Doing It Right (1/?)
Title: Doing It Right, Chapter 1: New Age-y Stuff
Author: creedogv
Rating: T
Summary: Santana was not one to believe in New Age-y stuff, but when given the opportunity to correct her past mistakes, she can’t help but take it.
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Word Count: ~750
Spoilers: 2x04 “Duets”, 2x15 “Sexy”
Author’s Note: Special thanks to lets_duet for helping me get set up on LJ.
So here’s what you missed on Glee. Brittany’s dating Artie, but she and Santana are still having their sweet lady kisses, which is not cheating because… “the plumbing’s different.” Still, Brittany is confused about her relationship with Santana… and breakfast. Anyway, Santana and Brittany talk to Holly Holliday about their sexuality. She helps Santana to sing “Landslide” to Brittany, which makes Santana realize… “I wanna be with you… I love you.” Unfortunately for her, Brittany’s answer was “Of course I love you, and I’d totally be with you if it weren’t for Artie… I can’t break up with him.” Obviously, Santana didn’t take that well. Poor girl. And that’s what you missed on… Glee!
Santana was not one to believe in New Age-y stuff like this, but she was in pain, in desperation. The words still echoed in her mind: Of course I love you. I do. And I’d totally be with you if it weren’t for Artie. I love him, too. I don’t want to hurt him. That’s not right. I can’t break up with him.
I’m sorry.
She’d talked to Ms. Holiday after it happened. She didn’t even remember going to see her, but she suddenly found herself bawling with her head pressed into the woman’s shoulder. It was the substitute teacher who suggested this unconventional procedure. Santana didn’t know how it could possibly fix her issues; it was psuedoscience wrapped in science fiction. But Ms. Holiday promised she’d be there the entire time, so Santana felt oddly safe.
The office looked much like other professional offices: wood paneling, a large desk, several comfy armchairs, and a chaise longue that Santana was now lying on.
“Close your eyes,” the doctor instructed, “Now I want you to imagine that moment when you believe you caused the unfortunate series of events. The moment that you think could help you set things right.”
In her mind, Santana was now in Brittany’s room. She saw two female figures lying on a bed together, wearing familiar red uniforms.
The doctor’s voice filtered in: “If you’re looking at yourself, you’re not there yet. Be there. Be you.”
In a flash, Santana found herself lying on top of Brittany, kissing her lips and neck. But something wasn’t right; she was still too detached, too inert.
“You should be in your body now. You’ll feel paralyzed at first. It will take a minute to take control of your body.”
Santana was terrified. It was like being frozen; worse, it was like being nothing. She could see; she could hear; but she couldn’t feel. Not her arms or legs or the warmth of Brittany’s skin or the coolness of the air or even gravity holding her in place. She couldn’t reach out or shake or scream or breathe.
“Listen, there’s a lot of talking going on, and I wants to be my mack on,” Santana heard her voice saying, like poison. Anger boiled in her; she was supposed to be fixing things, but she was trapped in a body she couldn’t control. A body that just lied to the girl she loved. A body that was now sitting up, putting its back to the blonde, cutting her off, and crushing her delicate heart in a way that Santana could easily imagine, since it was happening to her, too.
The distant command was almost imperceptible: “Don’t fight it. If you fight it, it’ll just take longer to settle in.”
Finally, a tingling sensation invaded Santana’s arms and she could finally feel things: the fabric of her Cheerio skirt on her hips, Brittany’s comforter on her thighs, the strands of her weave in her hands, which were collecting the hair into a ponytail.
Brittany’s voice, not even hiding her disappointment, asked, “Who are you going to sing a duet with?”
Not fully paying attention to the voice that her ears couldn’t escape, Santana experimentally tried to relax her hands. Her hair fell around her.
“Santana?”
Now or never. Santana wished she had more of a plan. Fully in control of her body, she rolled over, resting on her elbows and deliberately locked her eyes with Brittany’s. It would be easy just to tell her best friend her feelings. For Santana, it was only a day ago that she’d poured her heart out to the same crystalline blue eyes. All the words were there, at the tip of her tongue. But Brittany was looking up at her, expecting something, expecting anything, expecting everything. Three little words: I love…
“…you,” Santana said.
A smile magically appeared and Santana’s heart clenched. “Yay! What duet are we going to do? If you don’t like ‘Come to My Window’?”
“Something hot,” was the answer, “something that will win us that date at Breadstix.” Santana lowered her mouth onto Brittany’s, wondering if the blonde had caught her slip-up about a “date.”
I’ve only got one shot for this. I tell her those three little words and I don’t hear them back? It’ll break me and it’ll break me out of this projection and then all hope is lost, for a while. So, it’s settled: get Brittany to utter those words first-I know how she feels-and then I say them back, and we’re home free. I get the girl.
Chapter 2: Regret Nothing
Author: creedogv
Rating: T
Summary: Santana was not one to believe in New Age-y stuff, but when given the opportunity to correct her past mistakes, she can’t help but take it.
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Word Count: ~750
Spoilers: 2x04 “Duets”, 2x15 “Sexy”
Author’s Note: Special thanks to lets_duet for helping me get set up on LJ.
So here’s what you missed on Glee. Brittany’s dating Artie, but she and Santana are still having their sweet lady kisses, which is not cheating because… “the plumbing’s different.” Still, Brittany is confused about her relationship with Santana… and breakfast. Anyway, Santana and Brittany talk to Holly Holliday about their sexuality. She helps Santana to sing “Landslide” to Brittany, which makes Santana realize… “I wanna be with you… I love you.” Unfortunately for her, Brittany’s answer was “Of course I love you, and I’d totally be with you if it weren’t for Artie… I can’t break up with him.” Obviously, Santana didn’t take that well. Poor girl. And that’s what you missed on… Glee!
Santana was not one to believe in New Age-y stuff like this, but she was in pain, in desperation. The words still echoed in her mind: Of course I love you. I do. And I’d totally be with you if it weren’t for Artie. I love him, too. I don’t want to hurt him. That’s not right. I can’t break up with him.
I’m sorry.
She’d talked to Ms. Holiday after it happened. She didn’t even remember going to see her, but she suddenly found herself bawling with her head pressed into the woman’s shoulder. It was the substitute teacher who suggested this unconventional procedure. Santana didn’t know how it could possibly fix her issues; it was psuedoscience wrapped in science fiction. But Ms. Holiday promised she’d be there the entire time, so Santana felt oddly safe.
The office looked much like other professional offices: wood paneling, a large desk, several comfy armchairs, and a chaise longue that Santana was now lying on.
“Close your eyes,” the doctor instructed, “Now I want you to imagine that moment when you believe you caused the unfortunate series of events. The moment that you think could help you set things right.”
In her mind, Santana was now in Brittany’s room. She saw two female figures lying on a bed together, wearing familiar red uniforms.
The doctor’s voice filtered in: “If you’re looking at yourself, you’re not there yet. Be there. Be you.”
In a flash, Santana found herself lying on top of Brittany, kissing her lips and neck. But something wasn’t right; she was still too detached, too inert.
“You should be in your body now. You’ll feel paralyzed at first. It will take a minute to take control of your body.”
Santana was terrified. It was like being frozen; worse, it was like being nothing. She could see; she could hear; but she couldn’t feel. Not her arms or legs or the warmth of Brittany’s skin or the coolness of the air or even gravity holding her in place. She couldn’t reach out or shake or scream or breathe.
“Listen, there’s a lot of talking going on, and I wants to be my mack on,” Santana heard her voice saying, like poison. Anger boiled in her; she was supposed to be fixing things, but she was trapped in a body she couldn’t control. A body that just lied to the girl she loved. A body that was now sitting up, putting its back to the blonde, cutting her off, and crushing her delicate heart in a way that Santana could easily imagine, since it was happening to her, too.
The distant command was almost imperceptible: “Don’t fight it. If you fight it, it’ll just take longer to settle in.”
Finally, a tingling sensation invaded Santana’s arms and she could finally feel things: the fabric of her Cheerio skirt on her hips, Brittany’s comforter on her thighs, the strands of her weave in her hands, which were collecting the hair into a ponytail.
Brittany’s voice, not even hiding her disappointment, asked, “Who are you going to sing a duet with?”
Not fully paying attention to the voice that her ears couldn’t escape, Santana experimentally tried to relax her hands. Her hair fell around her.
“Santana?”
Now or never. Santana wished she had more of a plan. Fully in control of her body, she rolled over, resting on her elbows and deliberately locked her eyes with Brittany’s. It would be easy just to tell her best friend her feelings. For Santana, it was only a day ago that she’d poured her heart out to the same crystalline blue eyes. All the words were there, at the tip of her tongue. But Brittany was looking up at her, expecting something, expecting anything, expecting everything. Three little words: I love…
“…you,” Santana said.
A smile magically appeared and Santana’s heart clenched. “Yay! What duet are we going to do? If you don’t like ‘Come to My Window’?”
“Something hot,” was the answer, “something that will win us that date at Breadstix.” Santana lowered her mouth onto Brittany’s, wondering if the blonde had caught her slip-up about a “date.”
I’ve only got one shot for this. I tell her those three little words and I don’t hear them back? It’ll break me and it’ll break me out of this projection and then all hope is lost, for a while. So, it’s settled: get Brittany to utter those words first-I know how she feels-and then I say them back, and we’re home free. I get the girl.
Chapter 2: Regret Nothing