FF: Landslide (Glee) Santana/Brittany 2/2 PG-13
When Santana first joined Glee club it had become quickly apparent Mr. Schue hadn’t listened to a song written after 1998 and certainly had no interest in performing one. What surprised Santana was that she didn’t mind singing oldies. One weekend when her mother had left her money for pizza and gone off to the spa for “alone time” (aka Botox) Santana had gone rooting through the garage to see if her mother had finally restocked her secret stash of weed. She hadn’t, but she found something almost as interesting - her parent’s record collection. Somehow it had made it through the divorce years before in one piece, a minor miracle considering the damage those two had managed to do on more than a few appliances and the entire china collection.
Most of them were terrible - Peter, Paul and Mary? Really? - but then her eyes caught on a Fleetwood Mac album. Their stereo was ancient but the turntable still worked. The record popped and scratched at first and then Stevie Knicks sultry, husky voice came through the speakers. Santana was hooked. She’d listened to the album beginning to end. And then she’d listened to it again. And again. She could have bought the album off iTunes, gotten that perfect, digitally re-mastered sound on the Bose headphones, but there was something primal, something pure about listening to Stevie Knicks on the crackling record player.
And there was something about “Landslide” that made Santana’s heart break every time she listened to it.
She wasn’t good at feelings. Didn’t have time for them and no one had ever cared enough about her to actually notice that she didn’t talk about them - no one, at least, beside Brit. So when the blonde had looked at her so pleadingly and asked for them to talk to an adult about what was going on, Santana hadn’t been able to argue. Brittany had never asked her for anything before. She couldn’t say no now.
Miss Holiday’s idea to try and express her feelings through music hadn’t scared her. Instead, it felt right. And “Landslide” was the only song that came to mind when Santana thought of Brit. She just hoped the other girl would understand.
*
If there were other people in the room, Santana didn’t see them, didn’t care. Those first few opening notes on the banjo and guitar drowned out the rest of the noise in the room, even the sound of her own heartbeat as she looked over and met Brittany’s soft stare.
“Well, I’ve been afraid of changing, ‘cause I built my life around you... But time makes you bolder, children get older, and I’m getting older, too...”
Together they sang, harmonies intertwined, supporting, matching, moving. It was like sex, but better.
It was magic.
And that was when Santana couldn’t hide anymore, couldn’t lie anymore, not to herself, and not to Brittany. Tears glistened, unshed as she fought to control the wave of emotions cresting inside her with each note, each word, each phrase. Looking at Brittany, she didn’t hold back, and hoped that the other girl understood everything that she’d never found the words to say before.
“The landslide will bring you down...”
Santana wiped away the tears she hadn’t been able to hold back, sniffling softly.
“Is that really how you feel?” Brittany asked.
“Uh, yeah,” Santana admitted. Brittany smiled shyly. Just as shyly Santana walked over to her, hugging her tight, face buried against her neck. No one else heard her whisper “Thank you.” Brit just squeezed tighter and for the first time since Santana was five years old she thought ‘everything is going to be okay.’
*
Except everything wasn’t okay.
Feelings that Santana had ignored and suppressed for years churned inside her, straining to break free. She wanted to scream; she wanted to run. One moment she wanted the world to know she loved Brittany and the next she was nearly paralyzed by the fear people would find out.
Oh, she talked a good game about hating labels, but it was only because she knew how they were used. Labels put people in categories, labels assigned value and worth. And while Santana had always maintained she couldn’t be labeled - like vintage coture - the truth was she’d been labeled since she was five years old. Her heart belonged to Brittany and it was time she finally told the other girl.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
“Can we talk?”
“But we never do that.”
“I know but... I wanted to thank you for performing that song with me in Glee club. ‘Cause it made me do a lot of thinking. And what I’ve realized... is why I’m such a bitch all the time. I’m a bitch because I’m angry. I’m angry because I have all of these feelings... feelings for you that I am afraid of dealing with because I’m afraid of dealing with the consequences. And Brittany, I can’t go to an Indigo Girls concert-” she shuddered, “I just can’t.”
“I understand that.”
“Do you understand what I’m trying to say here?”
Brittany shook her head slowly. “No, not really.”
Santana hesitated, unsure, but the words were right there, fighting to get out. “I want to be with you. But I’m afraid of the talk, and the looks. I mean you know what happened to Kurt at this school.”
“But honey, if anyone were to ever make fun of you, you would either kick their ass or slash them with your vicious, vicious words.”
Santana started to cry. Brittany still didn’t understand. How could she? Brittany lived in a world of rainbows and color and happiness. Santana had no place in that world.
“Yeah, I know but, I’m so afraid of what everyone will say behind my back. And still, I have to accept that I love you.” The words came now, just as easily as the tears, the floodgates open. “I love you and I don’t want to be with Sam, or Finn, or any of those other guys. I just want you. Please say you love me back. Please?”
“Of course I love you back. I do. And I would totally be with you if it weren’t for Artie.”
“Artie?”
“I love him too.” And just like that, Santana’s world crashed down around her. It wasn’t a landslide, it was an earthquake. “I don’t want to hurt him. That’s not right. I can’t break up with him.”
“Yes you can! He’s just a stupid boy -”
“But it wouldn’t be right. Santana, you have to know, if Artie and I were to ever break up, and I’m lucky enough that you’re still single-” Brittany reached for her. Santana jerked away, the soft touch like a burn on her skin.
“Don’t.”
“I am so yours. Proudly so.”
“Yeah, well, wow. Who ever thought that being fluid meant you could be so stuck.”
“I’m sorry-” Brittany reached for her, tried to pull her into an embrace, and for a moment Santana almost let her. But there were internal defenses too deeply ingrained to be shaken off now. Anger replaced pain. Hatred replaced love. And fear, once more, replaced desire.
Santana jerked away. “Get off me.” Tears falling unchecked, Santana rushed through the halls and didn’t look back.
*
Shattered pieces of vinyl littered the floor, the record that had once soothed and entranced nothing more than sharp, painful memory now. Curled into a ball, Santana sobbed, burying her face against her pillow - a pillow she’d shared with Brittany more than once - and let the silence of an otherwise empty house rock her into oblivion.
*
Puck had joined the celibacy club because - as he put - he needed to stop thinking with his dick.
Santana’s reasons weren’t much different. She needed something to try and help her stop thinking abut Brittany.
Which worked for all of five minutes until Brittany and Artie joined the celibacy club as well. As Artie explained, he’d had a come-to-Jesus moment when he’d thought Brittany was pregnant. Therefore, they’d decided to try the celibate route until they both felt they were mature enough to handle the responsibility a sexual relationship entailed. Or until Artie stocked up on a six month supply of extra strength Trojans and Plan B.
Santana tried not to climb across the table and claw his eyes out. Or burst into tears. Really, either option would have been acceptable. Instead, she listened to Miss Pillsbury prattle on about bodies being temples and STD statistics and the terrible personal grooming most men had. The room cleared out quickly enough when the hour was over, but Santana lingered just long enough for Brittany to leave to grab her purse out of her locker.
She turned on Artie, shoving his wheelchair back until it was pinned against the wall. She leaned in, inches away from his now-terrified face. “Let’s get one thing straight: if you hurt her, you won’t have to worry about ever walking again. You won’t even be breathing. Understand?”
Artie nodded fervently. Santana straightened up and pulled him back from the wall. Her eyes narrowed, giving him a half-sneer. “Don’t forget, you were nothing before she took an interest in you. And when she gets done with you, you’ll be nothing again.”
Santana reached the door at the same time Brittany started to walk back in. With another vicious smirk over her shoulder toward Artie, Santana pressed Brittany back against the doorframe and leaned in, kissing her slowly, deeply, until the other girl whimpered and dropped her purse, her body totally limp.
Santana just smiled and walked away.
Finis.