FIC: Season's Greetings From... [1/1]
Title: Season’s Greetings From…
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: R
Summary: A year’s worth of moments in the life of Brittany and Santana, set in the near future
Spoilers: through the Glee Christmas episode (which I’ve yet to see) but heard about, so probably no real spoilers for anyone who hasn’t seen it either
For mme-smitten You’re gorgeous. All my Brittana fic is for you.
--
December 31, 2016 10:20pm
“I can’t wait until 2016 fucks off,” Quinn said.
Brittany smiled. “It wasn’t so bad.”
“Yeah, it was great for us,” Santana said.
Rachel glared. “Speak for yourself, Santana Lopez.”
“That’s why I said ‘for us,’ Berry. I meant B and me. Not you.”
Rachel scowled and was clearly seconds away from a response but Quinn quickly pulled her away to a corner of the room and silenced Rachel with a kiss.
--
December 31, 2016 11:59:40pm
“Happy New Year, baby,” Santana murmured.
Brittany smiled. “Happy New Year,” she whispered.
Their lips met in a sweet New Years kiss, and Santana thought it was the perfect way to start the year.
--
January 1, 2017
Santana gathered all the cards they’d received over the season and gathered them into a pile. If she had it her way, she would have dumped them as they came in. She saw no reason to be sentimental, but Brittany plucked each one from her impatient hands and put it with flourish on the mantle above the fireplace. Santana wanted to just get rid of everything-- she saw no reason to save a greeting card from Anthony Mertzel, DDS, but whatever. Santana wanted to throw it all away, but Brittany wanted to keep everything because she was totally sentimental. She threw it all into a small box to give Brittany later to put away in Brit’s keepsake box which, given the fact that Brittany was a bit of a sentimental hoarder, had really turned into a keepsake trunk.
She walked to the kitchen to grab the card Rachel and Quinn sent which was on the refrigerator with a magnet. It wasn’t just a regular Hallmark greeting card, oh no, it was one of those lame cards families sent out with pictures of their kids doing something cute. Except, Rachel and Quinn didn’t have any kids-- they didn’t even have a pet, unless one counted the Nyokki egg pet plant they had in their kitchen window, which Santana absolutely did not. Rachel and Quinn had pictures of various moments through the year 2016 on their holiday card-- opening night from a play Rachel was in, a trip to London, pictures from both their birthday parties and one picture with the two of them simply smiling into the camera. Santana thought it was disgusting. She ripped it from the refrigerator, and was tempted to throw it away, but it was the one Brittany liked best, which is why it took an esteemed place on the refrigerator right next to the menu from Santana’s favorite delivery restaurant.
Brittany’s dog trotted up to her, waggling his tail and trying to garner her attention.
Santana gently pushed the little mutt away with her foot. “Buster, stop being a whore dog,” she said crossly as she snatched the greeting card from the refrigerator. Rachel had always been a dweeb, but apparently, she’d managed to convert Quinn, too. Santana hoped it wasn’t contagious. That card was just ridiculous.
“We’re doing one this year!” Brittany called out to her.
“Like hell,” Santana huffed.
After all, she had almost an entire year to make Brit forget. But today, she planned to just enjoy her day off work, get drunk with her girl, watch some porn and have loads of drunken sex. And well, after a couple of bottles of wine and way too easy access to a digital camera, Santana had the pictures to prove what an amazing start she had to the New Year.
--
February 14, 2017
Last year’s Valentine’s Day had been amazing. Brittany was on tour in Paris and Santana managed to arrange a trip through work to get to Paris, so she didn’t even have to pay for airfare or hotel fees.
This year would not be nearly as interesting, but at least Santana would have her girl.
Santana was opening a bottle of champagne and like it was out of a fucking sitcom, the cork flew off and hit Brittany right in the eye. And like out of a sitcom, Brittany shrieked and Santana gasped and clutched her hand over her mouth.
Brittany looked like a pirate for two weeks, but she made Santana take a picture of her, because Brittany was a commemorator. At least she didn’t scrapbook like Rachel fucking Berry. Santana wanted to balk when Brittany called her over so they could take a picture together, but she had temporarily blinded her girlfriend, so Santana thought it was she least she could do because she really did feel so guilty, she could cry.
So she gamely posed for the camera as her Cyclopsed girlfriend held up the camera to their face and snapped a few photographs.
--
March 17, 2017
Brittany was about as Dutch as they came (though she had a Scandinavian great-grandmother originally from St. Olaf, Minnesota, currently living in Miami), but every time there was some ethnic holiday, Brittany liked to claim she was part whatever. During Lunar New Year, Brittany liked to claim she was part Asian when they went to Chinatown to watch the parade and used that as an excuse to steal rice cakes and cups of soju, sake or plum wine.
On St. Patrick’s Day, Brittany liked to claim she was part Irish and get drunk. Santana always joined in, because, shit, why not?
This particular St. Patrick’s Day, Brittany and Santana were drunk and stumbled back to their apartment where they thought it would be a good idea to give one another home haircuts.
It was not.
--
March 18, 2017
Rachel and Quinn howled with laughter when they dropped by the next day to check in on them. They laughed so hard, they were practically falling all over one another.
“I will glass you both!” Santana threatened.
Quinn smirked. “How…how will you see?” she asked, her voice wavering from laughter. “You know, with your bangs being in your eyes and all.”
Quinn couldn’t stop herself from laughing and she burst into hysterics, which obviously made Rachel shriek with laughter, too.
Santana had no idea what possessed her to let Brittany give her bangs, but she had to wonder if Brittany was a little evil. But looking at Brittany looking pensive and sad with her uneven haircut (and oh man, it was bad, Santana thought alcohol was the true evil.
Damn free green drinks.
Rachel snapped a picture of them with her camera phone and laughed gleefully. Santana lunged for her and Rachel shrieked and hid behind Quinn.
“Watch it, Lopez,” Quinn said, pointing her finger warningly. “I’ll glass you.”
--
April 15, 2017
Standing in line at nearly midnight at the postal office on tax day because Brittany forgot to file and couldn’t seem to do it online, Santana knew it had to be love. It just had to be.
Like she ever had any doubt.
Brittany gave her a sheepish smile. “Thanks for coming with me, baby.”
Santana tried not to smile because she was supposed to be mad. “It’s not like I want you running around at midnight.”
Like hell she’d want her tall, gorgeous blindingly blond girlfriend running around at midnight without her.
“Please don’t be so disappointed, baby,” Brittany pleaded.”I’m sorry I’m not better.”
Santana tried not to be annoyed. She usually did Brittany’s taxes for her, but they had a big argument about it in February once they got their W-2 forms because Brittany insisted she was an adult who could handle it herself. So Santana tried not to nag outside of a few gentle reminders, but Brittany forgot and now here they were.
“I’m not disappointed, Brit,” Santana said softly. “And you’re perfect. You’re my girl, you know? Of course you’re perfect.”
“I’m sorry,” Brittany repeated, her eyes wide, watery and enormous.
“It’s okay, Brit,” Santana said softly. “Really.” She smiled at Brittany and her smile widened and deepened when Brittany smiled back.
When they got out, some reporter doing the annual news story about people waiting until the last minute to file their taxes shoved a microphone in her face.
“Fuck off,” Santana snapped, pushing past the reporter and her cameras, so she and Brittany could walk to her car.
They got home to find police and fire trucks outside their building. The apartment next door caught on fire and it spread to their unit. There was mostly structural damage, but they’d still lost quite a few items.
“I’m sorry, San,” Brittany said miserably.
“You didn’t start the fire, B.”
Damn it. Now she had Billy Joel in her head.
So she forced to brave the post office on tax day, their apartment caught on fire, she got Billy Joel stuck in her head, and the next day, there was a picture of her and Brittany walking away from the post office toward her car and she had such a scowl on her face, she looked constipated (Brit looked great though). But the worst part of it all was showing up on Rachel and Quinn’s door, asking if she and Brit could couch surf for a while.
Santana hated life.
--
May 29, 2017
Santana Lopez was going to kill Rachel Berry. She’d watched enough Dexter and Forensic Files to get away with it, and even if she got caught, it would be worth it to kill that loud little midget.
Okay, fine. So her murderous intent was whole-hearted, but the actual desire and drive to complete the murder was (mostly) half-hearted. But what the hell was Berry thinking when she suggested they all go camping through Memorial Day weekend?
Fucking for real? And of course, Quinn supported Rachel in everything, even the most ridiculous and Brittany was game for everything, which is how Santana got stuck camping without a single amenity to which she was so accustomed.
It was, of course, predictably a disaster. Camping was the sort of cliché activity Rachel wanted to do in theory rather than in actual practice. And well, they were all 23, except for Rachel who was still a piddly 22. It’s not like any of them had any money, again, except for Rachel, because she was a series regular on some popular TV show and so Santana thought the annoying little brunette could have sprung for some better accommodations. But, no. It was hardcore camping with tents and propane stoves and shit.
After the first morning, they all woke up groaning because somehow, each one of them had ended up sleeping on a rock.
The whole thing was a disaster and so of course, Santana couldn’t take it anymore and chased Rachel across the campgrounds with a spiral hairbrush.
“I’m not afraid of a hairbrush!” Rachel shrieked as she ran.
“I’ll shank you with it!” Santana shrieked back as she chased after her.
Quinn took a picture while Brittany captured video footage.
And then…Santana tripped over a fucking rock and fell down, releasing an unintentionally frightened shriek as she went down and skinned her knees. Rachel instantly stopped running and trotted back to Santana and cautiously crouched beside her.
“Are you all right?”
Santana kicked Rachel in the shin as hard as she could. “I hate you!”
Quinn and Brittany just laughed as their girls sat in the ground, cursing at each other, growling in pain and generally looking very dissatisfied.
June 17, 2017
Brittany had a thing for small strays (how else to explain her mysterious fascination with Rachel?) and though Santana always wanted to roll her eyes every time Brittany brought home some small puppy or whatever, she did find Brittany endlessly endearing.
Until Brittany brought home some tiny, hyper mutt that annoyed even Buster, the Whore Dog. Brittany named this dog Remy, and Santana knew the little devil dog was trouble from the second Brittany brought it home. Remy the Devil Dog bit her when Brittany wasn’t looking and when Santana insisted the dog did it on purpose, Brittany laughed and told her she was being ridiculous.
Two weeks after Brittany brought home Remy the Devil Dog, Brittany was in love, but Santana and Buster were in agony.
Then Remy the Devil Dog got diarrhea badly enough to need a diaper and all Brittany did was laugh and snap a picture of Remy in her diaper looking downright cheerful.
Santana hated that dog. She knew that mongrel did it on purpose. And good God, she loved Brittany, how else to explain cleaning up vile dog shit of a dog she hated?
July 4, 2017
It was the most terrifying moment of her life when she got a call on a Tuesday afternoon.
Brittany was off rehearsing for some fucking Fourth of July festival, and Santana was really happy for her, but she wasn’t looking forward to having to deal with the crowds later that evening. She was nursing an ice-cold glass of orange juice which she kind of wished had vodka in it or was replaced with beer, but it seemed a little early for it.
Her phone rang and all she heard was some stranger saying “Brittany” and “accident.”
Her heart pounded long after she was assured that Brittany was mostly okay, but she’d probably broken her leg and she was now at Cedars-Sinai. Santana released a silent prayer thanking God that her girl was alive, but it was immediately replaced by profound worry-- a dancer breaking her leg? It sounded like one of the worst things that could have happened.
She was in such a rush to get to Brittany, that she ran down the stairs of her building instead of taking the perennially broken elevator in which every moment felt eternal in the rare moments of functionality, and immediately slipped.
In the Emergency Room, she and Brittany were put in the same room. Brittany had broken her left leg, and Santana had broken her right.
Quinn stared at them in disbelief. “You don’t have to do everything as a couple.”
Santana was in pain, weary and semi-drugged and so she thought she was hallucinating when she saw Quinn wearing a sparkly red, white striped top hat with blue stars on it. “Neither do you,” she said pointedly because Rachel chose that precise moment to walk into the room after unleashing a rant about appropriate medical care on the doctors and nurses treating them. Santana hoped no one spat in the food at hospitals just because a patient had whiny, demanding friends.
Once Rachel and Quinn were gone, Brittany stretched her arm toward her.
“I love you,” Brittany murmured.
Maybe it was the pain meds, maybe it was seeing Brittany clearly hurt and in pain, but Santana couldn’t help it-- she burst into tears.
“You broke your leg, Brit!”
Brittany gave her a tiny smile. “It’s okay, bones heal, San. And you broke your leg, too.”
“But you’re a dancer.”
Brittany chuckled. “You don’t have to keep reminding me of things, babe. I remember I’m a dancer,” she joked lightly.
Santana laughed shakily. She knew the break in Brittany’s leg wasn’t bad-- in fact, as it turned out, the break in her leg was worse, because she had multiple breaks while Brittany had one relatively clean, relatively minor break. But Santana would have rather broken both her legs than Brittany even sprain an ankle. Brittany was a dancer who loved what she did and Santana couldn’t bear the idea of anything happening to Brittany that would prevent her from doing something she really wanted or loved to do.
“What’s going to happen to you now?” Santana asked quietly.
Brittany could have played dumb at that moment-- she kind of wanted to. She wanted to say something jokey like, “I’ll get Rachel to steal some Jell-o for us and then we’ll go to sleep!” but she couldn’t joke when Santana was being so sincere. “We’ll do physical therapy together,” she murmured. “It’ll be all right, San. In a couple months, it’ll be like I never broke it at all. Don’t worry about me, baby, okay?”
“But--”
“Don’t worry about me, baby,” Brittany repeated. “I’ll take care of you, and you’ll take care of me and we’ll get Rachel and Quinn to do all the hard stuff. You know how Rachel likes to feel useful. I bet we can even get her to bring us coffee at 5am on a Saturday.”
Santana made a face. “Do not have her come over before 11am on any day.”
Brittany laughed softly. She’d been in a curtained off area in the Emergency Room waiting to be put into a room when they brought Santana in. She caught a glimpse of dark hair and a familiar white UCLA t-shirt and red shorts and she’d been so startled by that moment of recognition, that she tried to sit up which only made the pain worse.
“That’s my girlfriend! What happened to her?! That’s my girlfriend! Santana! Santana!”
But Santana was quiet, staring straight up at the ceiling, and crying softly.
“Santana!” Brittany pleaded. “Santana!”
It’d been the most terrifying moment of Brittany’s life.
But hours later, they were in the same hospital room and while they were both in pain, at least Santana was able to speak again. It’d been terrifying to see Santana in so much pain, she couldn’t even speak, couldn’t even scream. Brittany didn’t give a shit about her leg-- the hospital could take it for all she cared, but if she could help it, she would make sure she’d never see Santana in so much pain again.
August 10, 2017
Santana thought the one good thing about breaking her leg in three places was that Rachel perfectly okay with servitude.
She watched, utterly amused but suppressing a laugh as Remy the Devil Dog repeatedly and strenuously tried to hump Rachel’s leg as Rachel cleaned the apartment. Rachel tried to be polite and discreet about it, shooing the dog away, but it was still hilarious and Rachel’s discomfort was even more amusing.
Brittany let out a chuckle as they watched Remy climb on Rachel’s back as Rachel was on her hands and knees tidying up their shoe rack. The dog immediately began feverishly humping Rachel’s back and Rachel sighed with exasperation and managed to pull herself away.
Santana looked at her and they exchanged quiet high-fives.
Santana loved her girl and she was kind of starting to love that fucking devil dog.
September 7, 2017
Brittany’s cast finally came off, although Santana’s was still on. The second Brittany’s cast came off, the blonde was on one knee, reaching into her pocket.
“Marry me,” Brittany murmured. “This year has been pretty bad, San. Say you’ll marry me and let’s get at least one thing right.”
It was the fucking pain meds she was taking acting up again, because otherwise, why would Santana cry for any other purpose other than avoiding a speeding ticket?
“Of course I’ll marry you,” Santana said, wiping at her eyes.
October 31, 2017
On a lark, they decided to go to Las Vegas for Halloween.
It was the stupidest fucking thing they ever decided to do, and they both had the mug shots to prove it.
But what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
All Santana had to say for herself was that the next time some ugly oaf hit on Brittany and she told the guy he better fuck off before she kicked his ass, that guy better believe her.
November 23, 2017
Santana loathed holiday travel, but she always gave in because Brittany wanted to see their families. Their families were both large-- Santana’s parents were still together and Santana was the only girl in a family of five children. Brittany’s parents were still together, too, and she was the third child in a family of four children. The Pierce and Lopez families held a joint Thanksgiving dinner together every year since 2006.
“Let’s make a toast to our girls’ engagement,” Mr. Pierce boomed. “Brittany, open another bottle of champagne, won’t you?”
“Sure, dad.”
Santana was helping her mother serve some pie as she watched Brittany struggle with opening the bottle.
“Need help, B?”
“I got it, S.”
Seconds later a cork came sailing toward Santana’s face. She wasn’t quick enough to avoid it.
It hit her right in the eye.
There was stunned gasps and then silence.
“Motherfucker,” Santana cursed, grabbing her eye.
“Santana,” her mother said finally. “Language.”
Santana looked like a pirate for a week.
December 3, 2017
They were at Target at one of those photo kiosks. Santana begrudgingly agreed to make one of those lame greeting cards that families typically sent out the way Rachel and Quinn did the year before. 2016 had been particularly unkind to Rachel and Quinn, but one couldn’t tell it from that greeting card they sent out with the requisite “we wish you love and happiness in the upcoming year-- Happy Holidays from Rachel and Quinn!” Santana saw no reason to put up with any pretences--everyone who knew them knew what a crappy year they had.
So she and Brittany selected a few choice pictures:
The picture of Brittany looking like a pirate, the picture of Santana looking like a pirate, the picture of the two of them with their sad ass drunken home haircuts, the picture of the two of them with their matching broken legs, a picture of their burnt apartment and a picture of Buster and poor Remy the Devil Dog with a diaper on
“What should we write?” Brittany asked.
“We hope your year sucked as much as ours?” Santana suggested.
Brittany swatted at Santana’s hand. “No!”
“Be grateful your year didn’t suck as much as ours?”
Brittany giggled. “No!”
“Rachel and Quinn, we blame you for jinxing us?”
Brittany chortled and she pretended to think about it. “How about ‘we hope you had a better year than we did’,” she suggested.
“But we don’t,” Santana pointed out.
Brittany laughed warmly and she put her arm around Santana, nuzzling Santana’s cheek. “I love you,” she said fondly.
Santana sighed. “Fine. ‘We hope you had a better year than we did,’ it is,” she agreed grudgingly.
Brittany smiled and began typing that out.
“You can even add ‘Love, Brittany and Santana.’”
Brittany beamed. “You’re being a really good sport about this.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t really want anyone’s year to suck as much as ours did this year.”
Brittany leaned in close. “I can’t wait to get you home and play ‘Honeymoon,’ San.”
Santana swallowed hard. They were getting married next year, but Brittany wanted to get a jumpstart on married life, so their favorite new game was ‘Honeymoon.’ Santana really liked it. With a future with Brit to look forward to, Santana knew without a doubt that next year would be better.
“We’ll give new meaning to ‘here comes the bride,’ Brittany,” Santana promised.
Brittany just looked at her, eyes suddenly darker, pupils suddenly larger. “Let’s go home.”
Santana had no problem with that.
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: R
Summary: A year’s worth of moments in the life of Brittany and Santana, set in the near future
Spoilers: through the Glee Christmas episode (which I’ve yet to see) but heard about, so probably no real spoilers for anyone who hasn’t seen it either
For mme-smitten You’re gorgeous. All my Brittana fic is for you.
--
December 31, 2016 10:20pm
“I can’t wait until 2016 fucks off,” Quinn said.
Brittany smiled. “It wasn’t so bad.”
“Yeah, it was great for us,” Santana said.
Rachel glared. “Speak for yourself, Santana Lopez.”
“That’s why I said ‘for us,’ Berry. I meant B and me. Not you.”
Rachel scowled and was clearly seconds away from a response but Quinn quickly pulled her away to a corner of the room and silenced Rachel with a kiss.
--
December 31, 2016 11:59:40pm
“Happy New Year, baby,” Santana murmured.
Brittany smiled. “Happy New Year,” she whispered.
Their lips met in a sweet New Years kiss, and Santana thought it was the perfect way to start the year.
--
January 1, 2017
Santana gathered all the cards they’d received over the season and gathered them into a pile. If she had it her way, she would have dumped them as they came in. She saw no reason to be sentimental, but Brittany plucked each one from her impatient hands and put it with flourish on the mantle above the fireplace. Santana wanted to just get rid of everything-- she saw no reason to save a greeting card from Anthony Mertzel, DDS, but whatever. Santana wanted to throw it all away, but Brittany wanted to keep everything because she was totally sentimental. She threw it all into a small box to give Brittany later to put away in Brit’s keepsake box which, given the fact that Brittany was a bit of a sentimental hoarder, had really turned into a keepsake trunk.
She walked to the kitchen to grab the card Rachel and Quinn sent which was on the refrigerator with a magnet. It wasn’t just a regular Hallmark greeting card, oh no, it was one of those lame cards families sent out with pictures of their kids doing something cute. Except, Rachel and Quinn didn’t have any kids-- they didn’t even have a pet, unless one counted the Nyokki egg pet plant they had in their kitchen window, which Santana absolutely did not. Rachel and Quinn had pictures of various moments through the year 2016 on their holiday card-- opening night from a play Rachel was in, a trip to London, pictures from both their birthday parties and one picture with the two of them simply smiling into the camera. Santana thought it was disgusting. She ripped it from the refrigerator, and was tempted to throw it away, but it was the one Brittany liked best, which is why it took an esteemed place on the refrigerator right next to the menu from Santana’s favorite delivery restaurant.
Brittany’s dog trotted up to her, waggling his tail and trying to garner her attention.
Santana gently pushed the little mutt away with her foot. “Buster, stop being a whore dog,” she said crossly as she snatched the greeting card from the refrigerator. Rachel had always been a dweeb, but apparently, she’d managed to convert Quinn, too. Santana hoped it wasn’t contagious. That card was just ridiculous.
“We’re doing one this year!” Brittany called out to her.
“Like hell,” Santana huffed.
After all, she had almost an entire year to make Brit forget. But today, she planned to just enjoy her day off work, get drunk with her girl, watch some porn and have loads of drunken sex. And well, after a couple of bottles of wine and way too easy access to a digital camera, Santana had the pictures to prove what an amazing start she had to the New Year.
--
February 14, 2017
Last year’s Valentine’s Day had been amazing. Brittany was on tour in Paris and Santana managed to arrange a trip through work to get to Paris, so she didn’t even have to pay for airfare or hotel fees.
This year would not be nearly as interesting, but at least Santana would have her girl.
Santana was opening a bottle of champagne and like it was out of a fucking sitcom, the cork flew off and hit Brittany right in the eye. And like out of a sitcom, Brittany shrieked and Santana gasped and clutched her hand over her mouth.
Brittany looked like a pirate for two weeks, but she made Santana take a picture of her, because Brittany was a commemorator. At least she didn’t scrapbook like Rachel fucking Berry. Santana wanted to balk when Brittany called her over so they could take a picture together, but she had temporarily blinded her girlfriend, so Santana thought it was she least she could do because she really did feel so guilty, she could cry.
So she gamely posed for the camera as her Cyclopsed girlfriend held up the camera to their face and snapped a few photographs.
--
March 17, 2017
Brittany was about as Dutch as they came (though she had a Scandinavian great-grandmother originally from St. Olaf, Minnesota, currently living in Miami), but every time there was some ethnic holiday, Brittany liked to claim she was part whatever. During Lunar New Year, Brittany liked to claim she was part Asian when they went to Chinatown to watch the parade and used that as an excuse to steal rice cakes and cups of soju, sake or plum wine.
On St. Patrick’s Day, Brittany liked to claim she was part Irish and get drunk. Santana always joined in, because, shit, why not?
This particular St. Patrick’s Day, Brittany and Santana were drunk and stumbled back to their apartment where they thought it would be a good idea to give one another home haircuts.
It was not.
--
March 18, 2017
Rachel and Quinn howled with laughter when they dropped by the next day to check in on them. They laughed so hard, they were practically falling all over one another.
“I will glass you both!” Santana threatened.
Quinn smirked. “How…how will you see?” she asked, her voice wavering from laughter. “You know, with your bangs being in your eyes and all.”
Quinn couldn’t stop herself from laughing and she burst into hysterics, which obviously made Rachel shriek with laughter, too.
Santana had no idea what possessed her to let Brittany give her bangs, but she had to wonder if Brittany was a little evil. But looking at Brittany looking pensive and sad with her uneven haircut (and oh man, it was bad, Santana thought alcohol was the true evil.
Damn free green drinks.
Rachel snapped a picture of them with her camera phone and laughed gleefully. Santana lunged for her and Rachel shrieked and hid behind Quinn.
“Watch it, Lopez,” Quinn said, pointing her finger warningly. “I’ll glass you.”
--
April 15, 2017
Standing in line at nearly midnight at the postal office on tax day because Brittany forgot to file and couldn’t seem to do it online, Santana knew it had to be love. It just had to be.
Like she ever had any doubt.
Brittany gave her a sheepish smile. “Thanks for coming with me, baby.”
Santana tried not to smile because she was supposed to be mad. “It’s not like I want you running around at midnight.”
Like hell she’d want her tall, gorgeous blindingly blond girlfriend running around at midnight without her.
“Please don’t be so disappointed, baby,” Brittany pleaded.”I’m sorry I’m not better.”
Santana tried not to be annoyed. She usually did Brittany’s taxes for her, but they had a big argument about it in February once they got their W-2 forms because Brittany insisted she was an adult who could handle it herself. So Santana tried not to nag outside of a few gentle reminders, but Brittany forgot and now here they were.
“I’m not disappointed, Brit,” Santana said softly. “And you’re perfect. You’re my girl, you know? Of course you’re perfect.”
“I’m sorry,” Brittany repeated, her eyes wide, watery and enormous.
“It’s okay, Brit,” Santana said softly. “Really.” She smiled at Brittany and her smile widened and deepened when Brittany smiled back.
When they got out, some reporter doing the annual news story about people waiting until the last minute to file their taxes shoved a microphone in her face.
“Fuck off,” Santana snapped, pushing past the reporter and her cameras, so she and Brittany could walk to her car.
They got home to find police and fire trucks outside their building. The apartment next door caught on fire and it spread to their unit. There was mostly structural damage, but they’d still lost quite a few items.
“I’m sorry, San,” Brittany said miserably.
“You didn’t start the fire, B.”
Damn it. Now she had Billy Joel in her head.
So she forced to brave the post office on tax day, their apartment caught on fire, she got Billy Joel stuck in her head, and the next day, there was a picture of her and Brittany walking away from the post office toward her car and she had such a scowl on her face, she looked constipated (Brit looked great though). But the worst part of it all was showing up on Rachel and Quinn’s door, asking if she and Brit could couch surf for a while.
Santana hated life.
--
May 29, 2017
Santana Lopez was going to kill Rachel Berry. She’d watched enough Dexter and Forensic Files to get away with it, and even if she got caught, it would be worth it to kill that loud little midget.
Okay, fine. So her murderous intent was whole-hearted, but the actual desire and drive to complete the murder was (mostly) half-hearted. But what the hell was Berry thinking when she suggested they all go camping through Memorial Day weekend?
Fucking for real? And of course, Quinn supported Rachel in everything, even the most ridiculous and Brittany was game for everything, which is how Santana got stuck camping without a single amenity to which she was so accustomed.
It was, of course, predictably a disaster. Camping was the sort of cliché activity Rachel wanted to do in theory rather than in actual practice. And well, they were all 23, except for Rachel who was still a piddly 22. It’s not like any of them had any money, again, except for Rachel, because she was a series regular on some popular TV show and so Santana thought the annoying little brunette could have sprung for some better accommodations. But, no. It was hardcore camping with tents and propane stoves and shit.
After the first morning, they all woke up groaning because somehow, each one of them had ended up sleeping on a rock.
The whole thing was a disaster and so of course, Santana couldn’t take it anymore and chased Rachel across the campgrounds with a spiral hairbrush.
“I’m not afraid of a hairbrush!” Rachel shrieked as she ran.
“I’ll shank you with it!” Santana shrieked back as she chased after her.
Quinn took a picture while Brittany captured video footage.
And then…Santana tripped over a fucking rock and fell down, releasing an unintentionally frightened shriek as she went down and skinned her knees. Rachel instantly stopped running and trotted back to Santana and cautiously crouched beside her.
“Are you all right?”
Santana kicked Rachel in the shin as hard as she could. “I hate you!”
Quinn and Brittany just laughed as their girls sat in the ground, cursing at each other, growling in pain and generally looking very dissatisfied.
June 17, 2017
Brittany had a thing for small strays (how else to explain her mysterious fascination with Rachel?) and though Santana always wanted to roll her eyes every time Brittany brought home some small puppy or whatever, she did find Brittany endlessly endearing.
Until Brittany brought home some tiny, hyper mutt that annoyed even Buster, the Whore Dog. Brittany named this dog Remy, and Santana knew the little devil dog was trouble from the second Brittany brought it home. Remy the Devil Dog bit her when Brittany wasn’t looking and when Santana insisted the dog did it on purpose, Brittany laughed and told her she was being ridiculous.
Two weeks after Brittany brought home Remy the Devil Dog, Brittany was in love, but Santana and Buster were in agony.
Then Remy the Devil Dog got diarrhea badly enough to need a diaper and all Brittany did was laugh and snap a picture of Remy in her diaper looking downright cheerful.
Santana hated that dog. She knew that mongrel did it on purpose. And good God, she loved Brittany, how else to explain cleaning up vile dog shit of a dog she hated?
July 4, 2017
It was the most terrifying moment of her life when she got a call on a Tuesday afternoon.
Brittany was off rehearsing for some fucking Fourth of July festival, and Santana was really happy for her, but she wasn’t looking forward to having to deal with the crowds later that evening. She was nursing an ice-cold glass of orange juice which she kind of wished had vodka in it or was replaced with beer, but it seemed a little early for it.
Her phone rang and all she heard was some stranger saying “Brittany” and “accident.”
Her heart pounded long after she was assured that Brittany was mostly okay, but she’d probably broken her leg and she was now at Cedars-Sinai. Santana released a silent prayer thanking God that her girl was alive, but it was immediately replaced by profound worry-- a dancer breaking her leg? It sounded like one of the worst things that could have happened.
She was in such a rush to get to Brittany, that she ran down the stairs of her building instead of taking the perennially broken elevator in which every moment felt eternal in the rare moments of functionality, and immediately slipped.
In the Emergency Room, she and Brittany were put in the same room. Brittany had broken her left leg, and Santana had broken her right.
Quinn stared at them in disbelief. “You don’t have to do everything as a couple.”
Santana was in pain, weary and semi-drugged and so she thought she was hallucinating when she saw Quinn wearing a sparkly red, white striped top hat with blue stars on it. “Neither do you,” she said pointedly because Rachel chose that precise moment to walk into the room after unleashing a rant about appropriate medical care on the doctors and nurses treating them. Santana hoped no one spat in the food at hospitals just because a patient had whiny, demanding friends.
Once Rachel and Quinn were gone, Brittany stretched her arm toward her.
“I love you,” Brittany murmured.
Maybe it was the pain meds, maybe it was seeing Brittany clearly hurt and in pain, but Santana couldn’t help it-- she burst into tears.
“You broke your leg, Brit!”
Brittany gave her a tiny smile. “It’s okay, bones heal, San. And you broke your leg, too.”
“But you’re a dancer.”
Brittany chuckled. “You don’t have to keep reminding me of things, babe. I remember I’m a dancer,” she joked lightly.
Santana laughed shakily. She knew the break in Brittany’s leg wasn’t bad-- in fact, as it turned out, the break in her leg was worse, because she had multiple breaks while Brittany had one relatively clean, relatively minor break. But Santana would have rather broken both her legs than Brittany even sprain an ankle. Brittany was a dancer who loved what she did and Santana couldn’t bear the idea of anything happening to Brittany that would prevent her from doing something she really wanted or loved to do.
“What’s going to happen to you now?” Santana asked quietly.
Brittany could have played dumb at that moment-- she kind of wanted to. She wanted to say something jokey like, “I’ll get Rachel to steal some Jell-o for us and then we’ll go to sleep!” but she couldn’t joke when Santana was being so sincere. “We’ll do physical therapy together,” she murmured. “It’ll be all right, San. In a couple months, it’ll be like I never broke it at all. Don’t worry about me, baby, okay?”
“But--”
“Don’t worry about me, baby,” Brittany repeated. “I’ll take care of you, and you’ll take care of me and we’ll get Rachel and Quinn to do all the hard stuff. You know how Rachel likes to feel useful. I bet we can even get her to bring us coffee at 5am on a Saturday.”
Santana made a face. “Do not have her come over before 11am on any day.”
Brittany laughed softly. She’d been in a curtained off area in the Emergency Room waiting to be put into a room when they brought Santana in. She caught a glimpse of dark hair and a familiar white UCLA t-shirt and red shorts and she’d been so startled by that moment of recognition, that she tried to sit up which only made the pain worse.
“That’s my girlfriend! What happened to her?! That’s my girlfriend! Santana! Santana!”
But Santana was quiet, staring straight up at the ceiling, and crying softly.
“Santana!” Brittany pleaded. “Santana!”
It’d been the most terrifying moment of Brittany’s life.
But hours later, they were in the same hospital room and while they were both in pain, at least Santana was able to speak again. It’d been terrifying to see Santana in so much pain, she couldn’t even speak, couldn’t even scream. Brittany didn’t give a shit about her leg-- the hospital could take it for all she cared, but if she could help it, she would make sure she’d never see Santana in so much pain again.
August 10, 2017
Santana thought the one good thing about breaking her leg in three places was that Rachel perfectly okay with servitude.
She watched, utterly amused but suppressing a laugh as Remy the Devil Dog repeatedly and strenuously tried to hump Rachel’s leg as Rachel cleaned the apartment. Rachel tried to be polite and discreet about it, shooing the dog away, but it was still hilarious and Rachel’s discomfort was even more amusing.
Brittany let out a chuckle as they watched Remy climb on Rachel’s back as Rachel was on her hands and knees tidying up their shoe rack. The dog immediately began feverishly humping Rachel’s back and Rachel sighed with exasperation and managed to pull herself away.
Santana looked at her and they exchanged quiet high-fives.
Santana loved her girl and she was kind of starting to love that fucking devil dog.
September 7, 2017
Brittany’s cast finally came off, although Santana’s was still on. The second Brittany’s cast came off, the blonde was on one knee, reaching into her pocket.
“Marry me,” Brittany murmured. “This year has been pretty bad, San. Say you’ll marry me and let’s get at least one thing right.”
It was the fucking pain meds she was taking acting up again, because otherwise, why would Santana cry for any other purpose other than avoiding a speeding ticket?
“Of course I’ll marry you,” Santana said, wiping at her eyes.
October 31, 2017
On a lark, they decided to go to Las Vegas for Halloween.
It was the stupidest fucking thing they ever decided to do, and they both had the mug shots to prove it.
But what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
All Santana had to say for herself was that the next time some ugly oaf hit on Brittany and she told the guy he better fuck off before she kicked his ass, that guy better believe her.
November 23, 2017
Santana loathed holiday travel, but she always gave in because Brittany wanted to see their families. Their families were both large-- Santana’s parents were still together and Santana was the only girl in a family of five children. Brittany’s parents were still together, too, and she was the third child in a family of four children. The Pierce and Lopez families held a joint Thanksgiving dinner together every year since 2006.
“Let’s make a toast to our girls’ engagement,” Mr. Pierce boomed. “Brittany, open another bottle of champagne, won’t you?”
“Sure, dad.”
Santana was helping her mother serve some pie as she watched Brittany struggle with opening the bottle.
“Need help, B?”
“I got it, S.”
Seconds later a cork came sailing toward Santana’s face. She wasn’t quick enough to avoid it.
It hit her right in the eye.
There was stunned gasps and then silence.
“Motherfucker,” Santana cursed, grabbing her eye.
“Santana,” her mother said finally. “Language.”
Santana looked like a pirate for a week.
December 3, 2017
They were at Target at one of those photo kiosks. Santana begrudgingly agreed to make one of those lame greeting cards that families typically sent out the way Rachel and Quinn did the year before. 2016 had been particularly unkind to Rachel and Quinn, but one couldn’t tell it from that greeting card they sent out with the requisite “we wish you love and happiness in the upcoming year-- Happy Holidays from Rachel and Quinn!” Santana saw no reason to put up with any pretences--everyone who knew them knew what a crappy year they had.
So she and Brittany selected a few choice pictures:
The picture of Brittany looking like a pirate, the picture of Santana looking like a pirate, the picture of the two of them with their sad ass drunken home haircuts, the picture of the two of them with their matching broken legs, a picture of their burnt apartment and a picture of Buster and poor Remy the Devil Dog with a diaper on
“What should we write?” Brittany asked.
“We hope your year sucked as much as ours?” Santana suggested.
Brittany swatted at Santana’s hand. “No!”
“Be grateful your year didn’t suck as much as ours?”
Brittany giggled. “No!”
“Rachel and Quinn, we blame you for jinxing us?”
Brittany chortled and she pretended to think about it. “How about ‘we hope you had a better year than we did’,” she suggested.
“But we don’t,” Santana pointed out.
Brittany laughed warmly and she put her arm around Santana, nuzzling Santana’s cheek. “I love you,” she said fondly.
Santana sighed. “Fine. ‘We hope you had a better year than we did,’ it is,” she agreed grudgingly.
Brittany smiled and began typing that out.
“You can even add ‘Love, Brittany and Santana.’”
Brittany beamed. “You’re being a really good sport about this.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t really want anyone’s year to suck as much as ours did this year.”
Brittany leaned in close. “I can’t wait to get you home and play ‘Honeymoon,’ San.”
Santana swallowed hard. They were getting married next year, but Brittany wanted to get a jumpstart on married life, so their favorite new game was ‘Honeymoon.’ Santana really liked it. With a future with Brit to look forward to, Santana knew without a doubt that next year would be better.
“We’ll give new meaning to ‘here comes the bride,’ Brittany,” Santana promised.
Brittany just looked at her, eyes suddenly darker, pupils suddenly larger. “Let’s go home.”
Santana had no problem with that.