fic: He's My Duck
Title: He's My Duck
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Length: 1,473
Rating: G, maybe PG at most
Summary: This is my take on the talk Brittany and Ms. Pillsbury had when it was discovered that Brittany was keeping a bird in her locker.
Spoilers: Up to Sectionals, but I take many, many themes from Ballads
Author's Notes: Beta'd by the lovely, awesomely amazing endinginablaze (if I knew how to do a link, I totally would)! Thank you so much! :)
“So, Brittany.” Ms. Pillsbury straightened Brittany’s open file so it was aligned perfectly with an economy-sized box of tissues on her dustless desk. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“The hallway patrol didn’t like Ballad.” Brittany opened her eyes wide and tilted her head slightly to the side like a confused puppy.
“And Ballad is…?”
“My duck,” Brittany said, like it was obvious. She swung her legs back and forth.
“And you kept this duck…?” Ms. Pillsbury waved her hand, urging thegirl to elaborate.
“In my locker,” Brittany rolled her eyes. “If I took him home my dad would have eaten him. He likes ducks too.”
Ms. Pillsbury’s bush-baby large eyes grew wider and her cheeks inflated. She gagged daintily into a tissue. “And you were going to… eat the duck? That you kept… in your locker? Oh gosh….” Ms. Pillsbury went pale.
“No way!” Brittany looked a bit sick herself. “I wouldn’t eat Ballad. He’s my friend.”
Ms. Pillsbury let out the breath she had been holding. She threw the slightly soggy tissue into the trash bin next to her desk before squirting a liberal amount of hand sanitizer onto her hands and rubbing them discretely under her desk.
Brittany started bobbing back and forth in rhythm to the tune in her head.
“Can I leave now?” she asked after she had finished the song, its reprise, and an extra chorus for good measure.
“No, not quite yet, Brittany,” Ms. Pillsbury pursed her lips, clasped her hands over her desk, and leaned forward. “Can you please tell me why you kept the bird in your locker?”
“So he wouldn’t fly away. Duh.” Brittany rolled her eyes again.
“Brittany,” Ms. Pillsbury continued with a sigh. She rubbed her temples. “You realize keeping an duck in your locker against its will is animal cruelty and grounds for suspension?”
“What?” Brittany furrowed her eyebrows. “Ballad wanted to be there.” She scuffed her foot on Ms. Pillsbury’s carpet, making the grains underfoot face the opposite direction from the rest. Ms. Pillsbury froze and looked at Brittany’s foot like it had just committed murder.
“Please don’t do that…”
Brittany smoothed over the offending carpet. “Uh, sorry…” she apologized even though Santana told her Cheerios don’t say sorry. But the wounded look on Ms. Pillsbury’s kind face was too much for Brittany to ignore. Besides, S wasn’t here. She’d never find out.
“That’s okay,” Ms. Pillsbury nodded her head slowly, “Shall we talk more about the bird in your locker?”
“No.”
Ms. Pillsbury sighed faintly. “Please?”
“I don’t wanna.”
“Brittany,” Ms. Pillsbury looked directly at the girl in front of her. It was clear subtlety went right over her head, so she decided to try a more direct approach: “Keeping ducks in your locker is wrong. It hurts them.”
“He hurt his wing,” Brittany muttered.
“Excuse me?” Ms. Pillsbury leaned forward.
“Ballad hurt his wing,” she said a bit louder. “I was keeping him safe so nobody hurt him.”
“That’s… noble… of you, Brittany,” Ms. Pillsbury stared at the teenager with a more-than-slightly confused look. “But can you tell me why he was in your locker?”
“’Cause Tina wouldn’t let me use hers. And I couldn’t tell Rachel, ‘cause she’d tell someone. And Mercedes doesn’t like ducks.”
“No, no, I mean… why wasn’t he somewhere safe? Like a vet’s office.”
Brittany mumbled something into her shoulder. Her ponytail flopped forward and covered her mouth.
“Please speak up, dear,” Ms. Pillsbury urged. She gently nudged her gigantic bottle of hand sanitizer towards the center of her desk. With a glance at the clock behind Brittany’s head, she decided it was almost time for her forty-third squirt of the day.
“He was shumush shumush,” Brittany muttered.
“Louder please, Brittany.”
“He was helping me.” She hunched over, ignoring the little Sue Sylvester-voice in her head that was telling her only lazy people collapsed their spines by bending in defeat-superior people risked their spines by doing backflips into a hungry shark’s tank covered in fish blood.
“Helping you…” Ms. Pillsbury began nodding her head again. “I see. Erm, how exactly was he helping you, Brittany?”
“With my ballad,” Brittany whispered.
“Your ballad? Oh, you mean for Glee!”
“Mm-hmm,” Brittany smiled halfway. “Mr. Schue said we have to sing one to our partner. And I got Santana.”
“That’s nice,” Ms. Pillsbury smiled back. “I know you two are very close.”
Brittany nodded. “Mr. Schue said we have to sing about how we feel. And we’re supposed to make the other person feel that.”
“That all sounds good.” Ms. Pillsbury admitted. “But what does the duck in your locker have to do with singing a ballad?”
“A ballad is a male duck,” Brittany gave Ms. Pillsbury a look that said “seriously?” “I needed some help; I thought he could help me.”
“Oh,” Ms. Pillsbury clasped her hands in front of her. This explained a lot. While Brittany’s file was rather large, nothing in there pointed to violent behavior against innocent animals. It made sense, then, that Brittany would confuse mallard and ballad, and that she’d keep a duck in her locker, believing it could help her pick a song. It was almost funny, how clueless Brittany could be.
“Oh,” Ms. Pillsbury repeated herself, “I see. Can you tell me, Brittany, just what you’re going to do now that Ballad’s back in the park?”
Brittany’s normally happy face fell, “I… I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll ask Mr. Shue. He might know a ballad I can sing.”
“That’s a good idea; Mr. Schuester knows everything…” Ms. Pillsbury trailed off, lost in a dreamland about a certain jheri-curled professor.
Brittany cleared her throat.
“Erm, right.” Ms. Pillsbury coughed and shifted in her seat. “What I meant to say was that’s a good idea; Mr. Shuster knows a lot about songs. Singing. Stuff like that.”
Brittany nodded slowly, twice, before she froze and stared off to the side, deep in thought.
“Do you think you could help me?” she finally asked, with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Ms. Pillsbury thought about the proposition. Could she? Maybe…
“Why yes… perhaps I can,” Ms. Pillsbury grinned. “Just what did you want to sing to Santana, Brittany?”
“I wanted to tell her that I love her because she’s my best friend and she’s good to me and she never shouts or gets annoyed ‘cause I don't like book learning and I think she’s pretty.” Brittany started swinging her feet again, smiling sweetly up at the guidance counselor.
“Oh… that’s nice of you, Brittany. Hrm… that’s a pretty hefty list… I guess it depends on what type of love you mean.”
Not many people knew this, but Brittany had a unique talent that would probably make Rachel Berry jealous. She could sneeze on cue. And while this talent usually didn’t get her anywhere, it could get her out of a sticky situation with one germaphobic teacher today. All she had to do was think about sneezing and-
“CHOO!!” She neglected to cover her mouth and subsequently sprayed Ms. Pillsbury’s general vicinity with spit, snot, and germs.
“You know what…?” Ms. Pillsbury started shaking, her already gigantic eyes larger than normal. “Why don’t we talk about this another day… you may go now.”
Brittany beamed at the counselor. She stood up gracefully and made her way to the door, but before she’d reached it, she glanced back once more at the pale, disgusted Ms. Pillsbury.
“Thanks, Ms. P.” She waved goodbye and began walking towards the school exit, where Santana was waiting for her. Brittany would just have to think of a ballad to sing by herself… unless….
“Hey, S.” She smiled at her friend who was waiting impatiently in the car. “Can we go to the park? I need to find Ballad.”
“The duck that you put in your locker? Britt…” Santana shook her head and tore out of the parking lot. “Why?”
“He’s going to help me pick a ballad.” Brittany blushed and looked down at her sneakers.
“Brittany…” Santana sighed. “The duck isn’t going to help you… it’s a duck.”
“I know… but… I can’t think of a song to sing to you.”
“B.” Santana chuckled once and shook her head. “Just type what you feel into Google with the word song afterward. Something will pop up.”
“Really?”
Santana laughed and shook her head again. “Yes, B., really. Plus, I don’t think Ballad ever wants to see you again…”
“Thank you!” The enthusiastic version of Brittany was back. She leaned over the gearstick and kissed Santana’s cheek. “You’re awesome, S.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Santana’s cheeks colored. “I know. You’d better mention that in your song, too.”
“Oh, I will,” Brittany beamed. “I will.”
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Length: 1,473
Rating: G, maybe PG at most
Summary: This is my take on the talk Brittany and Ms. Pillsbury had when it was discovered that Brittany was keeping a bird in her locker.
Spoilers: Up to Sectionals, but I take many, many themes from Ballads
Author's Notes: Beta'd by the lovely, awesomely amazing endinginablaze (if I knew how to do a link, I totally would)! Thank you so much! :)
“So, Brittany.” Ms. Pillsbury straightened Brittany’s open file so it was aligned perfectly with an economy-sized box of tissues on her dustless desk. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“The hallway patrol didn’t like Ballad.” Brittany opened her eyes wide and tilted her head slightly to the side like a confused puppy.
“And Ballad is…?”
“My duck,” Brittany said, like it was obvious. She swung her legs back and forth.
“And you kept this duck…?” Ms. Pillsbury waved her hand, urging thegirl to elaborate.
“In my locker,” Brittany rolled her eyes. “If I took him home my dad would have eaten him. He likes ducks too.”
Ms. Pillsbury’s bush-baby large eyes grew wider and her cheeks inflated. She gagged daintily into a tissue. “And you were going to… eat the duck? That you kept… in your locker? Oh gosh….” Ms. Pillsbury went pale.
“No way!” Brittany looked a bit sick herself. “I wouldn’t eat Ballad. He’s my friend.”
Ms. Pillsbury let out the breath she had been holding. She threw the slightly soggy tissue into the trash bin next to her desk before squirting a liberal amount of hand sanitizer onto her hands and rubbing them discretely under her desk.
Brittany started bobbing back and forth in rhythm to the tune in her head.
“Can I leave now?” she asked after she had finished the song, its reprise, and an extra chorus for good measure.
“No, not quite yet, Brittany,” Ms. Pillsbury pursed her lips, clasped her hands over her desk, and leaned forward. “Can you please tell me why you kept the bird in your locker?”
“So he wouldn’t fly away. Duh.” Brittany rolled her eyes again.
“Brittany,” Ms. Pillsbury continued with a sigh. She rubbed her temples. “You realize keeping an duck in your locker against its will is animal cruelty and grounds for suspension?”
“What?” Brittany furrowed her eyebrows. “Ballad wanted to be there.” She scuffed her foot on Ms. Pillsbury’s carpet, making the grains underfoot face the opposite direction from the rest. Ms. Pillsbury froze and looked at Brittany’s foot like it had just committed murder.
“Please don’t do that…”
Brittany smoothed over the offending carpet. “Uh, sorry…” she apologized even though Santana told her Cheerios don’t say sorry. But the wounded look on Ms. Pillsbury’s kind face was too much for Brittany to ignore. Besides, S wasn’t here. She’d never find out.
“That’s okay,” Ms. Pillsbury nodded her head slowly, “Shall we talk more about the bird in your locker?”
“No.”
Ms. Pillsbury sighed faintly. “Please?”
“I don’t wanna.”
“Brittany,” Ms. Pillsbury looked directly at the girl in front of her. It was clear subtlety went right over her head, so she decided to try a more direct approach: “Keeping ducks in your locker is wrong. It hurts them.”
“He hurt his wing,” Brittany muttered.
“Excuse me?” Ms. Pillsbury leaned forward.
“Ballad hurt his wing,” she said a bit louder. “I was keeping him safe so nobody hurt him.”
“That’s… noble… of you, Brittany,” Ms. Pillsbury stared at the teenager with a more-than-slightly confused look. “But can you tell me why he was in your locker?”
“’Cause Tina wouldn’t let me use hers. And I couldn’t tell Rachel, ‘cause she’d tell someone. And Mercedes doesn’t like ducks.”
“No, no, I mean… why wasn’t he somewhere safe? Like a vet’s office.”
Brittany mumbled something into her shoulder. Her ponytail flopped forward and covered her mouth.
“Please speak up, dear,” Ms. Pillsbury urged. She gently nudged her gigantic bottle of hand sanitizer towards the center of her desk. With a glance at the clock behind Brittany’s head, she decided it was almost time for her forty-third squirt of the day.
“He was shumush shumush,” Brittany muttered.
“Louder please, Brittany.”
“He was helping me.” She hunched over, ignoring the little Sue Sylvester-voice in her head that was telling her only lazy people collapsed their spines by bending in defeat-superior people risked their spines by doing backflips into a hungry shark’s tank covered in fish blood.
“Helping you…” Ms. Pillsbury began nodding her head again. “I see. Erm, how exactly was he helping you, Brittany?”
“With my ballad,” Brittany whispered.
“Your ballad? Oh, you mean for Glee!”
“Mm-hmm,” Brittany smiled halfway. “Mr. Schue said we have to sing one to our partner. And I got Santana.”
“That’s nice,” Ms. Pillsbury smiled back. “I know you two are very close.”
Brittany nodded. “Mr. Schue said we have to sing about how we feel. And we’re supposed to make the other person feel that.”
“That all sounds good.” Ms. Pillsbury admitted. “But what does the duck in your locker have to do with singing a ballad?”
“A ballad is a male duck,” Brittany gave Ms. Pillsbury a look that said “seriously?” “I needed some help; I thought he could help me.”
“Oh,” Ms. Pillsbury clasped her hands in front of her. This explained a lot. While Brittany’s file was rather large, nothing in there pointed to violent behavior against innocent animals. It made sense, then, that Brittany would confuse mallard and ballad, and that she’d keep a duck in her locker, believing it could help her pick a song. It was almost funny, how clueless Brittany could be.
“Oh,” Ms. Pillsbury repeated herself, “I see. Can you tell me, Brittany, just what you’re going to do now that Ballad’s back in the park?”
Brittany’s normally happy face fell, “I… I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll ask Mr. Shue. He might know a ballad I can sing.”
“That’s a good idea; Mr. Schuester knows everything…” Ms. Pillsbury trailed off, lost in a dreamland about a certain jheri-curled professor.
Brittany cleared her throat.
“Erm, right.” Ms. Pillsbury coughed and shifted in her seat. “What I meant to say was that’s a good idea; Mr. Shuster knows a lot about songs. Singing. Stuff like that.”
Brittany nodded slowly, twice, before she froze and stared off to the side, deep in thought.
“Do you think you could help me?” she finally asked, with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Ms. Pillsbury thought about the proposition. Could she? Maybe…
“Why yes… perhaps I can,” Ms. Pillsbury grinned. “Just what did you want to sing to Santana, Brittany?”
“I wanted to tell her that I love her because she’s my best friend and she’s good to me and she never shouts or gets annoyed ‘cause I don't like book learning and I think she’s pretty.” Brittany started swinging her feet again, smiling sweetly up at the guidance counselor.
“Oh… that’s nice of you, Brittany. Hrm… that’s a pretty hefty list… I guess it depends on what type of love you mean.”
Not many people knew this, but Brittany had a unique talent that would probably make Rachel Berry jealous. She could sneeze on cue. And while this talent usually didn’t get her anywhere, it could get her out of a sticky situation with one germaphobic teacher today. All she had to do was think about sneezing and-
“CHOO!!” She neglected to cover her mouth and subsequently sprayed Ms. Pillsbury’s general vicinity with spit, snot, and germs.
“You know what…?” Ms. Pillsbury started shaking, her already gigantic eyes larger than normal. “Why don’t we talk about this another day… you may go now.”
Brittany beamed at the counselor. She stood up gracefully and made her way to the door, but before she’d reached it, she glanced back once more at the pale, disgusted Ms. Pillsbury.
“Thanks, Ms. P.” She waved goodbye and began walking towards the school exit, where Santana was waiting for her. Brittany would just have to think of a ballad to sing by herself… unless….
“Hey, S.” She smiled at her friend who was waiting impatiently in the car. “Can we go to the park? I need to find Ballad.”
“The duck that you put in your locker? Britt…” Santana shook her head and tore out of the parking lot. “Why?”
“He’s going to help me pick a ballad.” Brittany blushed and looked down at her sneakers.
“Brittany…” Santana sighed. “The duck isn’t going to help you… it’s a duck.”
“I know… but… I can’t think of a song to sing to you.”
“B.” Santana chuckled once and shook her head. “Just type what you feel into Google with the word song afterward. Something will pop up.”
“Really?”
Santana laughed and shook her head again. “Yes, B., really. Plus, I don’t think Ballad ever wants to see you again…”
“Thank you!” The enthusiastic version of Brittany was back. She leaned over the gearstick and kissed Santana’s cheek. “You’re awesome, S.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Santana’s cheeks colored. “I know. You’d better mention that in your song, too.”
“Oh, I will,” Brittany beamed. “I will.”