fic: the argument
Title: The Argument
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: PG-13 for much swearing
Summary: Angsting it up. This is the argument that is a precursor to Now.
Spoilers: The Power of Madonna is referenced.
It starts with lipstick on the collar of a jacket.
“Santana, what the hell is this?” Brittany demands, holding up Santana’s favorite white jacket.
“What’s what, babe?” Santana calls from the living room, not looking up from her case file. “And fuck Puck. I can’t believe this idiot. I almost don’t believe he’s innocent.” Brittany marches up to Santana and shoves the jacket in her face.
“That’s lipstick, Santana. What the fuck,” Brittany hisses. Santana looks up from her papers to see the unmistakable red lip print on her jacket collar.
“Uhm, isn’t that your lipstick, B?” Santana shrugs. “I’m pretty sure you’ve missed once or twice. And on purpose.” Brittany growls.
“This isn’t my shade. God, Santana. We’ve been going out for how long now? You’ve known me practically my entire life, and you don’t even remember what my shade is? How do you even remember what my name is? I bet you don’t even remember my eye color!” Brittany snaps.
“Britt, first of all, your name is Brittany. Your eyes are a brilliant shade of blue and how the hell am I supposed to tell the difference between shades of red that are basically the same? It’s not like you’ve been wearing lipstick your entire life, so excuse me for not recognizing it as not yours. And quite frankly, it still looks like your lipstick to me,” Santana replies coolly, returning to Puck’s case file.
“Santana Lopez, you look at me right now. This is not my lipstick. Now I’m going to ask you one more time. What the hell is this?” Brittany growls. Santana looks up.
“Babe, I’m one hundred percent positive it’s your lips because there are no one else’s lips they could be. And I love you, but you’re wrong. Put the jacket down and help me figure out how I’m going to get Puck out of this mess,” Santana sighs, patting the seat beside her on the couch.
“Santana, don’t you dare lie to me. Who is she?” Brittany demands. Santana flips another page in Puck’s case.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she mutters as she reads the report. Brittany reaches forward, picks up the folder and throws it across the room, sending hundreds of papers flying.
“Brittany! What the fuck!” Santana snaps.
“Do you think of her when you touch me?” Brittany screams, her face beginning to turn a brilliant shade of red.
“Britt- it’s you-it’s only you. You should know that! I love you! So calm down!” Santana counters. She reaches out to touch Brittany, but Brittany smacks away Santana’s hand.
“How can you even bear to say such things when you’re so clearly lying through your teeth?” Brittany whispers angrily.
“Britt, stop it,” Santana sighs, removing her glasses to place them on the table so she can bend over and begin to scoop up the papers from Puck’s file. Britt pulls Santana back to her feet by the scruff of her sweater.
“Don’t you walk away from this conversation,” Brittany hisses.
“Britt, I’m not walking away. I’m trying to clean up the mess you just made,” Santana replies with a deep sigh as she tries to cling on to calmness. “And this isn’t so much a conversation as an attack.”
“Attack? Attack?!” Brittany shouts, “You sleep with someone else, and I’m the bad guy?”
“Britt, listen to me!” Santana shouts back, her voice strained with frustration, “I didn’t sleep with anyone else. I didn’t kiss anyone else. If that lipstick is not yours, I don’t have half a clue whose it is because, believe it or not, I would never cheat on you.” There’s a moment of silence as Brittany soaks this in. Santana pants, trying to regain peace.
“You said the same thing about Finn,” Brittany finally replies quietly. Santana can’t help it; her fist clenches.
“I thought we were over this,” she growls, struggling to regain control of herself.
“So did I.” Brittany replies firmly.
“Clearly we aren’t if you’re still going to hold that against me,” Santana snaps.
“Of course I am,” Brittany spits, “you fucked him, Santana.”
“For you- for us,” Santana spits right back, “to protect you from Coach Sylvester. It’s not like I wanted to- I did it because I love you and I wanted to protect you.”
“Bull shit,” Brittany hisses.
“Fine. Believe what you want to believe. I’m telling you the truth. You want to be a fucking idiot about it, go right ahead. I have so much shit to deal with thanks to Puck that I’m just not dealing with this right now,” Santana sighs with an eye roll, finishing picking up her papers and neatly placing them on a pile on the coffee table.
“What did you just call me?” Brittany screeches. As calmly as she can manage, Santana stands up and turns around to face Brittany, but Brittany is already asserting her full height, and Santana is simply the shorter woman.
“I called you a fucking idiot because you are being a fucking idiot right now,” Santana answers coolly. Then, Santana feels the back of Brittany’s hand colliding with her cheek. Santana stumbles backwards from the force.
“Puta madre!” Santana hisses, rubbing her cheek.
“You’re such a liar,” Brittany says, her voice quivering.
“Britt- what the fuck are you talking about? There is no one.”
“You promised me you wouldn’t hurt me. Above that, you promised me you would never call me stupid,” Brittany states. As her eyes well, Santana softens and sighs.
“I’m sorry. I take it back. You’re not an idiot. I’m sorry,” Santana sighs softly and reaches out to touch Brittany, but she pulls away.
“What else are you sorry for?” Brittany demands. Santana rolls her eyes.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me!” Brittany pouts. Santana smirks.
“I’m sorry for being a butt,” Santana sighs, taking a step towards Brittany, but Brittany continues to frown.
“And?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry for getting so worked up,” Santana sighs.
“And?”
“And, what, Britt?” Santana asks, fighting the urge to roll her eyes again.
“You’re not going to apologize for this?” Brittany demands, holding up Santana’s jacket. Santana rolls her eyes. And, just like that, Brittany slaps her across the face again, and Santana snaps.
“For fuck’s sake, Brittany, stop fucking doing that when I don’t deserve it!” Santana growls.
“You cheated on me!” Brittany snaps.
“I didn’t fucking cheat on you! Open your big blue eyes, Brittany! I love you! I am telling you the goddamn truth!” Santana snaps.
“Just like the time you didn’t fuck Finn, right? Just like the time you weren’t sexting Puck? Just like the time you weren’t shoving your tongue down Quinn’s throat?” Brittany hisses.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Britt. Grow up!” Santana groans, “I slept with Finn because Coach Sylvester told us to and you were too pussy to do it. I sexted Puck because he was my beard to protect you. And the time with Quinn doesn’t count because we were both completely wasted and you were the one who started calling for us to make out, so how the hell are you going to bring that up?” Brittany’s jaw sets.
“What about Kelly? Or Johanna? Can we count them? Can we count the times the boys hooted while you made out with them half naked? Can we count the times you made out with them half naked without the boys? Does that still count as ‘protecting me’? When you were half way across the nation, spewing bull shit about ‘sexual needs’? Do we count those, too? Because if so, what about Mark? And Derek?” Brittany hisses venomously. Her eyes narrow as she stares down Santana.
“Britt, I was eighteen. I was a fuck-up when I was eighteen. You know that and I know that. I made mistakes that year, but I’ve changed. I thought we were past this,” Santana growls.
“How do you get over that?” Brittany asks, her fist clenching Santana’s jacket, “How am I supposed to get over that when you come home with someone else’s lipstick on your jacket? How am I supposed to forget, San? How am I supposed to move past it?”
“You get over it because I’m different now!” Santana shouts. “Why do you refuse to believe me?”
“Because of this!” Brittany replies angrily, shaking Santana’s jacket in front of her face. Santana grabs the jacket and rips it from Brittany’s hands and marches toward their bathroom. When she returns, she waved the jacket in front of Brittany.
“Look!” she snaps, “I used your lipstick and made a mark on my jacket. It’s the same fucking color!” She holds up the collar so Brittany can see the red mark beside the lip print.
“My lipstick shade is brighter! It’s obvious there! See! They’re different!” Brittany insists, though Santana can see no color difference.
“Britt- the only reason your lipstick might be brighter- which it isn’t- is because I just put it on. I don’t even know when you gave me that lip print,” Santana replies.
“You’re a lying idiot! Anyone can see the color difference!” Brittany shouts.
“You’re the lying idiot!” Santana shouts back, “There is no fucking color difference! Stop being such a fucking idiot!”
“Don’t call me an idiot! If you weren’t a cheating whore, we wouldn’t have to have this argument!” Brittany snaps, and Santana’s floodgates open.
“Whore? Whore? Whore?” Santana rages, “How fucking dare you? After everything I’ve done to get back to New York to be with you? After all the years of minimum wage I worked when I got here because I wanted to be around you? After the years of hell you put me through while I tried with no avail to make up my mistakes to you? Don’t act like you’re flawless, you fucking idiot! Don’t act like you weren’t fucking Mike all of senior year and all of your freshman year of college! You aren’t some innocent girl either, B. Hate to break it to you, but if I’m a whore, so are you. And on top of that, you’re fucking useless! You can’t even make a fucking peanut butter jelly sandwich without burning the fucking toast! And we have a fucking toaster oven! You can’t even pronounce your own fucking last name!”
“Stop it,” Brittany tries to break in, but Santana grabs Brittany’s wrist and begins to shake her arms.
“You’re a useless idiot! Go fuck yourself! You think you’re going to make it as a dancer, but you aren’t. You know why, Britt? Because you don’t have what it takes. You’re useless and weak. The only reason you’re still in this apartment is because I can afford it! Let’s see how long you survive if I leave!” Santana shouts.
“Stop it!” Brittany shouts, trying fruitlessly to shake Santana’s hands off of her. “Stop it!”
“Stop what, Britt? Stop telling you the truth? Isn’t that wanted? The truth? Well, here’s the truth. Yeah- I fucked all those people you listed, but I haven’t touched any one but you since after freshman year. And you know what? Maybe that was a mistake. If I’d known you were going to hold it against me all these years, maybe I should’ve just fucked around some more because if I’m going to get scolded for bullshit like this, I might as well be guilty,” Santana spits.
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Brittany screams, waving her arms around.
“Stop what?!” Santana hisses in Brittany’s ear. She twists Brittany’s wrists and watches as Brittany squirms.
“You’re hurting me,” Brittany whimpers.
“You hurt me,” Santana replies coldly, but she lets go of Brittany’s wrists.
“I hate you,” Brittany whispers quietly as she rubs her wrists. Santana freezes.
“You don’t mean that,” she says softly.
“I do,” Brittany answers firmly.
“Take it back, Britt,” Santana whines.
“No.” Santana grabs Brittany’s hands.
“Take it back, Britt,” she begs.
“No!” Brittany replies, wrenching her hands away from Santana’s grasp.
“Take it back, Britt!” Santana demands, grabbing at Brittany’s hands again.
“No! No! No!” Brittany screams and smashes herself against Santana, waving her arms wildly until she hears the thud of Santana’s back colliding with the wall. She steps back horrified and watches as Santana’s body crumples to the ground. She stays silent as Santana grimaces and stands up.
“Fuck this. I’m leaving.” She wobbles as she takes her first step, and her knee almost gives. Brittany reaches out to support her, but Santana ignores her and hobbles her way to their bedroom where she throws in a few shirts, a few slacks, and her toothbrush into a duffel bag. Brittany means to beg her to stay and wait it out, but the words never make it out of her throat and she watches in silence as Santana zips up her bag and walks toward the door. With her hand resting on the doorknob, Santana pauses to turn around for a moment. Brittany almost believes Santana has changed her mind, but instead Santana chooses to speak.
“I’ll be at Quinn’s. I’ll be back in the morning,” she states. It isn’t until after the door slams behind her that Brittany chooses to cry. And she sobs and she sobs until she wakes up and has no idea how she fell asleep and has no recollection of ever getting into pajamas and ever climbing into bed. She looks at the clock to find it is five in the morning and sighs. She flips open her phone and almost calls Santana, but she stops. Staring at her phone screen, she makes an executive decision to get dressed and make sure she’s not home when Santana gets back.
Santana returns to an empty apartment. Well, a quiet apartment. She shows up at six, expecting Britt to still be asleep on the bed where Santana had tucked her in last night when she went back around midnight to pick up her stuffed tiger that she can not sleep without when Britt’s not around. She looks around the apartment, trying to find Brittany, but finds the room to be utterly empty. Santana curls up on their bed, trying to soak in Brittany’s scent and can not help but begin to cry as her arm falls on empty space instead of around her favorite blonde Dutch. She cries until her usual alarm goes off and she realizes she needs to get to work. She sits up and calls Brittany.
It goes to voicemail.
She tells Brittany that she swung by the apartment but she could only manage to pick up her clothes. She promises to be back for the rest of it before the end of the week. Before leaving, she hides her lucky green socks in the drawer with Brittany’s toy duck collection and tucks her UCLA sweatshirt on top of Brittany’s recently cleaned laundry. She bites her lip and hopes Brittany calls.
She doesn’t. Not for two days, anyways. She spends those two grueling days in Rachel’s apartment after realizing it would be impossible to get work done with Di around Quinn’s place all the time. And, when she gets Brittany’s message, it’s after a meeting and Lily just barely remembers to tell her to check her messages. When she presses play and Brittany’s voice comes on, she can’t help it- she begins to cry.
As Britt’s voice finishes speaking, Santana relives the fight in her mind, cringing as she hears herself shouting things she wishes she could take back. She reaches for the receiver, tempted to call her back, but she freezes as her second You’re useless resounds in her head. She bites her lip and stares at the phone. Instead, she presses play once more.
“Hi, S. It’s Britt.
I got your message that you stopped by the apartment. I was out getting groceries. It’s fine- you can leave your things here until you have the time to pick them up. I’ll be out tomorrow between three and five. I’ll leave a key under the doormat.
I miss you.
Just. Stop by when you get the chance. It’s fine.”
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: PG-13 for much swearing
Summary: Angsting it up. This is the argument that is a precursor to Now.
Spoilers: The Power of Madonna is referenced.
It starts with lipstick on the collar of a jacket.
“Santana, what the hell is this?” Brittany demands, holding up Santana’s favorite white jacket.
“What’s what, babe?” Santana calls from the living room, not looking up from her case file. “And fuck Puck. I can’t believe this idiot. I almost don’t believe he’s innocent.” Brittany marches up to Santana and shoves the jacket in her face.
“That’s lipstick, Santana. What the fuck,” Brittany hisses. Santana looks up from her papers to see the unmistakable red lip print on her jacket collar.
“Uhm, isn’t that your lipstick, B?” Santana shrugs. “I’m pretty sure you’ve missed once or twice. And on purpose.” Brittany growls.
“This isn’t my shade. God, Santana. We’ve been going out for how long now? You’ve known me practically my entire life, and you don’t even remember what my shade is? How do you even remember what my name is? I bet you don’t even remember my eye color!” Brittany snaps.
“Britt, first of all, your name is Brittany. Your eyes are a brilliant shade of blue and how the hell am I supposed to tell the difference between shades of red that are basically the same? It’s not like you’ve been wearing lipstick your entire life, so excuse me for not recognizing it as not yours. And quite frankly, it still looks like your lipstick to me,” Santana replies coolly, returning to Puck’s case file.
“Santana Lopez, you look at me right now. This is not my lipstick. Now I’m going to ask you one more time. What the hell is this?” Brittany growls. Santana looks up.
“Babe, I’m one hundred percent positive it’s your lips because there are no one else’s lips they could be. And I love you, but you’re wrong. Put the jacket down and help me figure out how I’m going to get Puck out of this mess,” Santana sighs, patting the seat beside her on the couch.
“Santana, don’t you dare lie to me. Who is she?” Brittany demands. Santana flips another page in Puck’s case.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she mutters as she reads the report. Brittany reaches forward, picks up the folder and throws it across the room, sending hundreds of papers flying.
“Brittany! What the fuck!” Santana snaps.
“Do you think of her when you touch me?” Brittany screams, her face beginning to turn a brilliant shade of red.
“Britt- it’s you-it’s only you. You should know that! I love you! So calm down!” Santana counters. She reaches out to touch Brittany, but Brittany smacks away Santana’s hand.
“How can you even bear to say such things when you’re so clearly lying through your teeth?” Brittany whispers angrily.
“Britt, stop it,” Santana sighs, removing her glasses to place them on the table so she can bend over and begin to scoop up the papers from Puck’s file. Britt pulls Santana back to her feet by the scruff of her sweater.
“Don’t you walk away from this conversation,” Brittany hisses.
“Britt, I’m not walking away. I’m trying to clean up the mess you just made,” Santana replies with a deep sigh as she tries to cling on to calmness. “And this isn’t so much a conversation as an attack.”
“Attack? Attack?!” Brittany shouts, “You sleep with someone else, and I’m the bad guy?”
“Britt, listen to me!” Santana shouts back, her voice strained with frustration, “I didn’t sleep with anyone else. I didn’t kiss anyone else. If that lipstick is not yours, I don’t have half a clue whose it is because, believe it or not, I would never cheat on you.” There’s a moment of silence as Brittany soaks this in. Santana pants, trying to regain peace.
“You said the same thing about Finn,” Brittany finally replies quietly. Santana can’t help it; her fist clenches.
“I thought we were over this,” she growls, struggling to regain control of herself.
“So did I.” Brittany replies firmly.
“Clearly we aren’t if you’re still going to hold that against me,” Santana snaps.
“Of course I am,” Brittany spits, “you fucked him, Santana.”
“For you- for us,” Santana spits right back, “to protect you from Coach Sylvester. It’s not like I wanted to- I did it because I love you and I wanted to protect you.”
“Bull shit,” Brittany hisses.
“Fine. Believe what you want to believe. I’m telling you the truth. You want to be a fucking idiot about it, go right ahead. I have so much shit to deal with thanks to Puck that I’m just not dealing with this right now,” Santana sighs with an eye roll, finishing picking up her papers and neatly placing them on a pile on the coffee table.
“What did you just call me?” Brittany screeches. As calmly as she can manage, Santana stands up and turns around to face Brittany, but Brittany is already asserting her full height, and Santana is simply the shorter woman.
“I called you a fucking idiot because you are being a fucking idiot right now,” Santana answers coolly. Then, Santana feels the back of Brittany’s hand colliding with her cheek. Santana stumbles backwards from the force.
“Puta madre!” Santana hisses, rubbing her cheek.
“You’re such a liar,” Brittany says, her voice quivering.
“Britt- what the fuck are you talking about? There is no one.”
“You promised me you wouldn’t hurt me. Above that, you promised me you would never call me stupid,” Brittany states. As her eyes well, Santana softens and sighs.
“I’m sorry. I take it back. You’re not an idiot. I’m sorry,” Santana sighs softly and reaches out to touch Brittany, but she pulls away.
“What else are you sorry for?” Brittany demands. Santana rolls her eyes.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me!” Brittany pouts. Santana smirks.
“I’m sorry for being a butt,” Santana sighs, taking a step towards Brittany, but Brittany continues to frown.
“And?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry for getting so worked up,” Santana sighs.
“And?”
“And, what, Britt?” Santana asks, fighting the urge to roll her eyes again.
“You’re not going to apologize for this?” Brittany demands, holding up Santana’s jacket. Santana rolls her eyes. And, just like that, Brittany slaps her across the face again, and Santana snaps.
“For fuck’s sake, Brittany, stop fucking doing that when I don’t deserve it!” Santana growls.
“You cheated on me!” Brittany snaps.
“I didn’t fucking cheat on you! Open your big blue eyes, Brittany! I love you! I am telling you the goddamn truth!” Santana snaps.
“Just like the time you didn’t fuck Finn, right? Just like the time you weren’t sexting Puck? Just like the time you weren’t shoving your tongue down Quinn’s throat?” Brittany hisses.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Britt. Grow up!” Santana groans, “I slept with Finn because Coach Sylvester told us to and you were too pussy to do it. I sexted Puck because he was my beard to protect you. And the time with Quinn doesn’t count because we were both completely wasted and you were the one who started calling for us to make out, so how the hell are you going to bring that up?” Brittany’s jaw sets.
“What about Kelly? Or Johanna? Can we count them? Can we count the times the boys hooted while you made out with them half naked? Can we count the times you made out with them half naked without the boys? Does that still count as ‘protecting me’? When you were half way across the nation, spewing bull shit about ‘sexual needs’? Do we count those, too? Because if so, what about Mark? And Derek?” Brittany hisses venomously. Her eyes narrow as she stares down Santana.
“Britt, I was eighteen. I was a fuck-up when I was eighteen. You know that and I know that. I made mistakes that year, but I’ve changed. I thought we were past this,” Santana growls.
“How do you get over that?” Brittany asks, her fist clenching Santana’s jacket, “How am I supposed to get over that when you come home with someone else’s lipstick on your jacket? How am I supposed to forget, San? How am I supposed to move past it?”
“You get over it because I’m different now!” Santana shouts. “Why do you refuse to believe me?”
“Because of this!” Brittany replies angrily, shaking Santana’s jacket in front of her face. Santana grabs the jacket and rips it from Brittany’s hands and marches toward their bathroom. When she returns, she waved the jacket in front of Brittany.
“Look!” she snaps, “I used your lipstick and made a mark on my jacket. It’s the same fucking color!” She holds up the collar so Brittany can see the red mark beside the lip print.
“My lipstick shade is brighter! It’s obvious there! See! They’re different!” Brittany insists, though Santana can see no color difference.
“Britt- the only reason your lipstick might be brighter- which it isn’t- is because I just put it on. I don’t even know when you gave me that lip print,” Santana replies.
“You’re a lying idiot! Anyone can see the color difference!” Brittany shouts.
“You’re the lying idiot!” Santana shouts back, “There is no fucking color difference! Stop being such a fucking idiot!”
“Don’t call me an idiot! If you weren’t a cheating whore, we wouldn’t have to have this argument!” Brittany snaps, and Santana’s floodgates open.
“Whore? Whore? Whore?” Santana rages, “How fucking dare you? After everything I’ve done to get back to New York to be with you? After all the years of minimum wage I worked when I got here because I wanted to be around you? After the years of hell you put me through while I tried with no avail to make up my mistakes to you? Don’t act like you’re flawless, you fucking idiot! Don’t act like you weren’t fucking Mike all of senior year and all of your freshman year of college! You aren’t some innocent girl either, B. Hate to break it to you, but if I’m a whore, so are you. And on top of that, you’re fucking useless! You can’t even make a fucking peanut butter jelly sandwich without burning the fucking toast! And we have a fucking toaster oven! You can’t even pronounce your own fucking last name!”
“Stop it,” Brittany tries to break in, but Santana grabs Brittany’s wrist and begins to shake her arms.
“You’re a useless idiot! Go fuck yourself! You think you’re going to make it as a dancer, but you aren’t. You know why, Britt? Because you don’t have what it takes. You’re useless and weak. The only reason you’re still in this apartment is because I can afford it! Let’s see how long you survive if I leave!” Santana shouts.
“Stop it!” Brittany shouts, trying fruitlessly to shake Santana’s hands off of her. “Stop it!”
“Stop what, Britt? Stop telling you the truth? Isn’t that wanted? The truth? Well, here’s the truth. Yeah- I fucked all those people you listed, but I haven’t touched any one but you since after freshman year. And you know what? Maybe that was a mistake. If I’d known you were going to hold it against me all these years, maybe I should’ve just fucked around some more because if I’m going to get scolded for bullshit like this, I might as well be guilty,” Santana spits.
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Brittany screams, waving her arms around.
“Stop what?!” Santana hisses in Brittany’s ear. She twists Brittany’s wrists and watches as Brittany squirms.
“You’re hurting me,” Brittany whimpers.
“You hurt me,” Santana replies coldly, but she lets go of Brittany’s wrists.
“I hate you,” Brittany whispers quietly as she rubs her wrists. Santana freezes.
“You don’t mean that,” she says softly.
“I do,” Brittany answers firmly.
“Take it back, Britt,” Santana whines.
“No.” Santana grabs Brittany’s hands.
“Take it back, Britt,” she begs.
“No!” Brittany replies, wrenching her hands away from Santana’s grasp.
“Take it back, Britt!” Santana demands, grabbing at Brittany’s hands again.
“No! No! No!” Brittany screams and smashes herself against Santana, waving her arms wildly until she hears the thud of Santana’s back colliding with the wall. She steps back horrified and watches as Santana’s body crumples to the ground. She stays silent as Santana grimaces and stands up.
“Fuck this. I’m leaving.” She wobbles as she takes her first step, and her knee almost gives. Brittany reaches out to support her, but Santana ignores her and hobbles her way to their bedroom where she throws in a few shirts, a few slacks, and her toothbrush into a duffel bag. Brittany means to beg her to stay and wait it out, but the words never make it out of her throat and she watches in silence as Santana zips up her bag and walks toward the door. With her hand resting on the doorknob, Santana pauses to turn around for a moment. Brittany almost believes Santana has changed her mind, but instead Santana chooses to speak.
“I’ll be at Quinn’s. I’ll be back in the morning,” she states. It isn’t until after the door slams behind her that Brittany chooses to cry. And she sobs and she sobs until she wakes up and has no idea how she fell asleep and has no recollection of ever getting into pajamas and ever climbing into bed. She looks at the clock to find it is five in the morning and sighs. She flips open her phone and almost calls Santana, but she stops. Staring at her phone screen, she makes an executive decision to get dressed and make sure she’s not home when Santana gets back.
Santana returns to an empty apartment. Well, a quiet apartment. She shows up at six, expecting Britt to still be asleep on the bed where Santana had tucked her in last night when she went back around midnight to pick up her stuffed tiger that she can not sleep without when Britt’s not around. She looks around the apartment, trying to find Brittany, but finds the room to be utterly empty. Santana curls up on their bed, trying to soak in Brittany’s scent and can not help but begin to cry as her arm falls on empty space instead of around her favorite blonde Dutch. She cries until her usual alarm goes off and she realizes she needs to get to work. She sits up and calls Brittany.
It goes to voicemail.
She tells Brittany that she swung by the apartment but she could only manage to pick up her clothes. She promises to be back for the rest of it before the end of the week. Before leaving, she hides her lucky green socks in the drawer with Brittany’s toy duck collection and tucks her UCLA sweatshirt on top of Brittany’s recently cleaned laundry. She bites her lip and hopes Brittany calls.
She doesn’t. Not for two days, anyways. She spends those two grueling days in Rachel’s apartment after realizing it would be impossible to get work done with Di around Quinn’s place all the time. And, when she gets Brittany’s message, it’s after a meeting and Lily just barely remembers to tell her to check her messages. When she presses play and Brittany’s voice comes on, she can’t help it- she begins to cry.
As Britt’s voice finishes speaking, Santana relives the fight in her mind, cringing as she hears herself shouting things she wishes she could take back. She reaches for the receiver, tempted to call her back, but she freezes as her second You’re useless resounds in her head. She bites her lip and stares at the phone. Instead, she presses play once more.
“Hi, S. It’s Britt.
I got your message that you stopped by the apartment. I was out getting groceries. It’s fine- you can leave your things here until you have the time to pick them up. I’ll be out tomorrow between three and five. I’ll leave a key under the doormat.
I miss you.
Just. Stop by when you get the chance. It’s fine.”