santana, I’m so sorry.”

Santana shook her head. “It’s okay. I just thought you’d get it, and you didn’t, so I got mad at you. And then you started dating Artie, and you didn’t even tell me, so I got madder, and…” She sighed. “I may have gotten him to break up with you.”

“What?” Brittany asked, frowning.

“I told him you were just using him for his voice,” Santana confessed, “since you get sex from everyone. And he wasn’t special.”

“Jesus, Santana. He was really awful to me after you told him that,” Brittany muttered, dropping her fork.

“I’m sorry,” Santana said earnestly. “Really, I was just… Out of my mind.”

“You’ve never gotten jealous before,” Brittany remarked.

“I’ve never let myself,” Santana shrugged. “I mean… You know I’m not good at feelings.”

“Unless you’re angry,” Brittany teased gently, and Santana just sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“I forgive you.”

“So, I know your first attempt at making sex dating was a disaster, but… You wanna try again anyway?” Santana asked sheepishly.

“Yeah, I think I do,” Brittany said, with a smile. And she nudged the meatball across the plate again.

Santana laughed and speared the meatball with her own fork. “You’re cute with sauce on your nose.”

“I know,” Brittany giggled, and they smiled shyly at each other.

“If you find an extra long strand of spaghetti in there, let me know,” Santana said, and Brittany eagerly agreed.