No Good Deed [2/3]
Title: No Good Deed [2/3]
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I lied. More angst. Also, doubly lied. Decided to make it into three parts instead of two. Sorry.
Spoilers: Err, I don't know. But apparently the Madonna Episode. But also everything up until this point.
Part 1
This was not Santana. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be Santana because there was no way Brittany could’ve ever loved a monster like the girl in the uniform laughing down the hallway. Still wiping blue ice crystals from her eyes, Brittany could not do much else to stop herself from breaking down besides think her mantra over and over again.
This is not Santana. This is not Santana. This can not possibly be Santana.
Quinn was the first one to do damage control. She wheeled a still stunned Brittany into the girls’ room and started wadding up paper towels in a petty attempt to clean her face and her uniform. Kurt, in typical Kurt fashion, strutted into the girls’ room right behind Quinn with no qualms about the hypothetical gender barrier. He clucked his tongue while he stood to the side, his hip cocked and his hand shaking his Tide-to-Go pen.
“I knew she played rough,” he whistled, “but damn.”
“This is not Santana,” Brittany whispered half protectively and half to herself.
“Close your eyes for a second,” Quinn instructed, taking a wet paper towel to Brittany’s forehead.
“Sweetheart, I wish you were right, but, as usual, you aren’t,” Kurt replied dryly, “That’s the Santana Lopez we all know and love.”
“That’s not Santana,” Brittany insisted, shaking her head, “It isn’t. It isn’t.”
“B, hold your head still,” Quinn commanded, shooting a glare in Kurt’s direction. Quinn continued to wipe away the blue slush off of Brittany’s face until she felt the girl shaking.
“Britt?” Quinn whispered quietly. Quinn bit her lip and watched as slowly streaks of waters separated through the blue.
“Britt, it’s going to be okay,” Quinn lied.
“Kurt, just give me the marker. I’ll give it back to you in Glee,” Quinn instructed. Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but he saw the sunken shoulders of Brittany and relinquished his Tide-to-Go. Reluctantly, he slinked out of the bathroom, leaving Quinn and Brittany alone.
“B, what’s going on?” Quinn cooed gently into Brittany’s ear. Brittany could only shake her head no.
“That’s not my Santana, Quinn. That’s not her. It’s not,” she whispered. And maybe it was just the pregnancy hormones that overwhelmed her, but Quinn could not help but hold the helpless blonde to her chest and stroke her hair until the quaking of the crying stopped.
There was no war with sides in Glee- that much was clear. Santana sat off to a corner trying to look bored while the entire club gathered around Brittany and made nice. For a split second, Brittany looked over her shoulder to Santana at her seat in the back of the room. She could practically hear Santana in her head in that second their eyes met. I miss you. Let’s stop this. Come back to me. But how could she? Even with every last heart string tugging her back to her love ex-love love, she knew she could not just take her back. You deserve better, Quinn had told her. And Quinn was pretty smart.
Finn walked in a few minutes late, and Brittany couldn’t help it- she lost it. An unexpected yelp of bitter fury escaped from the blonde. The group stared, completely bewildered as Brittany barreled into Finn, her perfectly manicured nails dragging across his face. She screamed again as she hit him a second time. By the time Mike secured his arms around her, she’d already drawn blood. He whispered softly in her ear in an attempt to calm her down. And it worked for a moment as she sucked in a deep breath and tried to steady herself.
“What the hell, Britt?!” a shocked Finn exclaimed. Brittany closed her eyes and let the tears fall. A sinking feeling of drowning gripped her and she began to gasp for air. An awkward silence settled over Glee and no one noticed Santana slip out the door, but Brittany knew when she opened her eyes and could see through the watery haze the empty seat in the back of the room.
“You ruined everything,” Brittany cried hoarsely.
“Britt, what are you talking about?” Finn demanded, still wiping bits of blood off his face.
“I thought we were friends, Finn,” Brittany cried, fighting against Mike’s arms still tightly against her. He tried again to calm her, but this time she could not be suppressed.
“I thought we were friends, too!” Finn exclaimed. Behind them, Glee watched on like a crowd in the Coliseum waiting to see if the lion or the gladiator would stand the victor.
“Then why’d you do it?” demanded Brittany, “If we’re friends how could you do it?”
“Do what?!” Finn shouted exasperated.
“You screwed her, you fucking asswipe! You fucked her and you fucked everything!” And with that, Brittany silenced the room save the coarse sound of Brittany beginning to wail. In a nearly simultaneous reaction, the rest of Glee responded.
“WHAT?” It was impossible to tell who was angriest. It could’ve have been Quinn, who for the most part, had thought the world of Finn and had not expected him to really be so entirely brainless. It could’ve been Puck who could not help but feel Finn’s actions were only retribution for Puck’s actions with Quinn. It could’ve been Mike who was not so secretly in love with Brittany and could not stand to see her cry. It could’ve been Matt who, albeit somewhat naively, tried his best to believe the best of his captain and his team, and could not fathom the shattering of this image. It could’ve even been Kurt who, not ever particularly having liked Santana, could not believe Finn would stoop so low as to do her. Regardless of who it was, the club was angry.
“She came on to me!” Finn snapped, trying to defend himself, but he could see it didn’t matter who came on to whom. He could see she was feeling exactly what he felt when he found out the baby wasn’t his. So, he swallowed his pride and asked forgiveness. But Brittany could only shake her head no. Everything was wrong, and nothing any of them could say or do could change that.
What surprised Brittany more than anything was the absolutely brutal warfare Santana launched against her. Despite years upon years of bestfriendship, Santana showed no mercy save in her eyes the small moments their eyes met and Santana seemed to say You brought this unto yourself.
The slushie facials became a common occurrence- always blue. And always a freshman trying to gain approval.
“To match your eyes,” they’d say quietly as they closed their eyes and launched the icy beverage towards Brittany’s face.
Rough housing in the hallways became commonplace, too. It was not uncommon for Brittany to show up a few minutes late to Spanish each day after being shoved into the wall of lockers and having her binder knocked out of her hands. And after a while, she stopped going to Spanish all together. It got to the point where Mr. Schue stopped her after Glee.
“Brittany, you have to at least show up to class,” Mr. Schue said. “If there’s anything bothering you, don’t be afraid to talk to me or talk to Em- Miss Pillsbury, okay? I’m worried about you. You haven’t been yourself lately. Also, do you by any chance know where Santana’s been?” And Brittany shook her head no and left.
It got to the point where Mike began escorting her to class, making sure to protect her from any hostile looking students. But Mike could do little against the total warfare Santana had planned, and it broke his heart to watch Brittany find it harder and harder to push through the day. So, he tried to do what Brittany had not- he tried to take the offensive.
“I don’t get it,” he told her point blank, cornering her as she tried to make her way to the parking lot after Cheerios practice. “What do you want from her? Do you want her to become suicidal? Aren’t you her best friend? She loves you and I can not for the life of me understand why. I love her, Santana. And I guess that’s something you can’t understand, but I can’t just let you keep on hurting her. So, please. Stop. Or whatever beef you have with her- take it out on me. I’ll grin and bear whatever you have planned. I don’t care. Just… just leave her out of it- please. You must have cared for her once, so you have to know what it’s like. Please stop.” And Santana laughed, her voice cracking as she spoke.
“Just keep trying to protect her,” she replied somewhat cryptically, her keys rattling inside her fist. “Just make sure she doesn’t break.” She pushed past him and made her way to her car.
“Wait!” Mike called out after her, “That’s not good enough! Just stop this and she won’t break! Santana! Santana, come back!” But the door closed behind her, and she had not even so much as looked back.
But Mike was given a moment of relief when the next morning Brittany walked into school her shoulders slumped with her jacket hunched up around her in a feeble attempt to protect her face as she watched a young, blonde cheerleader holding a cup filled with a blue slushie. But the young girl passed Brittany right on by and nonchalantly tossed the slushie into the garbage. And Brittany turned to watch the girl walk away, worrying that she had defected from the clan and she would be punished. But as she watched, she saw the girl walk to Santana and Santana did not look angry. In fact, she looked sad- broken, even. And across the hall Santana looked up and Brittany could hear her in her head. I’m sorry. And Santana whipped her head around and walked away. Mike trotted behind her.
“I talked to her yesterday,” he said. “so I guess she had a change of heart since then.”
“You talked to her?” Brittany asked quietly, still staring at the space where she had just been.
“Yeah, and she said she wasn’t going to let up, but I guess she changed her mind.” And Brittany stared at the Santana-shaped space at the end of the hall and shook her head no.
“She’s just got something else in mind,” Brittany replied softly. She looked up at Mike and could see the love in his eyes and it scared her because she couldn’t love him and she knew that. And yet, despite that, the question still leaked out of her mouth.
“Mike, what are you doing this Friday?”
So they went to a pleasant movie and had a pleasant dinner and he pleasantly dropped her off at her doorstep and pleasantly kissed her goodnight and for the life of her, she could not help but feel completely and utterly empty. Movies weren’t the same without Santana’s side quips about the stupidity of the characters to the chagrin of anyone within a two seat radius. Dinners weren’t the same without the loud, happy noises of the Lopez family. Kisses weren’t the same without that feeling of breathlessness. And as much as she wanted to love Mike, she couldn’t because he was not Santana and he never would be. And maybe it was horrible and terrible of her, but after she got home from her date with Mike, she hurried upstairs and listened to the voicemail she’d saved by complete accident once and now had begun to listen to it as though a lullaby.
Hey, B. It’s me, Santana. You left your bra at my house. Not that I mind, but I think you might want it back. Especially before Mama does laundry because she’ll know. Anyways, call me. Love you. Don’t forget, okay? Bye.
The robotic voice came on.
To delete this message press 7. To save it, press 9.
And, her heart caught in her throat, she decided to give in. Fighting back a sob, she held down the button.
Message erased.
Part 3
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I lied. More angst. Also, doubly lied. Decided to make it into three parts instead of two. Sorry.
Spoilers: Err, I don't know. But apparently the Madonna Episode. But also everything up until this point.
Part 1
This was not Santana. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be Santana because there was no way Brittany could’ve ever loved a monster like the girl in the uniform laughing down the hallway. Still wiping blue ice crystals from her eyes, Brittany could not do much else to stop herself from breaking down besides think her mantra over and over again.
This is not Santana. This is not Santana. This can not possibly be Santana.
Quinn was the first one to do damage control. She wheeled a still stunned Brittany into the girls’ room and started wadding up paper towels in a petty attempt to clean her face and her uniform. Kurt, in typical Kurt fashion, strutted into the girls’ room right behind Quinn with no qualms about the hypothetical gender barrier. He clucked his tongue while he stood to the side, his hip cocked and his hand shaking his Tide-to-Go pen.
“I knew she played rough,” he whistled, “but damn.”
“This is not Santana,” Brittany whispered half protectively and half to herself.
“Close your eyes for a second,” Quinn instructed, taking a wet paper towel to Brittany’s forehead.
“Sweetheart, I wish you were right, but, as usual, you aren’t,” Kurt replied dryly, “That’s the Santana Lopez we all know and love.”
“That’s not Santana,” Brittany insisted, shaking her head, “It isn’t. It isn’t.”
“B, hold your head still,” Quinn commanded, shooting a glare in Kurt’s direction. Quinn continued to wipe away the blue slush off of Brittany’s face until she felt the girl shaking.
“Britt?” Quinn whispered quietly. Quinn bit her lip and watched as slowly streaks of waters separated through the blue.
“Britt, it’s going to be okay,” Quinn lied.
“Kurt, just give me the marker. I’ll give it back to you in Glee,” Quinn instructed. Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but he saw the sunken shoulders of Brittany and relinquished his Tide-to-Go. Reluctantly, he slinked out of the bathroom, leaving Quinn and Brittany alone.
“B, what’s going on?” Quinn cooed gently into Brittany’s ear. Brittany could only shake her head no.
“That’s not my Santana, Quinn. That’s not her. It’s not,” she whispered. And maybe it was just the pregnancy hormones that overwhelmed her, but Quinn could not help but hold the helpless blonde to her chest and stroke her hair until the quaking of the crying stopped.
There was no war with sides in Glee- that much was clear. Santana sat off to a corner trying to look bored while the entire club gathered around Brittany and made nice. For a split second, Brittany looked over her shoulder to Santana at her seat in the back of the room. She could practically hear Santana in her head in that second their eyes met. I miss you. Let’s stop this. Come back to me. But how could she? Even with every last heart string tugging her back to her love ex-love love, she knew she could not just take her back. You deserve better, Quinn had told her. And Quinn was pretty smart.
Finn walked in a few minutes late, and Brittany couldn’t help it- she lost it. An unexpected yelp of bitter fury escaped from the blonde. The group stared, completely bewildered as Brittany barreled into Finn, her perfectly manicured nails dragging across his face. She screamed again as she hit him a second time. By the time Mike secured his arms around her, she’d already drawn blood. He whispered softly in her ear in an attempt to calm her down. And it worked for a moment as she sucked in a deep breath and tried to steady herself.
“What the hell, Britt?!” a shocked Finn exclaimed. Brittany closed her eyes and let the tears fall. A sinking feeling of drowning gripped her and she began to gasp for air. An awkward silence settled over Glee and no one noticed Santana slip out the door, but Brittany knew when she opened her eyes and could see through the watery haze the empty seat in the back of the room.
“You ruined everything,” Brittany cried hoarsely.
“Britt, what are you talking about?” Finn demanded, still wiping bits of blood off his face.
“I thought we were friends, Finn,” Brittany cried, fighting against Mike’s arms still tightly against her. He tried again to calm her, but this time she could not be suppressed.
“I thought we were friends, too!” Finn exclaimed. Behind them, Glee watched on like a crowd in the Coliseum waiting to see if the lion or the gladiator would stand the victor.
“Then why’d you do it?” demanded Brittany, “If we’re friends how could you do it?”
“Do what?!” Finn shouted exasperated.
“You screwed her, you fucking asswipe! You fucked her and you fucked everything!” And with that, Brittany silenced the room save the coarse sound of Brittany beginning to wail. In a nearly simultaneous reaction, the rest of Glee responded.
“WHAT?” It was impossible to tell who was angriest. It could’ve have been Quinn, who for the most part, had thought the world of Finn and had not expected him to really be so entirely brainless. It could’ve been Puck who could not help but feel Finn’s actions were only retribution for Puck’s actions with Quinn. It could’ve been Mike who was not so secretly in love with Brittany and could not stand to see her cry. It could’ve been Matt who, albeit somewhat naively, tried his best to believe the best of his captain and his team, and could not fathom the shattering of this image. It could’ve even been Kurt who, not ever particularly having liked Santana, could not believe Finn would stoop so low as to do her. Regardless of who it was, the club was angry.
“She came on to me!” Finn snapped, trying to defend himself, but he could see it didn’t matter who came on to whom. He could see she was feeling exactly what he felt when he found out the baby wasn’t his. So, he swallowed his pride and asked forgiveness. But Brittany could only shake her head no. Everything was wrong, and nothing any of them could say or do could change that.
What surprised Brittany more than anything was the absolutely brutal warfare Santana launched against her. Despite years upon years of bestfriendship, Santana showed no mercy save in her eyes the small moments their eyes met and Santana seemed to say You brought this unto yourself.
The slushie facials became a common occurrence- always blue. And always a freshman trying to gain approval.
“To match your eyes,” they’d say quietly as they closed their eyes and launched the icy beverage towards Brittany’s face.
Rough housing in the hallways became commonplace, too. It was not uncommon for Brittany to show up a few minutes late to Spanish each day after being shoved into the wall of lockers and having her binder knocked out of her hands. And after a while, she stopped going to Spanish all together. It got to the point where Mr. Schue stopped her after Glee.
“Brittany, you have to at least show up to class,” Mr. Schue said. “If there’s anything bothering you, don’t be afraid to talk to me or talk to Em- Miss Pillsbury, okay? I’m worried about you. You haven’t been yourself lately. Also, do you by any chance know where Santana’s been?” And Brittany shook her head no and left.
It got to the point where Mike began escorting her to class, making sure to protect her from any hostile looking students. But Mike could do little against the total warfare Santana had planned, and it broke his heart to watch Brittany find it harder and harder to push through the day. So, he tried to do what Brittany had not- he tried to take the offensive.
“I don’t get it,” he told her point blank, cornering her as she tried to make her way to the parking lot after Cheerios practice. “What do you want from her? Do you want her to become suicidal? Aren’t you her best friend? She loves you and I can not for the life of me understand why. I love her, Santana. And I guess that’s something you can’t understand, but I can’t just let you keep on hurting her. So, please. Stop. Or whatever beef you have with her- take it out on me. I’ll grin and bear whatever you have planned. I don’t care. Just… just leave her out of it- please. You must have cared for her once, so you have to know what it’s like. Please stop.” And Santana laughed, her voice cracking as she spoke.
“Just keep trying to protect her,” she replied somewhat cryptically, her keys rattling inside her fist. “Just make sure she doesn’t break.” She pushed past him and made her way to her car.
“Wait!” Mike called out after her, “That’s not good enough! Just stop this and she won’t break! Santana! Santana, come back!” But the door closed behind her, and she had not even so much as looked back.
But Mike was given a moment of relief when the next morning Brittany walked into school her shoulders slumped with her jacket hunched up around her in a feeble attempt to protect her face as she watched a young, blonde cheerleader holding a cup filled with a blue slushie. But the young girl passed Brittany right on by and nonchalantly tossed the slushie into the garbage. And Brittany turned to watch the girl walk away, worrying that she had defected from the clan and she would be punished. But as she watched, she saw the girl walk to Santana and Santana did not look angry. In fact, she looked sad- broken, even. And across the hall Santana looked up and Brittany could hear her in her head. I’m sorry. And Santana whipped her head around and walked away. Mike trotted behind her.
“I talked to her yesterday,” he said. “so I guess she had a change of heart since then.”
“You talked to her?” Brittany asked quietly, still staring at the space where she had just been.
“Yeah, and she said she wasn’t going to let up, but I guess she changed her mind.” And Brittany stared at the Santana-shaped space at the end of the hall and shook her head no.
“She’s just got something else in mind,” Brittany replied softly. She looked up at Mike and could see the love in his eyes and it scared her because she couldn’t love him and she knew that. And yet, despite that, the question still leaked out of her mouth.
“Mike, what are you doing this Friday?”
So they went to a pleasant movie and had a pleasant dinner and he pleasantly dropped her off at her doorstep and pleasantly kissed her goodnight and for the life of her, she could not help but feel completely and utterly empty. Movies weren’t the same without Santana’s side quips about the stupidity of the characters to the chagrin of anyone within a two seat radius. Dinners weren’t the same without the loud, happy noises of the Lopez family. Kisses weren’t the same without that feeling of breathlessness. And as much as she wanted to love Mike, she couldn’t because he was not Santana and he never would be. And maybe it was horrible and terrible of her, but after she got home from her date with Mike, she hurried upstairs and listened to the voicemail she’d saved by complete accident once and now had begun to listen to it as though a lullaby.
Hey, B. It’s me, Santana. You left your bra at my house. Not that I mind, but I think you might want it back. Especially before Mama does laundry because she’ll know. Anyways, call me. Love you. Don’t forget, okay? Bye.
The robotic voice came on.
To delete this message press 7. To save it, press 9.
And, her heart caught in her throat, she decided to give in. Fighting back a sob, she held down the button.
Message erased.
Part 3