fic: if my heart was a compass - 6/10 - glee, brittany/santana, nc-17
Title: If My Heart Was A Compass (6/10)
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Quinn, Puck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 4,896 (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.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
"Oh, thank god," Rachel says the next day when she notices Brittany and Santana entering the choir room with their pinkies intertwined.
Quinn smiles proudly at them. Beside her, Puck gives Santana an acknowledging tilt of the head.
As they take their seats, Mike nudges Brittany. "You okay?" he mouths, glancing briefly at Santana.
Brittany nods. "You're in trouble though, mister," she whispers back with a smile.
After Glee rehearsal, Brittany leaves with Mike to hang out, and she brushes a quick kiss to Santana's lips before going. Brittany looks a little uncertain pulling away, so Santana reassures her with a second kiss, right there in front of everyone. Brittany grins, and so does Mike.
Once they've left, Puck and Quinn sidle up to Santana.
"How was the make-up sex?"
Santana rolls her eyes. "Don't be a perv, Puck," she says. She doesn't tell either of them that she and Brittany had spent the whole afternoon talking, or that they'd fallen asleep fully clothed and that it was the best night of rest she's had in weeks. Like she'd promised Brittany, no sex.
Quinn pulls Santana into a hug, her baby bump pressing against Santana's belly, and wow, awkward. But Quinn doesn't seem to notice. "I'm happy for you, Santana."
"We're not like, getting married," Santana deflects.
Quinn laughs as she pulls away, and she affectionately links arms with Santana. Puck raises an eyebrow but Santana just shrugs. Must be the baby hormones.
"Come on," Quinn says, pulling Santana out of the choir room. "Let's go celebrate."
Santana is a little embarrassed on behalf of Quinn and her sudden outpouring of enthusiasm, but she lets Quinn drag her and Puck to the local bowling alley. It turns out to be kind of fun, even if bowling is a little lame, and Santana finds out she's not half bad at it. Puck wins though, which is surprising until Santana realizes there are a lot of lonely moms in bowling alleys. Gross. And to think she's been there, done that. Double gross.
After a few matches, the three of them sit down for pizza.
Quinn looks at Santana. "So you and Brittany worked things out?"
"Yeah," Santana nods, biting into the corner of her slice. "We're going to give this thing a go."
"What are you going to do when the rest of the school figures it out?" Quinn asks.
"I don't know." Santana shrugs. "You think I'll be kicked off the Cheerios?"
"I don't think Coach Sylvester is who you should really be worried about," Quinn replies, picking at the pepperoni on her pizza. "As long as you bend over and take whatever insults she dishes your way, you'll be fine. But Karofsky and the rest of the puckheads, they could come after you, and hard."
Santana frowns. "You're the one who said Brittany is worth the risk, all that shit about Rachel and Celine, which-what the fuck was that all about?"
"Rachel sang Taking Chances for her Cabaret audition," Quinn explains in a hurry. "I overheard her practicing is all." She shakes her head. "Whatever, look. The point is, of course Brittany is worth the risk. I stand by that. I just want you to be prepared for the torment if it comes. Don't take a slushie to the face and wimp out, hurting Brittany all over again."
"I'm not going to do that," Santana reassures her. "Quinn, I know what I'm doing, okay?"
"Can we all just get to the part where Brittany licks the slushie off your face? What's her favorite flavor? She looks like a cherry kind of girl, am I right?"
Santana had almost forgotten that Puck is there. Almost. Santana doesn't even mind it that much though. She's long ago figured out that being crude is just Puck's way of being affectionate. Or something. Whatever, Santana doesn't mind.
Quinn ignores Puck and continues, "Santana, you were ready to give her up."
"I spent three weeks without her," Santana points out. Her heart leaps a little, and she's given up trying to contain it. The heart wants what the heart wants, or whatever other cliché bullshit everyone's always going on about. She shakes her head. "It's not an experience I particularly want to relive, Q, so I'm going to take good care of her, I swear. Both of you have my permission to kick my ass if I don't."
Quinn seems satisfied by that response, so she lets it go. Puck starts talking about Call of Duty, and both girls let him go on about it while they munch on their pizzas. Three slices later, Santana is stuffed, and her ears are ringing a little from Puck's monologue about modern warfare that she follows with great difficulty. Quinn isn't paying any attention, like she's developed some filter to Puck's video game rants. Santana almost envies her until she remembers that Quinn has to pop out a baby in a month or two, and yeah, no envy there. She'd rather listen to Puck until her eardrums bleed, and then some.
Santana touches Puck's forearm to cut him off. "I'd better go," she says, rising from her seat. "This was fun though."
Quinn looks up and nods. "Say hi to Brittany for me."
Puck, surprisingly, elects to say, "Good luck," and he actually sounds like he means it.
Santana bumps her fist against Puck's shoulder, and Puck teasingly reaches to tug at her Cheerios skirt. Santana swings out of the way just in time and slaps Puck's hand away.
Quinn grins. "I like you two a lot better when you're not doing vomit-inducing things to each other."
Santana rolls her eyes and walks to Quinn's side, leaning down for a quick hug. "Take care of yourself, Q."
Santana heads out. On the drive home, she thinks about her life now and how different it is from a year ago, when she'd been a greedy freshman hell-bent on destruction. She remembers resenting Quinn, and sleeping with Puck, and how she'd never particularly enjoyed doing either of those things. She thinks of Glee Club, and finding her voice, or whatever sentimental crap Mr. Schue's always trying to shove down their throats. But mostly, she thinks about Brittany and how, through everything, she's always been her constant.
Bring on Karofsky. Santana Lopez isn't intimidated by anyone, least of all an ogre on skates.
As she's pulling into her street, Santana notices that her mother's car is in the driveway, and okay, she can handle this. The one thing in her life that hasn't changed in the past year, Santana thinks dryly. Obviously, someone up there is fucking with her.
Without even realizing it, she drives past her own house and pulls into Brittany's driveway. She cuts the engine and just sits there for a moment, trying to figure out what she's doing, and all she can think about is that night over a month ago, when she'd taken Finn's virginity. And Brittany, in all her unconventional wisdom, had suggested that Santana talk to her mother about the changes in her life, in both their lives.
Isn't that what all this is about? The winds of change, or whatever.
Santana makes a decision, and as she's walking up to Brittany's front door, she figures out why she's here. Brittany's mom answers the door with a warm smile that reminds Santana so much of Brittany.
"Santana! Come on in, honey."
Santana doesn't spend a whole lot of time at Brittany's, mostly because there's more privacy in her own home, but over the years, Brittany's mother has treated her much like a surrogate daughter, even when Santana herself was sometimes unreceptive to the idea. Since the start of high school, Santana has seen a lot less of the woman, mostly because she'd began to feel uncomfortable with her family situation and had grasped blindly for independence. Still, she owes a lot to Brittany's mom, and for all of Santana's swinging fists, she never forgets something like that.
"Brittany's upstairs, but before I let you go, could I have a word?"
Santana nods, internally cautious. "Of course."
Brittany's mother offers a faint smile. "Listen, Santana. I know you and Brittany just went through a rough patch, but I want you to know that if you need anything from me, don't be afraid to ask. I know it's tough with your mom gone all the time."
Santana balls up her fists. Not with any malicious intent because she'd never hit Brittany's mom, but it helps stifle her discomfort. "She's home now," Santana settles for saying.
Brittany's mother looks pleasantly surprised. "Oh, is she? Tell her I said hi."
"I will," Santana replies, even though she's pretty sure Brittany's mom knows she won't.
Brittany and her little sister come rushing down the stairs, foam swords pointed at each other. Brittany is sporting an eye patch, and her sister has a bright red bandana wrapped around her head. Santana cannot help but laugh, and the two girls turn to the sound.
"Santana!" the seven-year-old cries, dropping her sword in favor of Santana's leg.
Santana reaches to tug the little girl's bandana over her eyes. "Hi there."
The little girl makes a sound of protest as she struggles with the bandana.
Brittany grins and approaches Santana, pulling off her eye patch on the way. She launches into Santana's arms, and Santana is surprised to feel soft lips against her own.
The kiss is quick and chaste, but Santana immediately pivots to look at Brittany's mom, who is actually smiling, and what messed up twilight zone has she stumbled into? Brittany's mom laughs, picking up on Santana's mortification.
"It's okay, Santana. I know. Just be safe, girls."
She walks away, and Santana turns back to Brittany, warm relief flooding her cheeks.
"You told your parents?"
Brittany smiles sheepishly. "They kind of figured it out. They're cool about it though."
Santana has always known Brittany's parents to be free spirits. They'd kind of have to be to raise a daughter like Brittany, and the very fact that they'd let Brittany spend nearly every night sleeping in her best friend's bed is a pretty fair indication that they're open to the unconventional. Still, it surprises Santana. She wonders briefly how much Brittany's mom really knows. Obviously she's figured out that the two had been fighting in the past few weeks, probably by the fact that Brittany actually slept in her own bed in that time, but Santana's pretty sure Brittany hasn't shared the part about Santana being a complete bitch, judging by the cheery disposition of Brittany's mother.
It makes Santana's chest swell with something she can't qualify. Stokes something in her.
Brittany tilts her head. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?"
"My mom's home," Santana replies, eyeing Brittany's sister, who is trying to attach Brittany's eye patch to herself. "And I think I'm going to ask her to quit her job. Be around more, you know? Like you suggested."
Brittany slips her hand into Santana's and squeezes. "You want me to come with you?" she offers.
"No, I just came by because seeing you calms me down," Santana replies, kissing the corner of Brittany's mouth. "I need to do this alone. But come by tonight?"
Brittany smiles. "Yeah, of course. I'm proud of you, San." She doesn't let go of Santana's hand. "Are you scared?"
Santana chuckles, nothing but nervous energy. "Not yet, but ask me again when I'm standing in front of her."
Brittany pulls Santana around a corner, away from her sister's wandering eyes, and she sandwiches Santana between the wall and her body. Santana reacts instinctively, pulling Brittany close, and their lips meet in a slow, lingering kiss. Brittany smiles encouragingly when she pulls away.
"Wish me luck," Santana whispers.
"Bue-no suer-te," Brittany sounds out. "…is that right?"
Santana laughs. "Buena," she corrects lightly. "And thank you."
Santana calls out quick goodbyes to Brittany's family and leaves. She doesn't bother moving her car from Brittany's driveway; she just walks home.
Her mother is busy at work in the kitchen when Santana pushes open the front door.
"Santana," her mother calls out, "quieres empanadillas?"
"Already ate, Mama," Santana replies. She slips into the kitchen and lifts herself onto the counter, legs dangling over the edge. She watches her mother roll out thin sheets of pastry for a few minutes, like she used to do when she was little, and it composes her, filling her with a dangerous courage.
"Mama?" Santana broaches. "Can I talk to you about something?"
"Of course, Mija."
Santana's grip tightens against the edge of the counter. Her mother looks up, waiting. Santana takes a deep breath. Like a band-aid is best, she thinks, vaguely aware that she probably should've chosen a location where knives aren't so easily accessible. She kind of wishes she'd downed a drink or five. But to hell with this. She thinks of Brittany, and it gives her all the bravery she needs.
What she says though, is not at all what she'd planned.
"Brittany and I are… together."
The room feels hot, suddenly, and Santana fights the impulse to take back her words and talk instead about her mother's occupation like she'd intended. But she discovers that she isn't even scared or nervous, just extremely conscious of herself and her surroundings. Her heart starts to pound painfully in her chest.
Her mother's expression is indecipherable. "Qué? No entiendo…"
"Don't do that," Santana pleads. "Don't pretend like you have no idea. Please, Mama. Not about this."
Santana's mother busies herself with her empanadillas, and Santana just sits there and waits. She's seen enough to know it's nothing more than a coping mechanism. But even when a sheet of pastries is baking in the oven and the countertop is completely cleaned up, her mother still hasn't said anything, and Santana grows impatient.
"Mama…"
She whips around. "Is this because I'm not around to raise you right?" her mother asks, voice even but frighteningly low. "One of those teenage rebellion things, si?"
Santana shakes her head. "No," she says firmly, "this isn't about you. I can't change this, Mama, and I don't want to."
Santana's mother starts pacing the room, cursing in Spanish under her breath. Santana slides off the counter and cautiously approaches. Her mother turns around suddenly, pressing her face close.
"Santana Grace Lopez," she hisses, "you know your father would beat the shit out of you if he knew."
"He's never around," Santana retorts, voice rising, "and he's not coming back; he doesn't care what I do with my life. Does he even remember when my birthday is? Do you?" She laughs bitterly. "Mama, Brittany is the only person who has treated me right since you and Papi split. Don't you get that?"
Santana's mother slaps Santana hard across the face, and Santana is sure that there are ugly red marks across her cheek that she'll have a tough time explaining. It stings, in more ways than one, and the force of the hit brings tears to her eyes, but Santana refuses to give her mother the satisfaction. She holds her head up high.
"I didn't even have to tell you any of this," Santana continues angrily, "and you'd never know or even care. But I wanted to, because this is important to me. Because Brittany is important to me. You can run off tomorrow and forget this whole conversation, but tonight, just be my mom and care about what's going on in my life. Brittany makes me happy."
Her mother is shaking her head profusely. "The good Lord did not make you this way."
"The good Lord," Santana counters, "praises the importance of family. I'm not a little girl anymore. You can't just slap me across the face, bake me some snacks and suddenly it's all okay again. I'm standing up for myself, Mama, because I can't remember the last time you did that for me."
Her mother's jaws clench, and Santana waits unflinchingly for another slap that never comes. Santana doesn't back down; her mother holds her gaze for what feels like an eternity but is probably only a minute or two before the older woman finally deflates. Wordlessly, Santana pulls out a chair, and her mother slumps down onto it.
"Do you know what I really wanted to tell you tonight?" Santana asks quietly, fighting tears. "I wanted to tell you to quit your job, to come home. Te extraño, Mama. I just want you around more."
Santana's mother sounds resigned. "Then why did you tell me all this?"
"I don't know," Santana replies softly, swallowing hard.
Her mother sits with her head cradled in her hands for a long time, and Santana just stands behind her, hands still resting along the back of the chair. Neither moves, and Santana wonders whether she should say something. Her mother takes that decision away from her when she rises suddenly, knocking the chair back against Santana's body.
"Where are you going?" Santana asks, instinctively reaching out to a forever-departing form.
All her mother says before she leaves is, "Take out the empanadillas in twenty minutes."
Santana slumps down into the seat her mother has just abandoned and cradles her head in her hands, wincing at the sound of the front door opening and closing. She wills herself not to cry, not to care.
It's not that her mother is particularly religious or conservative, at least not since her father left, and Santana figures all that traveling has been good for her mother's otherwise-narrow view of the world, but telling your mom you're gay for your best friend? It's not exactly a common occurrence in the Lopez household, or well, anywhere. At least not in Bumfuck, Ohio.
Santana doesn't blame her mother for hightailing it out of there, especially since that's all she's been doing for years, other than maybe asking 'chicken or fish?' twenty-thousand feet up in the air. It doesn't hurt any less to know though, no matter how good Santana's gotten at hiding the chinks in the armor.
By seven-thirty, there's a plate of empanadillas on the kitchen table. Santana decides that she is in no condition to hold down food.
By quarter-to-nine, Santana is showered, dressed, and tucked in bed. It's early, and she knows that she won't be able to sleep, but she feels better immersed in the darkness. As she's waiting for Brittany to show, she takes out her phone and squints against the piercingly bright backlight.
She pulls up her messages and quickly taps out a new one: I told my mom about Brittany.
Santana stares at the words for a few moments and almost considers just deleting them because who the fuck is she even going to send that to? But she just needs someone to know. Someone who isn't Brittany, because she deserves to be told in person. Santana scrolls through her phonebook and reluctantly checks off Puck's name before pressing send.
Puck's response is swift: Shit what happened? Do you need a bodyguard?
Santana closes her eyes. The reply actually does make her feel a little better. Not as alone. Taking a breath, she reopens her eyes and slides her fingers across the buttons on her phone: Word vomit. And no she already left.
Are you ok? is followed closely by Quinn wants to kno if we should come over.
Tell her thanks but no. Britts gonna be here soon. Santana types back.
She almost expects a suggestive comment about comfort sex, but instead she gets: If theres anything we can do just say the word. Stay safe S.
Just as Santana's putting down her phone, it vibrates one last time. It's Quinn: Thinking of you. <3
Santana squeezes her eyes shut and tries to focus on her breathing. It's not so much that she doesn't like being taken care of, but that she just isn't accustomed to the feeling. Except from Brittany. That girl defies all of Santana's rules. She's grateful though, for the people who care, moreso now than ever before. If nothing else, she's learned that it's easier this way, to have someone to lean on. Santana internally rolls her eyes; Mr. Schuester would be so proud. But well, Puck and Quinn… as much as she hates to admit it sometimes, they're probably the people who, aside from Brittany, get her the most. They've had to put up with Santana's bitching and unpredictable temper, and yet for whatever reason, they're still here, ever-willing to come to her aid. That has to count for something. She isn't exactly the easiest person to get along with. She isn't oblivious to that. She's just never given a shit about any of it before.
Santana hears footsteps and lets out a breath she'd been holding.
Santana has her back turned to her door, and she hears Brittany stop at the doorway. Footsteps turn light, and Santana can almost see Brittany's dancer feet tiptoeing across the bedroom floor. Brittany changes quickly and quietly.
As soon as the bed dips under Brittany's weight, Santana turns around and presses Brittany down against it, pinning her.
Brittany's greeting gets lost in Santana's mouth as their lips meet, and for Santana, it's a desperate kind of hunger at the pit of her stomach as she grasps at every shred of comfort she can find in Brittany. And Brittany being Brittany, she submits to Santana's aggression, whether by surprise or devotion, Santana doesn't stop to ask.
Santana pulls at Brittany's top, stretching it over her head, and Brittany wordlessly helps her take it off. Santana immediately moves a hand to Brittany's bare chest, thumb rolling over a nipple, and Brittany moans against Santana's lips, back arching at the contact. Santana craves a mouthful of breast, but she doesn't want to give Brittany an opportunity to speak, because she doesn't want to talk about any of it yet. She just wants this. Her.
"Hang on," Brittany finally murmurs, the words spoken around an aroused sigh as Santana's hand is working its way into Brittany's pants. "San-Santana, wait."
And Brittany actually sounds like she wants to stop, so Santana pulls back slightly. Breathing heavily, Brittany presses her palms against Santana's cheeks, pushing gently to create some distance. Immediately, Santana recoils, pain searing through the side of her face.
Brittany tries to sit up but doesn't get far. "San, your cheek is swollen… Did your mom-?"
"Yeah," Santana breathes, pulling away. "Doesn't hurt though," she adds quickly.
Brittany uses her arms to push herself up; Santana slides to her lap. Brittany presses her face close to Santana's, trying to get a better look in the dark. "What happened?" she asks, touching Santana's chin. "Where's your mom?"
Santana sighs and climbs off Brittany. She lies back down, eyes closing as her head swims. "I don't know. She left."
Brittany stretches out beside Santana, propping herself up with her elbow. She reaches to press a soft kiss to Santana's temple and tries again. "What happened, baby?"
Santana's heart lurches to her throat. She keeps her eyes shut. "I told my mom about us," she manages to croak out.
"I thought you were just going to ask her to quit her job," Brittany says softly as she brushes her fingers through Santana's hair.
"I was," Santana replies, "and then I just blurted it out, and she flipped her shit." She opens her eyes and finds Brittany looking down at her, concern and something else plainly etched in her features. She's still topless, and Santana reaches a hand out, fingers spreading across Brittany's ribs. Santana pulls her closer. "Can we not talk about this right now?"
Brittany doesn't say anything, but she rolls over, half covering Santana's body with her own. She brushes the lightest of kisses to Santana's bruised cheek, then slides her lips to Santana's mouth. Santana lets Brittany control the pace this time, and she goes slowly, her movements tender.
Brittany pulls Santana's shirt over her head and tosses it aside. She shimmies lower to lavish attention to Santana's breasts, and Santana groans, eyes falling shut again. Brittany leaves a trail of kisses across Santana's skin, all the way down to the edge of Santana's underwear. Santana lifts her hips to help Brittany tug them off.
Brittany gently parts Santana's legs and settles between them. She leans down, pressing her mouth against wet heat, and Santana cries out at the sudden sensation. Her cheeks flush, and her pulse is hammering in her chest. She reaches blindly for Brittany, catching an arm and pulling her up.
"Britt…"
Brittany hushes her. "Let me take care of you, okay?"
Santana's hesitation is thick. "I just-"
Brittany cuts her off with a light kiss. "I know." She smiles encouragingly. "Just relax."
It's stupid, okay? Santana gets that. It's stupid because Brittany is so familiar with Santana's body that they could do this blindfolded, or handcuffed, or-Santana momentarily loses her train of thought because that doesn't sound like a half-bad idea, and Brittany's lips are on her abdomen again, moving lower, and oh oh. But the point is, Santana's hesitation is stupid because it's been nearly a year since they started doing this, and almost ten since they first became friends. Plus, it's not like she's never had anyone eat her out. There's just something so inherently intimate about the whole thing when it's Brittany's mouth and Brittany's tongue and Brittany.
The blonde is not shy though. She takes Santana's hand and holds onto it as she dives down, tongue dipping across Santana's clit. The touch makes Santana buck her hips, and Brittany laughs, the sound muffled against Santana's skin. Brittany slides her free hand to Santana's hipbone and rests it there as she continues to work Santana up with lips and tongue.
Santana holds back a moan, her hand tightening around Brittany's.
"Britt, god," Santana grunts, hips pushing instinctively.
Brittany's tongue brushes against Santana with a set rhythm, soft sighs and whimpers escaping Brittany's throat as her head bobs up and down between Santana's legs. Everything - Brittany's flushed cheeks, her low moans of approval, her hand pressing against Santana's hip - slowly but surely drives Santana insane.
"Please, Brittany. I need-"
Brittany picks up the pace, applying more pressure with every stroke, and Santana's head rolls back. It feels like Brittany is touching her everywhere all at once, and Santana's breath grows heavy and erratic. Brittany moans, and the vibrations against Santana are completely mind-blowing. Brittany's teeth scrape lightly against Santana's clit, and she's gone, body jerking as she thrusts her hips, a loud cry filling the room.
Brittany holds Santana down as she tries her best to contain and channel Santana's energy. When Santana finally loosens her iron-grip around Brittany's hand and her legs slacken, Brittany pulls away. She's smiling, and Santana's cheeks grow hot. Brittany licks her lips before pressing a kiss to each of Santana's thighs.
Without releasing Santana's hand, Brittany crawls her way back up and buries her face against Santana's neck. Santana reaches up with her free hand and sweeps Brittany's hair aside.
Brittany lifts her head. "I missed that."
Santana brushes her knuckles against Brittany's jaw. "What?"
"Making you scream," Brittany replies with a lopsided grin.
Santana chuckles. "You did pretty well for yourself there."
"Mm-hmm," Brittany hums, pressing a kiss to Santana's collarbone.
Santana reaches down to push at Brittany's pajama bottoms, but her arms aren't quite long enough, and she only manages to get everything down to mid-thigh. Brittany rises slightly to kick them off, but as Santana hand is gliding over Brittany's abdomen, Brittany stops her.
"You wanna talk about what happened? With your mom?"
"Not really," Santana mutters.
Brittany lies back down, the length of her body pressing down on Santana, and she pulls the covers over their naked torsos. She takes Santana's wandering hands and holds them in place.
Santana draws out a long sigh. "I don't know, Britt. My family's just so fucking dysfunctional. It pisses me off." She looks at Brittany and shrugs a hand free, sliding it down the length of Brittany's back, trying to pull her impossibly close. Santana finds comfort in Brittany's warmth, and she carefully continues, "Something broke in my mom when my parents split. I think she looks at me and sees my father. This house reminds her of everything she doesn't have. We used to be happy, you know. It used to be enough."
"I remember," Brittany says softly, stroking Santana's neck.
Santana closes her eyes again as she tries to focus on Brittany's touch. "I feel like I've just been a burden in her life. Like she wants to be free but she's pulled back to this shithole because of me." Immediately, she groans. "I'm being such a fucking pussy about this."
"Stop that," Brittany chides gently. "No, you're not."
Santana doesn't say anything, and eventually, Brittany's breathing grows shallow. Santana watches Brittany sleep for a while, but her right side is getting numb from having Brittany lying on it, and she tries to readjust herself, but it only makes Brittany stir.
"Shh," Santana hushes, "sorry, go back to sleep."
Brittany slides off Santana, murmuring incoherently as she curls up against Santana's side. She does manage to make out the last part though:
"Everything's going to be okay, San."
Part 7
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Quinn, Puck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 4,896 (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.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
"Oh, thank god," Rachel says the next day when she notices Brittany and Santana entering the choir room with their pinkies intertwined.
Quinn smiles proudly at them. Beside her, Puck gives Santana an acknowledging tilt of the head.
As they take their seats, Mike nudges Brittany. "You okay?" he mouths, glancing briefly at Santana.
Brittany nods. "You're in trouble though, mister," she whispers back with a smile.
After Glee rehearsal, Brittany leaves with Mike to hang out, and she brushes a quick kiss to Santana's lips before going. Brittany looks a little uncertain pulling away, so Santana reassures her with a second kiss, right there in front of everyone. Brittany grins, and so does Mike.
Once they've left, Puck and Quinn sidle up to Santana.
"How was the make-up sex?"
Santana rolls her eyes. "Don't be a perv, Puck," she says. She doesn't tell either of them that she and Brittany had spent the whole afternoon talking, or that they'd fallen asleep fully clothed and that it was the best night of rest she's had in weeks. Like she'd promised Brittany, no sex.
Quinn pulls Santana into a hug, her baby bump pressing against Santana's belly, and wow, awkward. But Quinn doesn't seem to notice. "I'm happy for you, Santana."
"We're not like, getting married," Santana deflects.
Quinn laughs as she pulls away, and she affectionately links arms with Santana. Puck raises an eyebrow but Santana just shrugs. Must be the baby hormones.
"Come on," Quinn says, pulling Santana out of the choir room. "Let's go celebrate."
Santana is a little embarrassed on behalf of Quinn and her sudden outpouring of enthusiasm, but she lets Quinn drag her and Puck to the local bowling alley. It turns out to be kind of fun, even if bowling is a little lame, and Santana finds out she's not half bad at it. Puck wins though, which is surprising until Santana realizes there are a lot of lonely moms in bowling alleys. Gross. And to think she's been there, done that. Double gross.
After a few matches, the three of them sit down for pizza.
Quinn looks at Santana. "So you and Brittany worked things out?"
"Yeah," Santana nods, biting into the corner of her slice. "We're going to give this thing a go."
"What are you going to do when the rest of the school figures it out?" Quinn asks.
"I don't know." Santana shrugs. "You think I'll be kicked off the Cheerios?"
"I don't think Coach Sylvester is who you should really be worried about," Quinn replies, picking at the pepperoni on her pizza. "As long as you bend over and take whatever insults she dishes your way, you'll be fine. But Karofsky and the rest of the puckheads, they could come after you, and hard."
Santana frowns. "You're the one who said Brittany is worth the risk, all that shit about Rachel and Celine, which-what the fuck was that all about?"
"Rachel sang Taking Chances for her Cabaret audition," Quinn explains in a hurry. "I overheard her practicing is all." She shakes her head. "Whatever, look. The point is, of course Brittany is worth the risk. I stand by that. I just want you to be prepared for the torment if it comes. Don't take a slushie to the face and wimp out, hurting Brittany all over again."
"I'm not going to do that," Santana reassures her. "Quinn, I know what I'm doing, okay?"
"Can we all just get to the part where Brittany licks the slushie off your face? What's her favorite flavor? She looks like a cherry kind of girl, am I right?"
Santana had almost forgotten that Puck is there. Almost. Santana doesn't even mind it that much though. She's long ago figured out that being crude is just Puck's way of being affectionate. Or something. Whatever, Santana doesn't mind.
Quinn ignores Puck and continues, "Santana, you were ready to give her up."
"I spent three weeks without her," Santana points out. Her heart leaps a little, and she's given up trying to contain it. The heart wants what the heart wants, or whatever other cliché bullshit everyone's always going on about. She shakes her head. "It's not an experience I particularly want to relive, Q, so I'm going to take good care of her, I swear. Both of you have my permission to kick my ass if I don't."
Quinn seems satisfied by that response, so she lets it go. Puck starts talking about Call of Duty, and both girls let him go on about it while they munch on their pizzas. Three slices later, Santana is stuffed, and her ears are ringing a little from Puck's monologue about modern warfare that she follows with great difficulty. Quinn isn't paying any attention, like she's developed some filter to Puck's video game rants. Santana almost envies her until she remembers that Quinn has to pop out a baby in a month or two, and yeah, no envy there. She'd rather listen to Puck until her eardrums bleed, and then some.
Santana touches Puck's forearm to cut him off. "I'd better go," she says, rising from her seat. "This was fun though."
Quinn looks up and nods. "Say hi to Brittany for me."
Puck, surprisingly, elects to say, "Good luck," and he actually sounds like he means it.
Santana bumps her fist against Puck's shoulder, and Puck teasingly reaches to tug at her Cheerios skirt. Santana swings out of the way just in time and slaps Puck's hand away.
Quinn grins. "I like you two a lot better when you're not doing vomit-inducing things to each other."
Santana rolls her eyes and walks to Quinn's side, leaning down for a quick hug. "Take care of yourself, Q."
Santana heads out. On the drive home, she thinks about her life now and how different it is from a year ago, when she'd been a greedy freshman hell-bent on destruction. She remembers resenting Quinn, and sleeping with Puck, and how she'd never particularly enjoyed doing either of those things. She thinks of Glee Club, and finding her voice, or whatever sentimental crap Mr. Schue's always trying to shove down their throats. But mostly, she thinks about Brittany and how, through everything, she's always been her constant.
Bring on Karofsky. Santana Lopez isn't intimidated by anyone, least of all an ogre on skates.
As she's pulling into her street, Santana notices that her mother's car is in the driveway, and okay, she can handle this. The one thing in her life that hasn't changed in the past year, Santana thinks dryly. Obviously, someone up there is fucking with her.
Without even realizing it, she drives past her own house and pulls into Brittany's driveway. She cuts the engine and just sits there for a moment, trying to figure out what she's doing, and all she can think about is that night over a month ago, when she'd taken Finn's virginity. And Brittany, in all her unconventional wisdom, had suggested that Santana talk to her mother about the changes in her life, in both their lives.
Isn't that what all this is about? The winds of change, or whatever.
Santana makes a decision, and as she's walking up to Brittany's front door, she figures out why she's here. Brittany's mom answers the door with a warm smile that reminds Santana so much of Brittany.
"Santana! Come on in, honey."
Santana doesn't spend a whole lot of time at Brittany's, mostly because there's more privacy in her own home, but over the years, Brittany's mother has treated her much like a surrogate daughter, even when Santana herself was sometimes unreceptive to the idea. Since the start of high school, Santana has seen a lot less of the woman, mostly because she'd began to feel uncomfortable with her family situation and had grasped blindly for independence. Still, she owes a lot to Brittany's mom, and for all of Santana's swinging fists, she never forgets something like that.
"Brittany's upstairs, but before I let you go, could I have a word?"
Santana nods, internally cautious. "Of course."
Brittany's mother offers a faint smile. "Listen, Santana. I know you and Brittany just went through a rough patch, but I want you to know that if you need anything from me, don't be afraid to ask. I know it's tough with your mom gone all the time."
Santana balls up her fists. Not with any malicious intent because she'd never hit Brittany's mom, but it helps stifle her discomfort. "She's home now," Santana settles for saying.
Brittany's mother looks pleasantly surprised. "Oh, is she? Tell her I said hi."
"I will," Santana replies, even though she's pretty sure Brittany's mom knows she won't.
Brittany and her little sister come rushing down the stairs, foam swords pointed at each other. Brittany is sporting an eye patch, and her sister has a bright red bandana wrapped around her head. Santana cannot help but laugh, and the two girls turn to the sound.
"Santana!" the seven-year-old cries, dropping her sword in favor of Santana's leg.
Santana reaches to tug the little girl's bandana over her eyes. "Hi there."
The little girl makes a sound of protest as she struggles with the bandana.
Brittany grins and approaches Santana, pulling off her eye patch on the way. She launches into Santana's arms, and Santana is surprised to feel soft lips against her own.
The kiss is quick and chaste, but Santana immediately pivots to look at Brittany's mom, who is actually smiling, and what messed up twilight zone has she stumbled into? Brittany's mom laughs, picking up on Santana's mortification.
"It's okay, Santana. I know. Just be safe, girls."
She walks away, and Santana turns back to Brittany, warm relief flooding her cheeks.
"You told your parents?"
Brittany smiles sheepishly. "They kind of figured it out. They're cool about it though."
Santana has always known Brittany's parents to be free spirits. They'd kind of have to be to raise a daughter like Brittany, and the very fact that they'd let Brittany spend nearly every night sleeping in her best friend's bed is a pretty fair indication that they're open to the unconventional. Still, it surprises Santana. She wonders briefly how much Brittany's mom really knows. Obviously she's figured out that the two had been fighting in the past few weeks, probably by the fact that Brittany actually slept in her own bed in that time, but Santana's pretty sure Brittany hasn't shared the part about Santana being a complete bitch, judging by the cheery disposition of Brittany's mother.
It makes Santana's chest swell with something she can't qualify. Stokes something in her.
Brittany tilts her head. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?"
"My mom's home," Santana replies, eyeing Brittany's sister, who is trying to attach Brittany's eye patch to herself. "And I think I'm going to ask her to quit her job. Be around more, you know? Like you suggested."
Brittany slips her hand into Santana's and squeezes. "You want me to come with you?" she offers.
"No, I just came by because seeing you calms me down," Santana replies, kissing the corner of Brittany's mouth. "I need to do this alone. But come by tonight?"
Brittany smiles. "Yeah, of course. I'm proud of you, San." She doesn't let go of Santana's hand. "Are you scared?"
Santana chuckles, nothing but nervous energy. "Not yet, but ask me again when I'm standing in front of her."
Brittany pulls Santana around a corner, away from her sister's wandering eyes, and she sandwiches Santana between the wall and her body. Santana reacts instinctively, pulling Brittany close, and their lips meet in a slow, lingering kiss. Brittany smiles encouragingly when she pulls away.
"Wish me luck," Santana whispers.
"Bue-no suer-te," Brittany sounds out. "…is that right?"
Santana laughs. "Buena," she corrects lightly. "And thank you."
Santana calls out quick goodbyes to Brittany's family and leaves. She doesn't bother moving her car from Brittany's driveway; she just walks home.
Her mother is busy at work in the kitchen when Santana pushes open the front door.
"Santana," her mother calls out, "quieres empanadillas?"
"Already ate, Mama," Santana replies. She slips into the kitchen and lifts herself onto the counter, legs dangling over the edge. She watches her mother roll out thin sheets of pastry for a few minutes, like she used to do when she was little, and it composes her, filling her with a dangerous courage.
"Mama?" Santana broaches. "Can I talk to you about something?"
"Of course, Mija."
Santana's grip tightens against the edge of the counter. Her mother looks up, waiting. Santana takes a deep breath. Like a band-aid is best, she thinks, vaguely aware that she probably should've chosen a location where knives aren't so easily accessible. She kind of wishes she'd downed a drink or five. But to hell with this. She thinks of Brittany, and it gives her all the bravery she needs.
What she says though, is not at all what she'd planned.
"Brittany and I are… together."
The room feels hot, suddenly, and Santana fights the impulse to take back her words and talk instead about her mother's occupation like she'd intended. But she discovers that she isn't even scared or nervous, just extremely conscious of herself and her surroundings. Her heart starts to pound painfully in her chest.
Her mother's expression is indecipherable. "Qué? No entiendo…"
"Don't do that," Santana pleads. "Don't pretend like you have no idea. Please, Mama. Not about this."
Santana's mother busies herself with her empanadillas, and Santana just sits there and waits. She's seen enough to know it's nothing more than a coping mechanism. But even when a sheet of pastries is baking in the oven and the countertop is completely cleaned up, her mother still hasn't said anything, and Santana grows impatient.
"Mama…"
She whips around. "Is this because I'm not around to raise you right?" her mother asks, voice even but frighteningly low. "One of those teenage rebellion things, si?"
Santana shakes her head. "No," she says firmly, "this isn't about you. I can't change this, Mama, and I don't want to."
Santana's mother starts pacing the room, cursing in Spanish under her breath. Santana slides off the counter and cautiously approaches. Her mother turns around suddenly, pressing her face close.
"Santana Grace Lopez," she hisses, "you know your father would beat the shit out of you if he knew."
"He's never around," Santana retorts, voice rising, "and he's not coming back; he doesn't care what I do with my life. Does he even remember when my birthday is? Do you?" She laughs bitterly. "Mama, Brittany is the only person who has treated me right since you and Papi split. Don't you get that?"
Santana's mother slaps Santana hard across the face, and Santana is sure that there are ugly red marks across her cheek that she'll have a tough time explaining. It stings, in more ways than one, and the force of the hit brings tears to her eyes, but Santana refuses to give her mother the satisfaction. She holds her head up high.
"I didn't even have to tell you any of this," Santana continues angrily, "and you'd never know or even care. But I wanted to, because this is important to me. Because Brittany is important to me. You can run off tomorrow and forget this whole conversation, but tonight, just be my mom and care about what's going on in my life. Brittany makes me happy."
Her mother is shaking her head profusely. "The good Lord did not make you this way."
"The good Lord," Santana counters, "praises the importance of family. I'm not a little girl anymore. You can't just slap me across the face, bake me some snacks and suddenly it's all okay again. I'm standing up for myself, Mama, because I can't remember the last time you did that for me."
Her mother's jaws clench, and Santana waits unflinchingly for another slap that never comes. Santana doesn't back down; her mother holds her gaze for what feels like an eternity but is probably only a minute or two before the older woman finally deflates. Wordlessly, Santana pulls out a chair, and her mother slumps down onto it.
"Do you know what I really wanted to tell you tonight?" Santana asks quietly, fighting tears. "I wanted to tell you to quit your job, to come home. Te extraño, Mama. I just want you around more."
Santana's mother sounds resigned. "Then why did you tell me all this?"
"I don't know," Santana replies softly, swallowing hard.
Her mother sits with her head cradled in her hands for a long time, and Santana just stands behind her, hands still resting along the back of the chair. Neither moves, and Santana wonders whether she should say something. Her mother takes that decision away from her when she rises suddenly, knocking the chair back against Santana's body.
"Where are you going?" Santana asks, instinctively reaching out to a forever-departing form.
All her mother says before she leaves is, "Take out the empanadillas in twenty minutes."
Santana slumps down into the seat her mother has just abandoned and cradles her head in her hands, wincing at the sound of the front door opening and closing. She wills herself not to cry, not to care.
It's not that her mother is particularly religious or conservative, at least not since her father left, and Santana figures all that traveling has been good for her mother's otherwise-narrow view of the world, but telling your mom you're gay for your best friend? It's not exactly a common occurrence in the Lopez household, or well, anywhere. At least not in Bumfuck, Ohio.
Santana doesn't blame her mother for hightailing it out of there, especially since that's all she's been doing for years, other than maybe asking 'chicken or fish?' twenty-thousand feet up in the air. It doesn't hurt any less to know though, no matter how good Santana's gotten at hiding the chinks in the armor.
By seven-thirty, there's a plate of empanadillas on the kitchen table. Santana decides that she is in no condition to hold down food.
By quarter-to-nine, Santana is showered, dressed, and tucked in bed. It's early, and she knows that she won't be able to sleep, but she feels better immersed in the darkness. As she's waiting for Brittany to show, she takes out her phone and squints against the piercingly bright backlight.
She pulls up her messages and quickly taps out a new one: I told my mom about Brittany.
Santana stares at the words for a few moments and almost considers just deleting them because who the fuck is she even going to send that to? But she just needs someone to know. Someone who isn't Brittany, because she deserves to be told in person. Santana scrolls through her phonebook and reluctantly checks off Puck's name before pressing send.
Puck's response is swift: Shit what happened? Do you need a bodyguard?
Santana closes her eyes. The reply actually does make her feel a little better. Not as alone. Taking a breath, she reopens her eyes and slides her fingers across the buttons on her phone: Word vomit. And no she already left.
Are you ok? is followed closely by Quinn wants to kno if we should come over.
Tell her thanks but no. Britts gonna be here soon. Santana types back.
She almost expects a suggestive comment about comfort sex, but instead she gets: If theres anything we can do just say the word. Stay safe S.
Just as Santana's putting down her phone, it vibrates one last time. It's Quinn: Thinking of you. <3
Santana squeezes her eyes shut and tries to focus on her breathing. It's not so much that she doesn't like being taken care of, but that she just isn't accustomed to the feeling. Except from Brittany. That girl defies all of Santana's rules. She's grateful though, for the people who care, moreso now than ever before. If nothing else, she's learned that it's easier this way, to have someone to lean on. Santana internally rolls her eyes; Mr. Schuester would be so proud. But well, Puck and Quinn… as much as she hates to admit it sometimes, they're probably the people who, aside from Brittany, get her the most. They've had to put up with Santana's bitching and unpredictable temper, and yet for whatever reason, they're still here, ever-willing to come to her aid. That has to count for something. She isn't exactly the easiest person to get along with. She isn't oblivious to that. She's just never given a shit about any of it before.
Santana hears footsteps and lets out a breath she'd been holding.
Santana has her back turned to her door, and she hears Brittany stop at the doorway. Footsteps turn light, and Santana can almost see Brittany's dancer feet tiptoeing across the bedroom floor. Brittany changes quickly and quietly.
As soon as the bed dips under Brittany's weight, Santana turns around and presses Brittany down against it, pinning her.
Brittany's greeting gets lost in Santana's mouth as their lips meet, and for Santana, it's a desperate kind of hunger at the pit of her stomach as she grasps at every shred of comfort she can find in Brittany. And Brittany being Brittany, she submits to Santana's aggression, whether by surprise or devotion, Santana doesn't stop to ask.
Santana pulls at Brittany's top, stretching it over her head, and Brittany wordlessly helps her take it off. Santana immediately moves a hand to Brittany's bare chest, thumb rolling over a nipple, and Brittany moans against Santana's lips, back arching at the contact. Santana craves a mouthful of breast, but she doesn't want to give Brittany an opportunity to speak, because she doesn't want to talk about any of it yet. She just wants this. Her.
"Hang on," Brittany finally murmurs, the words spoken around an aroused sigh as Santana's hand is working its way into Brittany's pants. "San-Santana, wait."
And Brittany actually sounds like she wants to stop, so Santana pulls back slightly. Breathing heavily, Brittany presses her palms against Santana's cheeks, pushing gently to create some distance. Immediately, Santana recoils, pain searing through the side of her face.
Brittany tries to sit up but doesn't get far. "San, your cheek is swollen… Did your mom-?"
"Yeah," Santana breathes, pulling away. "Doesn't hurt though," she adds quickly.
Brittany uses her arms to push herself up; Santana slides to her lap. Brittany presses her face close to Santana's, trying to get a better look in the dark. "What happened?" she asks, touching Santana's chin. "Where's your mom?"
Santana sighs and climbs off Brittany. She lies back down, eyes closing as her head swims. "I don't know. She left."
Brittany stretches out beside Santana, propping herself up with her elbow. She reaches to press a soft kiss to Santana's temple and tries again. "What happened, baby?"
Santana's heart lurches to her throat. She keeps her eyes shut. "I told my mom about us," she manages to croak out.
"I thought you were just going to ask her to quit her job," Brittany says softly as she brushes her fingers through Santana's hair.
"I was," Santana replies, "and then I just blurted it out, and she flipped her shit." She opens her eyes and finds Brittany looking down at her, concern and something else plainly etched in her features. She's still topless, and Santana reaches a hand out, fingers spreading across Brittany's ribs. Santana pulls her closer. "Can we not talk about this right now?"
Brittany doesn't say anything, but she rolls over, half covering Santana's body with her own. She brushes the lightest of kisses to Santana's bruised cheek, then slides her lips to Santana's mouth. Santana lets Brittany control the pace this time, and she goes slowly, her movements tender.
Brittany pulls Santana's shirt over her head and tosses it aside. She shimmies lower to lavish attention to Santana's breasts, and Santana groans, eyes falling shut again. Brittany leaves a trail of kisses across Santana's skin, all the way down to the edge of Santana's underwear. Santana lifts her hips to help Brittany tug them off.
Brittany gently parts Santana's legs and settles between them. She leans down, pressing her mouth against wet heat, and Santana cries out at the sudden sensation. Her cheeks flush, and her pulse is hammering in her chest. She reaches blindly for Brittany, catching an arm and pulling her up.
"Britt…"
Brittany hushes her. "Let me take care of you, okay?"
Santana's hesitation is thick. "I just-"
Brittany cuts her off with a light kiss. "I know." She smiles encouragingly. "Just relax."
It's stupid, okay? Santana gets that. It's stupid because Brittany is so familiar with Santana's body that they could do this blindfolded, or handcuffed, or-Santana momentarily loses her train of thought because that doesn't sound like a half-bad idea, and Brittany's lips are on her abdomen again, moving lower, and oh oh. But the point is, Santana's hesitation is stupid because it's been nearly a year since they started doing this, and almost ten since they first became friends. Plus, it's not like she's never had anyone eat her out. There's just something so inherently intimate about the whole thing when it's Brittany's mouth and Brittany's tongue and Brittany.
The blonde is not shy though. She takes Santana's hand and holds onto it as she dives down, tongue dipping across Santana's clit. The touch makes Santana buck her hips, and Brittany laughs, the sound muffled against Santana's skin. Brittany slides her free hand to Santana's hipbone and rests it there as she continues to work Santana up with lips and tongue.
Santana holds back a moan, her hand tightening around Brittany's.
"Britt, god," Santana grunts, hips pushing instinctively.
Brittany's tongue brushes against Santana with a set rhythm, soft sighs and whimpers escaping Brittany's throat as her head bobs up and down between Santana's legs. Everything - Brittany's flushed cheeks, her low moans of approval, her hand pressing against Santana's hip - slowly but surely drives Santana insane.
"Please, Brittany. I need-"
Brittany picks up the pace, applying more pressure with every stroke, and Santana's head rolls back. It feels like Brittany is touching her everywhere all at once, and Santana's breath grows heavy and erratic. Brittany moans, and the vibrations against Santana are completely mind-blowing. Brittany's teeth scrape lightly against Santana's clit, and she's gone, body jerking as she thrusts her hips, a loud cry filling the room.
Brittany holds Santana down as she tries her best to contain and channel Santana's energy. When Santana finally loosens her iron-grip around Brittany's hand and her legs slacken, Brittany pulls away. She's smiling, and Santana's cheeks grow hot. Brittany licks her lips before pressing a kiss to each of Santana's thighs.
Without releasing Santana's hand, Brittany crawls her way back up and buries her face against Santana's neck. Santana reaches up with her free hand and sweeps Brittany's hair aside.
Brittany lifts her head. "I missed that."
Santana brushes her knuckles against Brittany's jaw. "What?"
"Making you scream," Brittany replies with a lopsided grin.
Santana chuckles. "You did pretty well for yourself there."
"Mm-hmm," Brittany hums, pressing a kiss to Santana's collarbone.
Santana reaches down to push at Brittany's pajama bottoms, but her arms aren't quite long enough, and she only manages to get everything down to mid-thigh. Brittany rises slightly to kick them off, but as Santana hand is gliding over Brittany's abdomen, Brittany stops her.
"You wanna talk about what happened? With your mom?"
"Not really," Santana mutters.
Brittany lies back down, the length of her body pressing down on Santana, and she pulls the covers over their naked torsos. She takes Santana's wandering hands and holds them in place.
Santana draws out a long sigh. "I don't know, Britt. My family's just so fucking dysfunctional. It pisses me off." She looks at Brittany and shrugs a hand free, sliding it down the length of Brittany's back, trying to pull her impossibly close. Santana finds comfort in Brittany's warmth, and she carefully continues, "Something broke in my mom when my parents split. I think she looks at me and sees my father. This house reminds her of everything she doesn't have. We used to be happy, you know. It used to be enough."
"I remember," Brittany says softly, stroking Santana's neck.
Santana closes her eyes again as she tries to focus on Brittany's touch. "I feel like I've just been a burden in her life. Like she wants to be free but she's pulled back to this shithole because of me." Immediately, she groans. "I'm being such a fucking pussy about this."
"Stop that," Brittany chides gently. "No, you're not."
Santana doesn't say anything, and eventually, Brittany's breathing grows shallow. Santana watches Brittany sleep for a while, but her right side is getting numb from having Brittany lying on it, and she tries to readjust herself, but it only makes Brittany stir.
"Shh," Santana hushes, "sorry, go back to sleep."
Brittany slides off Santana, murmuring incoherently as she curls up against Santana's side. She does manage to make out the last part though:
"Everything's going to be okay, San."
Part 7