No Good Deed [3/3]
Title: No Good Deed [3/3]
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A bit of angst, and then a fluffapalooza. Okay, not really a fluffapalooza. Seriously, though. It’s majorly more light-hearted. If my Spanish fails (and there’s quite a bit of it in the middle), it’s Google’s fault.
Spoilers: Err, I don't know. But apparently the Madonna Episode. But also everything up until this point.
Part 1
Part 2
The reign of terror ended, but Santana stopped showing up to Glee and to Spanish. Unlike with Brittany, Mr. Schue did not approach Santana about her absences. He, like most normal people, was scared shitless of Santana. But Brittany wasn’t afraid the way the others were. After all, it’s a bit hard to fear someone after you’ve seen their face mid-orgasm. Especially if that person makes faces like Santana.
She went to her house after the sixth week in a row Santana didn’t show up to Glee. Mike had offered to take her home, but she chose instead to walk the seven blocks to the Lopez residence, telling Mike she already had a ride. The walk wasn’t too bad only because it was finally the spring and the snow has finally melted and the sun had finally decided to come out to play.
When she arrived at the Lopez abode, she was (not surprisingly) greeted by Mrs. Lopez who was in love with her. No, seriously- this woman was in love with her. In the fifth grade, Brittany made Santana promise to stop getting into physical fights, a promise Santana continued to uphold, which made the blonde a very, very welcome guest with the Lopez family.
“Ooh!” Mrs. Lopez called out, wiping her hands on her apron, “Brittany! You’re back!” The short, stout Hispanic woman wrapped her arms around the much taller girl.
“She’s upstairs,” Mrs. Lopez said, her accent thick, “I go get her.” Brittany tucked her hair behind her ear and slipped into the house. Immediately, the smell of slowly cooking chili surrounded Brittany and she was nearly knocked over by Santana’s little brother, Alex.
“Brittany!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’m so glad you’re back. Please tell Santana to stop being mean to me?” He looked up at her, his eyes so like Santana’s. Brittany smiled and ruffled Alex’s hair.
“Of course, Alex,” she replied. She heard Santana upstairs.
“No, mamá! Sacarla de aquí! No somos amigas, ¿de acuerdo? Dígale que se vaya.” And Brittany’s Spanish wasn’t perfect, but she knew that “no” is no and “amigas” is friends, so she got the drift. She made her way up the stairs, the argument still raging.
“Santana, me escuchas! Esa chica como se ha hecho nada más que cuidar de ti. Hemos conocido durante años y años y ella siempre ha sido una buena influencia. Si ustedes están luchando, que era algo que usted hizo, por lo que es mejor que pedir disculpas!” Mrs. Lopez scolded. And, again, Brittany was no fluent Spanish speaker so she could only pick out bits and pieces. Something about listening and something about good. As far as she could tell, Mrs. Lopez was probably defending her.
“Me dio un beso, mamá. Ella es una lesbiana. Ella es una tortillera,” Santana replied scathingly. Brittany only understood “She is a lesbian”, but she heard a slap from inside the room.
“¿Cómo te atreves? Usted es una lesbiana. Tú, mi hija, es una lesbiana. Entonces, ¿cómo te atreves a llamarla tortillera? No te atrevas a mentir a mí y no te atrevas a herir a esa chica más. Ella te ama como te quiero. No te atrevas a la ruina que por sí mismo.” Mrs. Lopez shouted back. Brittany knocked on the door, interrupting them. Mrs. Lopez shot a glare at Santana before retreating.
“What are you doing here?” Santana demanded, her arms folded over her chest as she sat at her desk.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Brittany replied. Santana’s face was stone-like and cold.
“Get out. I don’t want to talk to you,” she replied.
“Why are you doing this, S?” Brittany asked quietly, tracing the frame of Santana’s doorway.
“Doing what, Brittany? As far as you’re concerned, I haven’t done anything in weeks, and you should be damn grateful for that,” Santana snapped.
“Why are you trying so hard to ruin your life?” Brittany asked. Santana let out a cough.
“I’m sorry. I thought you just said that I’m ruining my life,” Santana replied with a chuckle.
“I did,” Brittany answered. Santana’s jaw set.
“Ruining my life? Have you gone insane? I’m finally the captain of the Cheerios with no one in my way. I finally have gotten out of that loser club, Glee. I am passing AP Spanish without attending class. I am the life of every party I go to. Guys line up begging me to give them the time of day. Even teachers do as I want. I’m fucking gorgeous and young. This is the best time of my life.” She unfolded her arms, smirking.
“Stop this, S. Come back to me,” Brittany replied quietly, taking a step forward.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Santana growled.
“You love Glee. I know that. You know that,” Brittany answered. “And me. You love me, too.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Santana replied, gritting her teeth. Brittany took another step toward Santana.
“But I am,” she answered.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend to get back to?” Santana responded, turning her chair away from Brittany.
“I don’t love him like I love you,” Brittany replied softly, gently leaning on the back of Santana’s chair.
“I. Don’t. Love. You.” Santana responded stonily.
“S, stop playing this game. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on,” Brittany whispered. Santana whipped the chair around and Brittany stumbled backwards from the force.
“Get out, Brittany. I don’t love you. I never loved you. Get out. Get out. Get out!” Santana screamed. And if Brittany had been any other person, smarter and afraid, she would have listened. But she wasn’t and she didn’t. She waited quietly on the opposite side of the room and counted silently in her head 3- 2- 1. And on cue, just as Brittany expected, Santana burst out into tears.
“Just stop it, B! Just get out! Just leave me alone, damn it. Listen to me.” Santana begged, trying to physically push her away. Brittany wrapped her arms around Santana and pulled her close. She could feel the heaving of the Latina beneath her.
“I’m not leaving you, S. I’m not leaving and I’m not letting go.” Santana struggled to push Brittany away, but Brittany had superior arm strength.
“Stop lashing out. I’ve stood for it for the last two months. You owe me this much. Stop lashing out at me. Stop lashing out at the world. Come back to me,” Brittany stated. Upon these words, Santana’s shoulders relaxed.
“Go back to Mike, Britt. He’ll take care of you,” Santana murmured, her words muffled by Brittany’s shoulder. Brittany let out a half-snort-half-giggle.
“It’s not me that needs caring for, San,” Brittany replied softly.
“I’ll keep hurting you by accident,” Santana tried.
“I’m tough,” Brittany countered.
“I don’t want to put you through this anymore,” Santana pleaded.
“Then don’t,” Brittany answered. Santana tried to shift, only causing Brittany to clutch her more tightly. Santana sighed.
“Britt, I need to breathe,” Santana joked. Brittany let out a huff as she relaxed her death grip on Santana. After they settled into a more comfortable position with Brittany sitting opposite Santana and in front of the door, Santana looked at her and sighed.
“Go home to Mike, Britt,” she said.
“No,” Brittany replied simply.
“Why not?” Santana demanded, pulling at the corner of her sock.
“You need me here,” Brittany answered.
“I can take care of myself,” Santana replied indignantly.
“No, you can’t,” Brittany stated with an eye roll and a smirk. Santana frowned.
“Britt, go home.” Santana sighed
“No.” Brittany responded firmly.
“Britt-” Santana began.
“No.” Brittany responded, cutting her off.
“I’m no good for you,” Santana said. Brittany looked her square in the eyes.
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do. I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” Santana replied.
“So then don’t.” Brittany answered.
“That’s why I’m trying to get you to leave,” Santana responded.
“So you bullied me for two months instead of having the balls to break up?” Brittany asked.
“No!” Santana snapped. She glanced at the ground, breaking eye contact.
“Sort of.” She admitted.
“I just. I don’t. I-” Santana stuttered.
“Use words, San,” Brittany teased. Santana glared at her, but not without a smirk of her own.
“Why must you be so difficult? Mike will make you happy. Mike will make you so incredibly happy. He is a thousand times the person I would ever hope of becoming. He is smart and funny and kind and he loves you and he will take care of you. He’s fucking perfect.” Santana sighed.
“No, he’s not. He’s not you.” Brittany replied stubbornly.
“I’m not perfect. I’m not anywhere near perfect.” Santana said, still looking away.
“I know. But that’s why you are.” Brittany answered.
“Britt, that makes no sense.” Santana replied.
“I love you, flaws and all,” Brittany said, “It’s cute when you get jealous. When you don’t go off and fuck them, that is.”
“I’m not going to be able to stop reacting that poorly,” Santana warned.
“You stopped fighting, didn’t you?” Brittany shrugged.
“That’s different.” Santana responded quickly.
“Different how?” Brittany questioned.
“I wasn’t fighting you. I always had you to cool me down. When we fight, I don’t have someone to cool me down. I get irrational. I go crazy.” Santana answered. She finally looked back at Brittany, whose blue eyes never wavered from Santana’s spot.
“So then we won’t fight.” Brittany answered.
“Britt, all couples fight.” Santana sighed.
“So we’ll break that.” Brittany replied.
“Britt, we’re going to fight.” Santana stated.
“We don’t have to.” Brittany answered stubbornly.
“Britt, we’re going to fight. That’s a statement; not an opinion.” Santana reiterated, fighting an eye roll.
“Why do we have to fight?” Brittany demanded.
“Because I’m an ass.” Santana replied.
“So then don’t be an ass.” Brittany said with a shrug.
“I can’t just stop being an ass.” Santana responded.
“Why not?” Brittany demanded.
“Because that’s not how it works, Britt.” Santana growled.
“Why not?” Brittany asked.
“Brittany!” Santana snapped. Brittany grinned.
“You really need to learn to control your temper,” she teased. Santana rolled her eyes.
“See? I’m too much of an ass for this to work. Go home to Mike, Britt.” Santana replied. Brittany shook her head firmly.
“No.” She replied resolutely. Santana sighed and leaned her head against her table.
“I’m not worth this, Britt,” Santana murmured softly. Brittany scooted from her spot in front of the door to beside Santana.
“I’m pretty sure that’s my decision to make, S. So let me make it,” she replied, gently taking Santana’s hand. For a moment, Santana’s hand began to slink away, but when Brittany’s hand reached a second time, her fingers wrapped around Brittany’s hand.
“Te amo,” Brittany said, locking eyes with Santana. Santana chewed her lip.
“Britt,” she sighed.
“Te amo,” Brittany said again, still staring directly into Santana’s eyes. And in Santana’s head, she knew what she had to say, but what she tried desperately not to. But she looked into Brittany’s eyes and she knew her look of complete determination.
“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” Santana whispered for what felt like the umpteenth time.
“I can take care of myself,” Brittany promised, leaning her head on Santana’s shoulder.
“I can’t stand knowing that-”
“Santana, get it through your thick skull. I love you. I will always love you, okay? It gets crazy sometimes, but love is supposed to do that, right?” Brittany sighed.
“I’ll spend the entire time feeling guilty. I’ve hurt you, Britt. And it’s not like I’m really making it up.” Brittany laughed.
“Don’t worry. I think we have plenty of time for you to ‘make it up to me’.” She replied with a devious grin. Santana smirked and sighed.
“Why are you so impossible?” Santana asked.
“Because you taught me to be impossible. You said, and I quote, ‘When you want something you’ve got to fight for it. You have to remember that everyone else is greedier than you are and they’ll take everything you have. So when you find something special, you grab it and you hold on and you make sure no one else can have it.’” Brittany replied.
“Britt, I was talking about a chocolate bar.” Santana laughed.
“It’s the same principle.” Brittany responded, frowning. Santana laughed and sighed. She closed her eyes.
“Tell me what’s on your mind.” Santana let out a second breath.
“The truth is, I love you. I am madly, madly in love with you. And the truth is...”
“The truth is...?” Brittany prompted.
“The truth is, I want you to stay.” Santana said softly, giving in. Brittany smiled.
“I know,” she replied smugly.
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A bit of angst, and then a fluffapalooza. Okay, not really a fluffapalooza. Seriously, though. It’s majorly more light-hearted. If my Spanish fails (and there’s quite a bit of it in the middle), it’s Google’s fault.
Spoilers: Err, I don't know. But apparently the Madonna Episode. But also everything up until this point.
Part 1
Part 2
The reign of terror ended, but Santana stopped showing up to Glee and to Spanish. Unlike with Brittany, Mr. Schue did not approach Santana about her absences. He, like most normal people, was scared shitless of Santana. But Brittany wasn’t afraid the way the others were. After all, it’s a bit hard to fear someone after you’ve seen their face mid-orgasm. Especially if that person makes faces like Santana.
She went to her house after the sixth week in a row Santana didn’t show up to Glee. Mike had offered to take her home, but she chose instead to walk the seven blocks to the Lopez residence, telling Mike she already had a ride. The walk wasn’t too bad only because it was finally the spring and the snow has finally melted and the sun had finally decided to come out to play.
When she arrived at the Lopez abode, she was (not surprisingly) greeted by Mrs. Lopez who was in love with her. No, seriously- this woman was in love with her. In the fifth grade, Brittany made Santana promise to stop getting into physical fights, a promise Santana continued to uphold, which made the blonde a very, very welcome guest with the Lopez family.
“Ooh!” Mrs. Lopez called out, wiping her hands on her apron, “Brittany! You’re back!” The short, stout Hispanic woman wrapped her arms around the much taller girl.
“She’s upstairs,” Mrs. Lopez said, her accent thick, “I go get her.” Brittany tucked her hair behind her ear and slipped into the house. Immediately, the smell of slowly cooking chili surrounded Brittany and she was nearly knocked over by Santana’s little brother, Alex.
“Brittany!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’m so glad you’re back. Please tell Santana to stop being mean to me?” He looked up at her, his eyes so like Santana’s. Brittany smiled and ruffled Alex’s hair.
“Of course, Alex,” she replied. She heard Santana upstairs.
“No, mamá! Sacarla de aquí! No somos amigas, ¿de acuerdo? Dígale que se vaya.” And Brittany’s Spanish wasn’t perfect, but she knew that “no” is no and “amigas” is friends, so she got the drift. She made her way up the stairs, the argument still raging.
“Santana, me escuchas! Esa chica como se ha hecho nada más que cuidar de ti. Hemos conocido durante años y años y ella siempre ha sido una buena influencia. Si ustedes están luchando, que era algo que usted hizo, por lo que es mejor que pedir disculpas!” Mrs. Lopez scolded. And, again, Brittany was no fluent Spanish speaker so she could only pick out bits and pieces. Something about listening and something about good. As far as she could tell, Mrs. Lopez was probably defending her.
“Me dio un beso, mamá. Ella es una lesbiana. Ella es una tortillera,” Santana replied scathingly. Brittany only understood “She is a lesbian”, but she heard a slap from inside the room.
“¿Cómo te atreves? Usted es una lesbiana. Tú, mi hija, es una lesbiana. Entonces, ¿cómo te atreves a llamarla tortillera? No te atrevas a mentir a mí y no te atrevas a herir a esa chica más. Ella te ama como te quiero. No te atrevas a la ruina que por sí mismo.” Mrs. Lopez shouted back. Brittany knocked on the door, interrupting them. Mrs. Lopez shot a glare at Santana before retreating.
“What are you doing here?” Santana demanded, her arms folded over her chest as she sat at her desk.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Brittany replied. Santana’s face was stone-like and cold.
“Get out. I don’t want to talk to you,” she replied.
“Why are you doing this, S?” Brittany asked quietly, tracing the frame of Santana’s doorway.
“Doing what, Brittany? As far as you’re concerned, I haven’t done anything in weeks, and you should be damn grateful for that,” Santana snapped.
“Why are you trying so hard to ruin your life?” Brittany asked. Santana let out a cough.
“I’m sorry. I thought you just said that I’m ruining my life,” Santana replied with a chuckle.
“I did,” Brittany answered. Santana’s jaw set.
“Ruining my life? Have you gone insane? I’m finally the captain of the Cheerios with no one in my way. I finally have gotten out of that loser club, Glee. I am passing AP Spanish without attending class. I am the life of every party I go to. Guys line up begging me to give them the time of day. Even teachers do as I want. I’m fucking gorgeous and young. This is the best time of my life.” She unfolded her arms, smirking.
“Stop this, S. Come back to me,” Brittany replied quietly, taking a step forward.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Santana growled.
“You love Glee. I know that. You know that,” Brittany answered. “And me. You love me, too.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Santana replied, gritting her teeth. Brittany took another step toward Santana.
“But I am,” she answered.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend to get back to?” Santana responded, turning her chair away from Brittany.
“I don’t love him like I love you,” Brittany replied softly, gently leaning on the back of Santana’s chair.
“I. Don’t. Love. You.” Santana responded stonily.
“S, stop playing this game. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on,” Brittany whispered. Santana whipped the chair around and Brittany stumbled backwards from the force.
“Get out, Brittany. I don’t love you. I never loved you. Get out. Get out. Get out!” Santana screamed. And if Brittany had been any other person, smarter and afraid, she would have listened. But she wasn’t and she didn’t. She waited quietly on the opposite side of the room and counted silently in her head 3- 2- 1. And on cue, just as Brittany expected, Santana burst out into tears.
“Just stop it, B! Just get out! Just leave me alone, damn it. Listen to me.” Santana begged, trying to physically push her away. Brittany wrapped her arms around Santana and pulled her close. She could feel the heaving of the Latina beneath her.
“I’m not leaving you, S. I’m not leaving and I’m not letting go.” Santana struggled to push Brittany away, but Brittany had superior arm strength.
“Stop lashing out. I’ve stood for it for the last two months. You owe me this much. Stop lashing out at me. Stop lashing out at the world. Come back to me,” Brittany stated. Upon these words, Santana’s shoulders relaxed.
“Go back to Mike, Britt. He’ll take care of you,” Santana murmured, her words muffled by Brittany’s shoulder. Brittany let out a half-snort-half-giggle.
“It’s not me that needs caring for, San,” Brittany replied softly.
“I’ll keep hurting you by accident,” Santana tried.
“I’m tough,” Brittany countered.
“I don’t want to put you through this anymore,” Santana pleaded.
“Then don’t,” Brittany answered. Santana tried to shift, only causing Brittany to clutch her more tightly. Santana sighed.
“Britt, I need to breathe,” Santana joked. Brittany let out a huff as she relaxed her death grip on Santana. After they settled into a more comfortable position with Brittany sitting opposite Santana and in front of the door, Santana looked at her and sighed.
“Go home to Mike, Britt,” she said.
“No,” Brittany replied simply.
“Why not?” Santana demanded, pulling at the corner of her sock.
“You need me here,” Brittany answered.
“I can take care of myself,” Santana replied indignantly.
“No, you can’t,” Brittany stated with an eye roll and a smirk. Santana frowned.
“Britt, go home.” Santana sighed
“No.” Brittany responded firmly.
“Britt-” Santana began.
“No.” Brittany responded, cutting her off.
“I’m no good for you,” Santana said. Brittany looked her square in the eyes.
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do. I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” Santana replied.
“So then don’t.” Brittany answered.
“That’s why I’m trying to get you to leave,” Santana responded.
“So you bullied me for two months instead of having the balls to break up?” Brittany asked.
“No!” Santana snapped. She glanced at the ground, breaking eye contact.
“Sort of.” She admitted.
“I just. I don’t. I-” Santana stuttered.
“Use words, San,” Brittany teased. Santana glared at her, but not without a smirk of her own.
“Why must you be so difficult? Mike will make you happy. Mike will make you so incredibly happy. He is a thousand times the person I would ever hope of becoming. He is smart and funny and kind and he loves you and he will take care of you. He’s fucking perfect.” Santana sighed.
“No, he’s not. He’s not you.” Brittany replied stubbornly.
“I’m not perfect. I’m not anywhere near perfect.” Santana said, still looking away.
“I know. But that’s why you are.” Brittany answered.
“Britt, that makes no sense.” Santana replied.
“I love you, flaws and all,” Brittany said, “It’s cute when you get jealous. When you don’t go off and fuck them, that is.”
“I’m not going to be able to stop reacting that poorly,” Santana warned.
“You stopped fighting, didn’t you?” Brittany shrugged.
“That’s different.” Santana responded quickly.
“Different how?” Brittany questioned.
“I wasn’t fighting you. I always had you to cool me down. When we fight, I don’t have someone to cool me down. I get irrational. I go crazy.” Santana answered. She finally looked back at Brittany, whose blue eyes never wavered from Santana’s spot.
“So then we won’t fight.” Brittany answered.
“Britt, all couples fight.” Santana sighed.
“So we’ll break that.” Brittany replied.
“Britt, we’re going to fight.” Santana stated.
“We don’t have to.” Brittany answered stubbornly.
“Britt, we’re going to fight. That’s a statement; not an opinion.” Santana reiterated, fighting an eye roll.
“Why do we have to fight?” Brittany demanded.
“Because I’m an ass.” Santana replied.
“So then don’t be an ass.” Brittany said with a shrug.
“I can’t just stop being an ass.” Santana responded.
“Why not?” Brittany demanded.
“Because that’s not how it works, Britt.” Santana growled.
“Why not?” Brittany asked.
“Brittany!” Santana snapped. Brittany grinned.
“You really need to learn to control your temper,” she teased. Santana rolled her eyes.
“See? I’m too much of an ass for this to work. Go home to Mike, Britt.” Santana replied. Brittany shook her head firmly.
“No.” She replied resolutely. Santana sighed and leaned her head against her table.
“I’m not worth this, Britt,” Santana murmured softly. Brittany scooted from her spot in front of the door to beside Santana.
“I’m pretty sure that’s my decision to make, S. So let me make it,” she replied, gently taking Santana’s hand. For a moment, Santana’s hand began to slink away, but when Brittany’s hand reached a second time, her fingers wrapped around Brittany’s hand.
“Te amo,” Brittany said, locking eyes with Santana. Santana chewed her lip.
“Britt,” she sighed.
“Te amo,” Brittany said again, still staring directly into Santana’s eyes. And in Santana’s head, she knew what she had to say, but what she tried desperately not to. But she looked into Brittany’s eyes and she knew her look of complete determination.
“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” Santana whispered for what felt like the umpteenth time.
“I can take care of myself,” Brittany promised, leaning her head on Santana’s shoulder.
“I can’t stand knowing that-”
“Santana, get it through your thick skull. I love you. I will always love you, okay? It gets crazy sometimes, but love is supposed to do that, right?” Brittany sighed.
“I’ll spend the entire time feeling guilty. I’ve hurt you, Britt. And it’s not like I’m really making it up.” Brittany laughed.
“Don’t worry. I think we have plenty of time for you to ‘make it up to me’.” She replied with a devious grin. Santana smirked and sighed.
“Why are you so impossible?” Santana asked.
“Because you taught me to be impossible. You said, and I quote, ‘When you want something you’ve got to fight for it. You have to remember that everyone else is greedier than you are and they’ll take everything you have. So when you find something special, you grab it and you hold on and you make sure no one else can have it.’” Brittany replied.
“Britt, I was talking about a chocolate bar.” Santana laughed.
“It’s the same principle.” Brittany responded, frowning. Santana laughed and sighed. She closed her eyes.
“Tell me what’s on your mind.” Santana let out a second breath.
“The truth is, I love you. I am madly, madly in love with you. And the truth is...”
“The truth is...?” Brittany prompted.
“The truth is, I want you to stay.” Santana said softly, giving in. Brittany smiled.
“I know,” she replied smugly.