fic: if my heart was a compass - 3/10 - glee, brittany/santana, nc-17
Title: If My Heart Was A Compass (3/10)
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Quinn, Puck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5,750 (of ~56k)
Timeline: Season 1
Summary: Santana Lopez has a plan. A three-point plan. A really fucking efficient three-point plan that's going to get her the hell out of Ohio. This is her story.
Notes: I just realized that the way I cut up this fic, every part so far has started with some smut. It's not my fault they can't keep their hands off each other. Any time Rachel pops up from now on is for bradyyface, who loves her Rachel Berry almost as much as Rachel Berry loves her gold stars. (Maybe just as much.)
Part 1 | Part 2
The road to sectionals does not start out well.
Santana hates to admit it, but New Directions needs Finn to win. Not that he particularly excels at either vocals or dancing - in fact, he kind of sucks at following choreography - but without him, they have to pick up Jewfro to hit twelve members, and Santana's pretty sure he's harboring a village of runaway Smurfs in his hair. Yeah, they're pretty much screwed.
The bus ride to sectionals is not the most pleasant thing Santana has ever endured. Morale is low, and everyone's miserable. Rachel doesn't even talk. Normally, Santana would bake whoever shut her up a freaking cake, but right now, they all need a distraction.
Most of them aren't even sitting together, and Ms. Pillsbury keeps disinfecting her seat instead of making any attempt at uniting them. No pep talks; nothing. Santana kind of wants to bleach her own brain for thinking it, but if Finn were here, they'd be in much better shape. First of all, Rachel would quit looking like a sad grandma, and that'd be a pretty good start.
Santana still sits with Brittany though. She'd even given Brittany the window seat. Across the aisle, Puck is seated alone. Brittany is staring out the window waving at passing cars, so Santana strikes up a conversation with Puck.
"How's it going with-?" Santana tilts her head to the back of the bus, where Quinn is sitting quietly by herself.
Puck shrugs. "She doesn't want anything to do with me."
"That's a good thing, right? I mean, she'll give the kid to some barren couple, and you won't have to deal with any of it. Babies barf more than bulimics."
Puck is indignant. "I would be a good dad to this kid, okay? I can deal with a little upchuck."
Santana opens her mouth to reply, but a shriek pierces the air a few seats behind them.
"Jacob Ben Israel, if you try to touch my breasts one more time, I am going to asphyxiate you. As the youngest blue belt ever at my Jiu-Jitsu Academy, please be aware I am fully capable of doing so."
Santana pushes herself higher and turns around to check out the commotion. Puck rises from his seat and walks to where Jacob and Rachel are sitting. He hovers menacingly over them. Jacob cowers, and Puck reaches out to grab the back of Jacob's collar, pulling him up. With one swift tug, Puck shoves Jacob into the seat opposite Rachel's.
"Stay there and shut up, unless you want a monster wedgie."
Santana can barely see Rachel's face, but she practically hears Rachel grinning. Foolishly. "Thanks, Noah."
Puck shrugs his shoulders, and instead of returning to his own seat across from Santana, he continues toward the back of the bus and slides into Quinn's seat.
Santana rolls her eyes and turns toward Brittany, dropping her hand to Brittany's bare thigh. Brittany immediately spins to face Santana. Without another word, Santana slides her palm under the hem of Brittany's Cheerios skirt, fingertips spanning to her hipbone.
Brittany smiles. "Santana," she warns, even as she spreads her legs a little.
Santana fingers the edge of Brittany's spankies, then slips her hand underneath the tight material. Brittany slides lower in her seat to give Santana better access, and Santana makes good use of the new angle by rolling the pads of her fingertips around Brittany's clit. Brittany's head falls forward, her mouth clamped shut. Santana brushes a quick kiss to Brittany's shoulder, her fingers easing up.
"San, come on," Brittany murmurs impatiently.
"Shit," Santana groans, her fingertips hesitant at Brittany's entrance. "I wish we weren't on this bus right now."
Brittany bucks her hips, pushing forward. "Santana."
"Okay," Santana relents, taking a quick peek around. Puck is still at the back of the bus. "Okay, but be quiet."
Brittany nods and closes her eyes. The angle is a little tricky, but Santana manages to work two fingers in, and Brittany is not quiet. Not that she's loud, either, but Mike, seated two rows in front of them, looks over the top of his seat at the sound. Santana waves with her free hand and tries to smile innocently, hoping she doesn't have some horrible sex face on. Brittany, thankfully, still has her head down, and she has her own hand pressed firmly against her mouth. Mike furrows his brows, but he turns back around and otherwise leaves them alone.
Santana rests her forehead momentarily against Brittany's cheek. "Britt," she hisses.
"Sorry," Brittany mumbles through her fingers. "I'm sorry. Mmph."
Brittany doesn't sound very sorry, and Santana's wrist is starting to hurt a little from the strain of being bent at an awkward angle, but they've done this enough times for Santana to know that it won't take much more, so she picks up her pace, fingers curving in and out, in and out, and Brittany's breathing thickens until she sounds like she's hyperventilating into her own palm, but nobody else seems to notice. Not that Santana's really paying attention at this point. The heel of Santana's hand presses against Brittany's clit, and Brittany tenses, a low whimper escaping from her throat as she clenches around Santana's fingers.
Brittany's head falls to Santana's shoulder, hand still clamped tightly over her mouth. Santana reaches to pull Brittany's hand away. Brittany's eyes open, and she's looking at Santana with a satisfied little grin. Santana presses a quick kiss to Brittany's forehead. She pulls out and wipes her fingers on Brittany's thigh, under the skirt.
As Brittany's breathing returns to normal, she reaches to spread Santana's legs, but Santana stops her.
"We've still got like, two hours, San."
It's not that Santana doesn't want to get off. Of course she does. And Brittany knows how best to do exactly that. Actually, watching Brittany squirm has gotten her a little randy. But it's the middle of a damn school bus, and there's no way she'd be able to go unnoticed, especially since Mike's apparently got supersonic hearing now. She's not exactly known for being quiet. Ask Brittany.
A flash of blonde hair from the aisle makes Santana turn her head. It's Quinn. She slides into the seat Puck had abandoned earlier. Puck slides in after her.
Santana makes a face. "What's she doing here?"
Brittany pats Santana's lap. "Be nice," she instructs.
Quinn looks away toward the window, and for a moment - just a moment - Santana almost feels bad for her. Puck gives Santana a come on, dude kind of look, and Santana rolls her eyes, but she leaves Quinn alone.
Santana doesn't try to be a bitch or anything. Well, okay, sometimes she does. But take Rachel Berry. Yeah, she can sing and everything, but does she really have to go on and on about her career, spewing words out of her mouth like she's applying for an auctioneer job? And don't get Santana started on those sweaters. The jokes totally write themselves.
Sometimes though, Santana forgets why exactly she despises Quinn. They'd had some good times together as Cheerios, and Brittany obviously still likes her. Sure, she went and got herself knocked up, but isn't Puck just as responsible there? And Santana doesn't hate Puck. Maybe it's the hypocrisy thing, or the fact that Santana's always had to play second fiddle to her stupid chastity act.
But now that everyone finally knows the truth about Quinn's baby, and she's sitting there all quiet and miserable, Santana actually feels a little sorry for her. Not enough to reach over and give her a comforting pat on the back or anything, because what, but enough to leave her alone. Santana's kind of over the whole kicking people when they're already down thing. She only does it to keep up with her master plan, but nobody in Glee really gives a shit about that, so she can probably get away with not insulting Quinn and her bastard child every five seconds.
Besides, Brittany's head is still resting on Santana's shoulder, and she starts playing with the hem of Santana's skirt. Santana nudges Brittany's hand away, and Brittany smirks. Santana's seen that one before, and all of those times have ended with Brittany having her way with Santana. Two hours left. Good Lord.
Quinn Fabray? Not exactly what Santana wants to waste her energy on right then and there.
--
Eight pairs of angry, suspicious eyes, and Santana does not like being under siege one little bit. She likes it even less when Brittany admits to accidentally leaking their sectionals set list. Brittany, who is loyal to a fault. Brittany, who would do anything to please. It makes Santana's heart ache a little to think that Coach had taken advantage of Brittany's kindness, her fidelity. Santana's protective instinct flares, and she wants nothing more than to punch a wall. Preferably one in the shape of Sue Sylvester.
Santana launches into a monologue about wanting to be there, which isn't a lie or anything, but she does it mostly to take a little heat off Brittany. And Rachel - of all people, Rachel - backs her up, and that's almost enough to make Santana feel bad about everything she's put the girl through. Almost.
Even Santana is relieved when Finn shows up, and with a plan to boot.
Still, it's a race against time. They've got less than an hour to come up with some choreography, and as brilliant as Mike and Brittany are at dancing, coordinating twelve people to look halfway decent on stage is a daunting task, especially with Artie's wheelchair. Brittany is engaged though, and she patiently helps Finn and Puck through the steps. Only Santana notices the quiet guilt in her eyes.
When they're changing into their costumes, Santana pulls Brittany aside.
"This isn't your fault," Santana says softly. Brittany doesn't even look at her. Santana tries again. "Brittany."
"I know," Brittany replies, sounding upset, and it breaks Santana's heart. "I know, but I shouldn't have."
Santana reaches up to cup Brittany's cheeks. Brittany's skin is hot to the touch. "Coach would've killed you if you didn't do exactly as she said."
"Yeah, but this is more fun than Cheerios practice. I didn't mean to mess it up." Brittany's shoulders rise in a shrug. "If we lose and Glee Club is finished, it's going to be my fault, at least a little bit."
Santana shakes her head. "No, Britt, it won't. Hey, look at me. None of this is your fault. We're a team, okay? Nobody's blaming you, and if anybody dares to, I'm going to kick them so hard in the crotch, they won't be able to walk for a week."
That earns a tiny smile. "Okay."
Santana fingers the pink ribbon holding back Brittany's hair. "You look really pretty, B." She presses her lips to Brittany's, quickly and discreetly. "Now let's go out there and win this thing."
And they do. They sing their damn hearts out and do exactly that.
--
The ride home from sectionals is significantly noisier than the ride there, and even Santana is excited about the giant trophy Finn and Rachel are holding between them in the aisle. Everyone is gathered around, and the atmosphere is phenomenal. There's pride, and triumph, and pure, unadulterated joy. Santana doesn't get to finger Brittany in public again, but you know. Win some; lose some.
Ms. Pillsbury elects to drive Mr. Schuester's car back so that Finn can celebrate with his teammates on the bus. Santana's pretty sure all the guidance counselor is really interested in is marinating herself in Mr. Schue's scent, which is completely pathetic, but whatever. None of Santana's business, that.
"We should all be very proud of ourselves. My rendition of Don't Rain on My Parade was flawless, not to mention absolutely riveting."
Kurt rolls his eyes in the background, but Quinn pats Rachel's arm.
"Yeah, you did good," she says. Everyone just kind of gapes at Quinn like she's some alien life form, including Rachel.
"Th-thanks, Quinn."
"Brittany, Santana, Mike, Matt," Finn says, turning to them, "you guys did an awesome job with the choreography, especially in the time we had."
"Teaching it to you was kind of a pain though," Brittany interjects, and everyone laughs.
Santana hates to admit it, but it's actually nice how everyone gets along at the end of the day. That she and Brittany are not shunned for being outed as Sue Sylvester's eyes on the inside. It's kind of a symbiotic relationship, really. Glee Club needs her and Brittany to qualify for and actually have a shot at regionals, and Santana's position in Glee nabs her some positive karma from Coach. Win-win.
Santana looks at Brittany and smiles. The blonde is laughing at something Mike has said, and her cheeks are flushed pink, partly in delight and partly from the heat of twelve animated bodies crowded together. Santana doesn't think she's ever seen Brittany so beautiful. If there's only one reason why Santana's glad they're bringing home the trophy, it's this: Brittany, guilt-free. Coach'll give them shit for it later, but right now, Brittany isn't blaming herself for leaking the set list. Brittany's happy, and so incredibly vibrant Santana almost has to remind herself how to breathe.
But beyond that, the truth is, Santana's glad they won because she actually wants to be a part of this. Glee Club. It's lame, and it's ridiculous, and half the people in it still makes Santana want to claw out her own eyes sometimes, but it's fun, and rewarding, and has she mentioned Brittany's dancing?
Santana becomes aware of a pinky gently linking with hers, and she smiles, leaning lightly into Brittany.
Mercedes reaches for the top of the trophy. "I can't wait to show this to Mr. Schue. He's gonna flip."
"I'm surprised they had the money to splurge on something this big," Kurt says. "The details are amateurish at best, but we can't expect everyone to have an eye for design."
"We should put together a number for Mr. Schue," Artie pipes up, and Tina nods her head furiously in agreement.
"Yeah, I agree," Puck offers. "Dude's been having it rough lately, what with leaving his wife and being banned from competition."
"Anyone got an idea for a song?" Finn asks, looking around.
"I would be happy to supply a song from my ever-extensive and diverse library," Rachel replies proudly.
Everyone huddles around Rachel's iPod, and with the exception of Kurt who once in a while makes a sarcastic comment about Rachel's taste in music, they remain quiet. Song after song, artist after artist, but none of them are right. There are a lot of show tunes, as expected, but Rachel's music collection actually surprises Santana some.
Kelly Clarkson comes on; Santana's never been a fan, but Rachel starts singing along, and so does Mercedes, then Brittany and Tina and even Quinn join in.
"This is the one," Rachel says.
"We can totally make this sound better than Kelly Clarkson," Tina adds.
"Any objections?" Rachel asks, looking blatantly at Kurt.
Kurt turns to Mercedes, who is still mouthing the words. "No, that'll work."
As chatter breaks out about the arrangement of the piece and matching choreography, Santana nudges Brittany.
"I think," Santana says, quietly enough so that only Brittany hears, "that I'm going to ask Mr. Schue for a solo. When we get back."
Brittany breaks out into a bright grin, arms wrapping around Santana's neck. She dusts a kiss to Santana's cheek. "You're going to sound so amazing, Santana."
--
The day after their win at sectionals, Santana goes to check up on Puck. Everyone's been so concerned about how Finn's handling the news, and how Quinn feels now that the secret's out, that they've forgotten that this completely turns Puck's world upside down too. Brittany tags along.
Quinn answers the door, and what the holy hell?
"Hi, Quinn," Brittany greets sweetly.
"Hey, Brittany," Quinn replies, leaning in for a hug.
Santana isn't nearly as impressed. "What are you doing here?"
Quinn smiles, a little bitterly. "I live here now. Finn kicked me out."
And Santana has to admit, it's a little satisfying to hear, even if it officially sucks for Puck. "Is Puck around?"
Quinn pulls the door open a little wider and steps aside. "Yeah, come on in."
Santana walks in. Brittany follows, and Quinn closes the door behind them. They find Puck in the living room, sprawled across his couch. He turns his line of vision toward Brittany and Santana when they enter, but otherwise makes no effort to move.
"Yo," he mumbles, and he looks tired.
Quinn sits down on one half of the armchair and pats the other, motioning for Brittany to squeeze in beside her. Brittany happily complies. Santana contemplates a dig about Quinn's ass being huge, but she decides against it. For Brittany's sake, mostly, but also because Quinn's hips in pregnancy are actually still quite slender, and wow, Santana has spent about five seconds longer than she has ever wanted to spend thinking about the girth of Quinn's hips.
Santana shuffles to the couch. "Move your ass, Puckerman."
Puck apparently doesn't even have the energy to argue; he just moves his feet to free up some space on the couch. Santana takes a seat and looks around the room.
"So what's going on here?"
"Quinn stayed up all night puking her guts out," Puck intones.
"It's called being pregnant," Quinn shoots back.
"It's called morning sickness," Puck mocks, "not all damn night sickness."
That infuriates Quinn. "You're always talking about how you want to raise this baby with me. How the hell are you going to do that if you're a bitchy zombie after one sleepless night? Babies cry, Puck, and babies puke. Sometimes all night."
"The way you jump down everyone's throat, I'm not shocked they do both."
Brittany is practically holding Quinn back from leaping out of her seat. Santana rises and stands between them.
"Okay, that's enough. Both of you, shut up. Puck, get your cranky ass upstairs and in bed. Take a damn nap. Quinn, chill out. Your face is so red I don't know if you're just pissed or about to pop out your bastard kid."
Puck tries to protest, but Santana isn't having any of that, and it's like pulling teeth with Puck sometimes, but she eventually manages to get him to crawl upstairs.
With Puck out of earshot, Quinn looks at Santana. "We used to be friends, remember?" she asks flatly with a hint of bitchiness that Santana remembers from her Cheerio days.
Santana narrows her eyes. "No, I used to indulge all your dumbass ideas because Coach slapped the captaincy on your wrist instead of mine. You were on a massive power trip."
"No, Santana, we used to be friends," Quinn insists. She turns and smiles sweetly at Brittany. "Brittany remembers. Don't you, Brittany?"
"Don't rope Brittany into this," Santana snaps. "She's a bucket of sunshine and rainbows. Of course she's going to think we were all friends."
Brittany keeps quiet, electing to remain neutral.
Quinn sighs and turns back to Santana. "I don't understand why you hate me so much."
"I just think you're a damn hypocrite," Santana replies.
Quinn quirks an eyebrow. "And you're not?"
Santana scoffs. "Excuse me?"
Quinn taps Brittany's thigh. "Acting all into guys when it's Brittany you really want."
The room falls silent, and the tips of Santana's ears start to burn. A self-indulgent grin spreads across Quinn's face.
"How did you-"
"Oh, come on, Santana. We were friends. We didn't spend a year sharing locker rooms and hotel rooms for nothing."
Santana straightens up. "So what? That's not hypocrisy. That's like, bisexuality or something." She frowns at that.
"Whatever you say," Quinn dismisses. "I don't need your friendship, Santana, but I'd sure appreciate it." She holds out her hands in defeat. "I don't have a family anymore. This-" She looks at Brittany and smiles softly. "Friends are all I've got."
"Let me guess," Santana mocks, "Glee Club taught you that."
"You know what?" Quinn fires back, suddenly sounding more like the head Cheerio Santana remembers. "Yeah, it did. Given your own situation, it wouldn't kill you to try dropping the bitch act. Knock 'giving people shit' a few points down on your priority list."
Santana rolls her eyes. "Oh, that's rich coming from you, Q. And my situation? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Quinn smirks, self-satisfied. "Your parents?"
Brittany winces. "Quinn," she reprimands, dropping her hand on Quinn's lap.
Santana bristles. "You shut your fucking mouth, Fabray."
"Why? You mercilessly pick on Rachel for being short, Mercedes for being overweight, me for being pregnant. What's the difference?"
"The difference," Santana grinds out, "is that I'm about to knock your teeth into your throat."
Brittany hovers protectively over Quinn. "San," she cautions.
Quinn softens. "Santana, I'm just saying. We're not so different when it comes to that."
"Doesn't make us friends," Santana grumbles.
"No," Quinn agrees, "but I've always liked you. I don't know what your problem was with me, but being in Cheerios wouldn't have been the same without you two."
Santana deflates a little. She'd been so busy hating Quinn for so long - despising her - that the sympathy creeping into her chest is a shock to the system. Cheerios actually does suck a little without Quinn, who had been one of the few on that squad of mindless drones to share Santana's aptitude for snark. And what had she really disliked so much about Quinn in the first place? The little Christian prude act, probably, which eventually snowballed into the fuckery that was babygate. But Quinn's owned up to all of it, and that has to count for something, right? And isn't Brittany always trying to get her to be nicer?
Quinn and Brittany are both watching her, waiting.
"I still think you're a manipulative bitch for dragging Puck and Finn around with you like that," Santana finally says.
"I know," Quinn nods, "and I kind of was."
"But I'm sorry your parents are such assholes," Santana offers.
"Thanks." Quinn smiles a little. "So we don't hate each other?"
"We don't hate each other," Santana confirms.
Brittany jumps out of her seat and rushes into Santana's arms, nearly toppling her. That alone makes putting up with Quinn worth it. From the armchair, Quinn laughs knowingly.
--
Rachel Berry throws a Christmas party and invites everyone from Glee. Which, what.
It's the last day of school before winter break, and Rachel is prancing around the choir room passing out pink invitations slips, a gold star adorning each one. Very Christmassy.
"I understand that for many, Christmas is observed with family. But in many ways, we have become a family since the beginning of the school year, culminating in our extraordinary underdog victory at sectionals. I believe that celebrating this holiday together will bring about a sense of unity and help boost morale, which will surely lead us to success at regionals."
"Aren't you Jewish?" Quinn asks, holding her card like she's unsure what exactly to do with it.
"Only half," Rachel replies. "My family is very tolerant of all cultures. We celebrate everything."
"Will there be booze?"
"Noah, you know I do not condone underage drinking."
Puck flips his card around in his hands. "Then I'm out."
"I'm celebrating Kwanzaa with Mercedes," Kurt says quickly, handing his invitation back to Rachel.
Mercedes looks to Kurt, then back to Rachel. "Um, yeah, Kurt and I will be lighting kinaras. Sorry, Rachel."
When Rachel hands Santana an invite, she sees it for what it is. Rachel wants people around her. That's all. All that stuff about unity and morale is a front; what Santana hears is blah blah blah I don't want to be alone. Rachel's dads, Santana imagines, aren't around much. Off doing important gay things, probably. Santana gags a little at the idea that she and Rachel actually have something in common, but it takes one to know one, or whatever, right? There's something hollow about Rachel that she tries to fill by being completely obnoxious.
On some level though, Santana gets it, and maybe she's going soft, but she skims over the details of the party and says, "I'll be there."
Everyone kind of does a double-take. Even Rachel turns to stare in disbelief, and she almost looks like she's bracing herself for the punch line. It's not the kind of intimidation that Santana's really all that proud of anymore.
Santana shrugs. "What the big deal? I have nothing better to do."
Brittany leans in close. "That's Rachel," she whispers. "You hate her."
"You like her, right?" Santana asks.
Brittany looks Rachel up and down. "She kind of says a lot of words I don't understand, but she's not like, Osama Bin Laden. That's the guy who killed all those Jews, right?"
Santana turns to the rest of the room. "Look, it's five hours of my life. There'll be free food, and the more of you come, the less we'll feel Rachel's presence. Who knows, it could actually be fun."
And even though Santana's just slapped her with a backhanded compliment at best, Rachel beams. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Santana."
Kurt and Mercedes still opt out, and Artie and Tina already have plans with their families, but everyone else agrees to show up, even Puck, reluctantly. So what if Santana does Rachel a favor because her Cheerios uniform still affords her power and respect despite being in Glee? Maybe she kind of owes it to her for all the years of torment.
Not that Santana Lopez owes anyone anything, but you know. If she did.
--
In the week before Rachel's party, Santana picks out an iTunes gift card, and Brittany grabs a few sheets of gold star stickers. They tack everything into the inside of a festive Christmas card and sign their names at the bottom.
When they show up at her front steps on the 23rd, actually on time for her party, Rachel answers the door with an ecstatic smile that nearly spans her whole face. It'd be kind of endearing if it wasn't also totally obnoxious. Santana just barely stops herself from asking Rachel if she'd gotten dressed in the dark, because she's sporting the ugliest Christmas sweater Santana has ever seen.
"I like your sweater," Brittany says, reaching for the bright red ball sticking out like a malformed third boob on Rachel's lower chest. "Rudolph's story is so sad."
"I tacked the ball on myself," Rachel explains proudly. "It was just a regular deer before. I realized this morning as I was picking out my outfit for the day that I don't actually have any Christmas-themed attire in my wardrobe, unless you count the pair of panties patterned with what I thought were plain gold stars until I took a closer look and noticed that there were also tiny candy canes interspersed between them."
Brittany grins. "Are you're wearing them?"
"As much as I dislike commenting about my undergarments, yes, I am."
"Awesome." Brittany holds out the card they'd picked for Rachel. "This is for you," she offers.
Rachel opens the card, and Santana notices that sometime after they'd signed their names, Brittany had gone and scribbled in a personalized message. Santana, accustomed to reading Brittany's chicken-scratch, even upside down, quickly skims over the words: So you can keep sharing your gift of music with us. Brittany had even doodled a tiny music note at the end.
"I didn't write that," Santana is quick to clarify, even though she kind of thinks it's the sweetest thing. She just doesn't need Rachel Berry getting any ideas about this kindness thing being permanent or anything, okay? Some Christmas cheer is all this is, nothing else.
"The gift card was all Santana's idea though," Brittany delivers proudly.
Rachel looks about ready to cry as she launches into Brittany's arms, then Santana's, and Santana almost laughs at how ridiculous the entire scenario is, that she's not prying Rachel off and trying to shove her head into a locker for being short and annoying and having absolutely no sense of discretion.
Don't misunderstand; Rachel is still short and annoying and has the social finesse of a jar of pickles. Santana just doesn't feel like clocking her every time she opens her mouth, which is new. Not unwelcome… just new. Since winning sectionals, and making up with Quinn, Santana's been pretty mellow, which is so not her style, but she'd honestly rather sing and dance than terrorize some pimply-faced kid. She isn't sure how she feels about that yet.
"Gonna let us in before the new year, Berry?"
Rachel steps aside to let them in, smile never fading from her lips.
Finn and Matt are out back, tossing a football around in the snow. Puck has his guitar out, and he's actually strumming a few Christmas tunes. Quinn is sitting nearby, while Mike is doing some crazy dance move balancing on his head. Brittany immediately joins Mike in his impromptu dance. Rachel takes Brittany and Santana's jackets and heads for the kitchen to get a new round of refreshments.
Santana nods toward Puck and slides into the seat next to Quinn.
Quinn smiles faintly. "You actually came."
Santana tilts her head in a short nod. "Yeah. Did you really think my big speech was just some way to trick all of you into showing?"
"Don't take this the wrong way," Quinn replies, "but yeah."
Santana looks toward the kitchen. "Rachel's a little man-dwarf sometimes, but she doesn't want to be alone at Christmas. I get that."
"You have Brittany," Quinn says, turning to the two dancers in the middle of Rachel's living room.
Santana does the same and gets momentarily distracted by Brittany holding herself up with one hand. "What about Brittany?"
Quinn shrugs. "You don't really know what loneliness is."
"Don't do that, Q," Santana glowers. "You know about my family shit."
"I don't, actually," Quinn replies, but not unkindly. "I caught the gist of it from being around, but you were always pretty defensive about that."
Santana stays silent for a moment. She's not about to go spew out her goddamn life story, but something about Quinn puts Santana in a generous mood. Bonus points to the blonde for having an even more messed up family situation than Santana, so she decides to just go for it. They're supposed to be friends now, right? No harm in sharing a little of the fuckery, especially since Santana's been directly and indirectly subjected to Quinn's family drama llama for months now.
"My dad," Santana begins, already internally wincing, "ran off somewhere out west when I was twelve, and my mom took it like a little bitch. Grabbed a flight attendant gig out of Fort Wayne International. She's not home more than a few hours a week," Santana explains, suddenly feeling foolish for having brought it up. She stumbles through the rest. "So don't tell me just because Brittany likes crawling into my bed at night and feeling me up a little, I don't know what missing my family means."
"Wait, you're sleeping with Brittany?"
The entire room chooses that exact moment to fall silent. Puck is between songs, Mike and Brittany's laughter has died down, and Rachel is standing open-mouthed at the entrance of the living room with a tray of drinks in her hands. And Quinn. Stupid Quinn has to go and practically screech it like a dying cat. A nasally dying cat.
As though deciding that she hasn't made the moment awkward enough, Quinn continues, "Like, sleeping sleeping. With Brittany."
Santana groans. There is no god.
She'd figured that Quinn was well aware of this fact, especially since the blonde had basically outed them the day after sectionals at Puck's house, but apparently not. Santana catches Brittany's eye, but Brittany quickly looks away.
Santana tries to appear inconspicuous, which is pretty damn hard when the whole room is staring expectantly at her. "I thought you knew…"
"No! I knew she slept over a lot, and I always thought you had a thing for her, but-" Quinn turns to the rest of the room. "Am I the only one who didn't know about this?"
Mike slowly raises his hand. "I knew."
Santana is immediately horrified. The bus ride to sectionals. Mike turning around and catching them in the act. Shit.
"Brittany told me," Mike continues.
Santana does a double-take. "Wait, what?"
Brittany mistakes Santana's confusion as disapproval. "Mike's my best friend, aside from you," she explains. "He won't tell anyone."
"Yeah, I can keep a secret," Mike reassures.
"Well, I for one think that this is a wonderful development. My dads will be ecstatic to hear that the gay and lesbian community in Lima is growing. This is the perfect opportunity to revisit my proposition for a Gay-Lesb-All at McKinley High."
"We're not gay," Santana quickly objects. "I still fuck guys."
Puck quirks an eyebrow in Santana's direction, and it looks like skepticism, but Santana ignores him. She has slept with guys. The fact that none of them were any good compared to Brittany is not the point. And what is this, twenty fucking questions?
"Since when?" Quinn narrows her eyes. "You guys didn't-while I was still a Cheerio?"
Brittany bites down on a smile, and Santana's cheeks get hot.
"Looks like we weren't great friends after all," Santana snipes.
"When?" Quinn demands.
Finn and Matt clamor inside, shivering from the cold.
"What's everyone up to?" Matt asks absentmindedly, brushing snow off the football in his hands.
"Brittany and Santana are doing the nasty," Puck replies, smiling a little at Santana. Stupid fuck.
Finn suspends his quest to shoot daggers in Puck and Quinn's general direction long enough to smile crookedly at Brittany. "Awesome."
All things considered, the news goes over pretty well. The guys all seem to be waiting for them to start going at it right on Rachel's floor, Quinn is counting on her fingers, probably trying to figure out whether she's ever shared a room with them while something inappropriate was going on, and Rachel just looks generally pleased with the whole situation.
Brittany is smiling though, so it's not the worst Christmas party Santana's ever been to, even when Rachel pulls out Scrabble and pairs Santana with Puck, who spends the rest of the night trying to spell the word 'dyke'.
Part 4
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Quinn, Puck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5,750 (of ~56k)
Timeline: Season 1
Summary: Santana Lopez has a plan. A three-point plan. A really fucking efficient three-point plan that's going to get her the hell out of Ohio. This is her story.
Notes: I just realized that the way I cut up this fic, every part so far has started with some smut. It's not my fault they can't keep their hands off each other. Any time Rachel pops up from now on is for bradyyface, who loves her Rachel Berry almost as much as Rachel Berry loves her gold stars. (Maybe just as much.)
Part 1 | Part 2
The road to sectionals does not start out well.
Santana hates to admit it, but New Directions needs Finn to win. Not that he particularly excels at either vocals or dancing - in fact, he kind of sucks at following choreography - but without him, they have to pick up Jewfro to hit twelve members, and Santana's pretty sure he's harboring a village of runaway Smurfs in his hair. Yeah, they're pretty much screwed.
The bus ride to sectionals is not the most pleasant thing Santana has ever endured. Morale is low, and everyone's miserable. Rachel doesn't even talk. Normally, Santana would bake whoever shut her up a freaking cake, but right now, they all need a distraction.
Most of them aren't even sitting together, and Ms. Pillsbury keeps disinfecting her seat instead of making any attempt at uniting them. No pep talks; nothing. Santana kind of wants to bleach her own brain for thinking it, but if Finn were here, they'd be in much better shape. First of all, Rachel would quit looking like a sad grandma, and that'd be a pretty good start.
Santana still sits with Brittany though. She'd even given Brittany the window seat. Across the aisle, Puck is seated alone. Brittany is staring out the window waving at passing cars, so Santana strikes up a conversation with Puck.
"How's it going with-?" Santana tilts her head to the back of the bus, where Quinn is sitting quietly by herself.
Puck shrugs. "She doesn't want anything to do with me."
"That's a good thing, right? I mean, she'll give the kid to some barren couple, and you won't have to deal with any of it. Babies barf more than bulimics."
Puck is indignant. "I would be a good dad to this kid, okay? I can deal with a little upchuck."
Santana opens her mouth to reply, but a shriek pierces the air a few seats behind them.
"Jacob Ben Israel, if you try to touch my breasts one more time, I am going to asphyxiate you. As the youngest blue belt ever at my Jiu-Jitsu Academy, please be aware I am fully capable of doing so."
Santana pushes herself higher and turns around to check out the commotion. Puck rises from his seat and walks to where Jacob and Rachel are sitting. He hovers menacingly over them. Jacob cowers, and Puck reaches out to grab the back of Jacob's collar, pulling him up. With one swift tug, Puck shoves Jacob into the seat opposite Rachel's.
"Stay there and shut up, unless you want a monster wedgie."
Santana can barely see Rachel's face, but she practically hears Rachel grinning. Foolishly. "Thanks, Noah."
Puck shrugs his shoulders, and instead of returning to his own seat across from Santana, he continues toward the back of the bus and slides into Quinn's seat.
Santana rolls her eyes and turns toward Brittany, dropping her hand to Brittany's bare thigh. Brittany immediately spins to face Santana. Without another word, Santana slides her palm under the hem of Brittany's Cheerios skirt, fingertips spanning to her hipbone.
Brittany smiles. "Santana," she warns, even as she spreads her legs a little.
Santana fingers the edge of Brittany's spankies, then slips her hand underneath the tight material. Brittany slides lower in her seat to give Santana better access, and Santana makes good use of the new angle by rolling the pads of her fingertips around Brittany's clit. Brittany's head falls forward, her mouth clamped shut. Santana brushes a quick kiss to Brittany's shoulder, her fingers easing up.
"San, come on," Brittany murmurs impatiently.
"Shit," Santana groans, her fingertips hesitant at Brittany's entrance. "I wish we weren't on this bus right now."
Brittany bucks her hips, pushing forward. "Santana."
"Okay," Santana relents, taking a quick peek around. Puck is still at the back of the bus. "Okay, but be quiet."
Brittany nods and closes her eyes. The angle is a little tricky, but Santana manages to work two fingers in, and Brittany is not quiet. Not that she's loud, either, but Mike, seated two rows in front of them, looks over the top of his seat at the sound. Santana waves with her free hand and tries to smile innocently, hoping she doesn't have some horrible sex face on. Brittany, thankfully, still has her head down, and she has her own hand pressed firmly against her mouth. Mike furrows his brows, but he turns back around and otherwise leaves them alone.
Santana rests her forehead momentarily against Brittany's cheek. "Britt," she hisses.
"Sorry," Brittany mumbles through her fingers. "I'm sorry. Mmph."
Brittany doesn't sound very sorry, and Santana's wrist is starting to hurt a little from the strain of being bent at an awkward angle, but they've done this enough times for Santana to know that it won't take much more, so she picks up her pace, fingers curving in and out, in and out, and Brittany's breathing thickens until she sounds like she's hyperventilating into her own palm, but nobody else seems to notice. Not that Santana's really paying attention at this point. The heel of Santana's hand presses against Brittany's clit, and Brittany tenses, a low whimper escaping from her throat as she clenches around Santana's fingers.
Brittany's head falls to Santana's shoulder, hand still clamped tightly over her mouth. Santana reaches to pull Brittany's hand away. Brittany's eyes open, and she's looking at Santana with a satisfied little grin. Santana presses a quick kiss to Brittany's forehead. She pulls out and wipes her fingers on Brittany's thigh, under the skirt.
As Brittany's breathing returns to normal, she reaches to spread Santana's legs, but Santana stops her.
"We've still got like, two hours, San."
It's not that Santana doesn't want to get off. Of course she does. And Brittany knows how best to do exactly that. Actually, watching Brittany squirm has gotten her a little randy. But it's the middle of a damn school bus, and there's no way she'd be able to go unnoticed, especially since Mike's apparently got supersonic hearing now. She's not exactly known for being quiet. Ask Brittany.
A flash of blonde hair from the aisle makes Santana turn her head. It's Quinn. She slides into the seat Puck had abandoned earlier. Puck slides in after her.
Santana makes a face. "What's she doing here?"
Brittany pats Santana's lap. "Be nice," she instructs.
Quinn looks away toward the window, and for a moment - just a moment - Santana almost feels bad for her. Puck gives Santana a come on, dude kind of look, and Santana rolls her eyes, but she leaves Quinn alone.
Santana doesn't try to be a bitch or anything. Well, okay, sometimes she does. But take Rachel Berry. Yeah, she can sing and everything, but does she really have to go on and on about her career, spewing words out of her mouth like she's applying for an auctioneer job? And don't get Santana started on those sweaters. The jokes totally write themselves.
Sometimes though, Santana forgets why exactly she despises Quinn. They'd had some good times together as Cheerios, and Brittany obviously still likes her. Sure, she went and got herself knocked up, but isn't Puck just as responsible there? And Santana doesn't hate Puck. Maybe it's the hypocrisy thing, or the fact that Santana's always had to play second fiddle to her stupid chastity act.
But now that everyone finally knows the truth about Quinn's baby, and she's sitting there all quiet and miserable, Santana actually feels a little sorry for her. Not enough to reach over and give her a comforting pat on the back or anything, because what, but enough to leave her alone. Santana's kind of over the whole kicking people when they're already down thing. She only does it to keep up with her master plan, but nobody in Glee really gives a shit about that, so she can probably get away with not insulting Quinn and her bastard child every five seconds.
Besides, Brittany's head is still resting on Santana's shoulder, and she starts playing with the hem of Santana's skirt. Santana nudges Brittany's hand away, and Brittany smirks. Santana's seen that one before, and all of those times have ended with Brittany having her way with Santana. Two hours left. Good Lord.
Quinn Fabray? Not exactly what Santana wants to waste her energy on right then and there.
--
Eight pairs of angry, suspicious eyes, and Santana does not like being under siege one little bit. She likes it even less when Brittany admits to accidentally leaking their sectionals set list. Brittany, who is loyal to a fault. Brittany, who would do anything to please. It makes Santana's heart ache a little to think that Coach had taken advantage of Brittany's kindness, her fidelity. Santana's protective instinct flares, and she wants nothing more than to punch a wall. Preferably one in the shape of Sue Sylvester.
Santana launches into a monologue about wanting to be there, which isn't a lie or anything, but she does it mostly to take a little heat off Brittany. And Rachel - of all people, Rachel - backs her up, and that's almost enough to make Santana feel bad about everything she's put the girl through. Almost.
Even Santana is relieved when Finn shows up, and with a plan to boot.
Still, it's a race against time. They've got less than an hour to come up with some choreography, and as brilliant as Mike and Brittany are at dancing, coordinating twelve people to look halfway decent on stage is a daunting task, especially with Artie's wheelchair. Brittany is engaged though, and she patiently helps Finn and Puck through the steps. Only Santana notices the quiet guilt in her eyes.
When they're changing into their costumes, Santana pulls Brittany aside.
"This isn't your fault," Santana says softly. Brittany doesn't even look at her. Santana tries again. "Brittany."
"I know," Brittany replies, sounding upset, and it breaks Santana's heart. "I know, but I shouldn't have."
Santana reaches up to cup Brittany's cheeks. Brittany's skin is hot to the touch. "Coach would've killed you if you didn't do exactly as she said."
"Yeah, but this is more fun than Cheerios practice. I didn't mean to mess it up." Brittany's shoulders rise in a shrug. "If we lose and Glee Club is finished, it's going to be my fault, at least a little bit."
Santana shakes her head. "No, Britt, it won't. Hey, look at me. None of this is your fault. We're a team, okay? Nobody's blaming you, and if anybody dares to, I'm going to kick them so hard in the crotch, they won't be able to walk for a week."
That earns a tiny smile. "Okay."
Santana fingers the pink ribbon holding back Brittany's hair. "You look really pretty, B." She presses her lips to Brittany's, quickly and discreetly. "Now let's go out there and win this thing."
And they do. They sing their damn hearts out and do exactly that.
--
The ride home from sectionals is significantly noisier than the ride there, and even Santana is excited about the giant trophy Finn and Rachel are holding between them in the aisle. Everyone is gathered around, and the atmosphere is phenomenal. There's pride, and triumph, and pure, unadulterated joy. Santana doesn't get to finger Brittany in public again, but you know. Win some; lose some.
Ms. Pillsbury elects to drive Mr. Schuester's car back so that Finn can celebrate with his teammates on the bus. Santana's pretty sure all the guidance counselor is really interested in is marinating herself in Mr. Schue's scent, which is completely pathetic, but whatever. None of Santana's business, that.
"We should all be very proud of ourselves. My rendition of Don't Rain on My Parade was flawless, not to mention absolutely riveting."
Kurt rolls his eyes in the background, but Quinn pats Rachel's arm.
"Yeah, you did good," she says. Everyone just kind of gapes at Quinn like she's some alien life form, including Rachel.
"Th-thanks, Quinn."
"Brittany, Santana, Mike, Matt," Finn says, turning to them, "you guys did an awesome job with the choreography, especially in the time we had."
"Teaching it to you was kind of a pain though," Brittany interjects, and everyone laughs.
Santana hates to admit it, but it's actually nice how everyone gets along at the end of the day. That she and Brittany are not shunned for being outed as Sue Sylvester's eyes on the inside. It's kind of a symbiotic relationship, really. Glee Club needs her and Brittany to qualify for and actually have a shot at regionals, and Santana's position in Glee nabs her some positive karma from Coach. Win-win.
Santana looks at Brittany and smiles. The blonde is laughing at something Mike has said, and her cheeks are flushed pink, partly in delight and partly from the heat of twelve animated bodies crowded together. Santana doesn't think she's ever seen Brittany so beautiful. If there's only one reason why Santana's glad they're bringing home the trophy, it's this: Brittany, guilt-free. Coach'll give them shit for it later, but right now, Brittany isn't blaming herself for leaking the set list. Brittany's happy, and so incredibly vibrant Santana almost has to remind herself how to breathe.
But beyond that, the truth is, Santana's glad they won because she actually wants to be a part of this. Glee Club. It's lame, and it's ridiculous, and half the people in it still makes Santana want to claw out her own eyes sometimes, but it's fun, and rewarding, and has she mentioned Brittany's dancing?
Santana becomes aware of a pinky gently linking with hers, and she smiles, leaning lightly into Brittany.
Mercedes reaches for the top of the trophy. "I can't wait to show this to Mr. Schue. He's gonna flip."
"I'm surprised they had the money to splurge on something this big," Kurt says. "The details are amateurish at best, but we can't expect everyone to have an eye for design."
"We should put together a number for Mr. Schue," Artie pipes up, and Tina nods her head furiously in agreement.
"Yeah, I agree," Puck offers. "Dude's been having it rough lately, what with leaving his wife and being banned from competition."
"Anyone got an idea for a song?" Finn asks, looking around.
"I would be happy to supply a song from my ever-extensive and diverse library," Rachel replies proudly.
Everyone huddles around Rachel's iPod, and with the exception of Kurt who once in a while makes a sarcastic comment about Rachel's taste in music, they remain quiet. Song after song, artist after artist, but none of them are right. There are a lot of show tunes, as expected, but Rachel's music collection actually surprises Santana some.
Kelly Clarkson comes on; Santana's never been a fan, but Rachel starts singing along, and so does Mercedes, then Brittany and Tina and even Quinn join in.
"This is the one," Rachel says.
"We can totally make this sound better than Kelly Clarkson," Tina adds.
"Any objections?" Rachel asks, looking blatantly at Kurt.
Kurt turns to Mercedes, who is still mouthing the words. "No, that'll work."
As chatter breaks out about the arrangement of the piece and matching choreography, Santana nudges Brittany.
"I think," Santana says, quietly enough so that only Brittany hears, "that I'm going to ask Mr. Schue for a solo. When we get back."
Brittany breaks out into a bright grin, arms wrapping around Santana's neck. She dusts a kiss to Santana's cheek. "You're going to sound so amazing, Santana."
--
The day after their win at sectionals, Santana goes to check up on Puck. Everyone's been so concerned about how Finn's handling the news, and how Quinn feels now that the secret's out, that they've forgotten that this completely turns Puck's world upside down too. Brittany tags along.
Quinn answers the door, and what the holy hell?
"Hi, Quinn," Brittany greets sweetly.
"Hey, Brittany," Quinn replies, leaning in for a hug.
Santana isn't nearly as impressed. "What are you doing here?"
Quinn smiles, a little bitterly. "I live here now. Finn kicked me out."
And Santana has to admit, it's a little satisfying to hear, even if it officially sucks for Puck. "Is Puck around?"
Quinn pulls the door open a little wider and steps aside. "Yeah, come on in."
Santana walks in. Brittany follows, and Quinn closes the door behind them. They find Puck in the living room, sprawled across his couch. He turns his line of vision toward Brittany and Santana when they enter, but otherwise makes no effort to move.
"Yo," he mumbles, and he looks tired.
Quinn sits down on one half of the armchair and pats the other, motioning for Brittany to squeeze in beside her. Brittany happily complies. Santana contemplates a dig about Quinn's ass being huge, but she decides against it. For Brittany's sake, mostly, but also because Quinn's hips in pregnancy are actually still quite slender, and wow, Santana has spent about five seconds longer than she has ever wanted to spend thinking about the girth of Quinn's hips.
Santana shuffles to the couch. "Move your ass, Puckerman."
Puck apparently doesn't even have the energy to argue; he just moves his feet to free up some space on the couch. Santana takes a seat and looks around the room.
"So what's going on here?"
"Quinn stayed up all night puking her guts out," Puck intones.
"It's called being pregnant," Quinn shoots back.
"It's called morning sickness," Puck mocks, "not all damn night sickness."
That infuriates Quinn. "You're always talking about how you want to raise this baby with me. How the hell are you going to do that if you're a bitchy zombie after one sleepless night? Babies cry, Puck, and babies puke. Sometimes all night."
"The way you jump down everyone's throat, I'm not shocked they do both."
Brittany is practically holding Quinn back from leaping out of her seat. Santana rises and stands between them.
"Okay, that's enough. Both of you, shut up. Puck, get your cranky ass upstairs and in bed. Take a damn nap. Quinn, chill out. Your face is so red I don't know if you're just pissed or about to pop out your bastard kid."
Puck tries to protest, but Santana isn't having any of that, and it's like pulling teeth with Puck sometimes, but she eventually manages to get him to crawl upstairs.
With Puck out of earshot, Quinn looks at Santana. "We used to be friends, remember?" she asks flatly with a hint of bitchiness that Santana remembers from her Cheerio days.
Santana narrows her eyes. "No, I used to indulge all your dumbass ideas because Coach slapped the captaincy on your wrist instead of mine. You were on a massive power trip."
"No, Santana, we used to be friends," Quinn insists. She turns and smiles sweetly at Brittany. "Brittany remembers. Don't you, Brittany?"
"Don't rope Brittany into this," Santana snaps. "She's a bucket of sunshine and rainbows. Of course she's going to think we were all friends."
Brittany keeps quiet, electing to remain neutral.
Quinn sighs and turns back to Santana. "I don't understand why you hate me so much."
"I just think you're a damn hypocrite," Santana replies.
Quinn quirks an eyebrow. "And you're not?"
Santana scoffs. "Excuse me?"
Quinn taps Brittany's thigh. "Acting all into guys when it's Brittany you really want."
The room falls silent, and the tips of Santana's ears start to burn. A self-indulgent grin spreads across Quinn's face.
"How did you-"
"Oh, come on, Santana. We were friends. We didn't spend a year sharing locker rooms and hotel rooms for nothing."
Santana straightens up. "So what? That's not hypocrisy. That's like, bisexuality or something." She frowns at that.
"Whatever you say," Quinn dismisses. "I don't need your friendship, Santana, but I'd sure appreciate it." She holds out her hands in defeat. "I don't have a family anymore. This-" She looks at Brittany and smiles softly. "Friends are all I've got."
"Let me guess," Santana mocks, "Glee Club taught you that."
"You know what?" Quinn fires back, suddenly sounding more like the head Cheerio Santana remembers. "Yeah, it did. Given your own situation, it wouldn't kill you to try dropping the bitch act. Knock 'giving people shit' a few points down on your priority list."
Santana rolls her eyes. "Oh, that's rich coming from you, Q. And my situation? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Quinn smirks, self-satisfied. "Your parents?"
Brittany winces. "Quinn," she reprimands, dropping her hand on Quinn's lap.
Santana bristles. "You shut your fucking mouth, Fabray."
"Why? You mercilessly pick on Rachel for being short, Mercedes for being overweight, me for being pregnant. What's the difference?"
"The difference," Santana grinds out, "is that I'm about to knock your teeth into your throat."
Brittany hovers protectively over Quinn. "San," she cautions.
Quinn softens. "Santana, I'm just saying. We're not so different when it comes to that."
"Doesn't make us friends," Santana grumbles.
"No," Quinn agrees, "but I've always liked you. I don't know what your problem was with me, but being in Cheerios wouldn't have been the same without you two."
Santana deflates a little. She'd been so busy hating Quinn for so long - despising her - that the sympathy creeping into her chest is a shock to the system. Cheerios actually does suck a little without Quinn, who had been one of the few on that squad of mindless drones to share Santana's aptitude for snark. And what had she really disliked so much about Quinn in the first place? The little Christian prude act, probably, which eventually snowballed into the fuckery that was babygate. But Quinn's owned up to all of it, and that has to count for something, right? And isn't Brittany always trying to get her to be nicer?
Quinn and Brittany are both watching her, waiting.
"I still think you're a manipulative bitch for dragging Puck and Finn around with you like that," Santana finally says.
"I know," Quinn nods, "and I kind of was."
"But I'm sorry your parents are such assholes," Santana offers.
"Thanks." Quinn smiles a little. "So we don't hate each other?"
"We don't hate each other," Santana confirms.
Brittany jumps out of her seat and rushes into Santana's arms, nearly toppling her. That alone makes putting up with Quinn worth it. From the armchair, Quinn laughs knowingly.
--
Rachel Berry throws a Christmas party and invites everyone from Glee. Which, what.
It's the last day of school before winter break, and Rachel is prancing around the choir room passing out pink invitations slips, a gold star adorning each one. Very Christmassy.
"I understand that for many, Christmas is observed with family. But in many ways, we have become a family since the beginning of the school year, culminating in our extraordinary underdog victory at sectionals. I believe that celebrating this holiday together will bring about a sense of unity and help boost morale, which will surely lead us to success at regionals."
"Aren't you Jewish?" Quinn asks, holding her card like she's unsure what exactly to do with it.
"Only half," Rachel replies. "My family is very tolerant of all cultures. We celebrate everything."
"Will there be booze?"
"Noah, you know I do not condone underage drinking."
Puck flips his card around in his hands. "Then I'm out."
"I'm celebrating Kwanzaa with Mercedes," Kurt says quickly, handing his invitation back to Rachel.
Mercedes looks to Kurt, then back to Rachel. "Um, yeah, Kurt and I will be lighting kinaras. Sorry, Rachel."
When Rachel hands Santana an invite, she sees it for what it is. Rachel wants people around her. That's all. All that stuff about unity and morale is a front; what Santana hears is blah blah blah I don't want to be alone. Rachel's dads, Santana imagines, aren't around much. Off doing important gay things, probably. Santana gags a little at the idea that she and Rachel actually have something in common, but it takes one to know one, or whatever, right? There's something hollow about Rachel that she tries to fill by being completely obnoxious.
On some level though, Santana gets it, and maybe she's going soft, but she skims over the details of the party and says, "I'll be there."
Everyone kind of does a double-take. Even Rachel turns to stare in disbelief, and she almost looks like she's bracing herself for the punch line. It's not the kind of intimidation that Santana's really all that proud of anymore.
Santana shrugs. "What the big deal? I have nothing better to do."
Brittany leans in close. "That's Rachel," she whispers. "You hate her."
"You like her, right?" Santana asks.
Brittany looks Rachel up and down. "She kind of says a lot of words I don't understand, but she's not like, Osama Bin Laden. That's the guy who killed all those Jews, right?"
Santana turns to the rest of the room. "Look, it's five hours of my life. There'll be free food, and the more of you come, the less we'll feel Rachel's presence. Who knows, it could actually be fun."
And even though Santana's just slapped her with a backhanded compliment at best, Rachel beams. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Santana."
Kurt and Mercedes still opt out, and Artie and Tina already have plans with their families, but everyone else agrees to show up, even Puck, reluctantly. So what if Santana does Rachel a favor because her Cheerios uniform still affords her power and respect despite being in Glee? Maybe she kind of owes it to her for all the years of torment.
Not that Santana Lopez owes anyone anything, but you know. If she did.
--
In the week before Rachel's party, Santana picks out an iTunes gift card, and Brittany grabs a few sheets of gold star stickers. They tack everything into the inside of a festive Christmas card and sign their names at the bottom.
When they show up at her front steps on the 23rd, actually on time for her party, Rachel answers the door with an ecstatic smile that nearly spans her whole face. It'd be kind of endearing if it wasn't also totally obnoxious. Santana just barely stops herself from asking Rachel if she'd gotten dressed in the dark, because she's sporting the ugliest Christmas sweater Santana has ever seen.
"I like your sweater," Brittany says, reaching for the bright red ball sticking out like a malformed third boob on Rachel's lower chest. "Rudolph's story is so sad."
"I tacked the ball on myself," Rachel explains proudly. "It was just a regular deer before. I realized this morning as I was picking out my outfit for the day that I don't actually have any Christmas-themed attire in my wardrobe, unless you count the pair of panties patterned with what I thought were plain gold stars until I took a closer look and noticed that there were also tiny candy canes interspersed between them."
Brittany grins. "Are you're wearing them?"
"As much as I dislike commenting about my undergarments, yes, I am."
"Awesome." Brittany holds out the card they'd picked for Rachel. "This is for you," she offers.
Rachel opens the card, and Santana notices that sometime after they'd signed their names, Brittany had gone and scribbled in a personalized message. Santana, accustomed to reading Brittany's chicken-scratch, even upside down, quickly skims over the words: So you can keep sharing your gift of music with us. Brittany had even doodled a tiny music note at the end.
"I didn't write that," Santana is quick to clarify, even though she kind of thinks it's the sweetest thing. She just doesn't need Rachel Berry getting any ideas about this kindness thing being permanent or anything, okay? Some Christmas cheer is all this is, nothing else.
"The gift card was all Santana's idea though," Brittany delivers proudly.
Rachel looks about ready to cry as she launches into Brittany's arms, then Santana's, and Santana almost laughs at how ridiculous the entire scenario is, that she's not prying Rachel off and trying to shove her head into a locker for being short and annoying and having absolutely no sense of discretion.
Don't misunderstand; Rachel is still short and annoying and has the social finesse of a jar of pickles. Santana just doesn't feel like clocking her every time she opens her mouth, which is new. Not unwelcome… just new. Since winning sectionals, and making up with Quinn, Santana's been pretty mellow, which is so not her style, but she'd honestly rather sing and dance than terrorize some pimply-faced kid. She isn't sure how she feels about that yet.
"Gonna let us in before the new year, Berry?"
Rachel steps aside to let them in, smile never fading from her lips.
Finn and Matt are out back, tossing a football around in the snow. Puck has his guitar out, and he's actually strumming a few Christmas tunes. Quinn is sitting nearby, while Mike is doing some crazy dance move balancing on his head. Brittany immediately joins Mike in his impromptu dance. Rachel takes Brittany and Santana's jackets and heads for the kitchen to get a new round of refreshments.
Santana nods toward Puck and slides into the seat next to Quinn.
Quinn smiles faintly. "You actually came."
Santana tilts her head in a short nod. "Yeah. Did you really think my big speech was just some way to trick all of you into showing?"
"Don't take this the wrong way," Quinn replies, "but yeah."
Santana looks toward the kitchen. "Rachel's a little man-dwarf sometimes, but she doesn't want to be alone at Christmas. I get that."
"You have Brittany," Quinn says, turning to the two dancers in the middle of Rachel's living room.
Santana does the same and gets momentarily distracted by Brittany holding herself up with one hand. "What about Brittany?"
Quinn shrugs. "You don't really know what loneliness is."
"Don't do that, Q," Santana glowers. "You know about my family shit."
"I don't, actually," Quinn replies, but not unkindly. "I caught the gist of it from being around, but you were always pretty defensive about that."
Santana stays silent for a moment. She's not about to go spew out her goddamn life story, but something about Quinn puts Santana in a generous mood. Bonus points to the blonde for having an even more messed up family situation than Santana, so she decides to just go for it. They're supposed to be friends now, right? No harm in sharing a little of the fuckery, especially since Santana's been directly and indirectly subjected to Quinn's family drama llama for months now.
"My dad," Santana begins, already internally wincing, "ran off somewhere out west when I was twelve, and my mom took it like a little bitch. Grabbed a flight attendant gig out of Fort Wayne International. She's not home more than a few hours a week," Santana explains, suddenly feeling foolish for having brought it up. She stumbles through the rest. "So don't tell me just because Brittany likes crawling into my bed at night and feeling me up a little, I don't know what missing my family means."
"Wait, you're sleeping with Brittany?"
The entire room chooses that exact moment to fall silent. Puck is between songs, Mike and Brittany's laughter has died down, and Rachel is standing open-mouthed at the entrance of the living room with a tray of drinks in her hands. And Quinn. Stupid Quinn has to go and practically screech it like a dying cat. A nasally dying cat.
As though deciding that she hasn't made the moment awkward enough, Quinn continues, "Like, sleeping sleeping. With Brittany."
Santana groans. There is no god.
She'd figured that Quinn was well aware of this fact, especially since the blonde had basically outed them the day after sectionals at Puck's house, but apparently not. Santana catches Brittany's eye, but Brittany quickly looks away.
Santana tries to appear inconspicuous, which is pretty damn hard when the whole room is staring expectantly at her. "I thought you knew…"
"No! I knew she slept over a lot, and I always thought you had a thing for her, but-" Quinn turns to the rest of the room. "Am I the only one who didn't know about this?"
Mike slowly raises his hand. "I knew."
Santana is immediately horrified. The bus ride to sectionals. Mike turning around and catching them in the act. Shit.
"Brittany told me," Mike continues.
Santana does a double-take. "Wait, what?"
Brittany mistakes Santana's confusion as disapproval. "Mike's my best friend, aside from you," she explains. "He won't tell anyone."
"Yeah, I can keep a secret," Mike reassures.
"Well, I for one think that this is a wonderful development. My dads will be ecstatic to hear that the gay and lesbian community in Lima is growing. This is the perfect opportunity to revisit my proposition for a Gay-Lesb-All at McKinley High."
"We're not gay," Santana quickly objects. "I still fuck guys."
Puck quirks an eyebrow in Santana's direction, and it looks like skepticism, but Santana ignores him. She has slept with guys. The fact that none of them were any good compared to Brittany is not the point. And what is this, twenty fucking questions?
"Since when?" Quinn narrows her eyes. "You guys didn't-while I was still a Cheerio?"
Brittany bites down on a smile, and Santana's cheeks get hot.
"Looks like we weren't great friends after all," Santana snipes.
"When?" Quinn demands.
Finn and Matt clamor inside, shivering from the cold.
"What's everyone up to?" Matt asks absentmindedly, brushing snow off the football in his hands.
"Brittany and Santana are doing the nasty," Puck replies, smiling a little at Santana. Stupid fuck.
Finn suspends his quest to shoot daggers in Puck and Quinn's general direction long enough to smile crookedly at Brittany. "Awesome."
All things considered, the news goes over pretty well. The guys all seem to be waiting for them to start going at it right on Rachel's floor, Quinn is counting on her fingers, probably trying to figure out whether she's ever shared a room with them while something inappropriate was going on, and Rachel just looks generally pleased with the whole situation.
Brittany is smiling though, so it's not the worst Christmas party Santana's ever been to, even when Rachel pulls out Scrabble and pairs Santana with Puck, who spends the rest of the night trying to spell the word 'dyke'.
Part 4