Doing It Right (7/16)
Title: Doing It Right, Chapter 7: A Three-Front War
Author: creedogv
Rating: M
Summary: Santana has been given the opportunity to correct her past mistakes with Brittany, so she can’t help but take it. With the wedding coming up, Santana realizes she can’t control everything.
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Spoilers: 2x08 “Furt”
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 6.5
So here’s what you missed on Glee. After the debacle at Puck’s house, Santana takes Brittany to her house and she totally rocks her world. But lovingly, you know? When Miss Holliday comes to sub, Santana enlists Rachel (reluctantly) to get Mr. Schue back, but also plant the seeds of a relationship between the two teachers. Even though Santana has Brittany completely smitten with her, Brittany accepts a “friend-date” with Artie. Uh-oh. I hope this doesn’t mean trouble! And that’s what you missed on Glee!
“Yay! I love weddings! Did you know that Kurt’s dad and Finn’s mom were dating?” Brittany asked, allowing Santana the chance to speak for the first time in eight minutes.
“Yeah, I did. Rachel constantly yammers about how great it is that Finn has a positive male role model. To get her to shut up, I told her that it would be great if she had a male role model at home.” Brittany was frowning at her. With artificially heightened enthusiasm, she added, “But we get to sing at the wedding! And we’ll be Carole’s bridesmaids!”
Brittany was now staring at her with playful suspicion. “Did you have anything to do with them getting together? Is it one of your schemes?”
“As much as I’d like to be the cause of that smile on your face, I can’t take credit for this. So how was your family night?”
Brittany’s enthusiasm suddenly diminished to a whimper. “Family night? Oh, yeah, we took my sister to the museum.”
Santana scoffed. “Sounds boring. Why didn’t you pick some night when you family was doing something fun to blow me off?”
“It was Joanna’s birthday. She wanted to go.”
“Really? Not the museum part. You’re little sis is a dork. But it was her birthday? Usually your folks invite me to stuff like that. Granted, I’ve been spending a lot of time over at your place. They tired of me?”
Brittany borrowed the excuse, “Yeah, that’s it.”
“Well, you can come by my place tonight. My mom saw something she liked on the Food Channel and we’re having something that requires a pound of feta cheese. And, afterwards, maybe you can make it up to me for leaving me high and dry. Or low and wet, should I say.”
Brittany bristled. “I’m not the only person in this school. Hasn’t Puck been texting you, like, constantly?”
“Mine isn’t the only number in his phone. I’ve decided to become more selective this year.” Santana bumped her hip into Brittany’s.
* * *
After losing much of the school day, Santana suddenly found herself walking into the choir room. Rachel was standing by the piano wearing a puke green striped sweater, and Brittany, Quinn, and Tina were lined up on the bench, being addressed. It wasn’t like Santana didn’t know this moment, but it shouldn’t have been happening.
“Um, why didn’t anyone tell me we’re having a glee girls’ meeting?” she recited.
“This is a meeting for glee girls with boyfriends on the football team,” Rachel explained matter-of-factly.
Santana’s brown eyes locked with Brittany’s blue ones. “Then why’s Brittany here?”
The blonde didn’t answer, looking guilty. “Apparently, she’s dating Artie now,” Rachel answered.
“Artie? Really?” Tina asked.
“Deal with it.”
Tina shrugged indifferently. “Whatever. Good for you two.”
This was not the reaction Brittany was expecting. Her eyes glanced over in Santana’s direction, but never met hers.
Santana’s heart died right there, or at least it felt like it did, since excruciating pain was spreading through her body starting at her chest. “Brittany, since when?” How far did I jump?
“Since yesterday,” she announced. Suddenly her behavior that morning suddenly made sense.
“Well, maybe I’m dating Puck.” Since the heart thing hadn’t killed her, she might as well put poison on her tongue.
“Is that true?” Brittany asked, a mixture of emotions in her voice.
Quinn quipped, “No, it’s not true. She’s just getting naked with Puckerman.”
“Hold up, I’m not doing either! I haven’t given him the time of day in weeks…” At least I hope I haven’t. I need to get a calendar. “And I don’t plan to anytime soon, so everyone stop with the Pucktana crap.” Santana couldn’t help but notice Brittany’s jaw clench.
Rachel dismissed the conversation, “Regardless, he’s on probation; he can’t get into fights. You see, we’re planning on…”
“I can tell what you’re planning, Berry. It’s a flawless plan,” she spat, her voice oozing with heavy sarcasm.
“Kurt needs our help. I don’t know why you don’t care…”
Santana cut her off, “Kurt does need our help. But what he doesn’t need is more violence. It’s a bad plan.”
“No, it’s not!” Rachel cried out, her pride wounded, “Karofsky is one bully. And we have four boyfriends.”
Santana crossed her arms. “I’d say three-and-a-half.” And she didn’t even regret it.
“Sam and I are not dating,” Quinn pointed out. Santana was pretty damn sure that they were, unless Quinn had become more frigid and even calling someone her boyfriend was now too intimate for her. Didn’t they get Christian-engaged or something? I don’t have time to fix your problems, Fabray, not when I’ve got to deal with this Artie nonsense.
“This will blow up your face, gnome.”
“At least I’m doing something. Now if you’ll excuse us. You have nothing to offer.”
“You’re on my list, midget. You all are.”
As Santana turned, she caught Brittany looked forlorn. In reality, she would have liked to exclude Brittany from the threat, but didn’t know how to single her out for a reprieve. She strode out of the room, barely making it to the bathroom before the tears came. She punched one of the stall doors, making it slam against the inside wall. She bit her fist as if it would stop the crying.
How did everything go to shit? Brittany’s dating Artie. Kurt’s bullying problem got to the breaking point and the whole mess just snuck up on me. How can I be letting homophobia at this school win? Way to fail in every aspect of your life, Lopez.
All Santana could hear in her head was Brittany’s voice saying over and over, “I’m so turned on by you right now,” to him.
Hell no.
* * *
Santana’s path took her by the principal’s office. She wondered if Sylvester could help, or would help, since she seemed to advocate bullying by her Cheerios, but the office was already occupied, by a very traumatized-looking Kurt, along with Mr. Schue. Coach seemed actually sympathetic. Coach had the occasional soft spot. She’d liked Kurt when he was on the Cheerios. And she’d turned Becky Jackson into her loyal aide-de-camp. Regardless, it was apparent that Sylvester was already busy, and on their side. There was a two-front war being fought for Kurt, and Santana intended to lead a third charge. The best one, too.
On her way, she also strolled by Finn and Rachel in the midst of an argument. From the small snippet of conversation she overheard, she gathered it was about Finn refusing to help confront Karofsky. His reasoning seemed to be: “I can’t help Kurt, because then Karofsky won’t protect me on the field, and if he doesn’t protect me, I’ll get injured and won’t be quarterback anymore, and if I’m not quarterback, I won’t be popular, and if I’m not popular, I won’t be able to help Kurt.” In less than one week, Kurt would be his stepbrother, and he was falling victim to his own insecurities and backwards logic. It made Santana want to punch him in the teeth, to scream at him, and Berry seemed to be failing in doing just that, resorting to her angry possum face and pouting with self-superiority.
But Finn wasn’t Santana’s target; Karofsky was. She finally located him in the Arts & Humanities wing, joking around with Azimio and a couple of the other football players. Without a word, Santana grabbed him by the back of his collar, no doubt cutting off his oxygen, and dragged him into the nearest classroom. His buddies hoot-and-hollered, obviously misinterpreting Santana’s intentions. She launched him towards the front row of desks, and he regained his footing just in time to take a seat on top of one. “Look, Lopez, I’m honored, but no thanks.” After a second, he seemed to realize he needed an excuse, “It’s nothing personal. You’re really hot, but I know you’re Puck’s girl and that dude’s ripped… and he just got out of jail. It ain’t worth the risk.”
Santana just glared at him during his spiel, secretly thankful that he hadn’t tried to stick his tongue down her throat before she had a chance to talk to him. “We’re not hooking up, you gorilla. This is about Kurt.”
In an instant, Karofsky was back in a standing position and looking threatening. Santana chose to meet him with a withering glare, hoping it would be enough, since the football player easily had a buck-twenty on her.
“Look, glee club is full of first-string football players and top dog Cheerios. I don’t know why everyone still thinks it’s the bottom of the heap. I’m not saying you can’t push your considerable weight around-hell, I do plenty of that myself-but I’m gonna kindly ask that you find another whipping boy besides Kurt. You can have Jewfro, or that creeper stoner kid who never wears pants, anyone from the A/V club; don’t care, but Hummel is off-limits.”
“The little twink deserves it. He goes around flaunting his disgusting lifestyle.”
If Santana thought she could get away with it, she would have relocated one of Karofsky’s kneecaps into the base of his spine through the most obvious route. Without twitching an eyebrow, she remarked instead, “Okay, we’ll do this the hard way. Either you leave Kurt alone, or I tell everybody you’ve got every STD known to man and sheep.” Karofsky just rolled his eyes. “And that you tried to rape me.”
Karofsky paled at the sheer offhandedness of her tone. After a few seconds, he sputtered out, “That won’t work!”
Calmly, Santana explained, “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll eventually change my story, downgrade it to you standing a little too close to me, and saying things that were a little more ambiguous than I first claimed.” She dramatically pressed a hand to her collar. “Then I’ll graciously drop the charges when I realize you were being a pervert not a predator.” Her softness disappeared. “But the stigma, that’ll stick. You won’t get another date as long as you go here, maybe even as long as you live in Lima, and that could be a while, let’s be honest. Your buddies will all of a sudden be really awkward around you; they won’t want to be seen with you. Suddenly, every girl in school will flinch every time you get within ten feet of them. You’ll start getting called into the principal’s office at least once a month because some well-meaning teacher was just a bit concerned by how you worded this one sentence in an essay you wrote. One day, you’ll come to school and spray-painted across your locker will be a six-letter word that won’t get scrubbed off for at least a day, ensuring that every person at school knows what you were wrongly-‘wrongly’?-accused of.” When the jock’s knees finally began to tremble, Santana offered, “Or you give Kurt a break. It’s almost too easy.”
“Fine,” he growled, as if the choice weren’t so easy.
Santana shrugged and exited the room quickly, her arms wrapped protectively around herself, making sure the other football players saw her demeanor. She could hear them asking Karofsky what the deal was. He covered well, claiming, “Chicks. They’re hot and cold.”
* * *
“Yeah, they didn’t include me either,” Mercedes told Santana as they sat in the choir room, Mercedes flipping through a songbook and Santana filing her nails. “Kurt is my boy and they didn’t think I’d want to help him out even though it’s me who he comes to when it gets bad?”
“Eh, who needs them? They’re just hiding behind their boyfriends. Us Lonely Hearts can get shit done on our own.”
“Amen,” Mercedes replied, going in for the fist-bump. Neither turned it into a firework.
“So, did I sense a hint of nefarious plotting in your voice?” Santana asked casually.
“Yeah, I stuffed Karofsky’s tailpipe with Skittles. I figured he needed to learn to taste the rainbow.”
“You never learn your lesson, do you? I approve. Yay.” Another fist-bump. “He deserves to be saddled with seventeen grand in repair costs.”
Mercedes giggled. “I had Kurt’s dad take Sue’s car into his shop. There’s only seven thousand worth of damage and he’s only going to charge me five.”
“Karofsky won’t get the discount.”
“Karofsky won’t be able to get service. He’ll have to take it to the dealer and pay twice that.”
“Fine by me. Your dad flip when he saw the estimate?”
“You better believe it. It’s not like he can’t afford it, but he’s making me get a job to pay him back.”
“So unfair. It’s the duty of a parent to spoil their children. I’m pretty sure it’s, like, in the Bible or something. You should get a job at Breadstix! If you smuggle out food for me, I might start actually talking to you in the hallways.”
“I tried that. Turns out you gotta be eighteen to wait or serve. And I’m not exactly the type of girl they hire to be a hostess.”
“That’s Coach Sylvester’s fault. She runs a human trafficking ring and sells off members of the JV squad who disappoint her.”
“So, it turns out there’s only one place in town that’s hiring.”
“Where?”
Two days previous, Terri Schuester was standing with Mercedes at Sheets ‘N’ Things, showing her how to fold a hand towel. “Can you try that?”
Mercedes just points to a row of perfectly folded towels. “Yeah, my mom’s a Nazi when it comes to her linen closet.”
“Excellent. You know, I’ve been meaning to hire another assistant assistant manager.”
From the next aisle, Howard Bamboo whines, “Come on.”
* * *
Dave Karofsky was getting ready to lift some weights in the locker room when Chang and Wheelchair Kid approached him, looking like they were seconds away from wetting themselves on the spot. Chang frowned at him in an attempt to look menacing. Dave’s younger brother had a ferret that he was more frightened of. Abrams was scowling, too, as if he had much more use than as a crippled human shield for Mike.
“You’re not picking on Kurt,” the little one declared.
Dave rolled his eyes. What is with this kid and his cloud of protector gnats?
“We’re serious!” Mike added, attempting to slam his locker closed, but not pushing hard enough to make a very loud sound. “This is a warning.”
“From now on you’re going to leave him alone.”
Karofsky was amused that, even together, they weren’t as menacing as the Mexican girl, who Dave figured he could topple with a good sneeze. And there was no reason why this should be; Mike looked amazing without a shirt: all biceps and pecs and abs. With an ounce of confidence, he could be a brutal opponent in a fight. And while the nerdy one looked like he could be broken in half (and perhaps had been), his performance on the field showed that he could turn his chair into an honest-to-God battering ram.
Mike walked around in front of Artie and puffed up his chest, like a pigeon, and Karofsky was already imagining how the lanky boy would topple over the wheelchair and its occupant with a medium-force push. Then Blondie came up from the other side. Much like Chang, he had nothing to be ashamed of under his jersey. Dave found himself on the precipice of a fair fight, and he couldn’t deny the thrill he got once his adrenaline started pumping. He glared at Mike, whose pupils shrank; the Asian boy wouldn’t be throwing the first punch. Evans looked ready for a scuffle, and Karofsky figured he could give the kid a fat lip without anyone noticing. But then there was Puckerman hovering the background. His muscled body-I guess it’s true what they say about the homos and their bodies-was relaxed but his eyes were burning. If he joined the fight, Karofsky would be in trouble, except for the fact he was surrounded by allies.
It didn’t happen, though. Maybe Dave wasn’t in the mood for a broken nose or a bruised spleen. Maybe Lopez’s threat was still fresh in his mind. Maybe he remembered that Coach Beiste was the glee club’s fruity director’s fag hag. Maybe that tearful expression on Kurt’s face wasn’t getting his blood plumping like he thought it would. He huffed resignedly. “Messing with that faggot ain’t worth it,” he remarked and extracted himself from the box that Sam and Mike had put him in. “Pardon me, ladies.”
After exiting the locker room to a roomful of confused faces, Dave turned the corner and set eyes on Hummel at his locker. It was time for him to deal with this situation once and for all.
* * *
Kurt was considering redecorating his locker door with pictures cut from his dad’s discarded travel brochures when he saw Karofsky stomping toward him out of the corner of his eye. He visibly flinched, awaiting the attack. Instead, the football player threw something at him, missing his face completely, and crashing loudly into his locker.
Aggressively, the stocky football player declared, “Hummel, things are about to change between us. I’m concerned slamming you into lockers might infect me with your gay diseases. So, here’s the deal: you are to stay away from me at all times. If you’re walking down the hall and you see me, you take the long way. If you’re at your locker and I come strolling by, you have three seconds to get what you need and make it the staircase before I lay eyes on your lady-like self. Is that clear?”
Kurt studied the bully for a moment, which was a moment too long for Karofsky.
“If you’re lusting after me right now, Hummel, AIDS be damned, I will find a way to fit your puny body in that locker. Now, I repeat, do we have an understanding?”
“Yes,” Kurt replied immediately.
“Good. This plan goes into effect in thirty seconds.” He walked off, but turned around to add, “One more thing: you tell that dyke Lopez that the deal goes for her too.” Another step. “And if you dare sic the rainbow patrol on me in the locker room again, I will crush all of their faces in so badly their mamas won’t be able to recognize them. Nor will yours. Spread the word.” Kurt bunched the fabric of his slacks in his fists, knowing Karofsky didn’t care enough about him to know why the insult hurt so much.
But after a moment, he calmed. His mind was relaxed enough to scold himself for wrinkling his pants.
After a full minute, he was so relaxed, it was as if he’d been carrying a backpack full of brick around all this time and had finally removed it, and now he could float to the ceiling if he breathed in deeply enough. He was shaking with the inability to fully accept what had just happened, as if he would wake up at any moment and this miracle would vanish.
And what made it all the more unbelievable was who his savior seemed to be.
His hands latched onto his locker door, as if his legs might give out any minute. He reached into his locker and pulled out the object Karofsky had launched at him. It was the wedding cake centerpiece. It was pretty scratched up, but nothing he couldn’t fix in an hour with supplies from the art room.
* * *
Kurt, still dazed, stumbled into the choir room, where he was immediately accosted by Rachel, who was practically bouncing. “Kurt, the boys got Karofsky to lay off you! They confronted him in the locker room and he said… what did he say?”
“I’d rather not repeat it,” Sam remarked, who had Quinn fawning over him. Likewise, Brittany and Tina were perched upon Artie and Mike.
“No, I know. I ran into him.” Everyone gasped in fear. “No, no. It’s okay. He… I think he called a truce.”
“Oh, boys!” Rachel gushed, “You all were so brave.”
Kurt noticed that Finn was sheepishly sitting in the corner, his head bowed guiltily. He asked, “So, Finn, I’d rather not listen to your girlfriend’s voice when she’s this excited. How’d it go down?”
Finn mumbled, “Sorry, I wasn’t there. I was in the weight room. I guess I forgot when we planned to do it.”
Kurt watched Rachel’s lip actually snarl. His eyes scanned the room. Mercedes was on the back row, beaming with joy. Santana was there, too, filing her nails and not making eye contact.
“Well, guys,” he announced, “I guess I owe you a big thank-you. And Santana…” The Latina’s eyes briefly flitted up before returning to her nails. “I supposed I should thank you, too. Just a heads up, you should probably avoid Karofsky in the hallways.”
“That’s been my M.O. for three years now,” she quipped nonchalantly, “Don’t need it in writing.”
“Wait, what did she do?” Rachel asked incredulously.
“Nothing much,” Santana replied.
“You’re too modest,” Kurt noted.
“Look, you have no idea what I did or didn’t do. I’m not saying I didn’t do something; I’m just saying, if I did, it was more for my own benefit than yours.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“You’d be surprised,” she replied, looking up and making eye contact for longer than was typical of her, before turning them down to survey her handiwork.
When Kurt’s eyes scanned the room again, he noticed Brittany had shifted her glance and was watching Santana with curiosity. Everything fell into place for Kurt.
Mr. Schue walked into the room, announcing it was time to narrow down their set list for Sectionals. “As happy as I am that you all have been working so hard for the Hudson-Hummel wedding, you’re not getting a minute of practice time until we get the list down to at most two choices for each category. We’re allowed three songs: the intro song which we usually reserve for a duet, then our ballad, and finally our closing group number.” Two dozen song titles were scribbled on the white board and narrowed down with minimal effort. Rachel looked less than fully pleased, but seemed happy enough with the selections. Kurt debated less than usual and Santana remained silent for the entire discussion. Before long, Mr. Schue proudly declared the club had the floor to practice “Marry You”.
Santana’s plan to avoid Puck at all costs was complicated since they were paired up for the wedding march. Most of the practice was spent swatting his hands away from her private zones. He balked at her attempts to teach him her own personal little jig. And worst of all, Brittany smiled at them, like she thought this was their own private way of badass-flirting.
During a water break, Brittany bounced over to her. “How’s it going with Puck?”
“I’m about ten seconds away from stabbing him in the junk. How’d I get paired up with him anyway?”
Brittany frowned. “Oh, Rachel and I did that. You were talking about you hadn’t seen him much lately earlier, so I thought maybe you’d want him to be your dance partner.”
“Why would you think that? I said I was trying to avoid him. Ever since Fabray got betrothed to Sam-I-Am, Puck’s been like a dog in heat now that his brood mare has chosen another stud. And after what happened last week…” Her face was wracked with pain. “Brittany, I can’t do that again. I’ll slit my wrists first.”
Brittany looked like her own wrists had been slit. “I’m sorry. We all used to be friends: you and me and Puck and Quinn and Finn.”
“Puck’s not my friend anymore. All he cares about is getting me into bed.”
“I’m your friend and I like you in bed.”
“Th-that’s different.”
“It’s not like I thought you had lovey feelings for him, but I thought you liked him enough to hang out with him. I thought it would help.”
“Help what?”
“Nothing,” she replied, “it’s stupid.”
“This whole thing is stupid,” Santana muttered mostly to herself. Seeing Brittany near tears, she said, “Brittany, don’t feel bad about this. I can handle Puck. And it’s not your fault. Process of elimination says I was going to end up with him during the song anyway. Everyone else is in a relationship and Kurt has his Will & Grace thing with Mercedes, so...” If this assuaged Brittany’s misery, she didn’t show it. And Santana knew her well enough to know that if she didn’t show something, she wasn’t feeling it. “Brittany, maybe you shouldn’t come over tonight after all. I don’t think I’m feeling very good.” Brittany nodded, reading between the lines. After they parted, Santana threw her streamer to the ground. It failed to make her feel better.
The rest of practice dragged on, since Kurt was a perfectionist and wanted the wedding dance march to go smoothly. At the end of practice, Santana quickly made her exit, needing some space from her best friend and especially from Puck. Brittany muttered an excuse to Artie and ran after her, but she was beat by Kurt, who asked her if she wanted to stop by his house. “I’ve got this great idea for this hairdo you can wear to the wedding.” Surprisingly, Santana immediately agreed.
Brittany turned around and took her seat by Artie, who seemed surprised that she returned. “So, Artie, are you busy tonight? Do you want to come to my house and watch a movie?”
Flustered, Artie agreed immediately. He couldn’t be sure, but Puck had mentioned what had happened when Brittany had asked him to come over to her house to watch a movie freshman year. “I still have to cross my legs every time my little sister puts on Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”
Author’s Note: I really hate it when authors apologize for the language of their characters, and I’m absolutely not doing that, but I do have to explain something about my style for those who don’t pick up on it. Even when I write in the third person, the writing of the chapter takes on the tone and mentality of the point-of-view character. There is no narrator, and he’s certainly not me, and any slurs I use, especially outside of the actual dialogue, are merely being borrowed from the minds of the characters.
Chapter 8: Lesbotana