Life is Just a Storm You're Braving (2/2)
Name: Life is Just a Storm You're Braving (2/2)
Summary: Santana Lopez is breaking. This is her journey back.
Sidenote: The songs in all the section beginnings are in this order: "Everything You Want" by Vertical Horizon, "Mi Amigo" by Kings of Leon, "Closer" by Kings of Leon, "Boys of Summer" by Don Henley, "Ready to Start" by Arcade Fire, "Crash Into Me" by Dave Matthews Band, "Friend Like You" by Joshua Radin, and "I Want to Save You" by Something Corporate. Title is from "We All Need Saving" by Jon McLaughlin. Have at it! First half is here.
if i was yours...but i’m not. now you’re knocking at my door, saying please come out with us tonight, but i would rather be alone than pretend that i’m alright.
“This is awkward,” Santana mutters, nudging her laser tag gun into Quinn’s side, trying to get the blonde to move from her chosen spot in plain sight. Quinn jerks her elbow back to smack into Santana’s plastic chestplate where her laser hit will apparently show.
“It isn’t that bad,” Quinn whispers back, glancing around the wall she’s taken as her hiding place for any of the opposing players.
“What are we whispering about?” Brittany asks, suddenly sidling up behind Santana, her chestplate matching both Quinn and Santana’s. Red. It’s probably the first time in a long time they’ve all had on matching outfits.
“Santana is being weird,” Quinn mutters, before she makes a dash for the wall opposite the one Santana and Brittany are behind.
“Why are you being weird?” Brittany asks, nudging Santana with her own laser gun, her blue eyes soft in the darkened laser tag arena. It’s been hard, being Brittany’s friend, especially with the insistent seesaw of emotion sending her from weird bouts of happy love to equally extreme bouts of angst that often ended with her crying in her pillow. It’s about two and a half weeks into the school year, and the almost month of her friendship with Britt is starting to wear her down.
“I’m not,” Santana mutters defensively, glancing around Brittany and spotting a dark figure hovering behind a low wall with the distinctive blue chestplate marking them as her enemy. It’s Kurt, probably, as the definitely man-shaped shadow has on saddleback shoes and an all-black outfit underneath the chestplate. “Shhh,” she whispers to Brittany, ducking around the blonde and sliding along the wall to remain unseen by the boy.
She feels Brittany following her, hovering right at Santana’s shoulder, backing her up. It’s almost reassuring to know that Brittany still cares - even if it’s to protect their current record as undisputed laser tag champions.
Thinking that Brittany cares otherwise only makes the whisper in her head start up again.
“San, wait,” Brittany whispers, halting Santana’s progress immediately, as she sounds rather distressed about something. Turning to face Brittany without letting Kurt leave her peripheral vision, she stares up at the girl in confusion. “I have a question.”
“Can it wait?” Santana whispers back, nudging Brittany back to protect her from possible attack. It feels like Brittany is far too close, breathing down her neck. She wants to shrink back into the warmth of Brittany, to feel her all around her, but she tries to ignore that feeling in place of turning back to focus on Kurt, who still hasn’t moved.
“Do you remember what I told you when you said you loved me?”
Santana nearly falls down, she turns so fast to face Brittany. The taller girl is looking down at her with her head cocked, her eyes clear, indicating curiosity all over her posture. Santana hasn’t forgotten - can’t forget it, actually, thanks to her subconscious running it over and over in her dreams.
“Now is not the time, Brittany,” she mutters, trying to escape the situation and get away from Brittany and the painful clench in her heart when she thinks about that moment. I love you but...
“I said that if Artie and I broke up, then I was yours,” Brittany keeps on whispering, and Santana tries to ignore it and just shoot Kurt so they could be one-up on Rachel’s team (again), but she knows Brittany is trying to get to something, and that something in her holds her in place.
“Why am I not yours?”
Santana feels tears start to well up in her eyes before she turns around slowly and looks up at Brittany, who looks confused at this sudden appearance of emotion.
“Because...”
And she almost says it. She almost says that she feels terrible, that she feels like she was the standby option, the one who was going to always be there and was therefore left behind. She feels like second best, for real, for the first time in her life. Because she was. Because she is.
She almost says it.
Her and Brittany’s chestplates light up at the same time, acknowledging the shots fired on them by Kurt behind Santana and Rachel (with eye blacks and all) behind Brittany.
“Don’t just stand there,” Kurt says, gesturing with his gun for the two girls to scatter before the ten second close range shot limit (Rachel instituted this after she got shot twenty times in a situation rather like this one) runs out. Santana dashes away into the arena, trying to forget the look in Brittany’s eyes and never quite succeeding.
into your heart i’ll beat again, sweet like candy to my soul, sweet you rock and sweet you roll...lost for you, i’m so lost for you
This was a disaster.
The first party of the year, and Santana was mighty tipsy. Her idiot best friend had abandoned her in favor of her midget who Quinn had still not fucked, and now they were completely asleep, Rachel’s head burrowed into the curve of Quinn’s neck. Kurt and Blaine were leaning up against their couch, playing thumb wars for some idiotic, dumb gay reason. Finn and Mercedes were performing a rollicking duet on the mics in Rachel’s basement.
Sam and Puck were on either side of her, and Santana was drunk. She was drunk and she was staring sullenly at Brittany, who was laughing with Mike as they danced around and around.
“Why so serious?” Sam asks, giggling happily at his apparently very good joke. Puck reaches around Santana to slap him on the back, chuckling loudly. Santana only realizes his question was directed to her when Puck pokes at her head.
“Stop,” Santana mutters, ice coating her tone as she watches Brittany spin Mike around in a demented version of a waltz or something. Puck’s hand immediately retracts, but Sam laughs happily.
“You were cool once,” Puck mutters, and they all sit and watch Brittany and Mike’s dance for a few minutes before Puck speaks again, staring at her intently.
“Dude. You’re crying,” he whispers, grabbing a cheerful napkin with the image of several Broadway posters on it and shoving it into Santana’s hands. Of course she is.
Santana makes a run for it up the stairs, trying to wipe away tears that are now suddenly coming down like a monsoon on her face for no identifiable reason. This is why she should not drink.
She doesn’t realize someone is following her until she bounds up the steps to Rachel’s room two at a time and hears the light sounds of what she could recognize anywhere as Brittany’s footsteps behind her.
“San?” Brittany whispers, closing the door quietly after Santana makes a turn into Rachel’s bedroom and Brittany steps in after her. Santana finds her eyes focusing on a small clot of photos stuck on a corkboard that’s displaying a collage of playbills that Santana knows is more a road map than a souvenir collection. The photos are from the summer, and the one smack dab in the center is of Quinn clinging to Santana’s back in what was a Fourth of July piggyback race. Rachel is trying to forcibly remove Quinn from Santana’s back, and all three of them are laughing happily.
Santana couldn’t really see the happiness right now.
“Santana?” Brittany whispers again, gripping Santana’s shoulder with her soft, warm hands. Even though they’ve been trying out this friends thing for a month or so now, it’s still the most direct touching that’s happened in a very long time, and it floats through Santana’s drunken haze overwhelmingly fast. She can feel that same hot buzz in the center of her chest that makes her tears come faster and makes her want to curl into a ball in Brittany’s arms, and the alcohol in her system is making it hard to see what’s wrong with doing so.
Second best. Second best.
“You loved him more than me, I messed it all up and then I told you I loved you and then you loved him more than me,” Santana comes out with, her brain-to-mouth filter suddenly shutting off with surprising speed. “And now what, now I’m just a loser who’s in love with you and I’m crying in Rachel Berry’s bedroom like a loser!”
Brittany doesn’t seem particularly phased by this sudden shouting, just pulls Santana around to face her. The girl has her soft, comforting eyes settled on Santana’s face with a small, beautiful frown.
“You were happy, he made you happy! He’s smart and he’s not a girl and he wasn’t mean, but I could’ve...I could’ve...” Santana coughs, rubbing at her eyes and looking up into Brittany’s eyes and trying to ignore the persistent ache in her chest. “Second best. Always second best.”
“San, sweetie, maybe you should sit down...” Brittany says, moving Santana to sit on the bed and pushing back the hair getting stuck in her tears on her face.
“Second best,” Santana mutters under her breath, looking at Brittany as she kneels in front of Santana and rubs Santana’s knees, trying to push some comfort into her body. It works almost instantaneously, because Santana’s sobs lessen and she reacts to the soothing circles Brittany’s making with her thumbs.
“It’s stupid,” Santana mumbles, locking her hands together and watching her fingers wiggle around and lock.
“What is?” Brittany asks, looking up to Santana with a small smile.
“I haven’t gotten laid in forever. Because of you and your stupid feelings. Feelings are stupid,” Santana answers, closing her eyes as Brittany’s hands jump to Santana’s knotted fingers.
“Feelings make it better,” Brittany whispers, and Santana feels her move to kiss her before she can move away.
It’s warm. That’s the first thing that hits Santana as she gets pushed back onto the mattress slowly and with care. It’s warm. It’s soft and the ache in her chest releases its grip with an audible sigh that comes out of her mouth. She feels loved.
Second best.
“No,” Santana mumbles, pushing at Brittany and rolling out from under her, feeling the tears once again come up through her throat and manifesting in her eyes. Brittany reaches for her, mumbling Santana’s name over and over as she wraps her arms around Santana and pulls her in to her chest.
“I can’t, I can’t...” Santana sobs, burrowing into the warmth she’s been searching for all these months.
“It’s okay,” Brittany whispers, rubbing her hand up and down Santana’s back. “Baby, I’m here, it’s okay.”
Santana hardly hears the placating things Brittany says the rest of the time she sobs into Brittany’s shirt, but by the time she finishes crying, she’s exhausted. Brittany is still rubbing her back, mumbling nonsense words into Santana’s hair, and doesn’t seem to notice Santana’s stopped crying until she moves slightly, out of Brittany’s arms to look down at the blonde.
Her hair is spread out over Rachel’s bedspread, and she’s looking up at Santana with confused eyes, her hand still placed at the small of Santana’s back.
“San?” Brittany asks, her voice quiet in the even quieter house.
“You’re all wet,” Santana laughs, plucking at Brittany’s shirt. The other girl giggles, her hand once again moving up and down Santana’s back.
“Yeah, but it’s okay,” Brittany whispers back, watching Santana with steady and curious eyes. Santana feels normal for the first time in months, settled along Brittany’s body and smiling with her. Her brain isn’t interjecting with its usual sentiments, and it’s quiet, and warm. She feels normal with Brittany here, by her side.
So she kisses Brittany.
Brittany reacts almost automatically, the hand not on Santana’s back coming up to thread through her hair, and a small whimper coming out of her mouth. That whimper spurs Santana on, making her forget all about her many objections to this happening, to why she doesn’t think this is a good idea. She forgets everything and keeps kissing Brittany, pressing closer and sliding one hand under the girl’s soaked shirt, almost crying again at the feel of warm, tight skin under her fingertips. Brittany whimpers again, tugging at Santana’s jean shorts and unbuttoning them with ease, kissing her and kissing her some more.
Santana feels Brittany’s hand slip down between them and slide into her shorts, but the light caress across the front of her underwear (God she hopes she put on some good underwear today) sends such a powerful shock through her that her arms shake violently and she nearly collapses onto Brittany.
The girl giggles underneath her, and Brittany’s fingers slide inside Santana’s underwear with ease and familiarity sliding over skin that’s slick with want and hasn’t been touched by anyone (except Santana but that hardly counts) in months, not since Brittany in Santana’s bedroom when she got a fanciful idea about feelings making it better.
Well, Santana’s about to find out if that makes it better.
It doesn’t take long until Santana is hovering on the precipice of oblivion, and all she can do is keep her arms steady above Brittany, staring down into the girl’s eyes. They’ve never really done it this way before - Santana wasn’t lying when she said she thought it was better without eye contact. Looking into Brittany’s eyes right now was adding a whole other dimension, an extra electricity that made her body thrum with sensitivity, that made her heart feel whole and full. Brittany was staring up at her with an unconscious smile, her eyes lit up with happiness and love.
It’s not just better. It’s the best.
Santana comes apart, and comes down on Brittany like a ton of bricks, burrowing her head into Brittany’s neck and gasping for breath. Brittany kisses her head and whispers.
“I love you.”
The last thing Santana remembers is Brittany’s arms wrapped around her and realizing that little voice hadn’t answered Brittany’s claim with a whisper of being second best.
all the world had shut me down, i showed up at your door so blue, thank god i had a friend like you
“You defiled my bed!” Rachel screeches, pointing accusingly at Santana across the table with her ice cream spoon, accidentally flinging some of her mint chocolate chip onto Kurt’s blazer.
“You defiled my seventy-five dollar gold-stitched blazer, you heathen. You are very lucky it is from last season,” Kurt says calmly, pulling a small box from his leather bag that’s labeled ‘emergency clothes repair’ and setting to work on his precious blazer. Santana wonders how she got to be friends with these freaks.
“You’re both insane,” Quinn intones, working the spoon in her ice cream bowl in circles and staring out the window of the ice cream shop pensively.
“Look fine, I slept with Brittany on your bed, but you can hardly say I defiled it. Like you haven’t dirtied it up already with any one-woman show activities,” Santana mumbles, taking a bite of ice cream as Rachel gasps, obviously scandalized, while Quinn nearly breaks her neck trying to turn her head further away from Rachel, her face turning pink.
“I am going to the restroom,” Rachel says in a high-pitched tone, prompting giggles from Kurt as she walks away.
“So, Quinn, how about you tell us what’s on your mind?” the boy says, flipping his emergency clothes repair kit closed and looking over at the blonde who’s now staring towards the direction of the bathroom door with apprehension.
“I think I might like Rachel,” she whispers, her mouth barely moving and her voice barely audible over the sounds of the ice cream shop.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Santana says, reaching for a spoonful of Quinn’s rocky road before it all melts. Quinn gapes at her, spluttering.
“Your tact is as impressive as ever, Santana,” Kurt says, before sliding into Rachel’s abandoned seat next to Quinn and patting her shoulder. “It was getting a little obvious, honey.”
“So what are you going to do?” Santana asks, watching Quinn look between the two of them confusedly.
“What am I supposed to do?” Quinn whispers, staring down at the table. “My mom...my mom, I don’t even know. What am I supposed to do?”
Quinn looks between Kurt and Santana, her eyes growing red and making their hazel color shine brightly in the sunlight streaming in from the window beside her. Santana looks to Kurt, who seems quite taken aback, his eyes already filled with tears at the startling turn Quinn has just taken into Serioustown.
“Q,” Santana finally says, leaning forward to grab her best friend’s hand. “We’ll be here for you, no matter what you do.”
“Yeah,” Kurt whispers, patting Quinn on the shoulder and handing her a napkin when a few tears leak out of her eyes.
“Quinn?”
Rachel is suddenly back at the table, looking extremely concerned for her best friend and probably future girlfriend, if the severity of concern in Rachel’s eyes is any indication. She nearly shoves Kurt out of the way to regain her seat, and is sitting in Quinn’s personal space bubble within seconds, offering napkins and settling her hand on Quinn’s forearm, talking quietly to Quinn before the blonde turns to Rachel and ducks down for a hug.
It reminds Santana too much of what she once had. What she could have now.
She gestures to Kurt to get out of their way, and they walk outside into the sunlight of October and look out down the road running straight through the town center.
“I didn’t know you were such a sap,” Kurt remarks, looking down at his leather boots before looking over at Santana. “With the, ‘we’ll be here no matter what’ thing.”
“I wish someone had said it to me,” Santana answers, turning to face Kurt and smiling wryly when he nods like he understands. In a way, he does.
“What are you going to do about Brittany?” he asks, squinting over at her through the sunlight hitting his face, his voice soft and serious.
“I don’t know.”
Kurt nods, like that’s enough for now, and he reaches out to touch her shoulder for just a moment before letting go and walking backwards towards his giant SUV.
“Well, we’ll be here for you no matter what you do!” he shouts from across the parking lot, waving his arms big and wide with a laugh spread across his face. Santana laughs too, and feels warmth spread through her. Because he meant it.
i want to save you, and i need you to save me too
“What the hell am I doing?” Quinn whispers at her side, staring at the box of chocolate and rose in her hands with bewilderment. She looks as though she forgot the part where she dragged Santana to the store at five in the fucking morning to get this shit and made Santana give opinions about it while nearly inhaling the coffee she had bought them both. Santana was pretty sure the coffee was the only reason she was still functioning. Five in the fucking morning. Quinn’s had a week and a half to prepare for this shit since her revelation in the ice cream shop, and she fucking starts at five in the morning.
“You’re finally realizing your gay ass destiny and getting into Berry’s tiny plaid skirt?” Santana mumbles, slamming her locker shut and leaning against it with Quinn. Across the hallway is Brittany and Rachel talking animatedly at each other, and Quinn is now hyperventilating. “Dude, Fabray. You gave birth to a fucking kid. Get over your shit and go romance the halfling so we can all stop dealing with your sexual frustration.”
“I don’t want to be the reason she stays here,” Quinn whispers, turning to look at Santana with wide and all of a sudden shiny eyes.
“Then go with her, you dumbass,” Santana mutters, yanking out her backpack and government book.
Quinn stares at Santana with apprehension.
“She’s going to be a star,” Quinn whispers again.
“Yeah well, don’t tell her this, but I know. And you know what? For whatever reason she seems to think your fucked up self is what she wants. I’d run with it while I can.”
“Maybe you should take your own advice,” Quinn whispers, giving Santana a half-smile, before she squares up her shoulders and moves across the thinning hallway and smiles down at Rachel as Brittany slowly backs away, having done her job of distracting Rachel as long as possible.
Santana is still leaning up against the lockers, Quinn’s words ringing in her head when Brittany settles into Quinn’s place, watching the blonde and brunette across the hallway have their moment in the lovey dovey gross sun.
“They look happy,” Brittany whispers, as Rachel lets out a squeal and throws herself at Quinn, while Quinn bursts into laughter.
“They look disgusting,” Santana says, but she knows Brittany knows what she means. Brittany looks over at her and laughs, so sweetly, and Santana feels that now very familiar ache settling around in her chest at the sight.
It’s been a month since the incident at the glee party, and things have been weird since then. Santana had woken up with Brittany spooning her, their hands entwined on Santana’s stomach, and a rather amused Blaine Anderson standing over them, saying something about how Kurt had sent him up to look for them. Brittany hadn’t tried to talk about it or anything Santana had said at all, but Santana could sometimes see a contemplative look on the girl’s face in the hallways or in glee. She had seen more and more of Brittany’s rubik’s cube than she had in years, and after the last time, Santana was almost afraid of what Brittany was thinking about.
Before Brittany can say anything more, something entirely unprecedented happens.
A splash of blue slushy smashes into Brittany’s face right next to her, and all Santana sees is red. The entire hallway is bursting into giggles and she nearly slips in the small patch of slippery ice around her as she rushes after whoever the hell the idiot who had done this was.
She hears Brittany yell, “San, don’t - ” right before she crashes into his back and sends him sprawling to the floor. When she drags him to face her, she probably nearly breaks her own hand as it contacts with his temple, and her other fist hits with surprising accuracy as it smashes into his nose, blood gushing out satisfyingly quickly. Before she’s even done enough damage (enough damage being the shattering of his windpipe), Sam Evans is pulling her off of the asshole and dragging her down the hallway before she can even punch the guy’s throat.
“Santana, dude, calm down,” he says in her ear, literally dragging her away as she sees the asshole extraordinaire get up to lunge after her quite dizzily. Artie wheels right in front of him, and the guy stops suddenly, obviously not knowing what to do with a kid in a wheelchair (a dilemma Santana had contemplated many times over the past several months), and Puck crashes into him from the right with the distraction, slamming him into the wall just as Mr. Schue and a biology teacher she had freshman year pull them apart, blissfully not noticing Santana with the blood on her hands.
Artie turns to look at Santana and gives a salute.
And with that, Sam drags her around the corner while she attempts to get away from him and rejoin the fray, only to set her down in front of the girl’s bathroom, where her best friend is waiting.
Quinn rounds on Santana, her voice cold and altogether the head bitch in charge that made Quinn head cheerleader and the ruler of the school.
“Sam, go away,” she says, shooing the boy with a wave of her hand. He almost sprints away at the signs of Quinn going into her scary evil witch mode, leaving Santana alone.
“I need to know something before I let you in there,” Quinn whispers heatedly, gripping onto Santana’s arm and leaning close so no one overhears them. “Why are you and Brittany not together yet?”
“Fabray, now is not the time for this,” Santana mutters, trying to push past Quinn into the bathroom so she can at least see Brittany and help her be okay.
“I actually think it’s a bit overdue. So how about you just spit it out and we can recognize that you’re being an idiot and we can move on.”
“Why do you think I’m the one being an idiot?” Santana says, staring at Quinn, hoping the girl will just leave it alone.
“She slept with you. She keeps trying, so hard, to talk to you and be with you, and yet, you aren’t together. I think all signs point to the problem being you here.”
“Whatever, Q. I told her I loved her, and she shot me down.”
“That was a long time ago. And she loves you, you know she loves you, Santana. She said so!”
“People say a lot of things to get laid.”
“You and I both know it meant more than that. So what the hell is up? Are you afraid of being out or something?”
“You aren’t going to get anything out of me, Fabray, so how about you just let me in the bathroom?”
“Santana,” Quinn says, her voice softening and her posture loosening until Santana can feel the adrenaline start to leak out of her and the pain in her hand spread through her arm.
They stare at each other for a moment before Santana speaks.
“Because I was her second choice. She chose fucking wheelchair boy over me, she wanted him,” Santana says, her voice cracking on the last part as the tears hit her eyes (again). Quinn stares at her, her hazel eyes responding in kind. “And if I go in there and I tell her I love her I’m just like...a lost little puppy or something fucked up. She said she loved me, and she said she loved him, and she chose him. I won’t be second best!”
Quinn blinks at her, a few tears sliding down her face. She shakes her head back and forth.
“S, you never...you never said anyth - ”
“It isn’t your goddamn business,” Santana mutters, backing away from the placating hand Quinn extends out towards her.
“Santana, you know that isn’t true. You’re not second best, and you’re especially not Brittany’s second - ”
“Just shut up,” Santana says, shoving Quinn out of the way and walking into the bathroom, leaving her best friend confused and tearful out in the hallway.
Rachel grabs Santana immediately, propelling her further into the room and grabbing Kurt by the arm that’s not wiping away ice from Brittany’s beautiful face. Rachel says, “Good luck,” and Kurt glances down at Santana’s painful fists and frowns before she’s pulled out the door Santana just came through.
“Hi,” Brittany whispers, standing still at the first sink in the row, staring at Santana with those bright blue eyes that still, quite unfortunately, reveal the blackness of her soul or some deep shit like that.
“Hi,” Santana whispers back, grabbing a paper towel and wetting it, reaching up to wipe the remainder of the slushy off of Brittany’s face, laughing a little when the girl licks off a spare drop that slides down near her lips.
“San?” Brittany says, reaching for Santana’s unused hand and grasping it tight. It sends a warmth through Santana that she hasn’t felt in a month. It’s terrible that her heart takes it in like a starving man takes his bread.
“Yeah?” she responds, her voice cracking as she reaches up to run her fingers through Brittany’s hair.
“You weren’t my second choice.”
Santana freezes, lettitng out a deep breath before she resumes her movement, almost afraid of what Brittany is about to say.
“I loved you. You were my best friend, but you...you confused me. You were like those puzzles that Papa and Mom leave in the house, the ones with the blocks?”
“Tanagrams,” she says with a laugh, suddenly remembering the one time she and Brittany had found a book of them and had spent the whole afternoon trying to make a duck.
“Yeah. They’re so pretty, you know? But hard to figure out. You told me you loved me, but...there had been all those times before, where you were so nice and the next day you were all mean and you would sleep with Puck. And I was with Artie, who was sweet too, but nice the next day. And the next day.”
Santana looked down at the floor and sighed, wondering why she’s even standing here right now.
“So you told me you loved me. And I loved you, of course I did - ”
“But...”
“I was afraid that you would be normal, lizard Santana the next day. I didn’t...want to be your lost little puppy either, San.”
Oh goddamn it motherfucker, that asshole had put her so close to the bathroom door they could all hear every word she said.
“I broke up with him, though, over the summer? I told him that I loved you. And he said okay. And I still love you, San. Just like I always did, whether you’re a lizard or not.”
Santana is silent as she stares down at she and Brittany’s shoes, the paper towels in her hands dripping onto the bathroom floor.
“You’re broken, you know,” Brittany whispers, her fingers reaching out to ease along Santana’s arm and clasping with Santana’s hand. “You need a Power Ranger.”
Santana laughs, even though tears are sliding down her face.
“You never thought you were second best before,” Brittany says, stepping closer to Santana and looking down at her carefully, with bright blue eyes that exude all the love in the world. Santana can’t move away. “I want to be your Power Ranger again.”
“Britt, I don’t think this is going to just...get fixed,” Santana says, trying to step away from the taller blonde and retreat into her head. Shut down.
Brittany pulls her back.
“I know,” Brittany whispers, leaning down to knock her head lightly against Santana’s forehead. “But I want to try. Please let me try.”
Santana stands in the bathroom, the same bathroom she had been in eight months ago with a broken heart and the girl she loved trying desperately to save her from it. She had been broken. And she had started to heal, with the help of old friends and new, extremely weird ones.
Maybe this chance was what she needed to finish healing.
She misses her best friend, and more than that, she misses the love of her life. She misses them kissing before they go to sleep, she misses stupid things like standing between Brittany’s legs and holding her pinky. She wants them back. It was her senior year and she’d be gone in five months, out of this stupid fucking town and away from these idiots.
“Okay,” Santana whispers, dropping the paper towels in the trash and looking up at Brittany with teary eyes.
Brittany stares down at her, her blue eyes made all the more prominent by the red surrounding them.
“Okay?” Brittany asks, one hand reaching out to land on Santana’s, gripping her hand tightly.
“Okay. You can be my Power Ranger again.”
Brittany’s face lights up in happiness, her body drifting closer to Santana’s so that their hips bump together in the bathroom. Santana forgets to notice that Brittany still has slushy all over her clothes.
“I love you,” Santana whispers, to Brittany’s face for the first time in what feels like forever.
Brittany smiles even wider, stray tears leaking out of her eyes as she breathes it in.
“I love you too,” she whispers back, swinging their locked hands back and forth as she smiles happily.
Santana smiles so hard that she forgets to notice when her brain doesn’t counter back with the memory of I love you, but...
She leans up to kiss Brittany, and for now, forgets to care altogether.
the end.
Summary: Santana Lopez is breaking. This is her journey back.
Sidenote: The songs in all the section beginnings are in this order: "Everything You Want" by Vertical Horizon, "Mi Amigo" by Kings of Leon, "Closer" by Kings of Leon, "Boys of Summer" by Don Henley, "Ready to Start" by Arcade Fire, "Crash Into Me" by Dave Matthews Band, "Friend Like You" by Joshua Radin, and "I Want to Save You" by Something Corporate. Title is from "We All Need Saving" by Jon McLaughlin. Have at it! First half is here.
if i was yours...but i’m not. now you’re knocking at my door, saying please come out with us tonight, but i would rather be alone than pretend that i’m alright.
“This is awkward,” Santana mutters, nudging her laser tag gun into Quinn’s side, trying to get the blonde to move from her chosen spot in plain sight. Quinn jerks her elbow back to smack into Santana’s plastic chestplate where her laser hit will apparently show.
“It isn’t that bad,” Quinn whispers back, glancing around the wall she’s taken as her hiding place for any of the opposing players.
“What are we whispering about?” Brittany asks, suddenly sidling up behind Santana, her chestplate matching both Quinn and Santana’s. Red. It’s probably the first time in a long time they’ve all had on matching outfits.
“Santana is being weird,” Quinn mutters, before she makes a dash for the wall opposite the one Santana and Brittany are behind.
“Why are you being weird?” Brittany asks, nudging Santana with her own laser gun, her blue eyes soft in the darkened laser tag arena. It’s been hard, being Brittany’s friend, especially with the insistent seesaw of emotion sending her from weird bouts of happy love to equally extreme bouts of angst that often ended with her crying in her pillow. It’s about two and a half weeks into the school year, and the almost month of her friendship with Britt is starting to wear her down.
“I’m not,” Santana mutters defensively, glancing around Brittany and spotting a dark figure hovering behind a low wall with the distinctive blue chestplate marking them as her enemy. It’s Kurt, probably, as the definitely man-shaped shadow has on saddleback shoes and an all-black outfit underneath the chestplate. “Shhh,” she whispers to Brittany, ducking around the blonde and sliding along the wall to remain unseen by the boy.
She feels Brittany following her, hovering right at Santana’s shoulder, backing her up. It’s almost reassuring to know that Brittany still cares - even if it’s to protect their current record as undisputed laser tag champions.
Thinking that Brittany cares otherwise only makes the whisper in her head start up again.
“San, wait,” Brittany whispers, halting Santana’s progress immediately, as she sounds rather distressed about something. Turning to face Brittany without letting Kurt leave her peripheral vision, she stares up at the girl in confusion. “I have a question.”
“Can it wait?” Santana whispers back, nudging Brittany back to protect her from possible attack. It feels like Brittany is far too close, breathing down her neck. She wants to shrink back into the warmth of Brittany, to feel her all around her, but she tries to ignore that feeling in place of turning back to focus on Kurt, who still hasn’t moved.
“Do you remember what I told you when you said you loved me?”
Santana nearly falls down, she turns so fast to face Brittany. The taller girl is looking down at her with her head cocked, her eyes clear, indicating curiosity all over her posture. Santana hasn’t forgotten - can’t forget it, actually, thanks to her subconscious running it over and over in her dreams.
“Now is not the time, Brittany,” she mutters, trying to escape the situation and get away from Brittany and the painful clench in her heart when she thinks about that moment. I love you but...
“I said that if Artie and I broke up, then I was yours,” Brittany keeps on whispering, and Santana tries to ignore it and just shoot Kurt so they could be one-up on Rachel’s team (again), but she knows Brittany is trying to get to something, and that something in her holds her in place.
“Why am I not yours?”
Santana feels tears start to well up in her eyes before she turns around slowly and looks up at Brittany, who looks confused at this sudden appearance of emotion.
“Because...”
And she almost says it. She almost says that she feels terrible, that she feels like she was the standby option, the one who was going to always be there and was therefore left behind. She feels like second best, for real, for the first time in her life. Because she was. Because she is.
She almost says it.
Her and Brittany’s chestplates light up at the same time, acknowledging the shots fired on them by Kurt behind Santana and Rachel (with eye blacks and all) behind Brittany.
“Don’t just stand there,” Kurt says, gesturing with his gun for the two girls to scatter before the ten second close range shot limit (Rachel instituted this after she got shot twenty times in a situation rather like this one) runs out. Santana dashes away into the arena, trying to forget the look in Brittany’s eyes and never quite succeeding.
into your heart i’ll beat again, sweet like candy to my soul, sweet you rock and sweet you roll...lost for you, i’m so lost for you
This was a disaster.
The first party of the year, and Santana was mighty tipsy. Her idiot best friend had abandoned her in favor of her midget who Quinn had still not fucked, and now they were completely asleep, Rachel’s head burrowed into the curve of Quinn’s neck. Kurt and Blaine were leaning up against their couch, playing thumb wars for some idiotic, dumb gay reason. Finn and Mercedes were performing a rollicking duet on the mics in Rachel’s basement.
Sam and Puck were on either side of her, and Santana was drunk. She was drunk and she was staring sullenly at Brittany, who was laughing with Mike as they danced around and around.
“Why so serious?” Sam asks, giggling happily at his apparently very good joke. Puck reaches around Santana to slap him on the back, chuckling loudly. Santana only realizes his question was directed to her when Puck pokes at her head.
“Stop,” Santana mutters, ice coating her tone as she watches Brittany spin Mike around in a demented version of a waltz or something. Puck’s hand immediately retracts, but Sam laughs happily.
“You were cool once,” Puck mutters, and they all sit and watch Brittany and Mike’s dance for a few minutes before Puck speaks again, staring at her intently.
“Dude. You’re crying,” he whispers, grabbing a cheerful napkin with the image of several Broadway posters on it and shoving it into Santana’s hands. Of course she is.
Santana makes a run for it up the stairs, trying to wipe away tears that are now suddenly coming down like a monsoon on her face for no identifiable reason. This is why she should not drink.
She doesn’t realize someone is following her until she bounds up the steps to Rachel’s room two at a time and hears the light sounds of what she could recognize anywhere as Brittany’s footsteps behind her.
“San?” Brittany whispers, closing the door quietly after Santana makes a turn into Rachel’s bedroom and Brittany steps in after her. Santana finds her eyes focusing on a small clot of photos stuck on a corkboard that’s displaying a collage of playbills that Santana knows is more a road map than a souvenir collection. The photos are from the summer, and the one smack dab in the center is of Quinn clinging to Santana’s back in what was a Fourth of July piggyback race. Rachel is trying to forcibly remove Quinn from Santana’s back, and all three of them are laughing happily.
Santana couldn’t really see the happiness right now.
“Santana?” Brittany whispers again, gripping Santana’s shoulder with her soft, warm hands. Even though they’ve been trying out this friends thing for a month or so now, it’s still the most direct touching that’s happened in a very long time, and it floats through Santana’s drunken haze overwhelmingly fast. She can feel that same hot buzz in the center of her chest that makes her tears come faster and makes her want to curl into a ball in Brittany’s arms, and the alcohol in her system is making it hard to see what’s wrong with doing so.
Second best. Second best.
“You loved him more than me, I messed it all up and then I told you I loved you and then you loved him more than me,” Santana comes out with, her brain-to-mouth filter suddenly shutting off with surprising speed. “And now what, now I’m just a loser who’s in love with you and I’m crying in Rachel Berry’s bedroom like a loser!”
Brittany doesn’t seem particularly phased by this sudden shouting, just pulls Santana around to face her. The girl has her soft, comforting eyes settled on Santana’s face with a small, beautiful frown.
“You were happy, he made you happy! He’s smart and he’s not a girl and he wasn’t mean, but I could’ve...I could’ve...” Santana coughs, rubbing at her eyes and looking up into Brittany’s eyes and trying to ignore the persistent ache in her chest. “Second best. Always second best.”
“San, sweetie, maybe you should sit down...” Brittany says, moving Santana to sit on the bed and pushing back the hair getting stuck in her tears on her face.
“Second best,” Santana mutters under her breath, looking at Brittany as she kneels in front of Santana and rubs Santana’s knees, trying to push some comfort into her body. It works almost instantaneously, because Santana’s sobs lessen and she reacts to the soothing circles Brittany’s making with her thumbs.
“It’s stupid,” Santana mumbles, locking her hands together and watching her fingers wiggle around and lock.
“What is?” Brittany asks, looking up to Santana with a small smile.
“I haven’t gotten laid in forever. Because of you and your stupid feelings. Feelings are stupid,” Santana answers, closing her eyes as Brittany’s hands jump to Santana’s knotted fingers.
“Feelings make it better,” Brittany whispers, and Santana feels her move to kiss her before she can move away.
It’s warm. That’s the first thing that hits Santana as she gets pushed back onto the mattress slowly and with care. It’s warm. It’s soft and the ache in her chest releases its grip with an audible sigh that comes out of her mouth. She feels loved.
Second best.
“No,” Santana mumbles, pushing at Brittany and rolling out from under her, feeling the tears once again come up through her throat and manifesting in her eyes. Brittany reaches for her, mumbling Santana’s name over and over as she wraps her arms around Santana and pulls her in to her chest.
“I can’t, I can’t...” Santana sobs, burrowing into the warmth she’s been searching for all these months.
“It’s okay,” Brittany whispers, rubbing her hand up and down Santana’s back. “Baby, I’m here, it’s okay.”
Santana hardly hears the placating things Brittany says the rest of the time she sobs into Brittany’s shirt, but by the time she finishes crying, she’s exhausted. Brittany is still rubbing her back, mumbling nonsense words into Santana’s hair, and doesn’t seem to notice Santana’s stopped crying until she moves slightly, out of Brittany’s arms to look down at the blonde.
Her hair is spread out over Rachel’s bedspread, and she’s looking up at Santana with confused eyes, her hand still placed at the small of Santana’s back.
“San?” Brittany asks, her voice quiet in the even quieter house.
“You’re all wet,” Santana laughs, plucking at Brittany’s shirt. The other girl giggles, her hand once again moving up and down Santana’s back.
“Yeah, but it’s okay,” Brittany whispers back, watching Santana with steady and curious eyes. Santana feels normal for the first time in months, settled along Brittany’s body and smiling with her. Her brain isn’t interjecting with its usual sentiments, and it’s quiet, and warm. She feels normal with Brittany here, by her side.
So she kisses Brittany.
Brittany reacts almost automatically, the hand not on Santana’s back coming up to thread through her hair, and a small whimper coming out of her mouth. That whimper spurs Santana on, making her forget all about her many objections to this happening, to why she doesn’t think this is a good idea. She forgets everything and keeps kissing Brittany, pressing closer and sliding one hand under the girl’s soaked shirt, almost crying again at the feel of warm, tight skin under her fingertips. Brittany whimpers again, tugging at Santana’s jean shorts and unbuttoning them with ease, kissing her and kissing her some more.
Santana feels Brittany’s hand slip down between them and slide into her shorts, but the light caress across the front of her underwear (God she hopes she put on some good underwear today) sends such a powerful shock through her that her arms shake violently and she nearly collapses onto Brittany.
The girl giggles underneath her, and Brittany’s fingers slide inside Santana’s underwear with ease and familiarity sliding over skin that’s slick with want and hasn’t been touched by anyone (except Santana but that hardly counts) in months, not since Brittany in Santana’s bedroom when she got a fanciful idea about feelings making it better.
Well, Santana’s about to find out if that makes it better.
It doesn’t take long until Santana is hovering on the precipice of oblivion, and all she can do is keep her arms steady above Brittany, staring down into the girl’s eyes. They’ve never really done it this way before - Santana wasn’t lying when she said she thought it was better without eye contact. Looking into Brittany’s eyes right now was adding a whole other dimension, an extra electricity that made her body thrum with sensitivity, that made her heart feel whole and full. Brittany was staring up at her with an unconscious smile, her eyes lit up with happiness and love.
It’s not just better. It’s the best.
Santana comes apart, and comes down on Brittany like a ton of bricks, burrowing her head into Brittany’s neck and gasping for breath. Brittany kisses her head and whispers.
“I love you.”
The last thing Santana remembers is Brittany’s arms wrapped around her and realizing that little voice hadn’t answered Brittany’s claim with a whisper of being second best.
all the world had shut me down, i showed up at your door so blue, thank god i had a friend like you
“You defiled my bed!” Rachel screeches, pointing accusingly at Santana across the table with her ice cream spoon, accidentally flinging some of her mint chocolate chip onto Kurt’s blazer.
“You defiled my seventy-five dollar gold-stitched blazer, you heathen. You are very lucky it is from last season,” Kurt says calmly, pulling a small box from his leather bag that’s labeled ‘emergency clothes repair’ and setting to work on his precious blazer. Santana wonders how she got to be friends with these freaks.
“You’re both insane,” Quinn intones, working the spoon in her ice cream bowl in circles and staring out the window of the ice cream shop pensively.
“Look fine, I slept with Brittany on your bed, but you can hardly say I defiled it. Like you haven’t dirtied it up already with any one-woman show activities,” Santana mumbles, taking a bite of ice cream as Rachel gasps, obviously scandalized, while Quinn nearly breaks her neck trying to turn her head further away from Rachel, her face turning pink.
“I am going to the restroom,” Rachel says in a high-pitched tone, prompting giggles from Kurt as she walks away.
“So, Quinn, how about you tell us what’s on your mind?” the boy says, flipping his emergency clothes repair kit closed and looking over at the blonde who’s now staring towards the direction of the bathroom door with apprehension.
“I think I might like Rachel,” she whispers, her mouth barely moving and her voice barely audible over the sounds of the ice cream shop.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Santana says, reaching for a spoonful of Quinn’s rocky road before it all melts. Quinn gapes at her, spluttering.
“Your tact is as impressive as ever, Santana,” Kurt says, before sliding into Rachel’s abandoned seat next to Quinn and patting her shoulder. “It was getting a little obvious, honey.”
“So what are you going to do?” Santana asks, watching Quinn look between the two of them confusedly.
“What am I supposed to do?” Quinn whispers, staring down at the table. “My mom...my mom, I don’t even know. What am I supposed to do?”
Quinn looks between Kurt and Santana, her eyes growing red and making their hazel color shine brightly in the sunlight streaming in from the window beside her. Santana looks to Kurt, who seems quite taken aback, his eyes already filled with tears at the startling turn Quinn has just taken into Serioustown.
“Q,” Santana finally says, leaning forward to grab her best friend’s hand. “We’ll be here for you, no matter what you do.”
“Yeah,” Kurt whispers, patting Quinn on the shoulder and handing her a napkin when a few tears leak out of her eyes.
“Quinn?”
Rachel is suddenly back at the table, looking extremely concerned for her best friend and probably future girlfriend, if the severity of concern in Rachel’s eyes is any indication. She nearly shoves Kurt out of the way to regain her seat, and is sitting in Quinn’s personal space bubble within seconds, offering napkins and settling her hand on Quinn’s forearm, talking quietly to Quinn before the blonde turns to Rachel and ducks down for a hug.
It reminds Santana too much of what she once had. What she could have now.
She gestures to Kurt to get out of their way, and they walk outside into the sunlight of October and look out down the road running straight through the town center.
“I didn’t know you were such a sap,” Kurt remarks, looking down at his leather boots before looking over at Santana. “With the, ‘we’ll be here no matter what’ thing.”
“I wish someone had said it to me,” Santana answers, turning to face Kurt and smiling wryly when he nods like he understands. In a way, he does.
“What are you going to do about Brittany?” he asks, squinting over at her through the sunlight hitting his face, his voice soft and serious.
“I don’t know.”
Kurt nods, like that’s enough for now, and he reaches out to touch her shoulder for just a moment before letting go and walking backwards towards his giant SUV.
“Well, we’ll be here for you no matter what you do!” he shouts from across the parking lot, waving his arms big and wide with a laugh spread across his face. Santana laughs too, and feels warmth spread through her. Because he meant it.
i want to save you, and i need you to save me too
“What the hell am I doing?” Quinn whispers at her side, staring at the box of chocolate and rose in her hands with bewilderment. She looks as though she forgot the part where she dragged Santana to the store at five in the fucking morning to get this shit and made Santana give opinions about it while nearly inhaling the coffee she had bought them both. Santana was pretty sure the coffee was the only reason she was still functioning. Five in the fucking morning. Quinn’s had a week and a half to prepare for this shit since her revelation in the ice cream shop, and she fucking starts at five in the morning.
“You’re finally realizing your gay ass destiny and getting into Berry’s tiny plaid skirt?” Santana mumbles, slamming her locker shut and leaning against it with Quinn. Across the hallway is Brittany and Rachel talking animatedly at each other, and Quinn is now hyperventilating. “Dude, Fabray. You gave birth to a fucking kid. Get over your shit and go romance the halfling so we can all stop dealing with your sexual frustration.”
“I don’t want to be the reason she stays here,” Quinn whispers, turning to look at Santana with wide and all of a sudden shiny eyes.
“Then go with her, you dumbass,” Santana mutters, yanking out her backpack and government book.
Quinn stares at Santana with apprehension.
“She’s going to be a star,” Quinn whispers again.
“Yeah well, don’t tell her this, but I know. And you know what? For whatever reason she seems to think your fucked up self is what she wants. I’d run with it while I can.”
“Maybe you should take your own advice,” Quinn whispers, giving Santana a half-smile, before she squares up her shoulders and moves across the thinning hallway and smiles down at Rachel as Brittany slowly backs away, having done her job of distracting Rachel as long as possible.
Santana is still leaning up against the lockers, Quinn’s words ringing in her head when Brittany settles into Quinn’s place, watching the blonde and brunette across the hallway have their moment in the lovey dovey gross sun.
“They look happy,” Brittany whispers, as Rachel lets out a squeal and throws herself at Quinn, while Quinn bursts into laughter.
“They look disgusting,” Santana says, but she knows Brittany knows what she means. Brittany looks over at her and laughs, so sweetly, and Santana feels that now very familiar ache settling around in her chest at the sight.
It’s been a month since the incident at the glee party, and things have been weird since then. Santana had woken up with Brittany spooning her, their hands entwined on Santana’s stomach, and a rather amused Blaine Anderson standing over them, saying something about how Kurt had sent him up to look for them. Brittany hadn’t tried to talk about it or anything Santana had said at all, but Santana could sometimes see a contemplative look on the girl’s face in the hallways or in glee. She had seen more and more of Brittany’s rubik’s cube than she had in years, and after the last time, Santana was almost afraid of what Brittany was thinking about.
Before Brittany can say anything more, something entirely unprecedented happens.
A splash of blue slushy smashes into Brittany’s face right next to her, and all Santana sees is red. The entire hallway is bursting into giggles and she nearly slips in the small patch of slippery ice around her as she rushes after whoever the hell the idiot who had done this was.
She hears Brittany yell, “San, don’t - ” right before she crashes into his back and sends him sprawling to the floor. When she drags him to face her, she probably nearly breaks her own hand as it contacts with his temple, and her other fist hits with surprising accuracy as it smashes into his nose, blood gushing out satisfyingly quickly. Before she’s even done enough damage (enough damage being the shattering of his windpipe), Sam Evans is pulling her off of the asshole and dragging her down the hallway before she can even punch the guy’s throat.
“Santana, dude, calm down,” he says in her ear, literally dragging her away as she sees the asshole extraordinaire get up to lunge after her quite dizzily. Artie wheels right in front of him, and the guy stops suddenly, obviously not knowing what to do with a kid in a wheelchair (a dilemma Santana had contemplated many times over the past several months), and Puck crashes into him from the right with the distraction, slamming him into the wall just as Mr. Schue and a biology teacher she had freshman year pull them apart, blissfully not noticing Santana with the blood on her hands.
Artie turns to look at Santana and gives a salute.
And with that, Sam drags her around the corner while she attempts to get away from him and rejoin the fray, only to set her down in front of the girl’s bathroom, where her best friend is waiting.
Quinn rounds on Santana, her voice cold and altogether the head bitch in charge that made Quinn head cheerleader and the ruler of the school.
“Sam, go away,” she says, shooing the boy with a wave of her hand. He almost sprints away at the signs of Quinn going into her scary evil witch mode, leaving Santana alone.
“I need to know something before I let you in there,” Quinn whispers heatedly, gripping onto Santana’s arm and leaning close so no one overhears them. “Why are you and Brittany not together yet?”
“Fabray, now is not the time for this,” Santana mutters, trying to push past Quinn into the bathroom so she can at least see Brittany and help her be okay.
“I actually think it’s a bit overdue. So how about you just spit it out and we can recognize that you’re being an idiot and we can move on.”
“Why do you think I’m the one being an idiot?” Santana says, staring at Quinn, hoping the girl will just leave it alone.
“She slept with you. She keeps trying, so hard, to talk to you and be with you, and yet, you aren’t together. I think all signs point to the problem being you here.”
“Whatever, Q. I told her I loved her, and she shot me down.”
“That was a long time ago. And she loves you, you know she loves you, Santana. She said so!”
“People say a lot of things to get laid.”
“You and I both know it meant more than that. So what the hell is up? Are you afraid of being out or something?”
“You aren’t going to get anything out of me, Fabray, so how about you just let me in the bathroom?”
“Santana,” Quinn says, her voice softening and her posture loosening until Santana can feel the adrenaline start to leak out of her and the pain in her hand spread through her arm.
They stare at each other for a moment before Santana speaks.
“Because I was her second choice. She chose fucking wheelchair boy over me, she wanted him,” Santana says, her voice cracking on the last part as the tears hit her eyes (again). Quinn stares at her, her hazel eyes responding in kind. “And if I go in there and I tell her I love her I’m just like...a lost little puppy or something fucked up. She said she loved me, and she said she loved him, and she chose him. I won’t be second best!”
Quinn blinks at her, a few tears sliding down her face. She shakes her head back and forth.
“S, you never...you never said anyth - ”
“It isn’t your goddamn business,” Santana mutters, backing away from the placating hand Quinn extends out towards her.
“Santana, you know that isn’t true. You’re not second best, and you’re especially not Brittany’s second - ”
“Just shut up,” Santana says, shoving Quinn out of the way and walking into the bathroom, leaving her best friend confused and tearful out in the hallway.
Rachel grabs Santana immediately, propelling her further into the room and grabbing Kurt by the arm that’s not wiping away ice from Brittany’s beautiful face. Rachel says, “Good luck,” and Kurt glances down at Santana’s painful fists and frowns before she’s pulled out the door Santana just came through.
“Hi,” Brittany whispers, standing still at the first sink in the row, staring at Santana with those bright blue eyes that still, quite unfortunately, reveal the blackness of her soul or some deep shit like that.
“Hi,” Santana whispers back, grabbing a paper towel and wetting it, reaching up to wipe the remainder of the slushy off of Brittany’s face, laughing a little when the girl licks off a spare drop that slides down near her lips.
“San?” Brittany says, reaching for Santana’s unused hand and grasping it tight. It sends a warmth through Santana that she hasn’t felt in a month. It’s terrible that her heart takes it in like a starving man takes his bread.
“Yeah?” she responds, her voice cracking as she reaches up to run her fingers through Brittany’s hair.
“You weren’t my second choice.”
Santana freezes, lettitng out a deep breath before she resumes her movement, almost afraid of what Brittany is about to say.
“I loved you. You were my best friend, but you...you confused me. You were like those puzzles that Papa and Mom leave in the house, the ones with the blocks?”
“Tanagrams,” she says with a laugh, suddenly remembering the one time she and Brittany had found a book of them and had spent the whole afternoon trying to make a duck.
“Yeah. They’re so pretty, you know? But hard to figure out. You told me you loved me, but...there had been all those times before, where you were so nice and the next day you were all mean and you would sleep with Puck. And I was with Artie, who was sweet too, but nice the next day. And the next day.”
Santana looked down at the floor and sighed, wondering why she’s even standing here right now.
“So you told me you loved me. And I loved you, of course I did - ”
“But...”
“I was afraid that you would be normal, lizard Santana the next day. I didn’t...want to be your lost little puppy either, San.”
Oh goddamn it motherfucker, that asshole had put her so close to the bathroom door they could all hear every word she said.
“I broke up with him, though, over the summer? I told him that I loved you. And he said okay. And I still love you, San. Just like I always did, whether you’re a lizard or not.”
Santana is silent as she stares down at she and Brittany’s shoes, the paper towels in her hands dripping onto the bathroom floor.
“You’re broken, you know,” Brittany whispers, her fingers reaching out to ease along Santana’s arm and clasping with Santana’s hand. “You need a Power Ranger.”
Santana laughs, even though tears are sliding down her face.
“You never thought you were second best before,” Brittany says, stepping closer to Santana and looking down at her carefully, with bright blue eyes that exude all the love in the world. Santana can’t move away. “I want to be your Power Ranger again.”
“Britt, I don’t think this is going to just...get fixed,” Santana says, trying to step away from the taller blonde and retreat into her head. Shut down.
Brittany pulls her back.
“I know,” Brittany whispers, leaning down to knock her head lightly against Santana’s forehead. “But I want to try. Please let me try.”
Santana stands in the bathroom, the same bathroom she had been in eight months ago with a broken heart and the girl she loved trying desperately to save her from it. She had been broken. And she had started to heal, with the help of old friends and new, extremely weird ones.
Maybe this chance was what she needed to finish healing.
She misses her best friend, and more than that, she misses the love of her life. She misses them kissing before they go to sleep, she misses stupid things like standing between Brittany’s legs and holding her pinky. She wants them back. It was her senior year and she’d be gone in five months, out of this stupid fucking town and away from these idiots.
“Okay,” Santana whispers, dropping the paper towels in the trash and looking up at Brittany with teary eyes.
Brittany stares down at her, her blue eyes made all the more prominent by the red surrounding them.
“Okay?” Brittany asks, one hand reaching out to land on Santana’s, gripping her hand tightly.
“Okay. You can be my Power Ranger again.”
Brittany’s face lights up in happiness, her body drifting closer to Santana’s so that their hips bump together in the bathroom. Santana forgets to notice that Brittany still has slushy all over her clothes.
“I love you,” Santana whispers, to Brittany’s face for the first time in what feels like forever.
Brittany smiles even wider, stray tears leaking out of her eyes as she breathes it in.
“I love you too,” she whispers back, swinging their locked hands back and forth as she smiles happily.
Santana smiles so hard that she forgets to notice when her brain doesn’t counter back with the memory of I love you, but...
She leans up to kiss Brittany, and for now, forgets to care altogether.
the end.