Fic: i-80 west, part seven b (Brittany/Santana, R)
Title: i-80 west, part seven b
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Sam, Quinn, Mike
Length: 20k
Rating: R
Summary: Brittany and Santana graduate high school and spend one last summer in Lima before leaving for college.
Brittany pulls on clean underwear and some pants while Santana huddles into the towel and tries to get dry, and she’s so busy peering at her hair in the mirror that she doesn’t notice Brittany creeping up behind her until it’s too late, and then she spins Santana around so that they’re facing each other and lifts her off her feet. Santana’s legs wrap around Brittany’s waist of their own accord, and Brittany grins at the surprised look on her face as her arms slide around Brittany’s shoulders and grip tightly.
Brittany carries her back into the other room, dodging around the obstacles in their way with unnerving accuracy even though Santana’s half sure she doesn’t even look, and only stops when they get back to the bed, leaning down a little to nudge her computer out of the way before she sets Santana down carefully, and Santana scrambles to cover herself with her towel.
“All my clothes are in the bathroom!” Santana laughs, trying to push Brittany away when she half climbs on to her lap, and Brittany lets her, swaying backwards a little before coming closer again.
“You don’t need clothes,” she says through a grin, wiggling her eyebrows until Santana laughs and tugs her towel up higher.
“You have clothes on,” Santana points out, sliding a finger under Brittany’s bra strap and pulling it until it snaps back against Brittany’s skin for emphasis.
“Then you should learn from my mistakes,” Brittany says solemnly, “Because that hurt.” She tries to tug at Santana’s towel again, kissing the swell of Santana’s breasts and grinning up at her roguishly.
“You’re incorrigible,” Santana says when Brittany tries to lean in and kiss her, turning her head so she ends up sucking at her neck instead.
“I don’t know what that means,” Brittany admits after a moment, pulling back to shrug a little. “But if it means ‘really hot and about to get with her really hot girlfriend’ then yes.”
Santana laughs and kisses her softly, just once, pulling back before it can deepen. “Nice try, but no. It means I’m going to put my clothes on and you need to put a shirt on.”
“I like that version less,” Brittany says, pulling her face, but she climbs off her anyway and searches through her bag until she finds a plain white t-shirt and pulls it on, and she looks so good with her wet hair hanging down around her face that Santana almost forgets why she told her to get dressed in the first place.
“San?” Brittany asks after a moment when Santana doesn’t move, and she shakes her head, tucking her towel around her more tightly before she stands up.
“Don’t talk to me right now,” she mumbles, nearly tripping over their overnight bags as she stumbles back towards the bathroom. “I need to remember why clothes are a good idea.”
“So I can take you out for dinner,” Brittany shouts through the door at her, right before the noise of a hair dryer fills the room, and Santana exhales noisily as she stares at herself in the bathroom mirror, trying to convince herself that that’s a good reason.
She guesses it is.
Maybe.
+
Brittany sticks her head round the door when Santana is slipping her contacts in, blinking a little as she gets used to them again after a couple of days without wearing them. “I’m gonna go down to the front desk and ask if there’s a nice restaurant nearby, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Santana nods, and when Brittany starts to disappear, she reaches out to grab her t-shirt, her hand fisting in the fabric and pulling her back for a kiss, before she lets her go. “Okay,” she says softly, and Brittany’s mouth quirks up into a grin as she darts forward for another kiss before she steps backwards and disappears from view.
Santana hears the door open and shut as she combs through her wet hair with her fingers, teasing the wet chunks into waves until she’s satisfied it’s no longer a mess, before she pulls a cardigan on over her dress and heads back into the other room.
She feels a twinge in her chest at the sight of the room without Brittany in it, but she knows she’ll be back this time and pushes it away, picking her make-up bag off the table where she left it when she got her contacts and settling on the bed as she pulls bits and pieces out, wanting to look pretty for Brittany.
She’s got her eye liner pencil in her hand before she notices Brittany’s computer, the lid still half open on the bedside table, and she remembers Brittany moving the pictures earlier and her curiosity suddenly gets the better of her.
She sneaks a glance at the door, as though Brittany is about to come and catch her, before sliding closer to the computer and lifting the lid. She knows she shouldn’t look, because if Brittany wanted her to see she’d show her, but she wants to know what Brittany did with the photos of her. She wonders if maybe she could claim she had a right to know since they were photos of her, and then pushes the thought away, aware of how ridiculous that is.
The thought occurs to her suddenly that maybe Brittany deleted the pictures and just didn’t want her to see, and she pauses for half a second when the password screen comes up, wondering if she really wants to know. She glances at the door again before she makes her decision, aware that Brittany will be back soon, and she types in l0rdt113 quickly, tapping her fingers against the trackpad while she waits for Brittany’s desktop to appear.
She keeps one eye on the door as she clicks over to Brittany’s picture folder anyway and then scrolls down, reading the folder names and wondering which one it could be. Brittany’s pretty good about organising her photos, and she clicks the one called ‘2012’ quickly, sliding past Ashley’s birthday and nationals and graduation, before she sees summer, Quinn’s fields and mountains and the silly photos of them from the past couple of days. She keeps scrolling for a second before she realises there’s no other folder in there, and she goes back to the page with the years, wondering where else it could be hiding.
She tries scrolling down to the bottom of 2011 just in case Brittany put them in the wrong place, but all she can see is Quinn’s birthday, West Side Story, and a folder labelled ‘holidays’ so she clicks back again.
It’s only after she glances at the door again then looks at the list of years that she notices the folder right at the bottom called ‘Ever After’ and feels something tighten painfully in her chest. She clicks over to it slowly, and finds it full of photos that start the summer before and chart pretty much the whole year, mostly of her but the odd one of the two of them, or ones where it’s obvious Santana is looking at Brittany behind the camera.
She looks at herself lying in the grass in Brittany’s back yard in the sun, a trace of the old fear lurking behind her eyes when she looks at Brittany that means it must have been the summer before, then she’s standing backstage opening night of the musical and peering through a tiny gap in the curtains. There’s one of them cheering at a football game and another of her leaning down from the stands to talk to Sam as he stands at the edge of the swimming pool at school, clearly nervous in his shorts with his arms folded over his chest, and she remembers telling him that he better be awesome because she didn’t come here to cheer for some dork doing synchronised swimming, and remembers that he was.
There’s sectionals with Troubletones, regionals with New Directions, and then a photo of Santana the night before Nationals in the hallway of their hotel, her shoes hanging from her fingers as she tugs Brittany’s hand back towards their room, and she remembers how no one had been surprised when they sneaked back in with smiles on their faces, and how Quinn had rolled her eyes. There are pictures of birthdays and family dinners and parties, the two of them dressed up and trying their best to act like adults while they hold each other’s hands and introduce each other to family members as girlfriends for the first time, nerves hiding behind their eyes. It all ends with the pictures from their trip, of Santana asleep on a bed in a motel in Iowa, and she flicks through them all dumbfounded, wondering why Brittany has never shown them to her before.
She’s amazed by how all these big events from the last year look utterly commonplace and domestic through Brittany’s lens, how she can believe, seeing these photos, that this really is the start of something that’s going to go on forever and ever, and she scrolls through them again, lingering over a close up of her reading a book on the couch that she remembers Brittany taking when she was snuggled up against her, and another of the back of their heads as they watch a movie with Ashley cuddled between them on the couch, that Brittany’s mom had taken without any of them knowing, until they heard the flash.
She only stops looking at them when she hears the door click and start to push open, and she shuts the lid of the computer quickly, pulling her legs up under her as she reaches for her make-up bag and fumbles with her lip gloss, her hand shaking as she draws the brush from the tube.
She wonders if Brittany can hear how fast her heart is beating, and hopes that she can’t.
“You look pretty as a picture,” Brittany says when she sinks down next to her on the bed and Santana smiles shyly, happy to believe it after the photos she just saw.
“Thank you,” Santana murmurs, the only thing she can think to say, her mind still stuck on pictures of the two of them hidden on Brittany’s computer.
Brittany smiles a little uncertainly and lies down behind her, curling around her body as her hand finds Santana’s knee and rests there familiarly. She still looks like she doesn’t quite understand why Santana can’t quite meet her eyes, and Santana tries to pretend it’s just because she’s applying her make-up, ignoring the part of her that wants to curl into Brittany’s arms and never let go.
The silence stretches, Brittany watching Santana apply the lip gloss like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen, her thumb rubbing at the hem of Santana’s dress as she leans on her elbow and looks up at her.
Santana tries to remember how to breathe and keep her hand from shaking.
“There’s an Italian place not too far away,” Brittany says eventually, after she watches Santana finish applying her make-up. “It sounds kind of like Breadstix, actually. Wanna go?”
“Yes,” Santana says, embarrassed when it comes out a little breathless, but Brittany just climbs to her feet and offers Santana her hand with a little dip of her head, half a smile on her face as she pulls her to her feet.
+
Brittany says she’ll drive since she knows the way, and she pulls out into the traffic confidently, one hand on the wheel as she reaches for Santana with the other. Santana watches her driving surreptitiously, hoping Brittany won’t notice, her eyes lingering on Brittany’s face, counting her freckles and promising herself that she’s going to kiss every single one later, when they get back to their hotel.
It doesn’t take long to get to the restaurant, and Brittany looks over at her once she’s found a space and grins when Santana ducks her head quickly, feeling the heat in her cheeks.
“Hey, honey love,” Brittany murmurs, and then she’s leaning over the console to nudge Santana’s chin up with her hand and kiss her, quick and sweet before pulling back and reaching for the door handle.
“What was that for?” Santana asks, but she’s smiling and Brittany scrambles out of the car before she answers, leaning back down into the door, her hair hanging down around her face like a curtain.
“Nothing,” she says sweetly, and Santana shakes her head at her before following her out.
+
The restaurant does remind her of Breadstix, although she’s not sure if that’s because of the way it looks, because Brittany said so, or because she just misses home, and they follow their waitress to a table giddily, sneaking glances at each other and then away like they have a secret. Brittany’s feet are either side of hers under the table the instant they sit down, and the girl asks for their drink order in a bored voice, not even looking at them before telling them she’ll come back for their food order in a minute and disappearing.
“I miss Sandy,” Brittany whispers, and Santana laughs, opening her menu just to stop herself from reaching across the table for Brittany’s hands.
They’re both silent for a minute while they examine the choices in front of them, and then they look up at the same time, for no reason at all than just to grin at each other.
“I’m gonna get spaghetti,” Brittany says, just the way she always does, and Santana feels something tug at her heart at the familiarity of it, like they could be doing this for years and she’d never get tired of it.
“No shrimp?” Santana asks with a smirk, and Brittany laughs, shaking her head as she sets the menu down in front of her.
“Not when I’m paying. I’m not made of money, y’know,” she deadpans, and Santana laughs in return, reaching across the table to play with the tips of Brittany’s fingers. Brittany’s fingers curl around hers, their fingertips bumping together as Santana rubs her thumb against Brittany’s ring finger absentmindedly.
Brittany smiles at her and Santana smiles back, forgetting the menu in front of her in favour of looking at Brittany instead. She thinks she could look at Brittany forever and never get tired of it.
She only looks away when a young couple are shown to the table next to them, and they watch the same waitress from before smile at them as the boy pulls the chair back for his girlfriend and waits for her to sit. The waitress leans over to light the candle in the middle of their table and asks for their drink order with considerably more enthusiasm than she did for Brittany and Santana, and Santana watches Brittany glance at the unlit candle in the middle of their table sadly before looking back down at her menu.
She isn’t even aware of pulling her hand back until both her hands are in her lap, twisting uncomfortably against each other as she stares at the table, the sound of her breathing suddenly much louder than it was before.
“Maybe I’ll get lasagna,” Brittany says suddenly, in this sad little voice once the silence has started to stretch, and Santana hates herself for sitting back in her seat and wrapping her arms around herself instead of reaching for Brittany’s hand and pulling her out of the restaurant without looking back.
She hates the way the mood has shifted too, how Brittany is slumped down in her seat now like she’s trying to make herself smaller, her arms folded in front of her as she stares at the menu, a frown tugging at her features.
“They’re the names of the pasta, right?” Brittany says suddenly, and Santana is struck by the seriousness of the expression on her face, the way she almost looks pleading.
“Cuz they’re basically the same things if you get the same sauce or whatever just, like, they just look different,” Brittany swallows before she speaks again, and there’s an edge of something in her voice that Santana doesn’t recognise. “How come they’re called different things when they just look different? That’s like... pasta discrimination or something.”
Santana doesn’t know what to tell her; she has a feeling she can’t make this better by reeling off a list of different pastas and telling her that Italians thought it was a good idea. It’s worse because it could be a joke, but it isn’t funny at all, not the way Brittany says it, and Santana shakes her head, allowing herself one more second to hug herself before breathing out shakily and leaning forward, putting her hands down on the table in front of her, closer to Brittany than they were before.
“Do you want to go somewhere else?” she asks quickly, eyeing their waitress across the room and the way she’s starting to work her way closer. She holds her breath, waiting for Brittany’s answer. She almost feels like leaving is admitting there’s something wrong-something wrong with them-but if Brittany wanted to go she would, without thinking twice.
Brittany’s expression turns kind of determined and she shakes her head. “No. I’m taking you out to dinner,” she says firmly. Santana watches her breathe in and out a couple of times, collecting herself. “And I’m getting the fucking spaghetti.” She glances sideways at the boy and the girl at the next table when she says it, almost like she’s challenging them to something.
“Okay,” Santana says, and presses her feet a little closer against Brittany’s under the table, until Brittany starts to smile, just a little, at the corners of her mouth.
+
Their meal is fine, but sort of subdued. Their waitress brings them everything they ask for but she still makes a show of asking the boy and girl how long they’ve been dating and checking up on them more often than she does Brittany and Santana, and they end up eating in silence, glancing at each other every now and then and smiling in a way that doesn’t really reach their eyes.
It’s not that the woman is being particularly horrible to them, it’s just that it didn’t even occur to her that they might be together, and Santana feels invisible and small somehow, in a way she hasn’t for a long time, and she thinks Brittany must feel the same way because she seems to be getting smaller and smaller in her seat even though Santana doesn’t understand how.
She just wants to finish their food and go, and Brittany doesn’t say anything about wanting dessert so she knows she feels it too. Their feet still bump together under the table, secret and half hidden, but Santana keeps her hands to herself and hates it, wondering what would happen if she reached for Brittany’s hand.
She knows Salt Lake maybe isn’t the best place to try, and she hates that even more.
Brittany asks for the check when the waitress comes to take their plates away, Santana staying silent while she nods and says she’ll be right back, and her voice comes out small, the way Brittany’s voice is never small, and her fingers itch with the need to reach for her and make everything better. Brittany keeps glancing at the boy and girl next to them, at the way they’re leaning towards each other and laughing as they hold hands across the table, and then back at Santana, this sad expression on her face that makes Santana’s heart tighten painfully in her chest.
She makes up her mind in an instant and reaches for Brittany’s hand quickly across the table, her fingers tightening around Brittany’s defiantly. Brittany looks down at their hands in surprise and then smiles a little, and she makes a show of holding onto it when their waitress comes back with their check, ignoring the way her eyes widen when she sees them and she hurries off, glancing back over her shoulder like she’s making sure she saw what she thought she did.
Santana glares after her, almost wanting her to say something because then she’d be able to get angry and at least that would be doing something, instead of sitting here unable to do anything at all.
She watches her go and squeezes Brittany’s hand, “Let’s go back to the hotel, Britt-Britt.”
While they’re waiting to pay they somehow end up behind the boy and girl from the table next to them, and she feels Brittany stiffen when the boy wraps his arm around the girl and pulls her against his side as they joke with the woman behind the register, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.
“Gross,” Santana murmurs, but Brittany shakes her head, and after a second her arm snakes around Santana’s waist and pulls her closer too, her fingers settling on her hip, and when Santana looks up at her she looks defiant, something like jealousy lurking behind her eyes.
The couple finish paying and head for the door, and Santana watches them go, wondering if they know how lucky they are, before Brittany lets go of her and pulls her up to pay by her hand.
“How was your food today, ladies?” the woman asks with a polite smile, and Brittany grins broadly as she hands over the money. She makes a show of reaching for Santana’s hand again while she waits for their receipt.
“My girlfriend and I enjoyed it,” Brittany says, still smiling that same weirdly challenging grin, and snatches the receipt out of the woman’s hand when her face falls. “But I think we’ll go somewhere else for our next date.” She turns to Santana and tugs on her hand, “C’mon baby.”
Santana lets Brittany pull her out of the restaurant without saying anything, and it’s not until they get outside and back to the car that Brittany speaks again. “I didn’t leave a tip,” she says, her voice strangely flat, and then she’s leaning into Santana and laughing, only it comes out wrong sounding somehow, sad and more like something else, and Santana wraps her arms around her and holds on tightly, leaning them back against the car door as she waits for her to calm down.
+
They drive back to their hotel in silence, Santana’s hand resting on Brittany’s knee the whole way, and Brittany pulls back into a space and kills the engine quickly, her hand dropping to Santana’s and squeezing before she climbs out. Brittany waits for her to follow, and Santana latches on to her hand as they head down the familiar hallways to their room, her fingers laced through Brittany’s tightly, so tightly she thinks it might hurt, but Brittany doesn’t let go.
Brittany shoves the card into the slot clumsily with her left hand and Santana pushes the handle down with her right after the light comes on, using her other hand to tug Brittany inside. Brittany isn’t moving the way she normally does, her usual effortlessness hampered by stilted steps and clumsy limbs, and it hurts Santana more than anything else, that old ache in her chest coming back and settling there, squeezing painfully.
She lets the door fall shut behind her and pulls Brittany into her arms, her fingers rubbing against the back of Brittany’s neck under her hair as she holds her close with the other arm. Brittany breathes out against her neck, and after a moment, Santana feels her ghost a kiss there, and then another, until she tightens her arms around her and Brittany relaxes into her, squeezing back.
They stay like that for a long moment, comfortable in their silence, until Brittany brushes a kiss against her cheek and pulls away, searching for her bag and sleep clothes before heading to the bathroom.
Santana gets undressed in the room while she’s gone, suddenly tired and not caring about washing her face or getting ready for bed properly. She throws her dress over the back of a chair and slips into her sleep shirt, an old oversized one of Brittany’s that she’s had ever since they went to cheer camp when they were fifteen and it found its way home in her stuff, and takes her contacts out carefully, glad she left her case in her make-up bag for once instead of in the bathroom. She should really take her make-up off, but she finds it hard to care, especially when Brittany comes out of the bathroom and tosses her duffle aside before climbing into bed face down and burying her head in the pillow.
Brittany doesn’t move until her arms come up and wrap around the pillow, hugging it desperately as she presses her face into it, and Santana forgets about everything else and climbs in after her, half on top of Brittany and half on the mattress. Her arm slides up under Brittany’s sleep shirt as Brittany lies unmoving, her fingers trailing over smooth skin and rubbing comforting circles against Brittany’s spine, her back rising and falling as she breathes.
Brittany’s silent for a moment longer before she speaks, and then she turns her head away from the pillow to look at Santana and whisper, “Salt Lake kind of sucks,” and Santana just laughs, the kind of laugh that means it isn’t really funny but she doesn’t know what else to do, and then Brittany starts to laugh too, until they’re pressed together under the sheets holding each other tightly, shaking with silent not-quite-laughter and trying not to let go.
+
Santana wakes up first in the morning, blinking sleepily until the blonde blur in front of her resolves itself into Brittany, her head pillowed on Santana’s chest as she sleeps next to her, holding on to her tightly. She almost doesn’t want to move, but she needs to go the bathroom so she eases her way out of Brittany’s hold slowly, trying not to wake her. She presses a kiss to Brittany’s forehead before she goes and Brittany shifts, rolling over onto her side and hugging the pillow Santana was using, smiling into it like she thinks it’s Santana, and she has to muffle her chuckle.
She washes her face and brushes her teeth, getting her smeared make-up off from the night before, and feels much better once she’s dressed, inspecting her skin in the mirror for a second before padding back into the other room as quietly as she can to put her things away when she sees that Brittany is still asleep.
They still have a little over an hour before they should leave, and since she’s driving she figures Brittany can sleep in a little longer, because she only needs to get dressed and into the car, most of their stuff already packed and easy to take with them. She sits at the desk and sips one of the bottles of water they bought yesterday, making a face when it’s warm but drinking it anyway, just because there’s nothing else. She reaches for her plans just for something to do, even though they don’t have that much further to go now, just Nevada and then into California, and she feels a little nervous at the thought.
Two days from now she’ll be at college and Brittany won’t be there, and she feels anxiousness twisting her stomach at the thought. She glances back at the bed again, just to reassure herself that Brittany is still there and when she is she looks down at her plans again, wondering why they end when they get to California without instructions for how she’s going to make it through the Brittany-less days.
She checks her plans for the day and tries to push the thought away, because they still have two days before they’ll be apart and she doesn’t want to spend them worrying about what’s going to happen to them after, looking at a list of places that sell food in Elko and where they’re going to stay that night in Reno, making sure everything’s right.
She hears Brittany roll over in the covers behind her, but she doesn’t realise she’s awake until she groans and says, “Santana?” and then she turns in her seat to look at her, her plans still clutching in her hands.
“I’m over here,” she says and grins when Brittany sits up to look at her. She pushes some of her hair out of her eyes and squints against the light.
“Do we have to leave now?” Brittany asks sleepily, and it’s all Santana can do to stop herself from crossing the room and pulling her into her arms, just because of how cute she looks all sleepy and dishevelled.
“Not yet, Britty. I was just looking at my plans so I know where we’re going. You can go back to sleep for a little while if you want,” she shuffles the papers in her hand so that Elko, Nevada is on top and sets them down on the desk. “We’re all packed so you only have to get dressed.”
Brittany yawns again and rubs her hand over her eyes, looking more awake after she’s done so. “I’ll get up,” she says, but she doesn’t move. “In a minute.”
“Go back to sleep, sleepyhead,” Santana says through a grin, and Brittany shakes her head defiantly, throwing the covers back and standing up in one fluid movement, rolling her shoulders and bouncing on the balls of her feet.
She drags her duffle behind her when she goes into the bathroom without bothering to shut the door, and Santana hears the water come on and watches Brittany’s hands and clothes flash past the doorway as she pulls her clothes on, imagining more than seeing what she looks like as she gets dressed.
It’s not long before before she comes back looking considerably more awake, fresh faced and lovely in clean clothes, and she drops a kiss to the crown of Santana’s head as she reaches for the bottle of water Santana’s drinking from and glances down at her plans, nudging the top page aside with her hand to see the ones underneath.
“Do we need these?” Brittany asks after a moment, shuffling them around on the desk, and Santana resists the urge to gather them up. “I mean, we know where we’re going, right? And we have your GPS so we won’t get lost. I’m sure you can remember the name of the hotel in Reno.”
“But I have, like, places to eat and gas stations and stuff on here,” Santana says quickly, her hand inching out to try and gather the pages back.
“There’s always places just off the interstate,” Brittany shrugs, and tugs the paper a little further away from her. “We were okay in Lexington.”
Santana just stares at her, unsure how to tell her that the idea of ditching the plans makes her stomach twist nervously. “But I wrote it all down.”
Brittany just shrugs again and reaches out to take her hand. “So we’ll find new places.” She rubs her thumb against Santana’s knuckles, the same way she always does when she’s trying to calm her down, and Santana wonders if some of her thoughts are showing on her face.
“Trust me,” Brittany murmurs.
Her eyes meet Santana’s, clear blue and so open Santana feels like she could fall into them, and all she can think to say is, “Okay.”
+
Brittany carries both their bags when they leave the room, to leave Santana’s hands free so she can check out, and Santana stands just behind her as the door closes, eyes fixed on the plans abandoned in the trashcan by the desk as the door takes them from her sight.
+
They stop for gas near the hotel, and Brittany jumps out to fill up while Santana goes in to see if they have coffee, vaguely wondering why she keeps buying gas station coffee even though it’s awful every damn time. She grabs a couple of bottles of water too, just in case the coffee is really that bad and a diet coke for Brittany, not wanting to inflict the coffee on her again.
Brittany’s waiting for her in the car when she gets back, and Santana hands her the drinks and watches her toss the water onto the back seat and tuck her coke into the door, eyeing Santana’s coffee with distrust as they wait for the GPS to come on and work out where they are.
They have to drive through the city to get back on to i-80, but the traffic isn’t too bad, and Brittany leans out of the window, watching everything go past. Santana’s still not sure how a place that looks pretty cool on the surface turned out to be the worst place they’ve seen since they left Lima, but Brittany reaches for her hand when they finally hit the interstate and head west, the sun glinting off the lake alongside them, and she suddenly finds it very hard to care.
+
Everything is sort of flat until it’s not, and Brittany takes pictures of it all, until it seems like all Santana can hear is the click of her shutter going off again and again and again. She has to admit it’s pretty, much prettier than the mountains were before, even if the playlist of indie songs blasting out of her stereo is maybe making everything seem a little more magical and happy than it really is.
Brittany sings along in her seat, her feet bouncing along in time with the drums as Santana joins in with a harmony here and there, and it’s so different to the last time they were driving together, happy and easy and light the way it was always supposed to be, that it makes Santana ache with something she doesn’t know how to say.
She laughs when Brittany turns the camera on her and snaps a picture, grinning stupidly for a second before looking back at the road, stretching on and on in front of them and wondering where it ends.
When Brittany reaches for her hand and tangles her fingers together tightly she almost wishes it never will, and then she holds Brittany’s hand a little tighter, until Brittany glances at her and snaps another picture, capturing the way her expression starts to turn more serious, her smile vanishing from her lips.
+
“I spy with my little eye something beginning with m,” Brittany says, once the novelty of the landscape has started to wear off and they’re starting to get bored of the dusty brown colour stretching out in all directions.
“Mountains,” Santana says immediately, staring at the raised bumps in front of them and wondering how big a hill has to get before it turns into a mountain.
“Nope,” Brittany says, smirking a little.
“Uh,” Santana says, glancing around them like she’ll actually be able to see anything else. She runs through their surroundings quickly in her head but comes up at a loss. “Maps,” she says, glancing at her GPS and wondering if that would count.
Brittany grins wider, “Nuh-uh.”
Santana looks out at the landscape again. “Musty dust stuff,” she says lamely, knowing Brittany’s version of this game is always a little more outlandish than the version they’d played as kids.
Brittany laughs, actually laughs, before she says “Not even close.”
She waits for Santana to say something else, and when she doesn’t she flashes a smile again, “Give up?”
Santana sighs, and nods her head, “There’s nothing out there that begins with m!”
“It’s not out there,” Brittany says immediately, like it should be obviously, “It’s in the car.”
Santana tries to think of the things on the back seat but can only think of their overnight bags and the bottles of water from earlier because all of their boxes and stuff are in the trunk, and she wonders if Brittany’s thinking of something in there though she can’t think of what it might be.
“I give up,” she says after a moment, her frustration growing when Brittany grins again.
Brittany gives her fingers a squeeze and half turns in her seat to get a better look at her, savouring the moment before she reveals her secret. “My girl,” she says eventually, grinning proudly as she looks at Santana, until Santana shakes her head and starts to laugh, that happy ache in her chest again as she glances at Brittany out of the corner of her eyes.
+
She pulls off of i-80 when they get to Elko and drives through the town instead, to where she’s sure there are places they can get food and probably a gas station too, and she drives slowly, looking for somewhere to park and something that looks good.
They drive past a bunch of places but Brittany tells her to keep going, until they find a space near the Courthouse and walk back the way they came, their hands tangled together and swinging between them. Brittany guides them, and she seems to know where she’s going, which utterly baffles Santana because she knows neither of them have ever been here before, but she’s happy enough to let herself be pulled along and go wherever Brittany takes her.
They end up in a little coffee shop a block away, Brittany grinning at her while she orders the biggest cup of coffee she can and waits at the end of the counter for it like some kind of addict, taking a sip almost as soon as she gets it even though it burns her tongue.
Brittany gets an iced mocha and carries their sandwiches, and after they look around for a table, Brittany tugs on her hand and pulls her towards the door, telling her that they should eat outside since it’s such a nice day, and Santana nods again, following Brittany as she looks for somewhere to sit that isn’t their car.
They find a bench by the clerk’s office and settle on it, Brittany sitting indian style facing her while Santana pulls one of her legs up under her and slides along the bench shyly until Brittany’s knees are pressed against her leg, smiling when Brittany hands her a sandwich and rips the bag off her own.
“These are good,” Brittany mumbles round a mouthful of food.
“The coffee’s good,” Santana says immediately, taking another sip and feeling it burn hot all the way down her throat. “We should go back before we leave so I can get another.”
“That’s probably not good for you,” Brittany says, fixing her with a look and tapping her fingers against Santana’s chest. “I don’t want your heart to go crazy.”
Santana wants to tell her her heart is already crazy whenever Brittany looks at her, but she swallows the words and sips her drink, pretending to glare back. “I’ll just get something small. What if I fall asleep before we get to Reno?”
“I’ll kick you,” Brittany says immediately, deadpan as she fights the smile on her face, and Santana shakes her head at her, taking another bite of her sandwich and ignoring the triumphant smile on Brittany’s face.
Brittany kicks her legs out over Santana’s lap as they continue to eat and nudges her with her foot until Santana smiles at her, and then she reaches for Santana’s hand with her own and plays with her fingers while they finish their food, catching her eyes and smiling whenever she does.
+
“Elko’s kinda cool,” Brittany says a little later, when Santana’s playing with the laces on her sneakers with her free hand, the other still tangled with Brittany’s between them.
“California will be even cooler,” Santana promises fiercely, tightening her grip around Brittany’s foot, and Brittany grins, leaning forward quickly to peck a kiss against her lips.
“We can go and get more coffee if you want,” Brittany says once she’s settled back down again, and Santana shakes her head, draining the last of her cup.
“I think I drank too much already,” Santana says and watches Brittany hide a smirk.
Brittany stands and offers Santana her hand, pulling her to her feet and steadying her in her arms for a moment before she lets go. She gathers their empty cups and bags together, and they head over to the trashcan closer to the buildings without even having to say it out loud, Brittany jumping and slamming the bags down into the can like she’s playing basketball and then throws her arms up like she’s celebrating, Santana rolling her eyes fondly when Brittany looks over at her.
They’re just about to turn and head back to the car when a couple comes out of the building in front of them, grinning broadly at each other as the man offers the woman his hand and leads her down the steps, so caught up in each other that they nearly walk into some railings and then burst out laughing when they stop to clutch at each other for support.
Santana’s about to roll her eyes at Brittany, all look at these idiots and then the woman spots them and wriggles out of the man’s grip, taking a step closer and reaching into her bag for something.
“Excuse me?” She calls, as the man trails along behind her. She suddenly has a camera in her hands and holds it out towards Brittany and Santana. “Could you take a picture of us? We just got our marriage licence!” The guy’s grin gets wider behind her, and he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her against him until she giggles. “Please,” she adds after a moment, when neither of them take the camera.
Santana just stares at them, frozen for reasons she doesn’t really understand, and Brittany jerks into action next to her suddenly, taking the camera from the woman and stepping backwards until she can get both of them in the shot.
“Santana,” she says after a moment, and Santana starts at the sound of her name, her eyes fixed on the ring on the woman’s finger and the way she and the guy keep grinning at each other, like they have a secret.
“Santana, you’re in the shot,” Brittany looks over the top of the camera at her pleadingly and Santana takes steps backwards quickly, until Brittany nods and looks through the viewfinder again.
“Smile!” Brittany calls, like she even needs to, and Santana hears the sound of the shutter click as Brittany presses the button quickly, her arms held stiffly in front of her like she’s trying to stop them from shaking.
When she’s handed the camera back, the woman wraps her arms around her neck and hugs her quickly, Brittany looking so startled she doesn’t have time to hug back before the woman lets go.
“Thanks!” she says, as the guy takes her hand and leads her away, and Santana stares after them, twisting her ring round her finger and hating them, even though she doesn’t know why.
Brittany’s fingers slide into the gaps between hers quickly and hold tight, stopping her hand, and when she looks over at her, she’s staring at Santana with an anxious expression on her face waiting for her to say something.
“Nice couple,” Santana says, only her voice comes out little above a whisper, and Brittany flinches at the sound of it.
“We’re cuter,” Brittany says, and stares at Santana until she smiles, just a little.
part seven c
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Sam, Quinn, Mike
Length: 20k
Rating: R
Summary: Brittany and Santana graduate high school and spend one last summer in Lima before leaving for college.
Brittany pulls on clean underwear and some pants while Santana huddles into the towel and tries to get dry, and she’s so busy peering at her hair in the mirror that she doesn’t notice Brittany creeping up behind her until it’s too late, and then she spins Santana around so that they’re facing each other and lifts her off her feet. Santana’s legs wrap around Brittany’s waist of their own accord, and Brittany grins at the surprised look on her face as her arms slide around Brittany’s shoulders and grip tightly.
Brittany carries her back into the other room, dodging around the obstacles in their way with unnerving accuracy even though Santana’s half sure she doesn’t even look, and only stops when they get back to the bed, leaning down a little to nudge her computer out of the way before she sets Santana down carefully, and Santana scrambles to cover herself with her towel.
“All my clothes are in the bathroom!” Santana laughs, trying to push Brittany away when she half climbs on to her lap, and Brittany lets her, swaying backwards a little before coming closer again.
“You don’t need clothes,” she says through a grin, wiggling her eyebrows until Santana laughs and tugs her towel up higher.
“You have clothes on,” Santana points out, sliding a finger under Brittany’s bra strap and pulling it until it snaps back against Brittany’s skin for emphasis.
“Then you should learn from my mistakes,” Brittany says solemnly, “Because that hurt.” She tries to tug at Santana’s towel again, kissing the swell of Santana’s breasts and grinning up at her roguishly.
“You’re incorrigible,” Santana says when Brittany tries to lean in and kiss her, turning her head so she ends up sucking at her neck instead.
“I don’t know what that means,” Brittany admits after a moment, pulling back to shrug a little. “But if it means ‘really hot and about to get with her really hot girlfriend’ then yes.”
Santana laughs and kisses her softly, just once, pulling back before it can deepen. “Nice try, but no. It means I’m going to put my clothes on and you need to put a shirt on.”
“I like that version less,” Brittany says, pulling her face, but she climbs off her anyway and searches through her bag until she finds a plain white t-shirt and pulls it on, and she looks so good with her wet hair hanging down around her face that Santana almost forgets why she told her to get dressed in the first place.
“San?” Brittany asks after a moment when Santana doesn’t move, and she shakes her head, tucking her towel around her more tightly before she stands up.
“Don’t talk to me right now,” she mumbles, nearly tripping over their overnight bags as she stumbles back towards the bathroom. “I need to remember why clothes are a good idea.”
“So I can take you out for dinner,” Brittany shouts through the door at her, right before the noise of a hair dryer fills the room, and Santana exhales noisily as she stares at herself in the bathroom mirror, trying to convince herself that that’s a good reason.
She guesses it is.
Maybe.
+
Brittany sticks her head round the door when Santana is slipping her contacts in, blinking a little as she gets used to them again after a couple of days without wearing them. “I’m gonna go down to the front desk and ask if there’s a nice restaurant nearby, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Santana nods, and when Brittany starts to disappear, she reaches out to grab her t-shirt, her hand fisting in the fabric and pulling her back for a kiss, before she lets her go. “Okay,” she says softly, and Brittany’s mouth quirks up into a grin as she darts forward for another kiss before she steps backwards and disappears from view.
Santana hears the door open and shut as she combs through her wet hair with her fingers, teasing the wet chunks into waves until she’s satisfied it’s no longer a mess, before she pulls a cardigan on over her dress and heads back into the other room.
She feels a twinge in her chest at the sight of the room without Brittany in it, but she knows she’ll be back this time and pushes it away, picking her make-up bag off the table where she left it when she got her contacts and settling on the bed as she pulls bits and pieces out, wanting to look pretty for Brittany.
She’s got her eye liner pencil in her hand before she notices Brittany’s computer, the lid still half open on the bedside table, and she remembers Brittany moving the pictures earlier and her curiosity suddenly gets the better of her.
She sneaks a glance at the door, as though Brittany is about to come and catch her, before sliding closer to the computer and lifting the lid. She knows she shouldn’t look, because if Brittany wanted her to see she’d show her, but she wants to know what Brittany did with the photos of her. She wonders if maybe she could claim she had a right to know since they were photos of her, and then pushes the thought away, aware of how ridiculous that is.
The thought occurs to her suddenly that maybe Brittany deleted the pictures and just didn’t want her to see, and she pauses for half a second when the password screen comes up, wondering if she really wants to know. She glances at the door again before she makes her decision, aware that Brittany will be back soon, and she types in l0rdt113 quickly, tapping her fingers against the trackpad while she waits for Brittany’s desktop to appear.
She keeps one eye on the door as she clicks over to Brittany’s picture folder anyway and then scrolls down, reading the folder names and wondering which one it could be. Brittany’s pretty good about organising her photos, and she clicks the one called ‘2012’ quickly, sliding past Ashley’s birthday and nationals and graduation, before she sees summer, Quinn’s fields and mountains and the silly photos of them from the past couple of days. She keeps scrolling for a second before she realises there’s no other folder in there, and she goes back to the page with the years, wondering where else it could be hiding.
She tries scrolling down to the bottom of 2011 just in case Brittany put them in the wrong place, but all she can see is Quinn’s birthday, West Side Story, and a folder labelled ‘holidays’ so she clicks back again.
It’s only after she glances at the door again then looks at the list of years that she notices the folder right at the bottom called ‘Ever After’ and feels something tighten painfully in her chest. She clicks over to it slowly, and finds it full of photos that start the summer before and chart pretty much the whole year, mostly of her but the odd one of the two of them, or ones where it’s obvious Santana is looking at Brittany behind the camera.
She looks at herself lying in the grass in Brittany’s back yard in the sun, a trace of the old fear lurking behind her eyes when she looks at Brittany that means it must have been the summer before, then she’s standing backstage opening night of the musical and peering through a tiny gap in the curtains. There’s one of them cheering at a football game and another of her leaning down from the stands to talk to Sam as he stands at the edge of the swimming pool at school, clearly nervous in his shorts with his arms folded over his chest, and she remembers telling him that he better be awesome because she didn’t come here to cheer for some dork doing synchronised swimming, and remembers that he was.
There’s sectionals with Troubletones, regionals with New Directions, and then a photo of Santana the night before Nationals in the hallway of their hotel, her shoes hanging from her fingers as she tugs Brittany’s hand back towards their room, and she remembers how no one had been surprised when they sneaked back in with smiles on their faces, and how Quinn had rolled her eyes. There are pictures of birthdays and family dinners and parties, the two of them dressed up and trying their best to act like adults while they hold each other’s hands and introduce each other to family members as girlfriends for the first time, nerves hiding behind their eyes. It all ends with the pictures from their trip, of Santana asleep on a bed in a motel in Iowa, and she flicks through them all dumbfounded, wondering why Brittany has never shown them to her before.
She’s amazed by how all these big events from the last year look utterly commonplace and domestic through Brittany’s lens, how she can believe, seeing these photos, that this really is the start of something that’s going to go on forever and ever, and she scrolls through them again, lingering over a close up of her reading a book on the couch that she remembers Brittany taking when she was snuggled up against her, and another of the back of their heads as they watch a movie with Ashley cuddled between them on the couch, that Brittany’s mom had taken without any of them knowing, until they heard the flash.
She only stops looking at them when she hears the door click and start to push open, and she shuts the lid of the computer quickly, pulling her legs up under her as she reaches for her make-up bag and fumbles with her lip gloss, her hand shaking as she draws the brush from the tube.
She wonders if Brittany can hear how fast her heart is beating, and hopes that she can’t.
“You look pretty as a picture,” Brittany says when she sinks down next to her on the bed and Santana smiles shyly, happy to believe it after the photos she just saw.
“Thank you,” Santana murmurs, the only thing she can think to say, her mind still stuck on pictures of the two of them hidden on Brittany’s computer.
Brittany smiles a little uncertainly and lies down behind her, curling around her body as her hand finds Santana’s knee and rests there familiarly. She still looks like she doesn’t quite understand why Santana can’t quite meet her eyes, and Santana tries to pretend it’s just because she’s applying her make-up, ignoring the part of her that wants to curl into Brittany’s arms and never let go.
The silence stretches, Brittany watching Santana apply the lip gloss like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen, her thumb rubbing at the hem of Santana’s dress as she leans on her elbow and looks up at her.
Santana tries to remember how to breathe and keep her hand from shaking.
“There’s an Italian place not too far away,” Brittany says eventually, after she watches Santana finish applying her make-up. “It sounds kind of like Breadstix, actually. Wanna go?”
“Yes,” Santana says, embarrassed when it comes out a little breathless, but Brittany just climbs to her feet and offers Santana her hand with a little dip of her head, half a smile on her face as she pulls her to her feet.
+
Brittany says she’ll drive since she knows the way, and she pulls out into the traffic confidently, one hand on the wheel as she reaches for Santana with the other. Santana watches her driving surreptitiously, hoping Brittany won’t notice, her eyes lingering on Brittany’s face, counting her freckles and promising herself that she’s going to kiss every single one later, when they get back to their hotel.
It doesn’t take long to get to the restaurant, and Brittany looks over at her once she’s found a space and grins when Santana ducks her head quickly, feeling the heat in her cheeks.
“Hey, honey love,” Brittany murmurs, and then she’s leaning over the console to nudge Santana’s chin up with her hand and kiss her, quick and sweet before pulling back and reaching for the door handle.
“What was that for?” Santana asks, but she’s smiling and Brittany scrambles out of the car before she answers, leaning back down into the door, her hair hanging down around her face like a curtain.
“Nothing,” she says sweetly, and Santana shakes her head at her before following her out.
+
The restaurant does remind her of Breadstix, although she’s not sure if that’s because of the way it looks, because Brittany said so, or because she just misses home, and they follow their waitress to a table giddily, sneaking glances at each other and then away like they have a secret. Brittany’s feet are either side of hers under the table the instant they sit down, and the girl asks for their drink order in a bored voice, not even looking at them before telling them she’ll come back for their food order in a minute and disappearing.
“I miss Sandy,” Brittany whispers, and Santana laughs, opening her menu just to stop herself from reaching across the table for Brittany’s hands.
They’re both silent for a minute while they examine the choices in front of them, and then they look up at the same time, for no reason at all than just to grin at each other.
“I’m gonna get spaghetti,” Brittany says, just the way she always does, and Santana feels something tug at her heart at the familiarity of it, like they could be doing this for years and she’d never get tired of it.
“No shrimp?” Santana asks with a smirk, and Brittany laughs, shaking her head as she sets the menu down in front of her.
“Not when I’m paying. I’m not made of money, y’know,” she deadpans, and Santana laughs in return, reaching across the table to play with the tips of Brittany’s fingers. Brittany’s fingers curl around hers, their fingertips bumping together as Santana rubs her thumb against Brittany’s ring finger absentmindedly.
Brittany smiles at her and Santana smiles back, forgetting the menu in front of her in favour of looking at Brittany instead. She thinks she could look at Brittany forever and never get tired of it.
She only looks away when a young couple are shown to the table next to them, and they watch the same waitress from before smile at them as the boy pulls the chair back for his girlfriend and waits for her to sit. The waitress leans over to light the candle in the middle of their table and asks for their drink order with considerably more enthusiasm than she did for Brittany and Santana, and Santana watches Brittany glance at the unlit candle in the middle of their table sadly before looking back down at her menu.
She isn’t even aware of pulling her hand back until both her hands are in her lap, twisting uncomfortably against each other as she stares at the table, the sound of her breathing suddenly much louder than it was before.
“Maybe I’ll get lasagna,” Brittany says suddenly, in this sad little voice once the silence has started to stretch, and Santana hates herself for sitting back in her seat and wrapping her arms around herself instead of reaching for Brittany’s hand and pulling her out of the restaurant without looking back.
She hates the way the mood has shifted too, how Brittany is slumped down in her seat now like she’s trying to make herself smaller, her arms folded in front of her as she stares at the menu, a frown tugging at her features.
“They’re the names of the pasta, right?” Brittany says suddenly, and Santana is struck by the seriousness of the expression on her face, the way she almost looks pleading.
“Cuz they’re basically the same things if you get the same sauce or whatever just, like, they just look different,” Brittany swallows before she speaks again, and there’s an edge of something in her voice that Santana doesn’t recognise. “How come they’re called different things when they just look different? That’s like... pasta discrimination or something.”
Santana doesn’t know what to tell her; she has a feeling she can’t make this better by reeling off a list of different pastas and telling her that Italians thought it was a good idea. It’s worse because it could be a joke, but it isn’t funny at all, not the way Brittany says it, and Santana shakes her head, allowing herself one more second to hug herself before breathing out shakily and leaning forward, putting her hands down on the table in front of her, closer to Brittany than they were before.
“Do you want to go somewhere else?” she asks quickly, eyeing their waitress across the room and the way she’s starting to work her way closer. She holds her breath, waiting for Brittany’s answer. She almost feels like leaving is admitting there’s something wrong-something wrong with them-but if Brittany wanted to go she would, without thinking twice.
Brittany’s expression turns kind of determined and she shakes her head. “No. I’m taking you out to dinner,” she says firmly. Santana watches her breathe in and out a couple of times, collecting herself. “And I’m getting the fucking spaghetti.” She glances sideways at the boy and the girl at the next table when she says it, almost like she’s challenging them to something.
“Okay,” Santana says, and presses her feet a little closer against Brittany’s under the table, until Brittany starts to smile, just a little, at the corners of her mouth.
+
Their meal is fine, but sort of subdued. Their waitress brings them everything they ask for but she still makes a show of asking the boy and girl how long they’ve been dating and checking up on them more often than she does Brittany and Santana, and they end up eating in silence, glancing at each other every now and then and smiling in a way that doesn’t really reach their eyes.
It’s not that the woman is being particularly horrible to them, it’s just that it didn’t even occur to her that they might be together, and Santana feels invisible and small somehow, in a way she hasn’t for a long time, and she thinks Brittany must feel the same way because she seems to be getting smaller and smaller in her seat even though Santana doesn’t understand how.
She just wants to finish their food and go, and Brittany doesn’t say anything about wanting dessert so she knows she feels it too. Their feet still bump together under the table, secret and half hidden, but Santana keeps her hands to herself and hates it, wondering what would happen if she reached for Brittany’s hand.
She knows Salt Lake maybe isn’t the best place to try, and she hates that even more.
Brittany asks for the check when the waitress comes to take their plates away, Santana staying silent while she nods and says she’ll be right back, and her voice comes out small, the way Brittany’s voice is never small, and her fingers itch with the need to reach for her and make everything better. Brittany keeps glancing at the boy and girl next to them, at the way they’re leaning towards each other and laughing as they hold hands across the table, and then back at Santana, this sad expression on her face that makes Santana’s heart tighten painfully in her chest.
She makes up her mind in an instant and reaches for Brittany’s hand quickly across the table, her fingers tightening around Brittany’s defiantly. Brittany looks down at their hands in surprise and then smiles a little, and she makes a show of holding onto it when their waitress comes back with their check, ignoring the way her eyes widen when she sees them and she hurries off, glancing back over her shoulder like she’s making sure she saw what she thought she did.
Santana glares after her, almost wanting her to say something because then she’d be able to get angry and at least that would be doing something, instead of sitting here unable to do anything at all.
She watches her go and squeezes Brittany’s hand, “Let’s go back to the hotel, Britt-Britt.”
While they’re waiting to pay they somehow end up behind the boy and girl from the table next to them, and she feels Brittany stiffen when the boy wraps his arm around the girl and pulls her against his side as they joke with the woman behind the register, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.
“Gross,” Santana murmurs, but Brittany shakes her head, and after a second her arm snakes around Santana’s waist and pulls her closer too, her fingers settling on her hip, and when Santana looks up at her she looks defiant, something like jealousy lurking behind her eyes.
The couple finish paying and head for the door, and Santana watches them go, wondering if they know how lucky they are, before Brittany lets go of her and pulls her up to pay by her hand.
“How was your food today, ladies?” the woman asks with a polite smile, and Brittany grins broadly as she hands over the money. She makes a show of reaching for Santana’s hand again while she waits for their receipt.
“My girlfriend and I enjoyed it,” Brittany says, still smiling that same weirdly challenging grin, and snatches the receipt out of the woman’s hand when her face falls. “But I think we’ll go somewhere else for our next date.” She turns to Santana and tugs on her hand, “C’mon baby.”
Santana lets Brittany pull her out of the restaurant without saying anything, and it’s not until they get outside and back to the car that Brittany speaks again. “I didn’t leave a tip,” she says, her voice strangely flat, and then she’s leaning into Santana and laughing, only it comes out wrong sounding somehow, sad and more like something else, and Santana wraps her arms around her and holds on tightly, leaning them back against the car door as she waits for her to calm down.
+
They drive back to their hotel in silence, Santana’s hand resting on Brittany’s knee the whole way, and Brittany pulls back into a space and kills the engine quickly, her hand dropping to Santana’s and squeezing before she climbs out. Brittany waits for her to follow, and Santana latches on to her hand as they head down the familiar hallways to their room, her fingers laced through Brittany’s tightly, so tightly she thinks it might hurt, but Brittany doesn’t let go.
Brittany shoves the card into the slot clumsily with her left hand and Santana pushes the handle down with her right after the light comes on, using her other hand to tug Brittany inside. Brittany isn’t moving the way she normally does, her usual effortlessness hampered by stilted steps and clumsy limbs, and it hurts Santana more than anything else, that old ache in her chest coming back and settling there, squeezing painfully.
She lets the door fall shut behind her and pulls Brittany into her arms, her fingers rubbing against the back of Brittany’s neck under her hair as she holds her close with the other arm. Brittany breathes out against her neck, and after a moment, Santana feels her ghost a kiss there, and then another, until she tightens her arms around her and Brittany relaxes into her, squeezing back.
They stay like that for a long moment, comfortable in their silence, until Brittany brushes a kiss against her cheek and pulls away, searching for her bag and sleep clothes before heading to the bathroom.
Santana gets undressed in the room while she’s gone, suddenly tired and not caring about washing her face or getting ready for bed properly. She throws her dress over the back of a chair and slips into her sleep shirt, an old oversized one of Brittany’s that she’s had ever since they went to cheer camp when they were fifteen and it found its way home in her stuff, and takes her contacts out carefully, glad she left her case in her make-up bag for once instead of in the bathroom. She should really take her make-up off, but she finds it hard to care, especially when Brittany comes out of the bathroom and tosses her duffle aside before climbing into bed face down and burying her head in the pillow.
Brittany doesn’t move until her arms come up and wrap around the pillow, hugging it desperately as she presses her face into it, and Santana forgets about everything else and climbs in after her, half on top of Brittany and half on the mattress. Her arm slides up under Brittany’s sleep shirt as Brittany lies unmoving, her fingers trailing over smooth skin and rubbing comforting circles against Brittany’s spine, her back rising and falling as she breathes.
Brittany’s silent for a moment longer before she speaks, and then she turns her head away from the pillow to look at Santana and whisper, “Salt Lake kind of sucks,” and Santana just laughs, the kind of laugh that means it isn’t really funny but she doesn’t know what else to do, and then Brittany starts to laugh too, until they’re pressed together under the sheets holding each other tightly, shaking with silent not-quite-laughter and trying not to let go.
+
Santana wakes up first in the morning, blinking sleepily until the blonde blur in front of her resolves itself into Brittany, her head pillowed on Santana’s chest as she sleeps next to her, holding on to her tightly. She almost doesn’t want to move, but she needs to go the bathroom so she eases her way out of Brittany’s hold slowly, trying not to wake her. She presses a kiss to Brittany’s forehead before she goes and Brittany shifts, rolling over onto her side and hugging the pillow Santana was using, smiling into it like she thinks it’s Santana, and she has to muffle her chuckle.
She washes her face and brushes her teeth, getting her smeared make-up off from the night before, and feels much better once she’s dressed, inspecting her skin in the mirror for a second before padding back into the other room as quietly as she can to put her things away when she sees that Brittany is still asleep.
They still have a little over an hour before they should leave, and since she’s driving she figures Brittany can sleep in a little longer, because she only needs to get dressed and into the car, most of their stuff already packed and easy to take with them. She sits at the desk and sips one of the bottles of water they bought yesterday, making a face when it’s warm but drinking it anyway, just because there’s nothing else. She reaches for her plans just for something to do, even though they don’t have that much further to go now, just Nevada and then into California, and she feels a little nervous at the thought.
Two days from now she’ll be at college and Brittany won’t be there, and she feels anxiousness twisting her stomach at the thought. She glances back at the bed again, just to reassure herself that Brittany is still there and when she is she looks down at her plans again, wondering why they end when they get to California without instructions for how she’s going to make it through the Brittany-less days.
She checks her plans for the day and tries to push the thought away, because they still have two days before they’ll be apart and she doesn’t want to spend them worrying about what’s going to happen to them after, looking at a list of places that sell food in Elko and where they’re going to stay that night in Reno, making sure everything’s right.
She hears Brittany roll over in the covers behind her, but she doesn’t realise she’s awake until she groans and says, “Santana?” and then she turns in her seat to look at her, her plans still clutching in her hands.
“I’m over here,” she says and grins when Brittany sits up to look at her. She pushes some of her hair out of her eyes and squints against the light.
“Do we have to leave now?” Brittany asks sleepily, and it’s all Santana can do to stop herself from crossing the room and pulling her into her arms, just because of how cute she looks all sleepy and dishevelled.
“Not yet, Britty. I was just looking at my plans so I know where we’re going. You can go back to sleep for a little while if you want,” she shuffles the papers in her hand so that Elko, Nevada is on top and sets them down on the desk. “We’re all packed so you only have to get dressed.”
Brittany yawns again and rubs her hand over her eyes, looking more awake after she’s done so. “I’ll get up,” she says, but she doesn’t move. “In a minute.”
“Go back to sleep, sleepyhead,” Santana says through a grin, and Brittany shakes her head defiantly, throwing the covers back and standing up in one fluid movement, rolling her shoulders and bouncing on the balls of her feet.
She drags her duffle behind her when she goes into the bathroom without bothering to shut the door, and Santana hears the water come on and watches Brittany’s hands and clothes flash past the doorway as she pulls her clothes on, imagining more than seeing what she looks like as she gets dressed.
It’s not long before before she comes back looking considerably more awake, fresh faced and lovely in clean clothes, and she drops a kiss to the crown of Santana’s head as she reaches for the bottle of water Santana’s drinking from and glances down at her plans, nudging the top page aside with her hand to see the ones underneath.
“Do we need these?” Brittany asks after a moment, shuffling them around on the desk, and Santana resists the urge to gather them up. “I mean, we know where we’re going, right? And we have your GPS so we won’t get lost. I’m sure you can remember the name of the hotel in Reno.”
“But I have, like, places to eat and gas stations and stuff on here,” Santana says quickly, her hand inching out to try and gather the pages back.
“There’s always places just off the interstate,” Brittany shrugs, and tugs the paper a little further away from her. “We were okay in Lexington.”
Santana just stares at her, unsure how to tell her that the idea of ditching the plans makes her stomach twist nervously. “But I wrote it all down.”
Brittany just shrugs again and reaches out to take her hand. “So we’ll find new places.” She rubs her thumb against Santana’s knuckles, the same way she always does when she’s trying to calm her down, and Santana wonders if some of her thoughts are showing on her face.
“Trust me,” Brittany murmurs.
Her eyes meet Santana’s, clear blue and so open Santana feels like she could fall into them, and all she can think to say is, “Okay.”
+
Brittany carries both their bags when they leave the room, to leave Santana’s hands free so she can check out, and Santana stands just behind her as the door closes, eyes fixed on the plans abandoned in the trashcan by the desk as the door takes them from her sight.
+
They stop for gas near the hotel, and Brittany jumps out to fill up while Santana goes in to see if they have coffee, vaguely wondering why she keeps buying gas station coffee even though it’s awful every damn time. She grabs a couple of bottles of water too, just in case the coffee is really that bad and a diet coke for Brittany, not wanting to inflict the coffee on her again.
Brittany’s waiting for her in the car when she gets back, and Santana hands her the drinks and watches her toss the water onto the back seat and tuck her coke into the door, eyeing Santana’s coffee with distrust as they wait for the GPS to come on and work out where they are.
They have to drive through the city to get back on to i-80, but the traffic isn’t too bad, and Brittany leans out of the window, watching everything go past. Santana’s still not sure how a place that looks pretty cool on the surface turned out to be the worst place they’ve seen since they left Lima, but Brittany reaches for her hand when they finally hit the interstate and head west, the sun glinting off the lake alongside them, and she suddenly finds it very hard to care.
+
Everything is sort of flat until it’s not, and Brittany takes pictures of it all, until it seems like all Santana can hear is the click of her shutter going off again and again and again. She has to admit it’s pretty, much prettier than the mountains were before, even if the playlist of indie songs blasting out of her stereo is maybe making everything seem a little more magical and happy than it really is.
Brittany sings along in her seat, her feet bouncing along in time with the drums as Santana joins in with a harmony here and there, and it’s so different to the last time they were driving together, happy and easy and light the way it was always supposed to be, that it makes Santana ache with something she doesn’t know how to say.
She laughs when Brittany turns the camera on her and snaps a picture, grinning stupidly for a second before looking back at the road, stretching on and on in front of them and wondering where it ends.
When Brittany reaches for her hand and tangles her fingers together tightly she almost wishes it never will, and then she holds Brittany’s hand a little tighter, until Brittany glances at her and snaps another picture, capturing the way her expression starts to turn more serious, her smile vanishing from her lips.
+
“I spy with my little eye something beginning with m,” Brittany says, once the novelty of the landscape has started to wear off and they’re starting to get bored of the dusty brown colour stretching out in all directions.
“Mountains,” Santana says immediately, staring at the raised bumps in front of them and wondering how big a hill has to get before it turns into a mountain.
“Nope,” Brittany says, smirking a little.
“Uh,” Santana says, glancing around them like she’ll actually be able to see anything else. She runs through their surroundings quickly in her head but comes up at a loss. “Maps,” she says, glancing at her GPS and wondering if that would count.
Brittany grins wider, “Nuh-uh.”
Santana looks out at the landscape again. “Musty dust stuff,” she says lamely, knowing Brittany’s version of this game is always a little more outlandish than the version they’d played as kids.
Brittany laughs, actually laughs, before she says “Not even close.”
She waits for Santana to say something else, and when she doesn’t she flashes a smile again, “Give up?”
Santana sighs, and nods her head, “There’s nothing out there that begins with m!”
“It’s not out there,” Brittany says immediately, like it should be obviously, “It’s in the car.”
Santana tries to think of the things on the back seat but can only think of their overnight bags and the bottles of water from earlier because all of their boxes and stuff are in the trunk, and she wonders if Brittany’s thinking of something in there though she can’t think of what it might be.
“I give up,” she says after a moment, her frustration growing when Brittany grins again.
Brittany gives her fingers a squeeze and half turns in her seat to get a better look at her, savouring the moment before she reveals her secret. “My girl,” she says eventually, grinning proudly as she looks at Santana, until Santana shakes her head and starts to laugh, that happy ache in her chest again as she glances at Brittany out of the corner of her eyes.
+
She pulls off of i-80 when they get to Elko and drives through the town instead, to where she’s sure there are places they can get food and probably a gas station too, and she drives slowly, looking for somewhere to park and something that looks good.
They drive past a bunch of places but Brittany tells her to keep going, until they find a space near the Courthouse and walk back the way they came, their hands tangled together and swinging between them. Brittany guides them, and she seems to know where she’s going, which utterly baffles Santana because she knows neither of them have ever been here before, but she’s happy enough to let herself be pulled along and go wherever Brittany takes her.
They end up in a little coffee shop a block away, Brittany grinning at her while she orders the biggest cup of coffee she can and waits at the end of the counter for it like some kind of addict, taking a sip almost as soon as she gets it even though it burns her tongue.
Brittany gets an iced mocha and carries their sandwiches, and after they look around for a table, Brittany tugs on her hand and pulls her towards the door, telling her that they should eat outside since it’s such a nice day, and Santana nods again, following Brittany as she looks for somewhere to sit that isn’t their car.
They find a bench by the clerk’s office and settle on it, Brittany sitting indian style facing her while Santana pulls one of her legs up under her and slides along the bench shyly until Brittany’s knees are pressed against her leg, smiling when Brittany hands her a sandwich and rips the bag off her own.
“These are good,” Brittany mumbles round a mouthful of food.
“The coffee’s good,” Santana says immediately, taking another sip and feeling it burn hot all the way down her throat. “We should go back before we leave so I can get another.”
“That’s probably not good for you,” Brittany says, fixing her with a look and tapping her fingers against Santana’s chest. “I don’t want your heart to go crazy.”
Santana wants to tell her her heart is already crazy whenever Brittany looks at her, but she swallows the words and sips her drink, pretending to glare back. “I’ll just get something small. What if I fall asleep before we get to Reno?”
“I’ll kick you,” Brittany says immediately, deadpan as she fights the smile on her face, and Santana shakes her head at her, taking another bite of her sandwich and ignoring the triumphant smile on Brittany’s face.
Brittany kicks her legs out over Santana’s lap as they continue to eat and nudges her with her foot until Santana smiles at her, and then she reaches for Santana’s hand with her own and plays with her fingers while they finish their food, catching her eyes and smiling whenever she does.
+
“Elko’s kinda cool,” Brittany says a little later, when Santana’s playing with the laces on her sneakers with her free hand, the other still tangled with Brittany’s between them.
“California will be even cooler,” Santana promises fiercely, tightening her grip around Brittany’s foot, and Brittany grins, leaning forward quickly to peck a kiss against her lips.
“We can go and get more coffee if you want,” Brittany says once she’s settled back down again, and Santana shakes her head, draining the last of her cup.
“I think I drank too much already,” Santana says and watches Brittany hide a smirk.
Brittany stands and offers Santana her hand, pulling her to her feet and steadying her in her arms for a moment before she lets go. She gathers their empty cups and bags together, and they head over to the trashcan closer to the buildings without even having to say it out loud, Brittany jumping and slamming the bags down into the can like she’s playing basketball and then throws her arms up like she’s celebrating, Santana rolling her eyes fondly when Brittany looks over at her.
They’re just about to turn and head back to the car when a couple comes out of the building in front of them, grinning broadly at each other as the man offers the woman his hand and leads her down the steps, so caught up in each other that they nearly walk into some railings and then burst out laughing when they stop to clutch at each other for support.
Santana’s about to roll her eyes at Brittany, all look at these idiots and then the woman spots them and wriggles out of the man’s grip, taking a step closer and reaching into her bag for something.
“Excuse me?” She calls, as the man trails along behind her. She suddenly has a camera in her hands and holds it out towards Brittany and Santana. “Could you take a picture of us? We just got our marriage licence!” The guy’s grin gets wider behind her, and he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her against him until she giggles. “Please,” she adds after a moment, when neither of them take the camera.
Santana just stares at them, frozen for reasons she doesn’t really understand, and Brittany jerks into action next to her suddenly, taking the camera from the woman and stepping backwards until she can get both of them in the shot.
“Santana,” she says after a moment, and Santana starts at the sound of her name, her eyes fixed on the ring on the woman’s finger and the way she and the guy keep grinning at each other, like they have a secret.
“Santana, you’re in the shot,” Brittany looks over the top of the camera at her pleadingly and Santana takes steps backwards quickly, until Brittany nods and looks through the viewfinder again.
“Smile!” Brittany calls, like she even needs to, and Santana hears the sound of the shutter click as Brittany presses the button quickly, her arms held stiffly in front of her like she’s trying to stop them from shaking.
When she’s handed the camera back, the woman wraps her arms around her neck and hugs her quickly, Brittany looking so startled she doesn’t have time to hug back before the woman lets go.
“Thanks!” she says, as the guy takes her hand and leads her away, and Santana stares after them, twisting her ring round her finger and hating them, even though she doesn’t know why.
Brittany’s fingers slide into the gaps between hers quickly and hold tight, stopping her hand, and when she looks over at her, she’s staring at Santana with an anxious expression on her face waiting for her to say something.
“Nice couple,” Santana says, only her voice comes out little above a whisper, and Brittany flinches at the sound of it.
“We’re cuter,” Brittany says, and stares at Santana until she smiles, just a little.
part seven c