Un-Extraordinary [1/1]
Title: Un-extraordinary
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: R
Summary: Brittany and Santana, 11 to 23ish. My Brittany/Santana stories tend to use the same details. Let’s assume they’re all vaguely related to one another, and then pretend they’re stand-alones when the details contradict each other. This one uses a lot from this story I wrote called “Slave” but there’s no need to read it. In fact, some of the other details contradict each other. Whatever though. Some of the stuff may seem familiar is all I’m saying. 'Dark and twisty' is a total Grey's Anatomy reference
Spoilers:Through Home to be safe.
For mme-smitten because you’re awesome and you made me happy with that story. Also because you asked. Lol.
They were eleven when they fought over a watermelon Lip Smacker. They hadn’t been friends for very long-- just a semester and were completely besotted with one another, but not enough to give up stuff for each other.
“My sister bought it for me,” Brittany insisted. She was near tears. “It was a present and she never gives me stuff. Give it back!”
Santana curled her hand around it. She knew, of course, that it was Brittany’s, but she wanted it anyway because it smelled nice, it tasted good and her mother was strict about that sort of thing. Brittany had an older sister, who, while totally bitchy to Brittany, also supplied Brittany with stuff like Benefit Lip Gloss (when Brittany’s sister had the money), Lip Smacker lip balms and Sally Hansen nail polish. Santana was the youngest child in a family of four kids and she was the only girl. Her mother was cool-- at least for a mother, but she was dead set on trying to keep Santana as young as possible, despite the fact that everyone commented on how preternaturally precocious Santana was from the time Santana learned to crawl.
Brittany wasn’t the smartest girl in the world-- in fact, when they met in homeroom on the first official day of middle school and Santana caught sight of Brittany’s class schedule which completely lacked the accelerated classes she was in, Santana promptly dismissed her. But they were on drill team together and Brittany just got it. Brittany could move in ways that Santana had never seen. Coach Evans liked crisp, military movements, but once in a while, they did routines which required them to be relaxed and fluid. Brittany could move like water. Santana had never seen a person move like that, and she’d been utterly besotted on the spot.
“Show me how you did that,” Santana breathed in lieu of an introduction, but it was as gentle of an invitation to friendship as she could extend in those days.
They became close friends and though Brittany wasn’t as gullible and happy-go-lucky as she pretended to be. But Santana caught on pretty early that Brittany just seemed to believe everything she said. Brittany’s older sister once told Brittany, “you have to go downstairs because Mom needs to give you your antibiotic for your ear infection” and Brittany looked at her and said, “are you trying to lock me out of the room again?” It turned into a ten minute spat which culminated in Brittany on her back, wailing, Brittany’s big sister pressing her knees into Brittany’s chest, cursing Brittany out and Santana pulling on Brittany’s sister’s hair in an effort to get the big oaf off Brittany. Brittany’s mother had to break them up and confirmed that Brittany indeed had to come downstairs for her ear infection medication. “Why didn’t you just believe me?” Brittany’s sister demanded.
But when it came to Santana, Brittany just believed everything she told her.
Santana wanted the watermelon Lip Smacker, though she knew it was Brittany’s. So, she lied.
“Seriously, Brit. It’s mine. My mom bought it for me. I think you just lost yours in the locker room today. You were taking forever, remember?”
Brittany looked uncertain. “But I don’t remember losing it.”
“No one remembers losing stuff, or stuff wouldn’t get lost.
“Oh,” Brittany said. She pulled her hand back. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Okay, it’s yours.”
Santana was initially triumphant, but she couldn’t feel happy when she saw the expression on Brittany’s face. She wanted to admit instantly that she lied, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit to it because she was afraid of making Brittany angry, and more importantly, she was afraid of disappointing her. She stuffed the Lip Smacker in her pocket and then took Brittany by the hand. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll get you a popsicle.”
They walked into Santana’s kitchen and Santana opened the freezer. Cherry was Brittany’s favorite flavor and Santana made sure that Brittany got cherry.
Brittany smiled and said thank-you and they dug into their popsicles and Brittany was happy again and never brought up the Lip Smacker again. Santana couldn’t bring herself to use it, so she stuffed it in her nightstand and felt guilty every time she looked at it until she finally slipped it into Brittany’s book bag during lunch one day.
She initially was happy to be able to manipulate Brittany into anything and liked having that power. But it didn’t feel right to be so pleased about it when Brittany trusted her so willingly.
--
They were fourteen when they started kissing and it led to a fight one night. It initially started out as “practicing for future boyfriends,” and it was tentative in the beginning-- just lips on lips until they started using tongue. It was awkward sometimes-- their teeth smashed together sometimes and while it was not entirely unpleasant, it was not all that satisfying either.
It wasn’t all the time. They didn’t kiss every time they got together, but they did it enough that they fight one night when Santana wanted to kiss and Brittany didn’t.
Already Santana had an inkling that she wanted something more. They both had siblings who were significantly older than they were, so the idea of sex wasn’t completely foreign to either of them. She didn’t want to push it that far-- it was scary, though she would have never admitted to being scared of anything, even back then. The prospect of it was just kind of overwhelming and sometimes, kissing Brittany was already overwhelming enough.
Santana was helping Brittany with a Social Studies assignment when she pressed her lips against Brittany’s.
Brittany was annoyed and pushed her way. “Not right now, San. I don’t always want to kiss you, you know. You have to help me with this.”
Santana pulled back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Sorry,” she huffed, but she wasn’t sorry because Brittany was usually eager to kiss her, so how was she supposed to have known? Brittany loved to procrastinate. And she was offended by that “I don’t always want to kiss you” remark.
“Why are you sorry? Just help me.”
When Santana looked back at this moment, she could recognize Brittany’s anxiety over the assignment and her fear of disappointing her parents yet again with a bad grade. But she didn’t have that kind of reflection back then, so she helped Brittany with the assignment as briskly as she could so she could leave and get home. It hurt her feelings to be rebuffed by Brittany and Brittany was one of the few people on earth who could make her feel like shit.
“Slow down, you’re doing it too fast,” Brittany pleaded. “I don’t get it.”
It wasn’t the material-- Brittany always understood content. But there was something about the act of putting what she knew to paper that things always got jumbled for her.
But Santana wanted to go home and she couldn’t go home until Brittany was situated. By the time the assignment was finished (with Santana pulling it away in exasperation and doing it for Brittany), they were both in tears.
“Why were you were mean?” Brittany asked.
“Toughen up,” Santana huffed as she stormed out.
They still hung out, but they didn’t kiss for an entire month and they didn’t really talk either. Brittany didn’t ask Santana for help with school and Santana didn’t offer.
It was Brittany who offered a small white flag. “I got an A on that assignment,” she said tentatively when they were sitting around on Santana’s bed. She leaned forward and brought her face close. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Brittany,” Santana said with a sigh. “Any time.”
Brittany pecked Santana’s lips and they started to kiss again.
--
They were fifteen by the time the touching and kissing led to sex. They’d each already lost their virginities by then-- Santana to Puck and Brittany to Mike Chang. Like a lot of things that happened between the two of them, it started by doing something that felt good and then pushing themselves to go even further.
It was also the first year they met Rachel Berry who was asked not to come back to her grades 8-12 private school for questioning authority too much. Rachel brought along all the whispers about her fathers, but she seemed completely unruffled by all the whispers and snickers.
It completely freaked Santana out though. She didn’t much care about Rachel Berry or Rachel’s feelings, which was to say Santana didn’t care at all. But it brought back the reality of living in a state that was definitely not on one of the coasts, in a city that wasn’t large enough to hold more than a smattering of gay bars. It spooked Santana and she wasn’t about to have her hard-earned popularity ripped away from her-- or Brittany’s for that matter. They went on monthly starvation diets, exercised like crazy, put out for generally untalented teenaged boys most of them who came too early and typically left them unsatisfied.
She couldn’t let go of Brittany, but she couldn’t free Brittany either. Santana had a lot of sex, and discovered that not only did she like it, but she had a talent for it, too. But the only person she really cared to make feel good was Brittany and hearing Brittany’s breathy little sighs and shuddering gasps was always the best part of her day. It didn’t matter who she fucked or who fucked her, Brittany was the only one who made her feel good. It wasn’t that the sex with other people wasn’t good-- it was. But she started to realize that there was a difference between her body feeling good and actually feeling good. She was not her body, so even when Puck, Matt or anyone else touched her, they weren’t really touching her.
But she threw a shitfit when Brittany fucked Simon Braun. Santana could accept Brittany dating and fucking Mike Chang-- Mike was a sweetheart. But Simon Braun was a piece of shit who wouldn’t appreciate Brittany.
“Simon Braun?!” Santana demanded. “What the fuck is the matter with you? Are you retarded?”
Santana didn’t mean it like that and she wasn’t calling Brittany retarded. She’d never do that, except that she did. But she didn’t mean it like that. People used that word all the time, just threw it around and it was fucked up, but it was one of those screwy colloquial things that people threw around. But Brittany spent most of her childhood being called ‘retarded’ and Brittany absolutely hated that word.
She tried to explain herself, but Brittany was so hurt and upset, she couldn’t hear anything Santana said. It was the first time Brittany refused to believe something Santana said, and no matter how much Santana apologized or said she didn’t mean it, Brittany didn’t-- or couldn’t seem to believe her.
Brittany started making out with everyone and anyone in the school who wanted her-- and that was mostly everyone. It didn’t matter-- girls, boys, Mr. Kawai (the geometry teacher who was fired for an affair with a student who was not Brittany), the school janitor or Tad (one of the bulky school security guards). People started referring to Brittany as the “dumb whore.”
In response, Santana, who always had to take it one step further, had sex with most of the guys who wanted her. She had standards, of course, she had to find them attractive, but she didn’t much care about the way they treated her, how they talked about her or if they spread the word to their friends about how easy she was. Because really, she had no problem saying “no” and she kind of liked what it did to a guy when she told him ‘no,’ because she knew that he received the message that he just wasn’t good enough, loud and clear. People started referring to her as the “mean whore.”
No one ever had the courage to say those things to their faces, but Santana knew what people said about her. But it was enough that they were too afraid to say anything within earshot, and “mean whore” was a lot better than “dyke,” “lesbo” or “gay”
So they went on that way for a while-- they kissed, they had sex and Brittany made out with everyone and Santana showed only slightly better judgment in choosing whom else to have sex with. It wasn’t ideal, and it didn’t always feel good, but it was what they had.
“Why is it like this?” Brittany whispered, one night when Santana drunkenly climbed up the tree in Brittany’s front yard to climb through Brittany’s bedroom window. Brittany’s sister had left for college a couple of years ago, and Brittany now had her own room.
“Like what?” Santana said. They had maneuvered their way to Brittany’ bed and now they were lying in it, each of them on their sides.
Brittany sighed softly, because she knew Santana knew exactly what she meant. Santana was drunk, and had the smell of some boy’s cologne all over her. If Brittany turned on the lights, she was sure she could see some boy’s teeth marks on Santana’s neck, which was exactly why she chose not to turn on the lights.
“I’m sorry,” Santana said quietly, and her voice was a little weepy but she wasn’t crying. “It didn’t mean anything.”
“I know,” Brittany said, stroking Santana’s hair. She kissed Santana’s neck and tried not to think about who had kissed Santana’s neck earlier than evening. She unbuttoned Santana’a pants and Santana shucked them off. Brittany slipped her hand between Santana’s thighs and tried not to think about who’d done the same. She just tried not to think.
“Do the others mean anything to you?” Santana breathed. She always asked the same thing, the same way, every time, as though she expected a different answer. Maybe she was afraid that the answer would change, but Brittany couldn’t anticipate a time when it would.
“You’re the only one who means anything to me,” Brittany said honestly.
“I always come home to you.”
They didn’t live together yet, of course, and normally that was the sort of figurative speech that had to be explained to Brittany. But Brittany always understood Santana and Santana never had to explain herself with Brittany. Home was where the heart was, and her heart was with Brittany, so wherever Brittany went, she’d get herself there to, one way or another. It was the one cliché that Santana could inwardly admit was true, but she never planned on conceding (out loud) that any cliché was true. She believed it though, and while she hated herself for believing that Brittany was her soul mate, because it meant she had to concede that she believed in something as ridiculous as the concept of a soulmate in the first place, she was glad that Brittany grew up six blocks away, and not in Kalahari or Amsterdam or something.
--
They were eighteen when they each have sex with someone else for the last time. They graduated from McKinley High that year and they bolt for New York City as soon as they could. Being alone together-- really alone and really together for the first time in their lives was everything they thought it would be when they were eleven years old and dreamed about what it would be like when they were older. They meet for lunch in the middle of the day, even though Santana has classes and Brittany has rehearsals and auditions, they got shopping together, they decorate their first shared apartment together as well as they can for two girls on a shoestring budget. They use milk crates for shelves and find furniture off the street to bring inside and use. They use a lot of Lysol to disinfect those Found items. But they don’t scrimp on the bed-- they buy that brand new and it’s the most comfortable bed, ever. [Years later, they will accidentally spill bong water on the bed and neither of them will feel comfortable using the bed again, so they search for a replacement but none ever feel quite so good to both of them, so they lament the loss of that bed.] They have a bright yellow clock with a red pendulum in their living room-- it’s bright and adorable, a lot like Brittany who found it while passing a flea market.
Santana thought that reality would never be as good as her imagination, so she was really surprised when reality delivered big time. They had their ups and downs like any other couple, but when they talked about how everything would be so much nicer when they were older (that Beach Boys song, ‘Wouldn’t it Be Nice’ was their secret theme song), Santana didn’t think the reality would actually be so good. Her experience always showed that reality was never as good as her hopes and dreams were, but she never wanted to tell that to Brittany, because she wanted at least one of them to believe things would be perfect.
But things actually were good. It was the first time in her life that Santana stopped thinking about the future and just enjoyed the present. Life stopped being about what would happen when she finally got out of her dam hick hometown and started being about unafraid to just be with her girl.
--
They were twenty-one when Quinn broke up with Rachel just because Quinn’s parents came back in her life and dangled the promise of family and financial assistance with tuition. Santana privately thought that Quinn was a real shit for doing it, because Quinn claimed to love Rachel more than anyone and was clearly miserable about the break-up. Quinn had done just fine without her parents since she was sixteen and Santana saw no reason for Quinn to think her life would be better with them in it.
Rachel cut them out of their lives, and it made Brittany cry which made Santana wish she could cut Rachel Berry, but Santana felt kind of bad for her, too. Rachel was doing well at Julliard and Brittany was still on some mailing list that sent out notices about plays and programs the school put on. Rachel featured heavily in them, but she never sent an invite. One day, Santana ran into Rachel just a random bit of happenstance and Rachel looked like shit--skinny, almost emaciated, and pale, she looked like she hadn’t slept in months.
“You made Brittany sad,” Santana said. It was all she had to say, because it was a threat.
“I just didn’t want to make you guys choose.”
So Quinn was the one they hung out with, despite the fact that Santana thought Quinn was the one who should be punished.
One night, Quinn watched Santana watch Brittany dance in a small club just a couple blocks away from the apartment that Santana and Brittany shared. Quinn would have thought it was pathetic-- the way Santana just watched Brittany with this look of obvious affection and adoration on her face. It was the sort of naked display of emotion that Santana allowed herself to express now that she lived in one of America’s largest cities, rather than some wee Midwestern town where everyone gossiped about the differences in others. So Quinn would have thought it was totally pathetic-- that ridiculously happy over-the-moon expression on Santana’s face-- except that Quinn was jealous. She could feel that jealousy in her bones, because God, why had she given that up?
She wished she still had someone who looked at her the way Santana looked at Brittany, because seeing that look on Santana’s face-- so much adoration that it was totally obvious that though Santana was a bad ass bitch, she was totally Brittany’s bitch, it made Quinn so jealous, she thought she’d have a heart attack.
She loved Rachel, but they were often snippy and spiteful with one another, even when things were good. But fucking Santana and Brittany were like twelve year olds in love sometimes and Quinn was routinely tempted to hit them.
Quinn saw a tiny brunette on the dance floor and Quinn craned her neck to get a closer look.
“It’s not her,” Santana said.
It wasn’t, but Quinn hated that Santana knew that she hoped it was.
“I know,” Quinn said resentfully.
“If she wanted to be in touch, she would be.”
“I know.”
Quinn hadn’t tried to reach out to Rachel or to try to stay friends after the break-up, but she thought she’d get to hear our Rachel was doing from Brittany and Santana. It didn’t work like that though.
Santana’s features softened and she put her arm around Quinn’s shoulders and put their heads together. “I’m only saying it because I love you,” Santana said, her mouth close to Quinn’s ear to be audible over the music.
“I know,” Quinn said with a sigh. She turned her head, her lips lightly brushing Santana’s ear. “It’s disturbing how soft you’ve become.”
Santana laughed and then smirked looking every bit the cocky Santana that Quinn knew. But then Brittany bounded up to them and threw her arms around both of them.
“Two of my favorite friends!”
Santana grinned like she was feeling all the love in the entire galaxy and Quinn couldn’t begrudge her that happiness because Brittany was so ridiculously endearing, that it was ludicrous.
Quinn couldn’t resist smiling back. “You’re my favorite friend, too, Brit.”
Santana gave her a dirty look. “And what am I? A prop?”
“She’s just more likable than you are.”
Santana scowled, but really, she had to concede the point. But she was sympathetic when Quinn stared at the Rachel look-alike all night.
Santana was relieved-- so very relieved that she had stopped being afraid of what other people would say about her life. She didn’t want to even think about what would have happened if she hadn’t stopped.
Fear was a real fucker and Santana hoped it would never darken her life again.
--
They were twenty two when they ran into Rachel at a restaurant. Rachel was with her boyfriend, Tim, and Rachel looked pretty good. Brittany was so happy to see Rachel that Santana almost (almost) liked Rachel a little more because of it.
Rachel came back into their lives and Santana had to admit, she was kind of happy about that. Tim was a good guy who was mad crazy in love with Rachel and while Rachel was sweet to him, Santana had always been adept at recognizing things that people tried to conceal from the rest of the world-- it was how she was so effective at terrorizing her high school classmates without actually doing anything in particular. She felt sorry for Tim (the way someone pitied a three-legged dog) because it was clear that Rachel was only with him because he was more in love with her than she was in love with him-- if she was in love with the guy at all.
When he proposed to Rachel, and she accepted, he gave her a ring that involuntarily made Santana exclaim “bling!” and Rachel’s friend, Courtenay say “Jean Claude Van Daaaaaaaamn!”
“Poor bastard,” Santana commented to Brittany that night, and she was very very glad that she’d never given Brittany up out of fear, glad that Brittany would never give her up out of fear, either, and that Brittany made it so very very clear to her that Brittany was just as in love with her as she was in love with Brittany. As far as Santana could see, that was a rarity.
“I hope she doesn’t make him too sad,” Brittany said unhappily.
“ Rachel is our friend,” Santana reminded. “And anyway, it can be her starter marriage. You know, like a dress rehearsal.”
Brittany sighed. “We’re the only thing I never had to do over. We got it right the first time.”
Santana smiled. “That’s why we’re better than everyone else.”
Brittany laughed. “Yeah.”
--
They were twenty three when they have their first major fight in five years.
It was over money, which Santana thought was a stupid thing to fight about. But they fought about it anyway. The only excuse Santana had for accusing Brittany of being selfish was that she was stressed for her new job and it was a tough economy. It turned into something more, of course, because Brittany turned it around on her and conceded that maybe she was selfish when it came to money, but Santana was selfish about everything else.
It was really hurtful because Santana would readily and happily admit to being selfish-- she lied and cheated to get what she wanted-- she was in PR and Marketing, after all. She coveted other people’s possessions. She felt her wants and needs were inherently more important than everyone else’s. She was often a selfish daughter and a selfish sister (hey, she was the youngest, smallest and the only girl, she was accustomed), but the one person with whom she tried never to allow herself to be selfish with, the one person whose needs she always tried to put above her own was Brittany.
“I’ve never been selfish with you!” Santana shouted at Brittany, which may have been overstating it a bit, but it was true often enough that it was mostly factual. She stormed out and had enough forethought to grab her shoes and clutch them to her chest as she left, but not enough to grab her purse.
She found herself walking around aimlessly. She didn’t have anywhere in particular to be and nowhere to go. So she found herself knocking on Rachel’s door.
Rachel answered the door, a little drunk and partially clothed in her underwear and tank top. She squinted at Santana and then opened the door a little wider to allow Santana to come inside. Santana trailed after Rachel, following her into the kitchen where Rachel opened the refrigerator and passed Santana a bottle of beer.
Rachel was dark and twisty since calling off her wedding to her fiancé, Tim, and getting back together with Quinn. It made Rachel do things like stare blankly at cashiers who told her to have a nice day and tell bartenders to leave the bottle. She was quieter, which was always a plus, and when she did speak, she was bluntly mean which Santana found to be hilarious and amusing except when that tactless maliciousness was directed at her.
Santana followed Rachel to the couch and sat down next her and watched a nature program about beavers which was followed by a program hilariously entitled ‘When Wind Attacks!’ (high winds creating havoc in various parts of the world).
She knew it was telling that she liked Rachel better this way-- all quiet and sullen, but she wasn’t sure if that said more about her or Rachel.
She watched Rachel’s ridiculous Discovery Channel programs (“you don’t have to think, you just watch”) and she had to admit that watching beavers build dams and wind destroy Manitoba communities was a little weirdly Zen. But she was mortified when a commercial for Excedrin featuring a blonde who looked nothing like Brittany made her think about the girl she was temporarily trying to forget. She started to get teary and she slammed her bottle of beer onto the coffee table in pure frustration. Unfortunately, she did it so hard, the glass table cracked and the bottle broke.
“You’re paying for that,” Rachel said placidly after a moment of quiet. “And you’re cleaning up.”
--
Santana wasn’t about to cry and confide in Rachel Berry-- they were friends, but Santana wasn’t a crier or a confider, and she saw no reason to start. She just wanted to watch Rachel’s TV, drink from Rachel’s vast choices in alcohol and pass the time until she could face Brittany again. It was a good thing that Rachel and Quinn were going through their own problems, because over the past few months since Rachel and Quinn got together, Rachel had become increasingly silent which meant that she didn’t ask any questions when Santana popped by unannounced at nine in the evening. It was perfect because she didn’t want to endure any questions which Rachel usually would have asked and she certainly didn’t want to use Rachel as a therapist. And really, what position was Rachel in to give advice anyway? Her relationship with Quinn was regularly in tatters.
--
She found herself telling Rachel about it once they went through Rachel’s six pack of Blue Moon and killed a bottle of pear flavored vodka with ginger ale chasers.
Rachel listened quietly and then gazed at Santana intently before she spoke.
“Well,” Rachel drawled. “Despite your tendency toward self-absorption and your total misanthropy, you’ve always been very good to Brittany.”
“That’s what I said!”
Rachel grinned at her, amused.
--
Rachel had one hand around Santana’s wrist and the other hand was rubbing her left temple. She’d put up with hours of Santana’s drunken remorseful crying, but she had her own issues that she wanted to cry and get drunk about, and Santana was getting in the way of that. She led Santana to Santana and Brittany’s front door and was surprised to see Quinn and Brittany walking down the hallway toward them. Judging by Brittany’s crying and the pained expression on Quinn’s face, Rachel surmised that Quinn must have spent the last few hours exactly the way she had: listening to someone crying.
“Hello,” Rachel greeted Brittany and Quinn politely. But she couldn’t resist smiling at Quinn or reaching out to give Brittany’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. Brittany and Santana studiously avoided one another’s eyes and Rachel fumbled through Santana’s set of keys to open the front door.
“Hi,” Quinn said softly. “I thought you were avoiding me when you didn’t pick up.”
Rachel gave her a tiny smile. “I was trying to keep Santana from falling off my balcony. She saw a pigeon and insisted she try to capture it because Brittany wanted a pet. I couldn’t convince her that a pigeon isn’t what Brittany had in mind.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” Brittany said quietly. “It would have been a Santana present.”
“See!” Santana said, drunkenly slapping Rachel’s shoulder.
“Ow,” Rachel said, giving Santana a dirty look. She finally got the door opened. “Okay, get inside you two.”
“But--”
Rachel shoved Santana inside. Santana stumbled and fell and Brittany scrambled inside to help Santana stand up again. Rachel pulled the door shut and she and Quinn made their great escape, leaving Santana and Brittany alone again.
--
“I’m sorry,” Brittany said quietly as she helped Santana up. “I’m going to step on Rachel’s head the next time I see her for this.”
“I can’t believe she thinks people would believe her when she says she’s 5’2”
“She could be the Grand Marshal in a Dwarf Parade,” Brittany agreed. She hesitated. “You aren’t selfish,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I only said it because you called me selfish. I won’t ever say that again, because it’s so untrue.”
Santana nodded. “Okay,” she said quietly. She didn’t see the point in making Brittany grovel and didn’t see why she should prolong this. If Brittany told her it wasn’t true, then it wasn’t true. “All right.” She paused. “You aren’t selfish, Brittany,” she said softly. “You’ve always put me first ever since we’ve known each other and I was an asshole to you over something as stupid as money
Brittany had a litany of examples of how Santana had put Brittany first-- beginning from when they were eleven and Santana always made sure that Brittany got the cherry Popsicles, even if that meant Santana had to have grape and Santana hated grape, whereas Brittany was indifferent to it. As they got older, Santana never minded how long it took to help Brittany with homework, if she had to give up weekend plans, a date, sleep or neglect her own assignments to help Brittany out. Santana made concessions, large and small, so often, as such a part of their mundane lives that Brittany hardly noticed. Santana hated chunky peanut butter and orange juice with pulp, but they always kept chunky peanut butter and orange juice with extra pulp because that was how Brittany liked it. Santana always made sure that Brittany was happy with a decision before it was made.
She’d come from a good family, but it was so big-- five kids and she was smack in the middle. Her older brother, older sister and younger sister distinguished themselves academically. Her baby sister was the baby-- she was nine years younger than Brittany, and eight years younger than the next youngest child. She was the classic middle child who kind of got lost in the shuffle, and she was the odd duck in her family of academics. She knew her family loved her, but occasionally, the way her family showed their love was hurtful. Santana was the first person who made her really feel loved, and it wasn’t that Santana had never hurt her-- they weren’t perfect people and they didn’t have the perfect relationship. But Santana, unlike her family, usually recognized when she was hurtful, even without Brittany having to tell her, and really tried not to do it again. That alone made Brittany believe Santana loved her-- Santana wouldn’t have had to even say it, and Brittany would have believed it. But Santana did say it, and she said it a lot, and that just kind of made it better.
“Do you really think I don’t know that you always put me first?” Brittany asked softly.
Santana’s lower lip trembled, but only for a fraction of a second. “I know you know,” she mumbled.
“I’m sorry,” Brittany said quietly.
“Me too,” Santana said. “I know you aren’t selfish, and I know you always put me first, too.”
When it came down to it, Brittany was the girl who tried to cheer her up even when she herself wasn’t feeling happy. Santana knew she was prone to being a little sullen and for whatever reason, she was just naturally a moody fuck. Rachel was right when she said Santana was prone to total misanthropy. It was just who she was. Brittany never tried to change her, in fact, Brittany seemed delighted by all the things that other people hated in her.
They were both weepy and Santana thought it was woefully pitiful, but she didn’t mind so much being woefully pitiful with Brittany, if they were making up.
--
Brittany had always been tall for her age, and sometimes, it made her the object of ridicule when she was growing up. But she felt perfect when she was with Santana because when her arms curled around Santana, she totally felt like the big spoon to Santana’s little spoon and she really wanted to be Santana’s big spoon. There were no clichés about their bodies being perfectly matched, but they were well-matched enough and they’d been together long enough where they knew one another’s bodies as well as they knew their own. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, Brittany thought about Santana and she could remember the softness of Santana’s breasts, the way the Santana’s left eyebrow felt because Brittany had a tendency to run her thumb across it and Santana overall yumminess. She thought about how Santana’s nipple felt under her fingers as it hardened or the noises Santana would make when Brittany slid one of her legs between Santana’s. She remembered how it felt when Santana rubbed wet, aroused flesh against her and Brittany couldn’t wait to get home to get Santana on the bed-- and the bed was optional.
Brittany didn’t think her life was all that extraordinary, but sometimes-- most of the time, it was delicious.
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: R
Summary: Brittany and Santana, 11 to 23ish. My Brittany/Santana stories tend to use the same details. Let’s assume they’re all vaguely related to one another, and then pretend they’re stand-alones when the details contradict each other. This one uses a lot from this story I wrote called “Slave” but there’s no need to read it. In fact, some of the other details contradict each other. Whatever though. Some of the stuff may seem familiar is all I’m saying. 'Dark and twisty' is a total Grey's Anatomy reference
Spoilers:Through Home to be safe.
For mme-smitten because you’re awesome and you made me happy with that story. Also because you asked. Lol.
They were eleven when they fought over a watermelon Lip Smacker. They hadn’t been friends for very long-- just a semester and were completely besotted with one another, but not enough to give up stuff for each other.
“My sister bought it for me,” Brittany insisted. She was near tears. “It was a present and she never gives me stuff. Give it back!”
Santana curled her hand around it. She knew, of course, that it was Brittany’s, but she wanted it anyway because it smelled nice, it tasted good and her mother was strict about that sort of thing. Brittany had an older sister, who, while totally bitchy to Brittany, also supplied Brittany with stuff like Benefit Lip Gloss (when Brittany’s sister had the money), Lip Smacker lip balms and Sally Hansen nail polish. Santana was the youngest child in a family of four kids and she was the only girl. Her mother was cool-- at least for a mother, but she was dead set on trying to keep Santana as young as possible, despite the fact that everyone commented on how preternaturally precocious Santana was from the time Santana learned to crawl.
Brittany wasn’t the smartest girl in the world-- in fact, when they met in homeroom on the first official day of middle school and Santana caught sight of Brittany’s class schedule which completely lacked the accelerated classes she was in, Santana promptly dismissed her. But they were on drill team together and Brittany just got it. Brittany could move in ways that Santana had never seen. Coach Evans liked crisp, military movements, but once in a while, they did routines which required them to be relaxed and fluid. Brittany could move like water. Santana had never seen a person move like that, and she’d been utterly besotted on the spot.
“Show me how you did that,” Santana breathed in lieu of an introduction, but it was as gentle of an invitation to friendship as she could extend in those days.
They became close friends and though Brittany wasn’t as gullible and happy-go-lucky as she pretended to be. But Santana caught on pretty early that Brittany just seemed to believe everything she said. Brittany’s older sister once told Brittany, “you have to go downstairs because Mom needs to give you your antibiotic for your ear infection” and Brittany looked at her and said, “are you trying to lock me out of the room again?” It turned into a ten minute spat which culminated in Brittany on her back, wailing, Brittany’s big sister pressing her knees into Brittany’s chest, cursing Brittany out and Santana pulling on Brittany’s sister’s hair in an effort to get the big oaf off Brittany. Brittany’s mother had to break them up and confirmed that Brittany indeed had to come downstairs for her ear infection medication. “Why didn’t you just believe me?” Brittany’s sister demanded.
But when it came to Santana, Brittany just believed everything she told her.
Santana wanted the watermelon Lip Smacker, though she knew it was Brittany’s. So, she lied.
“Seriously, Brit. It’s mine. My mom bought it for me. I think you just lost yours in the locker room today. You were taking forever, remember?”
Brittany looked uncertain. “But I don’t remember losing it.”
“No one remembers losing stuff, or stuff wouldn’t get lost.
“Oh,” Brittany said. She pulled her hand back. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Okay, it’s yours.”
Santana was initially triumphant, but she couldn’t feel happy when she saw the expression on Brittany’s face. She wanted to admit instantly that she lied, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit to it because she was afraid of making Brittany angry, and more importantly, she was afraid of disappointing her. She stuffed the Lip Smacker in her pocket and then took Brittany by the hand. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll get you a popsicle.”
They walked into Santana’s kitchen and Santana opened the freezer. Cherry was Brittany’s favorite flavor and Santana made sure that Brittany got cherry.
Brittany smiled and said thank-you and they dug into their popsicles and Brittany was happy again and never brought up the Lip Smacker again. Santana couldn’t bring herself to use it, so she stuffed it in her nightstand and felt guilty every time she looked at it until she finally slipped it into Brittany’s book bag during lunch one day.
She initially was happy to be able to manipulate Brittany into anything and liked having that power. But it didn’t feel right to be so pleased about it when Brittany trusted her so willingly.
--
They were fourteen when they started kissing and it led to a fight one night. It initially started out as “practicing for future boyfriends,” and it was tentative in the beginning-- just lips on lips until they started using tongue. It was awkward sometimes-- their teeth smashed together sometimes and while it was not entirely unpleasant, it was not all that satisfying either.
It wasn’t all the time. They didn’t kiss every time they got together, but they did it enough that they fight one night when Santana wanted to kiss and Brittany didn’t.
Already Santana had an inkling that she wanted something more. They both had siblings who were significantly older than they were, so the idea of sex wasn’t completely foreign to either of them. She didn’t want to push it that far-- it was scary, though she would have never admitted to being scared of anything, even back then. The prospect of it was just kind of overwhelming and sometimes, kissing Brittany was already overwhelming enough.
Santana was helping Brittany with a Social Studies assignment when she pressed her lips against Brittany’s.
Brittany was annoyed and pushed her way. “Not right now, San. I don’t always want to kiss you, you know. You have to help me with this.”
Santana pulled back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Sorry,” she huffed, but she wasn’t sorry because Brittany was usually eager to kiss her, so how was she supposed to have known? Brittany loved to procrastinate. And she was offended by that “I don’t always want to kiss you” remark.
“Why are you sorry? Just help me.”
When Santana looked back at this moment, she could recognize Brittany’s anxiety over the assignment and her fear of disappointing her parents yet again with a bad grade. But she didn’t have that kind of reflection back then, so she helped Brittany with the assignment as briskly as she could so she could leave and get home. It hurt her feelings to be rebuffed by Brittany and Brittany was one of the few people on earth who could make her feel like shit.
“Slow down, you’re doing it too fast,” Brittany pleaded. “I don’t get it.”
It wasn’t the material-- Brittany always understood content. But there was something about the act of putting what she knew to paper that things always got jumbled for her.
But Santana wanted to go home and she couldn’t go home until Brittany was situated. By the time the assignment was finished (with Santana pulling it away in exasperation and doing it for Brittany), they were both in tears.
“Why were you were mean?” Brittany asked.
“Toughen up,” Santana huffed as she stormed out.
They still hung out, but they didn’t kiss for an entire month and they didn’t really talk either. Brittany didn’t ask Santana for help with school and Santana didn’t offer.
It was Brittany who offered a small white flag. “I got an A on that assignment,” she said tentatively when they were sitting around on Santana’s bed. She leaned forward and brought her face close. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Brittany,” Santana said with a sigh. “Any time.”
Brittany pecked Santana’s lips and they started to kiss again.
--
They were fifteen by the time the touching and kissing led to sex. They’d each already lost their virginities by then-- Santana to Puck and Brittany to Mike Chang. Like a lot of things that happened between the two of them, it started by doing something that felt good and then pushing themselves to go even further.
It was also the first year they met Rachel Berry who was asked not to come back to her grades 8-12 private school for questioning authority too much. Rachel brought along all the whispers about her fathers, but she seemed completely unruffled by all the whispers and snickers.
It completely freaked Santana out though. She didn’t much care about Rachel Berry or Rachel’s feelings, which was to say Santana didn’t care at all. But it brought back the reality of living in a state that was definitely not on one of the coasts, in a city that wasn’t large enough to hold more than a smattering of gay bars. It spooked Santana and she wasn’t about to have her hard-earned popularity ripped away from her-- or Brittany’s for that matter. They went on monthly starvation diets, exercised like crazy, put out for generally untalented teenaged boys most of them who came too early and typically left them unsatisfied.
She couldn’t let go of Brittany, but she couldn’t free Brittany either. Santana had a lot of sex, and discovered that not only did she like it, but she had a talent for it, too. But the only person she really cared to make feel good was Brittany and hearing Brittany’s breathy little sighs and shuddering gasps was always the best part of her day. It didn’t matter who she fucked or who fucked her, Brittany was the only one who made her feel good. It wasn’t that the sex with other people wasn’t good-- it was. But she started to realize that there was a difference between her body feeling good and actually feeling good. She was not her body, so even when Puck, Matt or anyone else touched her, they weren’t really touching her.
But she threw a shitfit when Brittany fucked Simon Braun. Santana could accept Brittany dating and fucking Mike Chang-- Mike was a sweetheart. But Simon Braun was a piece of shit who wouldn’t appreciate Brittany.
“Simon Braun?!” Santana demanded. “What the fuck is the matter with you? Are you retarded?”
Santana didn’t mean it like that and she wasn’t calling Brittany retarded. She’d never do that, except that she did. But she didn’t mean it like that. People used that word all the time, just threw it around and it was fucked up, but it was one of those screwy colloquial things that people threw around. But Brittany spent most of her childhood being called ‘retarded’ and Brittany absolutely hated that word.
She tried to explain herself, but Brittany was so hurt and upset, she couldn’t hear anything Santana said. It was the first time Brittany refused to believe something Santana said, and no matter how much Santana apologized or said she didn’t mean it, Brittany didn’t-- or couldn’t seem to believe her.
Brittany started making out with everyone and anyone in the school who wanted her-- and that was mostly everyone. It didn’t matter-- girls, boys, Mr. Kawai (the geometry teacher who was fired for an affair with a student who was not Brittany), the school janitor or Tad (one of the bulky school security guards). People started referring to Brittany as the “dumb whore.”
In response, Santana, who always had to take it one step further, had sex with most of the guys who wanted her. She had standards, of course, she had to find them attractive, but she didn’t much care about the way they treated her, how they talked about her or if they spread the word to their friends about how easy she was. Because really, she had no problem saying “no” and she kind of liked what it did to a guy when she told him ‘no,’ because she knew that he received the message that he just wasn’t good enough, loud and clear. People started referring to her as the “mean whore.”
No one ever had the courage to say those things to their faces, but Santana knew what people said about her. But it was enough that they were too afraid to say anything within earshot, and “mean whore” was a lot better than “dyke,” “lesbo” or “gay”
So they went on that way for a while-- they kissed, they had sex and Brittany made out with everyone and Santana showed only slightly better judgment in choosing whom else to have sex with. It wasn’t ideal, and it didn’t always feel good, but it was what they had.
“Why is it like this?” Brittany whispered, one night when Santana drunkenly climbed up the tree in Brittany’s front yard to climb through Brittany’s bedroom window. Brittany’s sister had left for college a couple of years ago, and Brittany now had her own room.
“Like what?” Santana said. They had maneuvered their way to Brittany’ bed and now they were lying in it, each of them on their sides.
Brittany sighed softly, because she knew Santana knew exactly what she meant. Santana was drunk, and had the smell of some boy’s cologne all over her. If Brittany turned on the lights, she was sure she could see some boy’s teeth marks on Santana’s neck, which was exactly why she chose not to turn on the lights.
“I’m sorry,” Santana said quietly, and her voice was a little weepy but she wasn’t crying. “It didn’t mean anything.”
“I know,” Brittany said, stroking Santana’s hair. She kissed Santana’s neck and tried not to think about who had kissed Santana’s neck earlier than evening. She unbuttoned Santana’a pants and Santana shucked them off. Brittany slipped her hand between Santana’s thighs and tried not to think about who’d done the same. She just tried not to think.
“Do the others mean anything to you?” Santana breathed. She always asked the same thing, the same way, every time, as though she expected a different answer. Maybe she was afraid that the answer would change, but Brittany couldn’t anticipate a time when it would.
“You’re the only one who means anything to me,” Brittany said honestly.
“I always come home to you.”
They didn’t live together yet, of course, and normally that was the sort of figurative speech that had to be explained to Brittany. But Brittany always understood Santana and Santana never had to explain herself with Brittany. Home was where the heart was, and her heart was with Brittany, so wherever Brittany went, she’d get herself there to, one way or another. It was the one cliché that Santana could inwardly admit was true, but she never planned on conceding (out loud) that any cliché was true. She believed it though, and while she hated herself for believing that Brittany was her soul mate, because it meant she had to concede that she believed in something as ridiculous as the concept of a soulmate in the first place, she was glad that Brittany grew up six blocks away, and not in Kalahari or Amsterdam or something.
--
They were eighteen when they each have sex with someone else for the last time. They graduated from McKinley High that year and they bolt for New York City as soon as they could. Being alone together-- really alone and really together for the first time in their lives was everything they thought it would be when they were eleven years old and dreamed about what it would be like when they were older. They meet for lunch in the middle of the day, even though Santana has classes and Brittany has rehearsals and auditions, they got shopping together, they decorate their first shared apartment together as well as they can for two girls on a shoestring budget. They use milk crates for shelves and find furniture off the street to bring inside and use. They use a lot of Lysol to disinfect those Found items. But they don’t scrimp on the bed-- they buy that brand new and it’s the most comfortable bed, ever. [Years later, they will accidentally spill bong water on the bed and neither of them will feel comfortable using the bed again, so they search for a replacement but none ever feel quite so good to both of them, so they lament the loss of that bed.] They have a bright yellow clock with a red pendulum in their living room-- it’s bright and adorable, a lot like Brittany who found it while passing a flea market.
Santana thought that reality would never be as good as her imagination, so she was really surprised when reality delivered big time. They had their ups and downs like any other couple, but when they talked about how everything would be so much nicer when they were older (that Beach Boys song, ‘Wouldn’t it Be Nice’ was their secret theme song), Santana didn’t think the reality would actually be so good. Her experience always showed that reality was never as good as her hopes and dreams were, but she never wanted to tell that to Brittany, because she wanted at least one of them to believe things would be perfect.
But things actually were good. It was the first time in her life that Santana stopped thinking about the future and just enjoyed the present. Life stopped being about what would happen when she finally got out of her dam hick hometown and started being about unafraid to just be with her girl.
--
They were twenty-one when Quinn broke up with Rachel just because Quinn’s parents came back in her life and dangled the promise of family and financial assistance with tuition. Santana privately thought that Quinn was a real shit for doing it, because Quinn claimed to love Rachel more than anyone and was clearly miserable about the break-up. Quinn had done just fine without her parents since she was sixteen and Santana saw no reason for Quinn to think her life would be better with them in it.
Rachel cut them out of their lives, and it made Brittany cry which made Santana wish she could cut Rachel Berry, but Santana felt kind of bad for her, too. Rachel was doing well at Julliard and Brittany was still on some mailing list that sent out notices about plays and programs the school put on. Rachel featured heavily in them, but she never sent an invite. One day, Santana ran into Rachel just a random bit of happenstance and Rachel looked like shit--skinny, almost emaciated, and pale, she looked like she hadn’t slept in months.
“You made Brittany sad,” Santana said. It was all she had to say, because it was a threat.
“I just didn’t want to make you guys choose.”
So Quinn was the one they hung out with, despite the fact that Santana thought Quinn was the one who should be punished.
One night, Quinn watched Santana watch Brittany dance in a small club just a couple blocks away from the apartment that Santana and Brittany shared. Quinn would have thought it was pathetic-- the way Santana just watched Brittany with this look of obvious affection and adoration on her face. It was the sort of naked display of emotion that Santana allowed herself to express now that she lived in one of America’s largest cities, rather than some wee Midwestern town where everyone gossiped about the differences in others. So Quinn would have thought it was totally pathetic-- that ridiculously happy over-the-moon expression on Santana’s face-- except that Quinn was jealous. She could feel that jealousy in her bones, because God, why had she given that up?
She wished she still had someone who looked at her the way Santana looked at Brittany, because seeing that look on Santana’s face-- so much adoration that it was totally obvious that though Santana was a bad ass bitch, she was totally Brittany’s bitch, it made Quinn so jealous, she thought she’d have a heart attack.
She loved Rachel, but they were often snippy and spiteful with one another, even when things were good. But fucking Santana and Brittany were like twelve year olds in love sometimes and Quinn was routinely tempted to hit them.
Quinn saw a tiny brunette on the dance floor and Quinn craned her neck to get a closer look.
“It’s not her,” Santana said.
It wasn’t, but Quinn hated that Santana knew that she hoped it was.
“I know,” Quinn said resentfully.
“If she wanted to be in touch, she would be.”
“I know.”
Quinn hadn’t tried to reach out to Rachel or to try to stay friends after the break-up, but she thought she’d get to hear our Rachel was doing from Brittany and Santana. It didn’t work like that though.
Santana’s features softened and she put her arm around Quinn’s shoulders and put their heads together. “I’m only saying it because I love you,” Santana said, her mouth close to Quinn’s ear to be audible over the music.
“I know,” Quinn said with a sigh. She turned her head, her lips lightly brushing Santana’s ear. “It’s disturbing how soft you’ve become.”
Santana laughed and then smirked looking every bit the cocky Santana that Quinn knew. But then Brittany bounded up to them and threw her arms around both of them.
“Two of my favorite friends!”
Santana grinned like she was feeling all the love in the entire galaxy and Quinn couldn’t begrudge her that happiness because Brittany was so ridiculously endearing, that it was ludicrous.
Quinn couldn’t resist smiling back. “You’re my favorite friend, too, Brit.”
Santana gave her a dirty look. “And what am I? A prop?”
“She’s just more likable than you are.”
Santana scowled, but really, she had to concede the point. But she was sympathetic when Quinn stared at the Rachel look-alike all night.
Santana was relieved-- so very relieved that she had stopped being afraid of what other people would say about her life. She didn’t want to even think about what would have happened if she hadn’t stopped.
Fear was a real fucker and Santana hoped it would never darken her life again.
--
They were twenty two when they ran into Rachel at a restaurant. Rachel was with her boyfriend, Tim, and Rachel looked pretty good. Brittany was so happy to see Rachel that Santana almost (almost) liked Rachel a little more because of it.
Rachel came back into their lives and Santana had to admit, she was kind of happy about that. Tim was a good guy who was mad crazy in love with Rachel and while Rachel was sweet to him, Santana had always been adept at recognizing things that people tried to conceal from the rest of the world-- it was how she was so effective at terrorizing her high school classmates without actually doing anything in particular. She felt sorry for Tim (the way someone pitied a three-legged dog) because it was clear that Rachel was only with him because he was more in love with her than she was in love with him-- if she was in love with the guy at all.
When he proposed to Rachel, and she accepted, he gave her a ring that involuntarily made Santana exclaim “bling!” and Rachel’s friend, Courtenay say “Jean Claude Van Daaaaaaaamn!”
“Poor bastard,” Santana commented to Brittany that night, and she was very very glad that she’d never given Brittany up out of fear, glad that Brittany would never give her up out of fear, either, and that Brittany made it so very very clear to her that Brittany was just as in love with her as she was in love with Brittany. As far as Santana could see, that was a rarity.
“I hope she doesn’t make him too sad,” Brittany said unhappily.
“ Rachel is our friend,” Santana reminded. “And anyway, it can be her starter marriage. You know, like a dress rehearsal.”
Brittany sighed. “We’re the only thing I never had to do over. We got it right the first time.”
Santana smiled. “That’s why we’re better than everyone else.”
Brittany laughed. “Yeah.”
--
They were twenty three when they have their first major fight in five years.
It was over money, which Santana thought was a stupid thing to fight about. But they fought about it anyway. The only excuse Santana had for accusing Brittany of being selfish was that she was stressed for her new job and it was a tough economy. It turned into something more, of course, because Brittany turned it around on her and conceded that maybe she was selfish when it came to money, but Santana was selfish about everything else.
It was really hurtful because Santana would readily and happily admit to being selfish-- she lied and cheated to get what she wanted-- she was in PR and Marketing, after all. She coveted other people’s possessions. She felt her wants and needs were inherently more important than everyone else’s. She was often a selfish daughter and a selfish sister (hey, she was the youngest, smallest and the only girl, she was accustomed), but the one person with whom she tried never to allow herself to be selfish with, the one person whose needs she always tried to put above her own was Brittany.
“I’ve never been selfish with you!” Santana shouted at Brittany, which may have been overstating it a bit, but it was true often enough that it was mostly factual. She stormed out and had enough forethought to grab her shoes and clutch them to her chest as she left, but not enough to grab her purse.
She found herself walking around aimlessly. She didn’t have anywhere in particular to be and nowhere to go. So she found herself knocking on Rachel’s door.
Rachel answered the door, a little drunk and partially clothed in her underwear and tank top. She squinted at Santana and then opened the door a little wider to allow Santana to come inside. Santana trailed after Rachel, following her into the kitchen where Rachel opened the refrigerator and passed Santana a bottle of beer.
Rachel was dark and twisty since calling off her wedding to her fiancé, Tim, and getting back together with Quinn. It made Rachel do things like stare blankly at cashiers who told her to have a nice day and tell bartenders to leave the bottle. She was quieter, which was always a plus, and when she did speak, she was bluntly mean which Santana found to be hilarious and amusing except when that tactless maliciousness was directed at her.
Santana followed Rachel to the couch and sat down next her and watched a nature program about beavers which was followed by a program hilariously entitled ‘When Wind Attacks!’ (high winds creating havoc in various parts of the world).
She knew it was telling that she liked Rachel better this way-- all quiet and sullen, but she wasn’t sure if that said more about her or Rachel.
She watched Rachel’s ridiculous Discovery Channel programs (“you don’t have to think, you just watch”) and she had to admit that watching beavers build dams and wind destroy Manitoba communities was a little weirdly Zen. But she was mortified when a commercial for Excedrin featuring a blonde who looked nothing like Brittany made her think about the girl she was temporarily trying to forget. She started to get teary and she slammed her bottle of beer onto the coffee table in pure frustration. Unfortunately, she did it so hard, the glass table cracked and the bottle broke.
“You’re paying for that,” Rachel said placidly after a moment of quiet. “And you’re cleaning up.”
--
Santana wasn’t about to cry and confide in Rachel Berry-- they were friends, but Santana wasn’t a crier or a confider, and she saw no reason to start. She just wanted to watch Rachel’s TV, drink from Rachel’s vast choices in alcohol and pass the time until she could face Brittany again. It was a good thing that Rachel and Quinn were going through their own problems, because over the past few months since Rachel and Quinn got together, Rachel had become increasingly silent which meant that she didn’t ask any questions when Santana popped by unannounced at nine in the evening. It was perfect because she didn’t want to endure any questions which Rachel usually would have asked and she certainly didn’t want to use Rachel as a therapist. And really, what position was Rachel in to give advice anyway? Her relationship with Quinn was regularly in tatters.
--
She found herself telling Rachel about it once they went through Rachel’s six pack of Blue Moon and killed a bottle of pear flavored vodka with ginger ale chasers.
Rachel listened quietly and then gazed at Santana intently before she spoke.
“Well,” Rachel drawled. “Despite your tendency toward self-absorption and your total misanthropy, you’ve always been very good to Brittany.”
“That’s what I said!”
Rachel grinned at her, amused.
--
Rachel had one hand around Santana’s wrist and the other hand was rubbing her left temple. She’d put up with hours of Santana’s drunken remorseful crying, but she had her own issues that she wanted to cry and get drunk about, and Santana was getting in the way of that. She led Santana to Santana and Brittany’s front door and was surprised to see Quinn and Brittany walking down the hallway toward them. Judging by Brittany’s crying and the pained expression on Quinn’s face, Rachel surmised that Quinn must have spent the last few hours exactly the way she had: listening to someone crying.
“Hello,” Rachel greeted Brittany and Quinn politely. But she couldn’t resist smiling at Quinn or reaching out to give Brittany’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. Brittany and Santana studiously avoided one another’s eyes and Rachel fumbled through Santana’s set of keys to open the front door.
“Hi,” Quinn said softly. “I thought you were avoiding me when you didn’t pick up.”
Rachel gave her a tiny smile. “I was trying to keep Santana from falling off my balcony. She saw a pigeon and insisted she try to capture it because Brittany wanted a pet. I couldn’t convince her that a pigeon isn’t what Brittany had in mind.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” Brittany said quietly. “It would have been a Santana present.”
“See!” Santana said, drunkenly slapping Rachel’s shoulder.
“Ow,” Rachel said, giving Santana a dirty look. She finally got the door opened. “Okay, get inside you two.”
“But--”
Rachel shoved Santana inside. Santana stumbled and fell and Brittany scrambled inside to help Santana stand up again. Rachel pulled the door shut and she and Quinn made their great escape, leaving Santana and Brittany alone again.
--
“I’m sorry,” Brittany said quietly as she helped Santana up. “I’m going to step on Rachel’s head the next time I see her for this.”
“I can’t believe she thinks people would believe her when she says she’s 5’2”
“She could be the Grand Marshal in a Dwarf Parade,” Brittany agreed. She hesitated. “You aren’t selfish,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I only said it because you called me selfish. I won’t ever say that again, because it’s so untrue.”
Santana nodded. “Okay,” she said quietly. She didn’t see the point in making Brittany grovel and didn’t see why she should prolong this. If Brittany told her it wasn’t true, then it wasn’t true. “All right.” She paused. “You aren’t selfish, Brittany,” she said softly. “You’ve always put me first ever since we’ve known each other and I was an asshole to you over something as stupid as money
Brittany had a litany of examples of how Santana had put Brittany first-- beginning from when they were eleven and Santana always made sure that Brittany got the cherry Popsicles, even if that meant Santana had to have grape and Santana hated grape, whereas Brittany was indifferent to it. As they got older, Santana never minded how long it took to help Brittany with homework, if she had to give up weekend plans, a date, sleep or neglect her own assignments to help Brittany out. Santana made concessions, large and small, so often, as such a part of their mundane lives that Brittany hardly noticed. Santana hated chunky peanut butter and orange juice with pulp, but they always kept chunky peanut butter and orange juice with extra pulp because that was how Brittany liked it. Santana always made sure that Brittany was happy with a decision before it was made.
She’d come from a good family, but it was so big-- five kids and she was smack in the middle. Her older brother, older sister and younger sister distinguished themselves academically. Her baby sister was the baby-- she was nine years younger than Brittany, and eight years younger than the next youngest child. She was the classic middle child who kind of got lost in the shuffle, and she was the odd duck in her family of academics. She knew her family loved her, but occasionally, the way her family showed their love was hurtful. Santana was the first person who made her really feel loved, and it wasn’t that Santana had never hurt her-- they weren’t perfect people and they didn’t have the perfect relationship. But Santana, unlike her family, usually recognized when she was hurtful, even without Brittany having to tell her, and really tried not to do it again. That alone made Brittany believe Santana loved her-- Santana wouldn’t have had to even say it, and Brittany would have believed it. But Santana did say it, and she said it a lot, and that just kind of made it better.
“Do you really think I don’t know that you always put me first?” Brittany asked softly.
Santana’s lower lip trembled, but only for a fraction of a second. “I know you know,” she mumbled.
“I’m sorry,” Brittany said quietly.
“Me too,” Santana said. “I know you aren’t selfish, and I know you always put me first, too.”
When it came down to it, Brittany was the girl who tried to cheer her up even when she herself wasn’t feeling happy. Santana knew she was prone to being a little sullen and for whatever reason, she was just naturally a moody fuck. Rachel was right when she said Santana was prone to total misanthropy. It was just who she was. Brittany never tried to change her, in fact, Brittany seemed delighted by all the things that other people hated in her.
They were both weepy and Santana thought it was woefully pitiful, but she didn’t mind so much being woefully pitiful with Brittany, if they were making up.
--
Brittany had always been tall for her age, and sometimes, it made her the object of ridicule when she was growing up. But she felt perfect when she was with Santana because when her arms curled around Santana, she totally felt like the big spoon to Santana’s little spoon and she really wanted to be Santana’s big spoon. There were no clichés about their bodies being perfectly matched, but they were well-matched enough and they’d been together long enough where they knew one another’s bodies as well as they knew their own. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, Brittany thought about Santana and she could remember the softness of Santana’s breasts, the way the Santana’s left eyebrow felt because Brittany had a tendency to run her thumb across it and Santana overall yumminess. She thought about how Santana’s nipple felt under her fingers as it hardened or the noises Santana would make when Brittany slid one of her legs between Santana’s. She remembered how it felt when Santana rubbed wet, aroused flesh against her and Brittany couldn’t wait to get home to get Santana on the bed-- and the bed was optional.
Brittany didn’t think her life was all that extraordinary, but sometimes-- most of the time, it was delicious.