All of the Good That Won't Come Out of Me
Title: All of the Good That Won't Come Out of Me
Author: lennoxave
Pairing,Character(s): Brittany/Santana, minor Kurt/Blaine, Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,571
Spoilers: Glee: Through 2.19, "Rumours"
Summary: It turns out the fight they were having wasn't about Brittany choosing Artie because she didn't want to hurt him. It was about Brittany choosing Artie because he was willing to be in a relationship with her at school.
Author's Note: This is going to be thoroughly Joss'd in roughly six days, but I so do not care.
All of the Good That Won't Come Out of Me
Kurt sat in the library with his biology book open, ostensibly doing his homework. But he was learning things he'd already learned at Dalton, so his mind began to wander onto other things. Like that pair of skinny jeans he'd managed to get Blaine to try on at the mall last night.
No one could blame him for being startled when he heard someone plop down next to him.
“Brittany?” he asked, once he'd recovered. He took a look at her; she was mopey and sad and not at all Brittany-like. He supposed that it could have been a delayed reaction to her break-up with Artie, but he thought she had already been up and down that emotional roller-coaster. She'd been sad for about a day, and then she'd been happy again. He wasn't sure what to make of this return to depression.
“How did you get Blaine to date you?” Brittany asked. It came completely out of nowhere, as most interactions with Brittany did, but Kurt had learned by now not to let that throw him.
“Well . . .” he started, not really sure how to explain the slow, messy process that led from them being friends to boyfriends, “I told him I liked him, and eventually he realized that he liked me back.”
Brittany frowned. “But how did you get Blaine to date you?”
Kurt gave her the wary look he usually saved for Rachel's periodic sojourns to Crazy Town. “I don't know what you mean. We realized we liked each other and then we kissed and now we're dating.” Brittany did not look satisfied with this explanation. “I . . . guess there was a duet in there, too?”
“But how--” Brittany was starting to get frustrated now. She let out an annoyed sigh. “How did you get him to date you when other people might get mad about it? Y'know, 'cause you're two boys?”
Kurt had no idea where she was going with this. “That was never really an issue,” he said with a laugh. “I'm out, and Blaine's out. I mean, we pay attention to our surroundings when we're in public, keep the PDA to a minimum, but . . .” He felt himself sit up a little straighter, and maybe he was beaming with the slightest bit of pride. “'Haters gonna hate', as the saying goes, and we don't care what other people think about us.”
Brittany sat and thought about that for a moment, looking even more morose than she had before.
“What's this about?” Kurt asked.
Brittany bit her lip before answering, “Nothing. N-nothing,” and rushing out of the library.
* * *
Santana had been trying to avoid Brittany for days now. It was hard, considering their lockers were so close together, and they had glee everyday, but Santana did her best to avoid the pathetic puppy-dog eyes Britt had been giving her ever since that Jew-Fro interview.
She couldn't always avoid them, though, and whenever she and Brittany made eye-contact, it felt like her stomach was dropping out of her body. She had a suspicion this was that feeling everybody else talked about, the one called “guilt.”
She opened her locker after her last class and began hunting for her binders and notebooks. She caught a flash of yellow out of the corner of her eye and peered around her locker door. Brittany standing at her own locker, looking stricken.
Santana turned away suddenly, pushed a couple of books into her backpack (she didn't even check to see what books they were), and slammed her locker shut. She practically ran out of the building and broke into a full-on sprint to get to her car.
She sat in the car, panting, looking out the window to make sure Brittany hadn't followed. She hadn't. She never did. Santana wasn't sure whether or not that hurt worse than it would if Brittany did jump into her car right now and demand a confrontation.
Because Santana realized that she had brought this all upon herself. She realized that she had done the whole hare-brained beard scheme in the first place so that she could become Prom Queen and get Brittany to choose her over Roller Boy. And now that Brittany was choosing her? She was running away.
But Brittany was demanding too much, Santana thought as she started her car and pulled out of her parking space. Santana didn't want to hold hands and skip down the halls of McKinley wearing rainbow flags wrapped around their shoulders. She wanted a secret, something special only she and Brittany knew about, a place she could escape to at the end of another long day of trying to be the version of herself everyone else thought she was. She wanted to take Karofsky around the school during the day and then take Brittany between the sheets at night.
She wanted to be in love, but she didn't want it to be anybody else's business but hers and Britt's.
Why was that so hard for Brittany to understand?
On that thought, Santana smacked the steering wheel harder than she meant to, and she almost swerved into oncoming traffic.
The same thing happened when she dove for the seek button after hearing the opening notes of “Born This Way” come on the radio.
* * *
“That is weird,” Blaine said, taking a sip of his coffee. They were at the Lima Bean with Rachel, and Kurt had just shared the conversation he'd had with Brittany.
“I don't think it's weird at all,” Rachel said. “She must be in a terrible position, what with Santana's stubborn refusal to publicly acknowledge her feelings and all.”
The boys looked at each other. “Rachel,” Kurt said, “you aren't seriously believing the things printed in The Muckraker, are you? Because I thought we'd already been over that.”
Rachel just shook her head at him. “You weren't here, Kurt. You didn't see them sing 'Landslide' with Miss Holiday. I know about emoting through song, and there was nothing about that performance that suggested merely platonic feelings.”
“Brittany has slept with half the guys at McKinley,” Kurt pointed out. “Santana has, too.”
“You know,” Blaine said, “just because I didn't turn out to be bisexual doesn't mean that the concept doesn't exist, right?”
Kurt waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, but in this particular case, I remain unconvinced.”
“Really? Because you were there when Santana went off on Brittany about the Muckraker article,” Rachel said. “I don't think I've seen a denial that vehement since you were still in the closet.”
“I--” Kurt started, but he stopped himself. He'd been conditioned to think about himself as the only gay in the village for so long that he hadn't really ever considered there might be other people in his same position.
It would certainly make Brittany's remark that “if sex were dating, Santana and I would be dating” make a lot more sense.
“Wow,” Kurt finally said. “Rachel Berry has better gay-dar than I do. I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified.”
“To be fair,” Blaine said, patting his hand, “you did think everyone at Dalton was gay.”
“That's hardly my fault! You were all singing and dancing to Katy Perry! What was I supposed to think?”
“Still, it's evidence that you have an abnormally faulty sense of when people are--”
“Guys?” Rachel cut in. “While you're certainly adorable when you fake-bicker, we were discussing something.”
“Right, sorry,” Blaine said.
“What we need is a plan.” Kurt rubbed his hands together. “A plan to get Brittany and Santana together.”
“Yes!” Rachel agreed. “A scheme to get them into a relationship and decrease the general amount of drama in the club, and thus increase our chances at Nationals.”
“No,” Blaine shook his head. “No schemes.”
“What? Since when have you been anti-scheme?” Kurt asked.
“Since I tried to serenade the junior manager at the local Gap and got him fired, maybe?” Blaine retorted.
“I think that one actually worked out pretty well,” Kurt smiled.
Blaine rolled his eyes, but knocked shoulders with Kurt affectionately. “Okay, but still. Look, it took me a long time, but I finally learned a lesson: plans don't work. Seriously, when has anything either of you tried to set in motion ever worked out the way you wanted it to?”
Rachel and Kurt looked at each other. It was true; the times either of them had managed to actually get into a relationship had been the times when they put the least effort into actually getting boyfriends.
“And you can't force someone to come out of the closet if they don't want to,” Blaine added, looking at Kurt seriously. “You know you can't.”
And now the fact that Santana started dating Karofsky also made a lot more sense.
“Then what do you suggest we do,” Rachel asked, turning to Blaine. “Because we can't just let them mope around like this. Watching Brittany be depressed is like watching someone eat a McDonald's hamburger.” At their looks, she explained. “It's just sick and wrong.”
“I say we talk to Santana,” Blaine said. “Let her know that we're there for her. Give her some good advice, and she'll come out when she's ready.”
“No advice,” Kurt said. Blaine quirked an eyebrow at him. Kurt quirked one right back. “'Stand up to your bullies,' do you remember that one?”
Blaine sighed. “Okay, give her our support then, if not our advice.”
“This process could take an awfully long time,” Rachel frowned.
“It could,” Kurt agreed. “But I don't know if there's anything else we can really do.”
The three of them sat with their coffee and sank into a dejected silence.
* * *
There were a lot of things Brittany wanted to do. She wanted to beg Artie to take her to Prom, and put on a skin-tight dress, and dance up on him all sexily while Santana watched miserably from the sidelines. She wanted to sing him a song in glee club while Santana fumed in the back row. She wanted to find a pretty girl and go get gay-married somewhere, and then take naked pictures of herself and her new wife together, and send them to Santana with the message see what you could have had?
But Artie was a jerk, and she didn't know any other pretty gay girls, and mostly she just wanted to be holding Santana again.
Finally, a few days after she had talked to Kurt in the library, Brittany reached her breaking point.
Santana was outside the cafeteria, putting up a Prom Queen campaign poster. The picture on it was a recent one of her and Karofsky. She was smiling in it, but Brittany could tell, without even looking at it very hard, that it was a fake smile.
There was something about watching Santana fake happiness when she could choose to be actually happy instead that caused Brittany to take action.
“We need to talk,” she said, coming up behind Santana. Santana jumped at the sound of her voice.
“I don't think we have anything left to talk about,” Santana said in a low voice.
“Yes, we do,” Brittany said. She grabbed Santana by the arm and pulled her into the girls' bathroom. Santana didn't put up a fight, which was something, she supposed.
“What is it?” Santana bitched. “I have, like, fifty more of these things to put up, and Ms. Gunderson's gonna be pissed if I'm late to History again.”
“You're not happy,” Brittany said, and her direct approach caught Santana off-guard.
“What the hell do you know about it?” she spat.
“I can tell,” Brittany said. “I've always been able to tell. And I know that you're never going to be happy until you're honest about who you are.”
Santana grabbed the edge of the sink and squeezed it tightly, like she needed some physical outlet for her feelings. “Brittany,” she said at last, “you don't understand. People in this town aren't going to be like 'Oh, look at the hot lesbos!'” She paused. “Well, maybe Puck. But everyone else is going to be saying, 'Throw slushies at those dykes.' I can't let that happen to me.” Another pause. “I can't let that happen to you.”
“Everyone thinks I don't get anything,” Brittany said, “but I do understand. Can't you see, though? I don't care. I don't care if being with you means I'll get slushied, or made fun of, or shoved into lockers. Because it would be worth it. It would be worth it to be able to tell you I love you in front of the whole school and hear you say it back. Because we're worth it, Santana. You're worth it.”
Santana just looked at her, stunned. Brittany was pretty sure she was crying, but it was hard to tell because of the tears welling up in her own eyes.
Suddenly, Santana made a move for the door. “I can't do this right now,” she whispered as she rushed past, leaving Brittany alone once again.
* * *
Santana was sitting on one of the dumpsters behind school having a cigarette when Kurt approached her. It was a disgusting habit, she knew, and Brittany didn't like it, either, which probably explained why she had been doing it more often lately.
“Fancypants,” she greeted him, “I didn't know you had it in you to hang out with the rebels.” She tossed the pack at him. “Feel free to have one. You know what they call them in England, right?”
“As noble as your attempts at deflection are,” Kurt mused, tossing the pack right back at her, “you're not going to get a rise out of me.” He eyed the dumpster cautiously, although whether it was because he was remembering the many times he had been thrown inside of one or because he was trying to figure out how much dirt he would get on his clothes if he sat on it, Santana couldn't tell. Regardless, he made a decision and pushed himself up beside her.
“Why are you here?” she asked, taking another puff. She let the cigarette rest in her mouth as she reached down to adjust her leggings.
“Brittany came to fifth period looking like she'd been crying, so I figured it had something to do with you,” Kurt said nonchalantly as he inspected his nails. Santana's cigarette almost fell out of her mouth.
“Why would--” Santana tried to speak, but Kurt cut her off.
“Look, I know, all right?” he said meaningfully. “So I skipped study hall and looked all over the building for you, and then I had the thought that you might be outside enjoying the beautiful Ohio weather.” He smiled sarcastically. It was 50 degrees out and overcast, and Santana hadn't thought to bring a jacket when she ran out after talking to Brittany in the bathroom.
“I can't believe she told you,” Santana muttered, her shoulders slumping as she spiked her cigarette butt into the ground. She grabbed the pack sitting next to her and tried to pull out another one, but her hands were shaking too hard. Kurt made a quiet sound of disapproval, but he took the pack from her and handed her a cigarette. Then he took the lighter out and lit it for her.
Like a perfect gentleman, straight out of some 1950s romantic comedy. Too bad neither of them could really appreciate the moment for what it was. What it could have been if they were different.
“She didn't tell me,” Kurt said once he'd placed the pack back on the dumpster lid. “I figured it out. Well, Rachel figured it out, really . . .”
“Oh god, Rachel knows?” Santana threw her head back. “My life is over.”
“She's not--”
“Kurt, I basically ruined her relationship with Finn. She's going to tell the whole school, and everyone who doesn't already think I'm a huge--”
“Santana,” Kurt said more forcefully, and he put a hand on her wrist. “She's known for a while. She's not going to use this against you. She gets it. Two gay dads, remember?”
“How could I forget?” They looked at each other, almost smiling, but the levity was brief. Santana looked away and took a drag off of her cigarette. They sat in silence for a minute.
“Bi or gay?” Kurt finally asked. When Santana shot him a look, he merely replied, “I need to know what I'm dealing with.”
“Maybe I don't like labels, all right?” This time, Kurt was the one to shoot a look. “Fine, I'm a big lez.”
“If you really don't want to label yourself, you don't--”
“No,” Santana shook her head, “it's fine. It's true.”
There was another minute of silence, but this time Santana was the one to end it.
“So what, are you going to give me the big-happy-fun-time speech about how my life is going to get just so much better when I come out of the closet? Because I'm calling BS on that right now.”
Kurt sighed and looked off into the distance. “What are you afraid of?” he asked.
Santana gaped at him. “What am I afraid of? Kurt, you of all people should know what I'm afraid of.”
“No,” he said. “Are you afraid of getting harassed for being gay, or are you just afraid that people are going to look at you differently?” He looked her straight in the eye, and she squirmed under his gaze.
“Do I have to choose? Because both of those things suck.”
“So it's both?”
“I--” Santana frowned. She did not like it when someone caught her being vulnerable. “Yeah, it's both.” He was still looking at her like he could see into her soul, so she kept talking. “I just don't want things to change. And if I do this, if I . . .” she lowered her voice, “come out, they're going to change.”
“Yes,” Kurt nodded, “everything will change.”
Santana raised an eyebrow at him. That hadn't been the answer she was expecting.
“I'm not going to lie to you,” he said. “Coming out doesn't solve all of your problems. It even creates some new ones. You will probably be harassed. And people are absolutely going to look at you differently.” He paused. “But those people are going to be a couple hundred people who you don't give a damn about anyway. The people who matter? The people who care about you, and who you care about? The thirteen of them--and don't give me that look, I know you like glee club--they're just going to see that you're happy with the person you love.”
“I don't think I'm strong enough,” Santana said.
“Bitch, please,” Kurt rolled his eyes. “You took on David Karofsky basically by yourself, and I bet you didn't really have a single razor blade in your hair.”
Santana smirked. “Maybe only one or two.”
“My point is,” Kurt continued, “we've got your back. And I can tell you, honestly, that all the pain, the hassle, the ridicule, it's all totally worth it when you get to be yourself. Because once you own it, no one can ever use what you are against you ever again.”
Santana thought about it. Brittany knew the risks, and she still wanted to do it. The glee club would support them. And really, what did it matter what a bunch of total losers thought of her? If Kurt was getting by, she could, too.
She was tired of being miserable all the time.
“Will you at least consider it?” Kurt asked. She'd almost forgotten he was there.
“Yeah,” she said. She hopped off the dumpster, and Kurt followed suit. “And look, I don't say 'thank you' or whatever, so--”
“I get it,” Kurt smiled. “You're welcome.” They each turned to go their separate ways, but something came over Santana and she ran back and pulled Kurt into a hug.
“This never happened,” she said into his shirt.
“Temporary insanity brought on by great emotional distress,” he said. “I understand.”
* * *
The next day, instead of trying to avoid Brittany at their lockers, Santana sought her out.
“I'm sorry,” she said, taking Brittany's hand. “I love you.” She leaned in and kissed Brittany on the mouth. Brittany seemed surprised for a second, but soon she closed her eyes and kissed back.
Santana couldn't tell if there were people watching, or whispering, or recording on their cell phones. All she knew was that she felt freer than she ever had before.
Author: lennoxave
Pairing,Character(s): Brittany/Santana, minor Kurt/Blaine, Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,571
Spoilers: Glee: Through 2.19, "Rumours"
Summary: It turns out the fight they were having wasn't about Brittany choosing Artie because she didn't want to hurt him. It was about Brittany choosing Artie because he was willing to be in a relationship with her at school.
Author's Note: This is going to be thoroughly Joss'd in roughly six days, but I so do not care.
All of the Good That Won't Come Out of Me
Kurt sat in the library with his biology book open, ostensibly doing his homework. But he was learning things he'd already learned at Dalton, so his mind began to wander onto other things. Like that pair of skinny jeans he'd managed to get Blaine to try on at the mall last night.
No one could blame him for being startled when he heard someone plop down next to him.
“Brittany?” he asked, once he'd recovered. He took a look at her; she was mopey and sad and not at all Brittany-like. He supposed that it could have been a delayed reaction to her break-up with Artie, but he thought she had already been up and down that emotional roller-coaster. She'd been sad for about a day, and then she'd been happy again. He wasn't sure what to make of this return to depression.
“How did you get Blaine to date you?” Brittany asked. It came completely out of nowhere, as most interactions with Brittany did, but Kurt had learned by now not to let that throw him.
“Well . . .” he started, not really sure how to explain the slow, messy process that led from them being friends to boyfriends, “I told him I liked him, and eventually he realized that he liked me back.”
Brittany frowned. “But how did you get Blaine to date you?”
Kurt gave her the wary look he usually saved for Rachel's periodic sojourns to Crazy Town. “I don't know what you mean. We realized we liked each other and then we kissed and now we're dating.” Brittany did not look satisfied with this explanation. “I . . . guess there was a duet in there, too?”
“But how--” Brittany was starting to get frustrated now. She let out an annoyed sigh. “How did you get him to date you when other people might get mad about it? Y'know, 'cause you're two boys?”
Kurt had no idea where she was going with this. “That was never really an issue,” he said with a laugh. “I'm out, and Blaine's out. I mean, we pay attention to our surroundings when we're in public, keep the PDA to a minimum, but . . .” He felt himself sit up a little straighter, and maybe he was beaming with the slightest bit of pride. “'Haters gonna hate', as the saying goes, and we don't care what other people think about us.”
Brittany sat and thought about that for a moment, looking even more morose than she had before.
“What's this about?” Kurt asked.
Brittany bit her lip before answering, “Nothing. N-nothing,” and rushing out of the library.
* * *
Santana had been trying to avoid Brittany for days now. It was hard, considering their lockers were so close together, and they had glee everyday, but Santana did her best to avoid the pathetic puppy-dog eyes Britt had been giving her ever since that Jew-Fro interview.
She couldn't always avoid them, though, and whenever she and Brittany made eye-contact, it felt like her stomach was dropping out of her body. She had a suspicion this was that feeling everybody else talked about, the one called “guilt.”
She opened her locker after her last class and began hunting for her binders and notebooks. She caught a flash of yellow out of the corner of her eye and peered around her locker door. Brittany standing at her own locker, looking stricken.
Santana turned away suddenly, pushed a couple of books into her backpack (she didn't even check to see what books they were), and slammed her locker shut. She practically ran out of the building and broke into a full-on sprint to get to her car.
She sat in the car, panting, looking out the window to make sure Brittany hadn't followed. She hadn't. She never did. Santana wasn't sure whether or not that hurt worse than it would if Brittany did jump into her car right now and demand a confrontation.
Because Santana realized that she had brought this all upon herself. She realized that she had done the whole hare-brained beard scheme in the first place so that she could become Prom Queen and get Brittany to choose her over Roller Boy. And now that Brittany was choosing her? She was running away.
But Brittany was demanding too much, Santana thought as she started her car and pulled out of her parking space. Santana didn't want to hold hands and skip down the halls of McKinley wearing rainbow flags wrapped around their shoulders. She wanted a secret, something special only she and Brittany knew about, a place she could escape to at the end of another long day of trying to be the version of herself everyone else thought she was. She wanted to take Karofsky around the school during the day and then take Brittany between the sheets at night.
She wanted to be in love, but she didn't want it to be anybody else's business but hers and Britt's.
Why was that so hard for Brittany to understand?
On that thought, Santana smacked the steering wheel harder than she meant to, and she almost swerved into oncoming traffic.
The same thing happened when she dove for the seek button after hearing the opening notes of “Born This Way” come on the radio.
* * *
“That is weird,” Blaine said, taking a sip of his coffee. They were at the Lima Bean with Rachel, and Kurt had just shared the conversation he'd had with Brittany.
“I don't think it's weird at all,” Rachel said. “She must be in a terrible position, what with Santana's stubborn refusal to publicly acknowledge her feelings and all.”
The boys looked at each other. “Rachel,” Kurt said, “you aren't seriously believing the things printed in The Muckraker, are you? Because I thought we'd already been over that.”
Rachel just shook her head at him. “You weren't here, Kurt. You didn't see them sing 'Landslide' with Miss Holiday. I know about emoting through song, and there was nothing about that performance that suggested merely platonic feelings.”
“Brittany has slept with half the guys at McKinley,” Kurt pointed out. “Santana has, too.”
“You know,” Blaine said, “just because I didn't turn out to be bisexual doesn't mean that the concept doesn't exist, right?”
Kurt waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, but in this particular case, I remain unconvinced.”
“Really? Because you were there when Santana went off on Brittany about the Muckraker article,” Rachel said. “I don't think I've seen a denial that vehement since you were still in the closet.”
“I--” Kurt started, but he stopped himself. He'd been conditioned to think about himself as the only gay in the village for so long that he hadn't really ever considered there might be other people in his same position.
It would certainly make Brittany's remark that “if sex were dating, Santana and I would be dating” make a lot more sense.
“Wow,” Kurt finally said. “Rachel Berry has better gay-dar than I do. I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified.”
“To be fair,” Blaine said, patting his hand, “you did think everyone at Dalton was gay.”
“That's hardly my fault! You were all singing and dancing to Katy Perry! What was I supposed to think?”
“Still, it's evidence that you have an abnormally faulty sense of when people are--”
“Guys?” Rachel cut in. “While you're certainly adorable when you fake-bicker, we were discussing something.”
“Right, sorry,” Blaine said.
“What we need is a plan.” Kurt rubbed his hands together. “A plan to get Brittany and Santana together.”
“Yes!” Rachel agreed. “A scheme to get them into a relationship and decrease the general amount of drama in the club, and thus increase our chances at Nationals.”
“No,” Blaine shook his head. “No schemes.”
“What? Since when have you been anti-scheme?” Kurt asked.
“Since I tried to serenade the junior manager at the local Gap and got him fired, maybe?” Blaine retorted.
“I think that one actually worked out pretty well,” Kurt smiled.
Blaine rolled his eyes, but knocked shoulders with Kurt affectionately. “Okay, but still. Look, it took me a long time, but I finally learned a lesson: plans don't work. Seriously, when has anything either of you tried to set in motion ever worked out the way you wanted it to?”
Rachel and Kurt looked at each other. It was true; the times either of them had managed to actually get into a relationship had been the times when they put the least effort into actually getting boyfriends.
“And you can't force someone to come out of the closet if they don't want to,” Blaine added, looking at Kurt seriously. “You know you can't.”
And now the fact that Santana started dating Karofsky also made a lot more sense.
“Then what do you suggest we do,” Rachel asked, turning to Blaine. “Because we can't just let them mope around like this. Watching Brittany be depressed is like watching someone eat a McDonald's hamburger.” At their looks, she explained. “It's just sick and wrong.”
“I say we talk to Santana,” Blaine said. “Let her know that we're there for her. Give her some good advice, and she'll come out when she's ready.”
“No advice,” Kurt said. Blaine quirked an eyebrow at him. Kurt quirked one right back. “'Stand up to your bullies,' do you remember that one?”
Blaine sighed. “Okay, give her our support then, if not our advice.”
“This process could take an awfully long time,” Rachel frowned.
“It could,” Kurt agreed. “But I don't know if there's anything else we can really do.”
The three of them sat with their coffee and sank into a dejected silence.
* * *
There were a lot of things Brittany wanted to do. She wanted to beg Artie to take her to Prom, and put on a skin-tight dress, and dance up on him all sexily while Santana watched miserably from the sidelines. She wanted to sing him a song in glee club while Santana fumed in the back row. She wanted to find a pretty girl and go get gay-married somewhere, and then take naked pictures of herself and her new wife together, and send them to Santana with the message see what you could have had?
But Artie was a jerk, and she didn't know any other pretty gay girls, and mostly she just wanted to be holding Santana again.
Finally, a few days after she had talked to Kurt in the library, Brittany reached her breaking point.
Santana was outside the cafeteria, putting up a Prom Queen campaign poster. The picture on it was a recent one of her and Karofsky. She was smiling in it, but Brittany could tell, without even looking at it very hard, that it was a fake smile.
There was something about watching Santana fake happiness when she could choose to be actually happy instead that caused Brittany to take action.
“We need to talk,” she said, coming up behind Santana. Santana jumped at the sound of her voice.
“I don't think we have anything left to talk about,” Santana said in a low voice.
“Yes, we do,” Brittany said. She grabbed Santana by the arm and pulled her into the girls' bathroom. Santana didn't put up a fight, which was something, she supposed.
“What is it?” Santana bitched. “I have, like, fifty more of these things to put up, and Ms. Gunderson's gonna be pissed if I'm late to History again.”
“You're not happy,” Brittany said, and her direct approach caught Santana off-guard.
“What the hell do you know about it?” she spat.
“I can tell,” Brittany said. “I've always been able to tell. And I know that you're never going to be happy until you're honest about who you are.”
Santana grabbed the edge of the sink and squeezed it tightly, like she needed some physical outlet for her feelings. “Brittany,” she said at last, “you don't understand. People in this town aren't going to be like 'Oh, look at the hot lesbos!'” She paused. “Well, maybe Puck. But everyone else is going to be saying, 'Throw slushies at those dykes.' I can't let that happen to me.” Another pause. “I can't let that happen to you.”
“Everyone thinks I don't get anything,” Brittany said, “but I do understand. Can't you see, though? I don't care. I don't care if being with you means I'll get slushied, or made fun of, or shoved into lockers. Because it would be worth it. It would be worth it to be able to tell you I love you in front of the whole school and hear you say it back. Because we're worth it, Santana. You're worth it.”
Santana just looked at her, stunned. Brittany was pretty sure she was crying, but it was hard to tell because of the tears welling up in her own eyes.
Suddenly, Santana made a move for the door. “I can't do this right now,” she whispered as she rushed past, leaving Brittany alone once again.
* * *
Santana was sitting on one of the dumpsters behind school having a cigarette when Kurt approached her. It was a disgusting habit, she knew, and Brittany didn't like it, either, which probably explained why she had been doing it more often lately.
“Fancypants,” she greeted him, “I didn't know you had it in you to hang out with the rebels.” She tossed the pack at him. “Feel free to have one. You know what they call them in England, right?”
“As noble as your attempts at deflection are,” Kurt mused, tossing the pack right back at her, “you're not going to get a rise out of me.” He eyed the dumpster cautiously, although whether it was because he was remembering the many times he had been thrown inside of one or because he was trying to figure out how much dirt he would get on his clothes if he sat on it, Santana couldn't tell. Regardless, he made a decision and pushed himself up beside her.
“Why are you here?” she asked, taking another puff. She let the cigarette rest in her mouth as she reached down to adjust her leggings.
“Brittany came to fifth period looking like she'd been crying, so I figured it had something to do with you,” Kurt said nonchalantly as he inspected his nails. Santana's cigarette almost fell out of her mouth.
“Why would--” Santana tried to speak, but Kurt cut her off.
“Look, I know, all right?” he said meaningfully. “So I skipped study hall and looked all over the building for you, and then I had the thought that you might be outside enjoying the beautiful Ohio weather.” He smiled sarcastically. It was 50 degrees out and overcast, and Santana hadn't thought to bring a jacket when she ran out after talking to Brittany in the bathroom.
“I can't believe she told you,” Santana muttered, her shoulders slumping as she spiked her cigarette butt into the ground. She grabbed the pack sitting next to her and tried to pull out another one, but her hands were shaking too hard. Kurt made a quiet sound of disapproval, but he took the pack from her and handed her a cigarette. Then he took the lighter out and lit it for her.
Like a perfect gentleman, straight out of some 1950s romantic comedy. Too bad neither of them could really appreciate the moment for what it was. What it could have been if they were different.
“She didn't tell me,” Kurt said once he'd placed the pack back on the dumpster lid. “I figured it out. Well, Rachel figured it out, really . . .”
“Oh god, Rachel knows?” Santana threw her head back. “My life is over.”
“She's not--”
“Kurt, I basically ruined her relationship with Finn. She's going to tell the whole school, and everyone who doesn't already think I'm a huge--”
“Santana,” Kurt said more forcefully, and he put a hand on her wrist. “She's known for a while. She's not going to use this against you. She gets it. Two gay dads, remember?”
“How could I forget?” They looked at each other, almost smiling, but the levity was brief. Santana looked away and took a drag off of her cigarette. They sat in silence for a minute.
“Bi or gay?” Kurt finally asked. When Santana shot him a look, he merely replied, “I need to know what I'm dealing with.”
“Maybe I don't like labels, all right?” This time, Kurt was the one to shoot a look. “Fine, I'm a big lez.”
“If you really don't want to label yourself, you don't--”
“No,” Santana shook her head, “it's fine. It's true.”
There was another minute of silence, but this time Santana was the one to end it.
“So what, are you going to give me the big-happy-fun-time speech about how my life is going to get just so much better when I come out of the closet? Because I'm calling BS on that right now.”
Kurt sighed and looked off into the distance. “What are you afraid of?” he asked.
Santana gaped at him. “What am I afraid of? Kurt, you of all people should know what I'm afraid of.”
“No,” he said. “Are you afraid of getting harassed for being gay, or are you just afraid that people are going to look at you differently?” He looked her straight in the eye, and she squirmed under his gaze.
“Do I have to choose? Because both of those things suck.”
“So it's both?”
“I--” Santana frowned. She did not like it when someone caught her being vulnerable. “Yeah, it's both.” He was still looking at her like he could see into her soul, so she kept talking. “I just don't want things to change. And if I do this, if I . . .” she lowered her voice, “come out, they're going to change.”
“Yes,” Kurt nodded, “everything will change.”
Santana raised an eyebrow at him. That hadn't been the answer she was expecting.
“I'm not going to lie to you,” he said. “Coming out doesn't solve all of your problems. It even creates some new ones. You will probably be harassed. And people are absolutely going to look at you differently.” He paused. “But those people are going to be a couple hundred people who you don't give a damn about anyway. The people who matter? The people who care about you, and who you care about? The thirteen of them--and don't give me that look, I know you like glee club--they're just going to see that you're happy with the person you love.”
“I don't think I'm strong enough,” Santana said.
“Bitch, please,” Kurt rolled his eyes. “You took on David Karofsky basically by yourself, and I bet you didn't really have a single razor blade in your hair.”
Santana smirked. “Maybe only one or two.”
“My point is,” Kurt continued, “we've got your back. And I can tell you, honestly, that all the pain, the hassle, the ridicule, it's all totally worth it when you get to be yourself. Because once you own it, no one can ever use what you are against you ever again.”
Santana thought about it. Brittany knew the risks, and she still wanted to do it. The glee club would support them. And really, what did it matter what a bunch of total losers thought of her? If Kurt was getting by, she could, too.
She was tired of being miserable all the time.
“Will you at least consider it?” Kurt asked. She'd almost forgotten he was there.
“Yeah,” she said. She hopped off the dumpster, and Kurt followed suit. “And look, I don't say 'thank you' or whatever, so--”
“I get it,” Kurt smiled. “You're welcome.” They each turned to go their separate ways, but something came over Santana and she ran back and pulled Kurt into a hug.
“This never happened,” she said into his shirt.
“Temporary insanity brought on by great emotional distress,” he said. “I understand.”
* * *
The next day, instead of trying to avoid Brittany at their lockers, Santana sought her out.
“I'm sorry,” she said, taking Brittany's hand. “I love you.” She leaned in and kissed Brittany on the mouth. Brittany seemed surprised for a second, but soon she closed her eyes and kissed back.
Santana couldn't tell if there were people watching, or whispering, or recording on their cell phones. All she knew was that she felt freer than she ever had before.