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The first time Santana catches Brittany’s eye on stage, her heart stops.

It’s only a brief moment, a split second where their eyes meet during a turn in the choreography at their very first performance during invitationals, but Santana’s instantly addicted. Brittany’s blue eyes sparkle under the stage lights, and she’s bright and glowing, her movements sure and easy; she looks as thrilled as Santana feels. It’s electric and exciting and intoxicating and just a little bit scary, and Santana can’t wait to feel it again.

//

The next time she feels it, it’s during sectionals. She can sense more than see Brittany behind her, just above her on the choir riser, and when she turns Brittany’s there, with a warm smile for Santana like she always is. She’s beautiful in black and pink, her dress swirling around her knees and her body spinning like it was made just to dance. The crowd cheers for them but all Santana can focus on is the back of Brittany’s hand brushing over her arm and causing goosebumps to rise. She feels alive, and every part of this moment is engraved in her memory.

//

It’s at regionals, in the middle of their Journey medley, that Santana realizes that this isn’t just a little thing, but a full-blown, happens-every-time, makes-my-heart-stop thing. She can’t quite believe that the glee club made it this far, if she’s being honest with herself, and she can’t quite believe how much she relies on this dumb little club now, how much she looks forward to it everyday, and she especially can’t quite believe how fast everything feels; the performance, the lights, the crowd, the song, the entire year. Before she knows it her first solo line is right there and her stomach turns into a ball of ice; but then Brittany’s eyes meet hers from the row beside her and everything in Santana stills. Rachel’s voice fades away, the crowd quiets, the stage lights dim, and, for just a moment, it’s just her and Brittany, and the anxiety in Santana’s shoulders melts away as Puck’s voice echoes across the auditorium. Brittany’s smile is the last thing Santana sees before the colours of the lights and the crowd and the stage fade back in and it’s her turn to sing.

//

Santana doesn’t show it, but she’s so nervous about her solo that she’s actually nauseous, but everyone always knows her as the untouchable Santana Lopez, so she pushes her nerves down and smirks and plays up her confidence backstage. Before she knows it, the lights are dimmed and she’s at the back of the choir risers and the music is starting. She takes a shaky breathe and glances and Brittany who gives her a sweet, encouraging smile as she pushes Santana’s hair back from her face, as soft and gentle as she always is. And a couple verses later, when she beckons Brittany over to her, she forgets about everything that’s been going on between them for the past little bit, and everything on stage narrows down to just her and Britt; Brittany looks into her eyes and everything simplifies.

//

At regionals their junior year everything hurts. Santana can feel the ache like someone is wrenching on a fishhook right beneath her sternum, like her heart is being battered against her ribs, like her bones are freezing right down to the marrow, like a ball of lead is caught in her stomach and the ceiling is pressing her down into the floor and she can’t move; she feels stiff and sore and nauseous and everything hurts. Acting like she hasn’t been torn in two hurts, everyone’s nervous smiles and oblivious support hurts, dancing beside Brittany hurts, the fact that the choreography places fucking Wheels between them hurts, seeing Brittany’s sparkling blue eyes directed at someone else hurts, feeling Brittany’s hand ghost over her shoulders hurts, but what especially hurts is the fact that she has to smile and pretend it doesn’t. Brittany catches her eye from across the stage at the end of the performance, breathing hard and staring at her so intently that Santana feels like she’s burning up. Santana looks away and that, more than anything, hurts.

//

It’s both terrifying and exhilarating to sing a song she helped to write, a song that she wrote the first verse for, a song that she wrote for Brittany, a song that she is singing for Brittany in front of hundreds of strangers; Brittany was the first person to see the lyrics last night, and she kissed her so softly that Santana’s heart ached. All of her nerves fade as soon as Brittany’s voice joins her, and when she steps up beside Brittany and their eyes meet with wide smiles, all of Santana’s shame and fear and everything that’s happened over the past year melts away and Santana’s practically giddy with the possibilities that the coming summer will bring.

//

Dancing with Brittany is something that Santana’s loved ever since they were five years old and Brittany was teaching her to waltz in the soccer field behind the playground; dancing with Brittany for the first time on stage since being outed is both terrifying and freeing. Brittany’s arms are strong around are her back, as they always are, and it makes her skin tingle. Hundreds of people in the audience know about something she’s kept hidden for so many years, but with Britt’s eyes on her and a warm hand on her shoulder, she knows that she doesn’t really have to worry about everything that’s been scaring her anymore, because Brittany’s always been there through it all.

//

Brittany is really nervous for her first big solo part at regionals, so nervous that she almost freezes before they head out on stage. But Santana catches her hand and gives her a smile right before they head onto stage and she can see the tension melt from Brittany as she softens, her face relaxing and her shoulders dropping. Brittany gives her a relieved smile as they head out onto stage, and that’s when Santana knows that she has the same calming effect that Brittany has on her while they’re on stage. Brittany kills her solo, because of course she does, and as she spins at the front of the stage and heads back to the rest of the Troubletones she beams at Santana, and Santana has never been more proud.

//

Santana meets Brittany’s eyes as the walk towards each other, their voices rising and falling together flawlessly, and Santana can’t help but think back to last summer, that night after the fireworks; a smile twitches the corner of her lips, and a returning one spreads across Brittany’s face. Santana knows that Brittany’s thinking back to that night, what seems like a lifetime ago. Santana’s been out for almost six months by now, and she almost can’t remember how nerve-wracking it was to kiss Brittany on the check that night; what she can remember in vivid detail is the red lipstick kiss on her cheek, the glow of green-blue light from the dashboard flashing in blue eyes, the flicker of streetlights painting freckled skin in gold, and Brittany’s fingers tangled with hers over the centre console. She remembers all this in split-second technicolour, and this new memory of Brittany in red, singing a duet together at nationals doesn’t obscure the old one, but rather makes it even more precious.

//

The next time Santana performs everything is so different she barely recognizes anything anymore, but not in a good way. Brittany doesn’t perform beside her and that stings the most; she watches from the wing of the stage, with that broken look on her face that mirrors the one Santana feels. Her heart aches almost constantly, these days, and despite her best intentions of saving their relationship before it could crash and burn, everything’s already in flames. It doesn’t just hurt a little bit, like Brittany said before Santana went on, it still feels like something reached into her chest and ripped out her heart every time she looks at Brittany and remembers that she’s not hers anymore. Santana knows that she did this to herself, and that somehow makes it worse.

//

They don’t perform together for a very long time after that, long enough that the memory of that spark only her and Brittany shared when their eyes met on stage starts to change and fade, no matter how desperately Santana tries to hold on to it. But glee still has regionals, and Santana tears up as soon as she spots Britt on stage without her by her side. Santana’s eyes track Brittany the entire time. She’s beautiful in her purple dress, but also sad; her smile is glowing but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, even under the bright stage lights. It’s the sadness hidden behind her smile that sends Santana looking for her after the winners are announced and the auditorium is empty. Brittany sits by herself on centre stage, and Santana’s chest aches at how wrong it is, how wrong everything is right now. She doesn’t say anything as she approaches her, but she doesn’t have to; Brittany always knows, and she takes the offered hand with a small smile.

//

It’s still a couple months before they perform on stage together again, and it’s somehow even better than Santana remembers, with Brittany beside her the entire time, beaming and flirting and teasing and just being, in a way they haven’t been able to for a very long time. Santana almost forgot how right it feels, dancing beside Brittany with their fingers tangled together. Brittany’s eyes sparkle and, when they meet Santana’s, like always, they send a spark racing down Santana’s spine and everything in her stills and calms. Brittany spins into Santana, using her momentum to press a kiss to her cheek with a grin that’s both cheeky and sweet, and Santana melts into her arms.

//

The first performance during Mercedes’ mall tour is Santana’s moment, the one that her mami always told her about, that someday she would just know when something’s right, and she would know exactly what to do. It’s looking across stage to catch Brittany’s eyes like she always does that makes realization shoot through her like liquid light. Brittany’s blue eyes still glow bright under the crappy mall lighting, and her smile widens as she meets Santana’s gaze, her lips spreading and softening and her eyes sparkling. Santana starts as she realizes that this is that moment, the one her mami told her about, the moment that she realizes that this is exactly what she wants for the rest of her life; to be able to look over at Brittany’s glowing eyes and know that she’s the reason behind their happiness. It’s at a dingy mall in L.A., her shirt stuck to her back with sweat and bored shoppers wandering past without a second look, that Santana starts to plan the most important question she’s ever going to ask Brittany; it’s where Santana starts to plan their future.

//

They’ve performed together so many times before, both throughout high school and on tour with Mercedes, but this, this performance, Santana knows is the most important of her life. She’s nervous and jittery but also excited and eager. Brittany is as adorable as always, moving through their mostly improvised choreography with ease, fun and bright and beautiful. Santana can barely contain her excitement, and even when she starts to sink down to one knee and Brittany follows her lead instead if staying in the chair like Santana planned, she’s nothing more than ecstatic; Brittany is always on the same page as her. Brittany hops on the piano and her eyes turn soft and liquid and warm as her voice melts into Santana’s, her fingers trailing down Santana’s arm with all the gentleness in the world, and Santana knows that this is the moment she’s been waiting to arrive for months — or, really, her whole life.

//

Santana knows that all their other moments, all the performances they’ve done together, all of their songs and dances have lead to this, to this first performance as wife and wife. The song keeps going, but Santana can’t bring herself to pay attention, not when Brittany is goofing off with her on stage, her eyes bluer than Santana’s ever seen them, her smile happier than its ever been. Santana meets Brittany’s eyes and love and adoration shoot through her like an electric shock, warming her from where Brittany’s fingers twine with her own all the way through to her toes, like liquid happiness is spreading through her veins until all she feels is loved and adored.

And, just like the first time Santana caught Brittany’s eye on stage, all those years ago, her heart stops.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany finds out she’s not going to graduate on a Thursday.

The day starts out perfect; she picks Santana up in the morning, and Santana greets her with a shower of kisses and a muffin her mom baked last night, the kind with those tiny chocolate chips hidden inside that render any nutritional value they might have had irrelevant, the kind that’s her favourite. Santana always brings her little treats in the morning because her mom really loves baking (and Brittany knows Santana loves doing it with her mom too, no matter how much she rolls her eyes and complains), and also because she knows how much Brittany loves sampling any of Maribel’s food.

Brittany has first period by herself, so she eats her muffin while the teacher drones on and feels a little less lonely because every mouthful of hidden chocolate chips makes her think of Santana. She has second period with Mike and Tina, one of the only two classes she has without Santana, and she’s barely sat down when she’s called to the office. The hallways are long and lonely in the middle of class, all the usually late students either in class or already skipping; Brittany counts the tile all the way to the office as she goes, her footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway.

There’s two-hundred and thirty-seven tiles between her second period class and the office.

Brittany finds out she’s not going to graduate on a Thursday.

She’s numb for the rest of the day, and she really wishes she could feel something; disappointment, fear, anger, anything, but she doesn’t. She mechanically walks back to her class, all two-hundred and thirty-seven tiles, and sits back down beside Mike, who shoots her a questioning look but shrugs and turns back to the whiteboard when Brittany waves him off.

Throughout the day, the only person who notices that she’s not quite herself is Santana, because Santana notices everything about her even when nobody else notices anything.

Santana gives Brittany her own muffin even though she was saving it for before Cheerios practice, just to see Brittany smile again; and she acts extra goofy and dorky in glee, ignoring the laughs and the you’re so whipped’s that people send her; and she keeps her fingers twined with Brittany’s as long as she can, tangling under their desks during class and all the way through supper that evening; and she cuddles Brittany as hard as she can, holding her close and kissing her eyelids and her cheeks and her chin and her lips, searching for something to make Brittany smile.

It’s only at night, the moon high as it nears midnight, still curled against Santana, that Brittany finally feels something other than numb, and in it’s place is hopelessness. Something thick chokes her and she silently shudders and gasps, forcing herself to remain as motionless as she can so she doesn’t disturb Santana as she falls asleep against her. It’s like something heavy has slammed into her chest, shattering her sternum and leaving her heart in pieces as she sobs.

“Don’t leave me behind,” Brittany begs Santana, dark hair sticking to the wetness coating her cheeks.

Santana shifts against her, curling further into her chest. “Never,” she mumbles against Brittany’s skin, more asleep than she is awake, so exhausted from the day of desperately trying to cheer Brittany up and figure out what’s wrong that she doesn’t even realize what’s happening around her.

Brittany finds out she’s not going to graduate on a Thursday.

By the first few minutes of Friday morning she feels something in her chest loosen when Santana’s fingers trace sleepy hearts over her shoulder blades as she makes a promise, oblivious to how easily she’s just soothed Brittany’s soul, and Brittany finally manages to falls asleep with her face buried in Santana’s hair and strong arms wrapped protectively around her.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Tana, I wanna play pool,” Brittany whines into her girlfriend’s ear.

Santana giggles and raises her hands to clasp Brittany’s arms where they wrap around hers, melting backwards into Brittany’s warm embrace.

“Sure, babe,” she says easily. Brittany cheers into Santana’s neck, mindful of how precious Santana’s eardrums are, even while she’s more than a little tipsy. “But,” Santana adds in a singsong, giggling again when she feels Brittany’s preemptive pout, “only if we’re playing for something.”

“Sex,” Brittany automatically, brightening up; as far as buts go, that’s a pretty good one, which makes sense because Santana definitely has the best butt of anyone Brittany’s ever seen.

“Nope,” Santana rejects, turning in Brittany’s arms and booping her on the nose, smiling fondly when her face scrunches up at the ticklish feeling. “Not good enough, because we both know that will happen with or without a bet.”

Brittany grins goofily because, yeah, her girlfriend’s definitely got a point. “Alright, you think of something then.”

“If I win, I get to propose,” Santana says without any hesitation or doubt colouring her voice.

Brittany blinks and wonders if the alcohol is affecting her hearing. She’s been wanting to marry Santana since she was about seven years old, and they’ve talked about marriage before in that vague-future-I-wish-I-want-I-hope kind of way, but they’ve never really talked about it in a concrete way before. It kind of makes her want to wrap Santana up in her arms and never let go, and it kind of makes her want to kiss Santana senseless, and it kind of makes her want to shout from the rooftops and brag that Santana’s her girlfriend and no one else’s, and it kind of makes her want to jump Santana’s bones (thought she’s pretty sure that last thought is about seventy-six percent the alcohol talking).

“No, I’m going to propose,” Brittany says instead of all those other floaty thoughts.

Santana smirks, but there’s something softer there; it’s more dimply than her usual arrogant smirk, like she’s making a promise, like she’s the sun and the stars and the entire future. “Not unless you win this game,” she teases.

Brittany gives Santana her best game face as they head towards the pool tables; they’re all free, with most people crowding the bar counter or the karaoke machine, and so Brittany picks the one farthest from everyone else, partially tucked in the corner and a little quieter than the rest of the bar. Santana graciously lets her take the first shot with a kiss to the hand as she hands Brittany a stick, and then Brittany is lining up her first shot and pocketing a couple of the balls with a grin.

Brittany tries to focus, she really does, but then Santana’s in her space and crowding her senses and smiling at her so brightly Brittany loses all sense of thought (she is only human, and though Santana is too, she’s a very, very, very pretty human who just so happens to smell like sunlight and flowers and everything good in the world, and Brittany can’t be blamed for that at all). Brittany understands pool, because it’s really just angles and forces and things she got accepted at MIT for, but Santana is focused and steady and resolute (and also really, really hot, which is really not helping Brittany’s concentration).

Brittany misses another shot and wonders if Santana has slipped her another drink, that would explain why she can’t really focus on the game like she wants too (she wants to propose to Santana too, but more importantly she wants to marry Santana, and in the end it doesn’t really matter to her who proposes to who, just that they both end up at the aisle, so she’s not actually too worried about losing this game).

Santana passes her to line up her next shot, but stops and pins Brittany against the pool table with an arm on either side of her, her eyes so dark that Brittany drowns in them. “You know I’m going to win, right?” Santana whispers fiercely, glowing and beaming, and Brittany’s never seen her look so determined before. “I’m going to win, and then, one day, I’m going to propose to you.”

Brittany should probably try and return Santana’s overconfident taunts with one of her own, or at least focus on trying to win for herself, but instead all she manages to say is “God I hope so.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

When Brittany gets home from work the house is silent. Usually Santana is puttering around the kitchen, making supper because she always gets home first, while their daughter coos at everything that moves from her highchair, waving her arms impatiently for cuddles as soon as she spots her mama walk in the door.

Brittany knows something is wrong as soon as she calls softly for her wife and receives no response; Santana had today off, which was a relief to both of them considering how irritable their daughter was overnight, neither one of them wanting to leave her at daycare. She had been up all night, leaving them both exhausted from trying to calm her (which is to say nothing of their neighbour, who has apparently just gotten back together with her boyfriend for about the fourteenth time, if their nighttime activities are anything to go by). Brittany was certain their daughter was coming down with something and was ready to call in sick today and just have her teacher’s assistant handle her class, but Santana had swore that it was just teething pains and insisted that Brittany go to work, knowing that Brittany had an important rehearsal with her class of four year-olds, getting them ready for their recital in a week.

Brittany pulls her coat off and throws it on the coatrack by the door, barely pausing to kick her shoes off before heading straight to their daughter’s room. The lights are off and the blinds are drawn tight; Santana stands in the middle with their daughter cradled in her arms, pained whimpers and cries coming from the bundle of blankets and soft baby flesh as she rocks their daughter back and forth.

“Hey, Britt,” Santana whispers as soon as she catches sight of the blonde hovering in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?” Brittany asks in greeting.

“She’s fevered and a little stuffed up,” Santana explains quietly, her brow drawn tight in worry. “I can’t get her to sleep and she refuses to drink anything, I didn’t even attempt food.”

Brittany swallows thickly as she crosses the short distance to her wife and daughter. “I knew I should’ve just stayed home with you.”

Santana shakes her head, comforting and understanding. “No, Britt, it’s fine. I thought she was just teething. I didn’t really think anything was wrong until she started coughing and wouldn’t cool down.”

“If you had asked me to stay, I would’ve,” Brittany whispers.

“I know, really, I do,” Santana promises, “But you didn’t get much sleep last night between our neighbours going at it like rabbits and our beautiful little screamer here, and I know how important that rehearsal was for you. I would have called you if I thought it was really bad, you know that.”

Brittany nods because of course she knows that, but despite her wife’s reassurance there’s still a tiny part of her that feels guilty for spending the day with a bunch of strangers’ kids instead of her own. She leans forward to press a kiss to their daughter’s forehead, her heart aching at the fever heat she feels hot against her lips. “Did you give her some Tylenol?”

Santana nods as she bounces, continuing to rock their baby girl; both of their hearts break at the pained whimpers she keeps making. “I gave her another dose just before you got here. The first one seemed to bring her fever down but she still wouldn’t sleep, and then she started to get hot again about an hour ago.”

“Poor little thing,” Brittany pouts and wraps an arm around her wife, trapping their daughter between them.  “We can call your mom and get her opinion if this dose of Tylenol doesn’t settle her,” she suggests. Their daughter breathes out a wheezy breath, sounding stuffed up and pained. Brittany raises her hand and strokes her baby soft cheek, tiny fingers wrapping around hers as she starts to pull back, clutching them to her chest and whining, only settling once she’s got a good hold on Brittany’s fingers.

“Maybe she just needed her mama,” Santana murmurs, and when Brittany looks up she’s once again struck by just how pretty and full of love Santana’s eyes are.

“And her mami,” Brittany adds, leaning in to kiss her wife gently, only pulling back in order to kiss her daughter’s forehead again.

It’s another long night, but they eventually get their daughter to settle, cuddled between their bodies in their queen sized bed, sleeping soundly and her fever finally broken, and Brittany knows there’s absolutely nowhere else she would ever want to be in the entire world.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany knows Santana is nervous, she can feel it in between the bones of Santana’s hands, in the strong lines of muscle that tense and relax, tense and relax, tense and relax. Santana always talks a big talk, but Brittany knows better than anyone that, more often than not, Santana is absolutely terrified; it’s why Brittany thinks that Santana is bravest person she knows.

Santana’s fingers twitch in hers, her dark eyes darting all over the dumpy little back room they’re in, never settling too long on one place. Brittany knows it’s a mall tour, but she also knows that Mercedes is going to be a big star and deserves something better than an Aldo shoe storeroom. There’s rows upon rows of stacked shoe boxes, more than Brittany’s ever seen before, and one of the other dancers has already knocked a stack down, much to their chagrin and the tour manager’s mortification. Brittany had maneuvered her and Santana to the end of the storeroom, far away from the danger of towering boxes, squished up against an old white door, the paint chipped to reveal a dark grey underneath the peeling layers.

She releases Santana’s hands in order to wrap her in a tight hug, her arms around Santana’s neck, rocking back on her heels and pulling her completely into her body. Santana lets out a sigh as her own arms come up around Brittany, long and drawn out and fluttery, melting into the strong arms around her. “What’s up, buttercup?” Brittany whispers into the dark hair under her chin.

Santana shakes her head against Brittany’s chest. “Nothing, I’m fi—” she starts and then cuts herself off, hesitating for a long moment before she admits, in her smallest, tinniest, most bashful voice, “I’m a little nervous.”

Brittany gets that, she’s a little nervous herself, but she’s also mostly just excited. “You’ll be amazing,” Brittany promises, because if there’s one thing she knows, it’s that Santana was born with music in her soul just like Brittany was born with it in her bones.

“But what if I mess up?” Santana asks, a desperate edge to her voice. “What if I forget the harmonies or fall off the stage or trip and knock everyone over like a really awful, life-size game of dominoes? I’m going to mess everything up and they’ll all hate me for forever.”

Brittany smiles affectionately and releases Santana from her embrace so she can cup her jawline instead, running her thumbs over warm cheekbones soothingly, only moving them out of the way so she can press butterfly kisses there. “Keep your eyes on me,” Brittany says, “And everything will be just fine.”

Santana closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, and when she opens them they’re fierce with determination and love. “Okay,” she says, “Let’s make this show our bitch.”

Brittany laughs and kisses Santana, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering with how much love she has for the girl in her arms (and, maybe, just a little bit of nerves for the first show of the tour). Santana takes her hand as the tour manager announces that it’s time, lacing their fingers together as they follow everyone out of the store room, sending Brittany a smile that’s a little bit of nerves and a little bit of excitement and a whole lot of adoring love.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

On the first warm evening of spring, Brittany finally manages to convince Santana to come over to her house. Things have been decidedly weird between them since the whole locker thing, and Brittany desperately wants to fix it but also has no clue how. All she wants is her best friend back, they way they used to be before everything got all complicated, back before the lockers and Artie and the duet, back when they were just Brittany-and-Santana without everything painful in the way.

She just wants the girl she loves back.

She eventually convinces Santana to go outside and lay in the dewy grass with her, and only she sees the fear flash through Santana’s eyes, like minnows in that lake she used to go camping at back in elementary school. The munchkin can’t follow them out because it’s almost her bed time, and she pouts more than Brittany has ever seen her and clings to Santana’s hand the entire evening. Santana smiles softly at the munchkin and ruffles her hair, and jokes with her dad and discusses baking with her mom, just like she always does, but only Brittany notices the sadness in the corners of her eyes or the way she winces every time Brittany gets too close.

Brittany thinks of the last couple months, as she lies in the cool grass, and all the pain and suffering they’ve been through, and how it makes her feel like she’s the villain in her own story

(Brittany may have a sanguine view of the world, but she’s not naïve; she knows that people like her and Santana and Quinn are the bullies in the story of people like Rachel, but these last few weeks is the first time she feels like the bully in her own story because Santana keeps getting quieter and quieter and the circles under her eyes keep getting darker and darker, and Brittany starts to feel more helpless and hopeless.)

“Do you think we’re bad people?” Brittany asks suddenly.

Santana’s quiet for a long moment beside her, and Brittany starts to feel the chill in the air for the first time. “You’re not,” she finally says, voice firm with no room for argument; Brittany doesn’t miss the way that Santana doesn’t mention herself in that statement.

Brittany turns her head, cheek pressed to the cool grass, to look at Santana. “Neither are you,” she says quietly. Santana rolls her eyes and shifts uncomfortably. “You’re not,” Brittany insists as she rolls closer towards her, ignoring the small flinch Santana makes at the movement, “you’re the best person I know.”

“You should probably find some new people then.”

Brittany frowns and almost reaches out to stroke Santana’s hair back from her face but thinks better of it at the last moment. Santana is tense as she stares up at the inky sky, her features painted in tight pink and orange and indigo. She looks exhausted; the kind of exhaustion that can’t be fixed by sleep, the kind of deep bone tired that’s worn right into Santana’s being until she doesn’t know anything else, the kind of weariness that makes ghosts drip from her shoulders like ebony water.

“I don’t need new people,” Brittany insists, “I have you.”

“Do you?” Santana whispers so quietly that Brittany barely hears, except she does, and something deep beneath her sternum shifts and shatters. It’s not meant to be challenging, Brittany knows, it’s just sad and unsure and small, but it makes Brittany feel awful all the same. “Besides,” Santana adds, struggling to make herself sound flippant, “I know I’m not a good person because I’m a heartless bitch.” Santana adds that last part like she really believes it, and it makes Brittany’s chest ache like something heavy is pressing down on it; Brittany knows better than anyone that sometimes when people are mean they’re really just sad. Santana shivers and Brittany knows that it doesn’t really have anything to do with the chill in the air; her hands will be cold, Brittany knows, and she knows how easily she could warm them up, but she also knows that she just might break Santana’s heart if she tries to hold her hand.

“You’re not a bad person, San,” Brittany repeats, trying to put all her the warmth she wants to use on Santana’s cold hands into her voice. Santana’s head whips around to look at her, her dark eyes shining and wet, a denial that comes from deep in her soul. Brittany opens her mouth to continue when her mom calls for her from the porch, insisting that she come in and talk to her grandma for a couple minutes while she puts the munchkin to bed.

Brittany hesitates and looks over at Santana, uneasy and unmoored. Santana shrugs like she doesn’t care and turns to look at the sky where the darkness creeps; heavy clouds hang over west Lima and block out the stars high above them. She keeps staring at the clouds until she hears Brittany get up and head into the house, fighting with the ache deep in her stomach and the catch in her throat and the wetness stinging her eyes.

Santana lays there in the quiet of the cool spring night and hopes for a day when she can actually believe Brittany.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany and Santana don’t Skype as much as Brittany would like too, but it’s always hard to act like they’re just best friends when they’ve been so much more for years, when they’ll always be so much more. Brittany tries to pin Santana down and have regular Skype sessions (because she misses her best friend, and she misses her girlfriend, even if they haven’t been girlfriends for far too long), but Santana’s working two jobs, one during the morning and one at night, and trying to sleep in between; though Brittany always manages to squeeze in a fifteen minute Skype call at least once a week.

It’s five minutes into one of those calls when her phone dings.

“Who’s that?” Santana asks nonchalantly, though Brittany can tell she knows exactly who it is even though the pixels.

“It’s nothing,” Brittany says; she knows that it’s Sam’s text tone, but she ignores that (she finds it pretty easy, which should concern her, but it doesn’t, especially not when Santana is filling her laptop screen).

“It’s Sam,” Santana says flatly.

Brittany shrugs and kind of wishes she could throw her phone against the wall. “It’s— I don’t have to answer right away. We don’t—”

“It’s okay,” Santana says easily, as if Brittany can’t tell that each word makes Santana feel like someone reached into her chest and squeezed her heart. “I— You’re dating him now and we’re best friends,” she stumbles over the words a little, just like Brittany’s heart stumbles over them, “and best friends talk about things like that—”

“Santana stop,” Brittany begs even as Santana is shaking her head, “it’s fine. We really don’t have to talk about it. I know it hurts.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’ve moved on and I have to be okay with that.”

“I— You— We— What?” Brittany stutters.

Santana shrugs and looks at something just past her laptop, her smile only wavering a little bit. “It’s fine. I- I’m good with it, really.” Brittany just gapes at her, unable to find any words. “I’m just, I mean— It- It might take me a little bit to be fine fine with it, but I’m just— I want you to be happy more than anything, you know? And I realize now that you weren’t with me— It took me a while but I get it, that your happiness isn’t with me so, I’m just— I’m good,” she rambles.

Brittany feels a little bit like someone hooked an anchor into the space directly below her sternum and started yanking on it. She’s always known Santana is the most timid and unsure person when it comes to anything genuine, but she never thought that Santana would ever doubt Brittany’s love for her; but then again, there’s a lot of things that Brittany used to be so sure of that have fallen apart lately.

“You really think I could move on from you?” Brittany finally manages to ask.

Brittany can see the way Santana’s throat moves as she swallows thickly, even through the blurry pixels and awful internet connection. “Well, I mean, yeah,” she mumbles, picking at some invisible lint on her jeans. “You deserve someone who makes you happy and I see now that I wasn’t. I understand, really Britt, I do.”

“How could I ever move on from you?” Brittany croaks. “How could I move on from my soulmate?”

Santana’s eyes snap back to the screen. “What?” she rasps.

Brittany swallows and manages a small smile. “Santana, I could never move on from you. You’re my one constant. You’re my always.”

“Then what are we doing?” Santana challenges. “I’m in New York and you’re—” she chokes on the words for a second, “and you’re with Sam.”

“We’re waiting,” Brittany says quickly, “Isn’t that why we’re going through all this pain now? So that someday we’ll be in the same spot again? So we can be together in the end?”

“What am I supposed to do until then?” Santana whispers, and Brittany can see her chin tremble just a little bit. Brittany presses her fingers to her earbuds, trying to push them closer so she can hear Santana better, so she can feel like she’s actually there with Santana instead of hundreds of miles away.

Brittany swallows thickly. “You do what you have too,” she says, “And if some pretty girl is a part of that, then I understand.”

Santana shakes her head. “I don’t know how to do that, Britt,” she says, and she sounds a little bit like she’s choking, “I don’t even know how to be me anymore.”

Brittany knows she’s still alive because she hasn’t blacked out or anything, but she barely feels like she’s breathing, she doesn’t even feel like her heart’s beating anymore. “San—” she starts.

“I have to get ready for work,” Santana interrupts, “I’ll talk to you later Britt.” Santana scratches at the skin under her eye, and Brittany knows she’s trying to stop the tears so Brittany won’t see; she knows because Brittany herself is blinking quickly to try and stop her own before Santana sees them.

“Promise,” Brittany says, and she can’t quite stop the choking fear that Santana won’t call her back if she isn’t forced to.

Brittany doesn’t miss the split second hesitation and pain that crosses Santana’s features. “I promise,” she finally says.

Santana disconnects from the call and Brittany hates the world for a very long moment. She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until she sees the teardrops on her laptop. She sucks in a shuddering breath and ignores the dings her phone makes with texts from Sam and wishes that their someday didn’t seem further away every single day.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany wakes up to an empty bed. She stares at the ceiling for a long moment before propping herself up on an elbow to look at their daughter’s bassinet. It’s empty too, and a thick cord of lightning panic shoots through her chest for a split second before she relaxes. Santana’s side of the bed is still warm, and there’s soft sounds coming from the baby monitor on the side of the table. Her and Santana had been fiddling with it earlier and must not have turned it off; despite their daughter sleeping in the room with them, they had been setting up her room for when she’s older, including the high tech baby monitor Brittany’s dad had insisted on getting them. She doesn’t hear their daughter screaming, which is a good thing. Ever since Santana and her brought their daughter home neither of them have gotten much sleep, and neither of them have been happier.

Instead she hears singing through the baby monitor, the faint strains of humming and lyrics she can’t quite make out, and Brittany instantly knows where her missing wife and daughter are. She slips out of bed, shivering in the cool night air, and creeps down the hall to where their daughter’s room will be once she’s old enough to sleep on her own.

As she reaches the doorway, she spots Santana rocking their daughter in the nighttime light; they hadn’t put up the curtains yet, and the streetlights create a rectangle of gold across the change table under the window and onto the floor while the moonlight casts the room in silver. Their daughter fusses, one clenched fist escaped from her bundle of blankets and waving wildly around (Brittany insists the the whole swaddling thing is really just a blanket burrito and, no matter how much Santana rolls her eyes, she knows that Santana thinks the same thing). Santana hums softly to her, and Brittany’s heart clenches until she is so full of love that she feels like it’s going to blossom out of her. “You are my sunshine,” Santana sings, more whisper than song, “My only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Their daughter finally settles against Santana with a small yawn, tucking her fist under her chin and staring up at her mami with wide, intelligent eyes. “Hey there, baby girl,” Santana murmurs, “You worked up quite the fuss there didn’t you? Mama’s trying to sleep so you’re going to hang out with me in here for a while so we don’t disturb her.”

Brittany carefully leans against the doorway, silent as she can be so as to not disturb her little family, somehow falling even more in love with her wife and daughter than ever before.

“I know you haven’t been here that long,” Santana continues, “but I’ve been dreaming about you for forever. Long before mama and I knew about you, like all the way back to when I didn’t dare dream that I’d be here. I wasn’t really the nicest person back then because I was scared most of the time, but your mama taught me that it’s okay to be scared, and it’s okay to say what you really want out loud because it won’t actually scare your dreams away like I used to think it would.”

Their daughter make an adorable baby gurgle and reaches up towards Santana’s face, making a grabby hand. Santana chuckles and shifts their daughter around until she can cradle her in one arm, allowing her other hand to be claimed by tiny fingers. “I love you so much more than you could ever know, baby girl. You and your mama are everything I always wanted but never thought I’d get, and I don’t care how many tantrums you throw or teenage rebellions you stage, I’ll spend the rest of my life guarding your heart and loving you with all of mine. I promise I’ll do better for you, because you make me want to be better.”

Brittany can’t help the little sniffle she lets out, and Santana spins on her heel with wide eyes. “Uh, Britt,” she stutters, “How— How long have you been standing there?”

Brittany just shakes her head, quickly crossing the room and wrapping her wife and daughter in a tight hug. “I love you so much,” Brittany whispers fiercely, blinking back tears, “You’re going to be the best mami ever.”

Santana melts into her embrace, their daughter caught in the middle. “I love you too,” she murmurs.

Their daughter coos from between them, and both moms smile down at their perfect little bundle of light.

“And I love you so much, too,” Brittany says, leaning down to kiss the wispy hair on her forehead. Their daughter gurgles in contentment and promptly falls asleep.

Santana and Brittany stare at each other in amazement before bursting into quiet giggles. “She’s perfect,” Santana says.

Brittany smiles and kisses her wife softly. “And she’s ours,” she whispers.

Santana smiles so brightly that Brittany has to kiss her again, and again, and again, until their daughter shifts against them with a sleepy murmur, her fingers now tangled around slim fingers and blonde hair as she holds both of her moms close.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

There’s a small break between the ceremony and the reception, while the new glee club kids have the unfortunate job of transforming the barn into a dance floor and place to eat. During that time, Brittany tangles her fingers with Santana and drags her off towards the room she used as a dressing room. Brittany’s pretty sure all of the original glee club members think they’re going to have sex during the break, but Brittany just really wants to cuddle with her wife. Mercedes watches them disappear back to Brittany’s dressing room knowingly but not suggestively; she knows better than anyone how much time they spend just cuddling.

(Besides that, they still have to change into their reception dresses, and if Brittany can’t keep her hands off her wife then, well, that’s just between them.)

Santana giggles the entire way back to Brittany’s dressing room, her dimples deep and her dark eyes shining so brightly that Brittany’s pretty sure she can see the universe in them. Brittany carefully unpins the veil from Santana’s dark hair, throwing it on a chair with her own. Santana doesn’t stop smiling the entire time as Brittany runs her hands through Santana’s hair, straightening out the flyaways from where the veil sat. Brittany grins at her and cups her jaw, leaning forward to kiss her wife for the second time ever; Brittany almost can’t believe how happy she is right now. She rocks into the kiss, letting the happiness soak right into her bones, feeling fizzy and bubbly. It starts as a tingle in her fingers and toes, warming through her like a wave, like walking on warm white sand with Santana’s hand in hers and the salty ocean water lapping at their ankles, like they’re the only two people in the world.

“Hey, wifey,” Brittany whispers when she pulls back.

Santana glows, teary and bright, “Hey wifey.”

Brittany laughs and wraps Santana in a tight embrace, rocking backwards and pulling Santana into her body; Santana’s arms go around her waist and she nuzzles into Brittany’s chest as Brittany drops kisses into her hairline. “I’m so happy right now,” Brittany mumbles into dark hair.

“So am I, Britt-Britt,” Santana says as she tightens her arms around Brittany.

Brittany’s quiet for a long moment before she drops a kiss onto Santana’s forehead, leaning back slightly so she can look into her wife’s eyes, losing her train of thought for a moment at how deep and dark and happy they are. She blinks quickly and pecks Santana on the lips. “Do you wish things had happened differently?”

Santana smiles softly. “What do you mean?”

Brittany shrugs and brushes some of Santana’s hair back from her face. “Is there anything you would change, if you could? Anything you would do differently?”

Santana’s quiet for a moment, her hands tracing thoughtful circles over Brittany’s waist that are more than a little bit distracting. “There’s things that I regret,” she says slowly, “Like how scared and mean I was junior year, and there’s a lot of things about the breakup that I regret, but there’s nothing that I’d take back.”

“How come?” Brittany asks; she’s not challenging, just curious. There’s some things she’d like to change, if she could; if she could go back she thinks she’d be kinder and more careful, she wouldn’t have pushed Santana so hard in junior year, she wouldn’t have failed senior year the first time, and she definitely wouldn’t have let Santana walk away from her that day in the choir room.

Santana smiles blindingly up at Brittany, all deep dimples and scrunched nose and shining eyes. “Because all of that,” she murmurs, “all of that heartbreak and tears and pain, and all of the happiness and laughter and joy too, it brought us right here, to this very moment. How could I go back and change any of that when I’m here with you?”

Brittany presses her lips to Santana’s, deep and searching. “I love you,” she mumbles into Santana’s mouth. Santana giggles and Brittany finds it really hard to keep kissing Santana around her own smile, but she can’t wait to spend the rest of her life trying.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Santana would like to say that she’ll never be used to the stares lingering on her back after the smear campaign ad, but she hates that it’s become her new normal. She hates that when she locks gazes with someone’s hateful eyes she barely feels shock, or when she feels some guy’s gross leer settle on her back her skin barely crawls anymore. (It still hurts, she knows, and Brittany knows, when she has to hold Santana tight at night and wipe away her tears, but at the same time, during the day, she barely registers the fact that she’s Lima’s novelty. She hates that she’s had to become used to all this hate instead of other people realizing that she deserves human decency too; she hates that she’s the one who is policed and not them.)

When she hears some asshole hockey players talking about her right before she leaves her empty history class, she’s almost surprised at how unsurprised she is. They’re talking loudly, and Santana winces a little at what they are saying, pausing just inside the doorway and sighing. She’s just bracing herself to slip out of the classroom with her head down in the hopes that they don’t notice her when another voice makes her heart pound and her stomach twist.

“Hey, shut the fuck up.”

Santana freezes at the sound of her girlfriend’s voice, low and cold like Santana’s so rarely heard it before.

“Why if it isn’t the little slutty girlfriend,” the leader says, and before Santana’s blood can even begin to boil, Brittany’s voice breaks the quiet chatter of the hallway again.

“And if it isn’t the virgin captain of the hockey team,” Brittany retorts. “How’s the eight game losing streak going for you?”

“Sh- Shut up,” the asshole captain stutters, Josh-what’s-his-face, or whatever the hell his name was.

“Articulate,” Brittany snorts. “Why don’t you skate off before something bad happens.” Brittany’s voice is sugar-sweet over her threat, and Santana’s not going to lie, her girlfriend being all protective stirs something low in her stomach. She peaks out of the classroom; the hallway is pretty empty since the last bell of the day rang almost ten minutes ago, except for Brittany standing in the middle of it with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face, her glare so fierce and angry that Santana feels a small flicker of pride. The group of hockey players stand behind their captain, all staring at Brittany with varying degrees of shock. Santana smirks just a little bit; while most people think Brittany’s naïve and innocent and sweet all the time, Santana knows that Brittany has a little bit of a mean streak — she wasn’t one of the most untouchable Cheerios all the way back in sophomore year for nothing, after all.

“I’m not scared of you,” the asshole captain sneers.

Brittany takes one measured step towards him, and it sends the asshole captain stumbling back into his teammates. “You should be,” Brittany says lowly, “Don’t underestimate what a person can do to protect those they care about.”

“Oh yeah?” the asshole captain challenges.

Brittany blinks and her face relaxes, eyes wide and lips parted, the picture of innocence. “What do you mean they said it was me? I would never do that to anybody,” she says, her chin quivering and her blue eyes watering, and then as quickly as she slipped into a façade of pure innocence her face hardens. Her mouth tightens and her eyes turn catlike, predatory and threatening, the blue as cold and rigid as a frozen river. “Who do you think they’ll believe?” Brittany challenges quietly.

“Whatever,” the asshole captain says dismissively, but there’s a slight waver of doubt to his voice as he spins on his heel and leads his dumbass teammates down the hallway.

Brittany breathes out a sigh of relief; she hates confrontation, but Santana is worth everything and anything, and she would do anything to protect her. When she turns around she sees Santana standing in the doorway, clutching her binder and textbook to her chest, her jaw slack and her eyes wide.

“Oh,” Brittany says blankly, her eyes wide with surprise, “Hi.”

“That was— I mean you’re— You didn’t—” Santana cuts herself off and just shakes her head before smiling her softest, sweetest, most in-love smile at Brittany. “Thank you,” she says instead.

“No one gets to be mean to my girlfriend,” Brittany declares as she approaches Santana, “Especially not gross hockey players. I didn’t even know we had a hockey team until this year.”

Santana chuckles and shifts her binder and textbook into one arm so she can free one hand, wrapping her fingers around Brittany’s wrist and tugging her closer. “Neither did I,” she says, rising up on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to the corner of Brittany’s mouth. “Thank you,” she repeats, “I love you.”

Brittany smiles and twists her hand so she can tangle her fingers with Santana’s. “Of course, honey, I love you too.”

Santana’s never really had someone who defended her no matter what before besides her mom, but that’s a given (though it’s not something that Santana takes for granted because for the longest time she didn’t think it would be a given), but Brittany chooses to defend her every time despite the fact that she doesn’t have to. It makes warmth bloom up into Santana’s chest and she feels light, like she doesn’t have to worry about anything when Brittany’s by her side.

“Come on, babe,” Santana says, “Let me take you for ice cream, my treat.”

Brittany shrugs. “You don’t have to, San, I didn’t do that because I thought I’d get bonus points or you’d owe me or something. I didn’t even know you were there. I did it because I love you, and nobody gets to be mean to my love.”

Santana practically melts on the spot. “My hero,” she whispers, quickly bouncing up on her toes to kiss Brittany’s blushing cheek.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany pretty much thinks that Santana is the most beautiful person all the time, but somehow under the pink tinted lights of Breadstix-turned-Sugar-Shack she’s never looked more beautiful; being happy and in love and not closeted and scared really, really suits Santana.

Brittany can’t take her eyes off her girlfriend the entire night, and she can’t keep her hands off of her either. She can easily remember how, just a few months ago, in this very restaurant, Santana had trembled when Brittany had taken her hand under the napkin, how she tensed whenever the waitress came by; tonight Santana is the one who slips her fingers into Brittany’s with an easy smile, who brushes stray hairs back from Brittany’s face, who rests her head into the crook of Brittany’s neck and shoulder, who rests her hand on the small of Brittany’s back to guide her through the crowd, and who does all of this without looking over her shoulder to see if anyone’s watching. She almost can’t believe that the girl who was too scared to show the world her real self that she turned mean dedicated a love song to her in front of a restaurant packed with high-schoolers, but she can believe it, because that’s her Santana, the sweet, nervous, adoring, delicate girl she loves more than anything, and who loves her more than anything in return.

Santana even wears the silver bracelet Brittany got her forever ago, and it sparkles almost as much as her eyes as she approaches Brittany, carrying two glasses of soda.

“What are you looking at?” Santana asks as she reaches Brittany, a lopsided smile stretched across her face.

“You,” Brittany replies easily.

Santana’s smile spreads. “Yeah?”

Brittany smiles, “Yeah.” She takes quick steps to Santana, relieving her of the glasses and setting them on the table behind her, before wrapping Santana into her arms, Santana’s hands reflexively falling to Brittany’s waist. “You look beautiful,” she whispers into Santana’s ear, not because she’s shy about giving her girlfriend compliments, but because this is a thing for just them and she doesn’t want anyone else prying into it. “You look like your insides match your outsides.”

Brittany can feel Santana’s smile against her neck, her hands fisted in the grey material of Brittany’s dress. “I feel like they do,” Santana agrees, “I love you.”

Brittany sighs and loosens her hold on Santana just enough that she can kiss her, deep and firm and smiling. “I love you too,” she whispers when she pulls back, feeling full of love and happiness and SantanaSantanaSantana, “Thank you, for tonight.”

Santana shrugs like she’s embarrassed but she smiles brightly up at Brittany, scrunched nose and dimples and dark eyes and everything. “Anything for you, babe,” she says, “I’m just glad you liked it.”

Brittany plays with the hair at the base of Santana’s neck. “Every time I think of what you did I feel like I’m going to float away,” she confesses.

Santana’s smile widens even more. “Well, we can’t have that Britt-Britt,” she says as she tightens her arms around Brittany’s waist.

Brittany giggles and swoops down to pepper kisses all over Santana’s chin and cheeks and nose, capturing Santana’s own giggles in her mouth as soon as she catches full, smiling lips against her own.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The sand is warm between Santana’s toes, her fingers wrapped around her flip-flops, the gulls screaming high above, salt and brine fills her nose every time she breathes in deeply. Seaspray crashes against the rocks down the shore, but the tide just laps gently at their ankles where they stand.

It’s too early for anyone else to be on the beach, but Brittany had dragged Santana out of bed with that damn irresistible pout of hers, begging her girlfriend to watch the sunrise with her; and Santana will admit it was a good idea, especially since Santana spent more time exploring the inside of Brittany’s mouth than she did watching the sunrise (though Brittany was right, it was pretty romantic). By now though, the sun sits about a hands width above the ocean when Brittany stretches her arm straight out to measure it with a grin, and a few people mill about on the white sand. The sky stretches bright blue above them, merging seamlessly with the ocean on the horizon until everything’s blueblueblue.

It’s pretty, but not as pretty as Brittany’s eyes, which are lit up with wonder as she dashes towards a nearby tide pool. The last couple weeks have been a dream; the ocean at their feet and the sun above, worries and jobs and bills and heartache forgotten as soon as they boarded that first plane, and Brittany through it all, right beside Santana, their fingers as tangled together as their hearts.

“Hey San! You should see this.”

Santana smiles fondly and trails after Brittany at a more reasonable pace. A part of her had be terrified, over the last couple months, that she’d never get this again, but a larger part of her knew that she always end up with Brittany, that Brittany was her one constant, the one thing she’d always return to no matter how many miles or months separated them; something had tied their hearts together a long time ago, and Santana knew that they would always be Brittany-and-Santana.

Santana reaches the tide pool just as Brittany sticks her hand into it. “Aw, Britt, no. You don’t know what’s in there.”

Brittany just grins up at Santana. “That’s the best part!”

Santana rolls her eyes fondly as she crouches down beside Brittany. “Just be careful. I don’t want to spend the rest of the day in the hospital because you want to make friends with some poisonous urchin or something.”

Brittany laughs. “No, but I do want to make friends with this starfish,” she says, swirling her hand in the warm water. “It’s really cute,” she adds, carefully stroking the starfish, her nose wrinkling at the rough texture under her fingertips.

“You’re cute.”

“Oh stop,” Brittany complains, but her blush gives her away.

Santana smiles deeply, her nose scrunched and her dimples deep. “So what’s the deal with this guy?”

“Huh?”

“Well, he’s a starfish right?” At Brittany’s confused nod Santana really can’t resist how adorable she is and leans in to peck her cheek. “You always know some obscure facts about any and all animals we see,” Santana explains, “So what do you know about starfish, genius?”

Brittany’s blush just deepens and she feels light and floaty and fizzy like she just took a long drink of soda from a straw, crouched beside Santana staring into a tide pool, thousands of miles from Lima but only a few short inches from her home.

“They have no brain or blood,” Brittany starts.

“So like Berry?”

“Tana,” Brittany chides, but the giggles the escape her give her away. “They can also regenerate their limbs.”

“Cool.”

“And they eat inside out. Their stomachs exit their bodies through their mouth to digest their food and then reenters their body when they’re done.”

“Okay, less cool.”

Brittany wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, that one’s kind of gross,” she agrees.

Santana smiles and leans forward to kiss Brittany, slow and soft. “I love you,” Santana whispers as she pulls back.

Brittany grins at her and Santana feels a tug on the string around her heart, the one that ties her to Brittany’s heart. “I love you too,” Brittany whispers. “Thanks for coming out to watch the sunrise with me.”

Santana kisses Brittany again and again and again. “Anything for you,” she mumbles against Brittany’s lips.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany’s always loved their Friday night sleepovers, at her house when Santana’s mom was working and at Santana’s house every other weekend; but Brittany’s favourite thing about Friday night sleepovers is when they turned into Friday date nights. Tonight it’s at Santana’s house because her mom is working.

Despite how awful last week was, Santana faced this week with her head up and her heart strong, staring down the sneering students of McKinley and ignoring the snide strangers of Lima with Brittany’s hand in hers; Brittany’s never been prouder of her.

Being out has it’s perks, like how Santana’s mom has stopped asking her if there’s any cute boys in her grade and started asking about her plans with Brittany (and Santana’s never been happier to gush about Brittany to her mom, especially when her mom gets this delighted, nostalgic, proud look in her eyes), and the Troubletones are almost overly protective of her and Britt, especially Mercedes and Sugar, who give the darkest glowers to anyone who dares to so much as look in their direction (Brittany thinks it’s sweet, and so does Santana, but with much more eye-rolling involved).

But it also has a lot of downsides, which is more due to the fact that Santana was outed instead of being allowed to come out on her own terms (this is something that Santana will eventually forgive people for, because her heart’s a lot bigger than most people give her credit for; and it’s something that Brittany will never, ever forget, because Brittany will never, ever forgive anyone who hurts Santana). People judge them more without ever really knowing them; like that one lady in the grocery store last week who sneered at their tangled fingers and made Santana get all small like she was in sophomore year (Brittany thinks it’s because the lady looks a little bit like abuela and, even though Santana doesn’t say anything, Brittany makes sure to hold her extra tight that night when they watch old Disney movies), or the gross guys who nod approvingly at them in the hallway (as if it’s supposed to be supportive or something), or their history teacher who recommended that they not sit together anymore (that one almost caused Maribel and Whitney to march straight into Principal Figgins’ office, but Santana and Brittany managed to calm them down and they both send strongly worded emails instead).

But it’s the nightmares that worry Brittany the most. A couple days after that stupid smear campaign, Brittany goes over to Santana’s house so they can study together, because despite everything that’s fallen apart in the last week, school still goes on. Maribel answers the door with a warm smile and Brittany feels her face flush despite herself; she’s always loved Maribel as a second mom for as long as she’s known Santana, but lately she’s been a little bit nervous around her because Brittany’s no longer her daughter’s best friend, she’s her daughter’s girlfriend, and Brittany’s pretty sure she’s supposed to be all overly protective of her little girl or something (Maribel isn’t though, because she adores Brittany and, more than that, she adores how well Brittany loves her daughter). Before Brittany heads down to Santana’s room, Maribel stops her and quietly tells her about the nightmares that Santana has been having lately, and while Brittany knew the dark circles under Santana’s eyes have been getting a little darker lately, even under her makeup, the reason makes her heart break sympathetically.

Brittany’s been doing her best to chase the nightmares away, but only being able to sleepover once a week makes it hard; which is why Brittany picks up a coffee from the Lima Bean and chugs it before she gets to Santana’s for their movie date night, she wants to be able to stay up tonight and protect Santana from her nightmares.

It starts around one thirty, when Brittany notices that Santana doesn’t feel soft in her arms anymore. Her back is tense and when Brittany leans away to look at Santana, she finds her face tight, her brow screwed up and her lips parted as she whines.

“Santana?” Brittany whispers.

Santana twitches and clutches almost painfully at Brittany’s back, her tiny little whimpers making Brittany’s heart ache. Brittany kisses all along Santana’s hairline, running her hands over Santana’s back and muttering nonsense into Santana’s hair, but Santana doesn’t relax. She starts mumbling something into Brittany’s chest but she makes no sense, only really saying half sentences and muttered words.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Brittany soothes, “They can’t hurt you anymore.” She keeps murmuring nonsense into Santana’s hair, cuddling her closer to try and keep her safe from herself. Santana buries her face further into Brittany’s chest, as if she’s trying to crawl into Brittany’s chest where she knows she’ll be safe.

It takes a while, but eventually Santana quiets, the tension in her back dissipates and her death grip on Brittany’s back relaxes and she completely softens. Brittany sighs and nuzzles into Santana’s hair, pulling her impossibly further into her embrace.

“I love you,” Brittany whispers, and Santana cuddles even closer in answer.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Santana loves absolutely everything about their daughter. She loves how kind she is, and fiercely loving she is of her little brother who hasn’t even arrived yet; she loves how she has Brittany’s creativity and Santana’s sass; she loves how much of herself and Brittany she can see in their daughter; and she loves how the Lopez-Pierce family instantly expanded to envelope her the moment they knew about her.

Picking Rosie up from kindergarten, however, is not one of those things she loves, because inevitably all the other parents ask her about her husband and she has to brace herself to tell them that she actually has a wife, thank you very much (to be fair, it’s better than it would be in hick-town Ohio, but there’s always a lightning bolt of fear that sparks in her chest before she tells anyone she has a wife, because you just never know). The only thing worse than that, is small handful the weird single dads (or worse, the married ones) who constantly hit on her, despite the wedding ring that proudly sits on her finger and the fact that she’s definitely not into men at all. Usually when Brittany’s there they back off, but unfortunately, Brittany had to work a little late and was heading home to cook supper, leaving Santana to anxiously wait for Rosie by herself, hoping that if she refreshes her email enough times it will look like she’s actually busy with it.

Brittany’s texting her ridiculous things as she cooks supper, complete with snapchats of ingredients that would worry Santana a bit if she didn’t trust Brittany so much, and it makes a goofy smile spread across her face and distracts her from the gross ass-douche slinking over to her along the wall.

“I bet you’d be even happier if my number was in there.”

Santana looks up with a confused face because what? The guy smirks at her as if it’s attractive, leaning against the wall and wrinkling some poor kid’s artwork with his shoulder. “Who you texting? Your husband?”

“No,” Santana says dumbly, still wondering if this is actually happening

The ass-douche’s eyes drift to her left hand, detouring to her chest on the way back up. “Well lucky for me. If someone besides your husband can make you that happy, then I have a chance.”

“What the fuck?” she whispers, more to herself than to the ass-douche. The only thing she can think is that Brittany will sure get a kick out of this tonight. “Uh, one, gross. Two, I am married so not a chance in hell because, three, gross. And even if I wasn’t married you wouldn’t stand a chance because, again, gross.”

The ass-douche shrugs. “I’m a single dad,” he explains, as if Santana asked about him instead of rejecting his oblivious advances, “I know how to handle kids so I don’t care about that. The ladies love a guy who’s good with kids,” he continues and has the audacity to wink at her.

Before Santana can even cringe at how gross he is, and how bad she feels for his kid, her daughter runs up to her.

“Mami! Mami! You’re finally here!”

Santana forgets all about the ass-douche for a moment as Rosie launches herself at her mami. Santana catches her with a laugh, cuddling her close for a moment before Rosie wiggles herself free. “Where’s mama?” she asks innocently, but Santana recognizes that glint in her eyes, it’s the same one her wife gets whenever she is plotting something. “I wanna show her the dw’awing I did of our family,” she exclaims, and Santana melts at how adorable her daughter is, “It has you and mama and Tubbs and The Duke and even the little doodlebug, since that’s what mama calls my soon-to-be brother right now!”

Santana grins and ruffles Rosie’s curls, “I’m sure she’ll love it,” she says.

A weird dying fish sound emits from the ass-douche beside her, and Santana delights in the way his face changes and pales and he suddenly seems unable to breathe.

“You’re Kyle’s dad, right?” Rosie asks politely, ignoring the choking sounds the ass-douche makes. Santana’s not really sure if he’s one of the homophobic types or one of the creepy types, but his response makes Santana want to grab Rosie and hightail it out of the school. “You have the same chicken-butt hair as him,” Rosie adds, a little less politely, and Santana probably would scold her if she wasn’t talking to such an ass-douche.

“You know Kyle?” the ass-douche says, his face twisted in confusion or constipation.

“Your son ate his glue-stick today,” Rosie announces in lieu of an answer. “He put sparkles on it first and then took a bite out of it. Maybe you should start putting sprinkles on his peanut butter sandwiches so he’ll stop trying to snack on sparkly glue.”

The ass-douche gapes at Rosie for a long moment, both confused and put off and a little irritated that his attempts at flirting were interrupted by a girl barely taller than three feet.

“It’s too bad Kyle doesn’t have two mommies,” Rosie continues, “Then maybe he wouldn’t be confused and eat sparkly glue.”

The ass-douche doesn’t know what to say to that, and Santana’s chest fills with so much love and adoration for her little girl that she thinks she might just burst, so she elects to take Rosie’s hand and lead her towards their car. Santana takes her oversized backpack and tucks it behind the driver’s seat before letting Rosie buckle herself in and only double checking that it’s clicked properly. Santana also sneaks a kiss from Rosie, for what she did in the school, and receives a tight hug in response.

Santana carefully manoeuvres the car out of the parking lot, dodging impatient parents and wandering children the whole way. It isn’t until they’re a couple blocks away, out of the school zone and idling at a stoplight, that Santana asks Rosie about the ass-douche, though in much more kid-friendly terms.

“You looked like you needed help so I saved you,” Rosie says proudly, and Santana melts, almost missing the light turning green. Rosie is definitely her mama’s daughter.

“My hero,” Santana says earnestly, and Rosie giggles, one of those impossibly bright and carefree kid giggles.

“Mami,” Rosie complains, her cheeks pink, and Santana melts again because Rosie is definitely her daughter too. “I saw Kyle’s daddy bothering you,” she continues her explanation, “so I thought I’d confuse him like mama always does when people look at us funny.”

“So Kyle didn’t actually eat glue?” Santana confirms.

Rosie shrugs. “He might have. At some point in his life.”

“Rosalyn Lopez-Pierce,” Santana chides, eyeing her sulking daughter in the rearview mirror, “that was underhanded and sneaky.”

Rosie looks away sheepishly but not regretfully, wringing her hands together like she does when she thinks she’s in trouble. Santana lets her stew it out for a block because you’re supposed to teach your children lessons, but it isn’t long until Santana can’t contain her grin anymore. “Your mama would be so proud,” Santana finally says.

Rosie brightens and grins, so happy and surprised and proud that something in Santana’s chest squeezes tightly until her happiness feels like it might blossom out of her chest.

When they get home Brittany is there in the apron Rosie picked out for Christmas last year, a smear of flour across her cheek and a warm smile. She leans down to pick Rosie up as their daughter leaps into her mama’s arms, already chattering a mile a minute, and Brittany nods at all the appropriate times and asks all the right questions while one-handedly helping her wife out of her jacket and giving her a quick kiss.

Rosie narrates her entire day from start to finish, again since she already told her mami in the car, gesturing wildly with her hands before charging off to retrieve her backpack from the front hallway for her drawing.

“She stood up for me today,” Santana says from where she leans against the counter beside Brittany.

“Oh yeah?” Brittany asks, adoring and proud and awed all at once.

Santana nods and kisses Brittany, quick and sweet. “She gets that from you,” she murmurs.

“Yeah?” Brittany breathes, and her eyes turn liquid soft and she looks over Santana’s shoulder to where Rosie is carefully playing with their kitten, keeping him distracted from playing with Lord Tubbington’s tail; the kitten in turn keeps her distracted from her original task, but The Duke is cute enough that Santana can’t really blame her daughter for that.

Brittany pushes herself off the counter and wraps herself around Santana from behind, nuzzling into dark hair until she finds warm skin and pressing her lips to her wife’s neck. “We did good.”

Rosie laughs one of those carefree kid laughs, and Santana smiles, curling her hands around her wife’s arms and melting back into her embrace. “Yeah, we really did.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany doesn’t like to badmouth her wife’s family, but there are times (far more than there are not) that she wants to march back to Ohio and slam Dr. Lopez’s head into the nearest filing cabinet.

Brittany’s not violent by nature, but if there’s one thing that makes her blood boil it’s people who hurt her wife; it’s why, to this day, she still hates Rachel, it’s why she always makes difficult orders when they get that one deli guy at the grocery store down the street, it’s why, despite her apologies, Brittany will never fully trust abuela, and it’s why Dr. Lopez has been on her list since the first time Brittany met him, back in kindergarten when he took a phone call for entirety of their first Christmas concert and left before it even ended. (That was the very first time Brittany ever felt protective over Santana, holding her hand the entire way back to their classroom for their parents to pick them up because Santana was so sad but didn’t want to show the rest of the class, so Brittany pretended she was scared of the darkened hallways and clasped Santana’s hand tightly in hers, earning a grateful smile.)

He still calls Santana every couple months, and Santana still sometimes gets small and quiet after she talks to him. More often than not she ignores his calls, and Brittany holds her tight through the ringing, and then peppers her with kisses. It’s gotten easier over the years, and now when Santana’s phone rings while they’re watching Netflix and she silences it and shrugs as if to say What are you going to do? Brittany thinks that Santana feels guilty about ignoring him, because he’s her father and Brittany knows Santana wishes that they actually had a relationship to speak of, because Santana has a giant heart and gives people second or third or even sixth chances when they probably don’t deserve them. It breaks Brittany’s heart every time someone steps on Santana’s kindness, but she’s always there with hugs and kisses after.

The number one person who breaks Santana’s heart is her father; Brittany’s lucky she’s never experienced it, but she can’t imagine what it must feel like to always come second or third or fourth to someone who should always put you first.

When Brittany gets out of the shower that night she can hear Santana talking in their bedroom, and from the tone of her voice Brittany knows it’s Dr. Lopez on the other line. Brittany swallows at the sound of her wife’s voice; it’s smaller and more disappointed than she’s ever heard it while talking to Dr. Lopez, and Brittany already knows what Santana’s talking about. Brittany’s stomach twists and there’s a dark ball of anger residing in her chest, but she pushes it down and slowly towel dries her hair and brushes her teeth and puts moisturizer on, taking much longer than normal so Santana has time to say what she needs.

When she peaks her head out of the bathroom, her wife is already in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, staring blankly at the wall just beside the television. She turns at the sound of the door opening and offers Brittany that small, quiet smile that means she feels too loud inside, and Brittany already knows how her conversation with Dr. Lopez went.

“Oh, honey,” Brittany coos. Santana shrugs as if she doesn’t care, even though Brittany knows she cares so much. Brittany crosses the room and slips under the covers; Santana instantly rolls towards her and burrows into Brittany’s arms.

“He’s not worth it,” Brittany says.

“I know.” Their bedroom is quiet for a long moment, and Santana sighs so deeply it echoes in Brittany’s heart.

“But it still hurts,” Brittany whispers knowingly.

Santana curls closer to Brittany. “Yeah, it still fucking hurts,” she agrees quietly.

“Does he—” Brittany hesitates for a moment, reluctant to ask her question. “Does he know about the baby?” she whispers.

Santana nods and rolls over, raising a hand to carefully trace the line of Brittany’s nose. “Yeah, he does but— He said he doesn’t want to meet his granddaughter.”

Brittany’s breathe catches; she knew that would be Dr. Lopez’s response, but Santana’s right, it still fucking hurts. It feels like someone punched her in the stomach, or like a weight is pushing down on her chest, or like something’s yanking on her heart; she can’t even fathom what Santana feels like right now.

“I’m done with all his crap,” Santana says suddenly, her voice harsh and vehement, “He can call all he wants but I won’t forgive him this time. What he said about you— About us,” Santana shakes her head with a scowl. “He doesn’t deserve my guilt.”

Brittany brushes dark curls back from Santana’s face and kisses her softly. “He never did,” she whispers when she pulls back. Santana’s been ready to cut off complete contact with her father for far longer than she gives herself credit for; it’s just been lingering childhood guilt holding her back.

Santana smiles that lopsided I know you’re right and I’m just slow smile of hers. “I know. It just takes me a while, sometimes.”

“Like growing pains,” Brittany agrees. Santana gives her that adoring smile, her eyes bright and understanding and her nose scrunched up; Brittany just has to kiss it. “Like how it hurts and you don’t even realize it until you wake up one day and you’re already taller.”

Santana laughs and kisses Brittany’s collarbone. “Genius,” she says softly, amused and genuine.

Brittany smiles into the quiet for a long moment, before she grins wickedly. “Remember how I got them in grade three and you were so worried because you didn’t get them until grade six?” she teases. “You thought you were never going to grow up.”

Santana pouts. “Yeah, and then I never grew past five-five,” she complains.

Brittany laughs and nuzzles closer to Santana. “I like that you’re so small,” she says into Santana’s hair, “It makes you the perfect height for cuddles.”

Santana laughs and wiggles her way up the bed to kiss Brittany. “I love you,” she mumbles into Brittany’s mouth, “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Brittany murmurs as Santana resettles against her, “Love you too.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Santana’s always liked baking. It’s something that’s soothed her, time she can spend making something from nothing. Back when her parents were still together, it was something she could do with her mami, something just the two of them could do, something her father couldn’t take away when he left.

Santana did a lot of baking in her junior year, but she learned a really important lesson back then: Baking only means something when it’s for someone else.

It’s a lesson she’s learned repeatedly over the years, in much happier ways, like how her wife lights up whenever there’s a plate of fresh cookies on the breakfast bar, and especially how fresh cookies taste so much better on her wife’s lips.

Brittany loves baking with her too, but Santana thinks that’s mostly for stolen, sugar dusted kisses. Brittany does genuinely enjoy baking, especially when she has a recipe to follow, because her math brain is methodical like that, but she also loves when Santana forgoes the recipe and bakes from her instincts, because that usually results in lots of taste tests of dough.

They’re making chocolate chip cookies from scratch today, one of the few lazy Sundays they’ve had in the past couple weeks, Santana following the recipe her mother engraved in her memory years ago. They’re at the most fun point, in Brittany’s humble opinion, the part where Santana lets Brittany taste-test the cookie dough. Santana laughs and swipes a streak of flour off of Brittany’s cheek as she chews thoughtfully on the dough.

“So what’s the verdict, Professor Lopez-Pierce? Do I pass?”

Brittany pretends to think for a long moment, long enough that Santana starts to giggle as she tucks herself into Brittany’s embrace. “Almost perfect,” Brittany decides. She narrows her eyes and drops her chin, taking a purposeful step towards Santana. “But I think it needs some more sugar.”

Santana’s lips part slightly and her eyes dart down to Brittany’s lips and stall there for a long moment before she blinks and shakes her head, looking breathless. “Uh, yeah, okay,” she says, and then spins on her heel. Brittany’s confused for a split second, before she realizes that Santana’s heading for the corner cupboard, where they keep their baking goods.

Brittany smiles because, honestly, Santana is the most adorable person in the entire world. Santana opens the cupboard and glances up for the sugar container, reaching to wiggle it off the shelf with her fingertips. Brittany takes a moment to admire the flex of her wife’s shoulders and the very soft skin on the small of her back that her shirt rising up reveals, before she looks up in time to see the sugar container about to tip off the shelf and she springs forward.

For a split second, as Santana looks up and sees the sugar container slipping out of her hands, she sees her life flash before her eyes (which, as Brittany informs her when she theatrically reminisces on it, is a little overdramatic).

But then Brittany’s there, and she easily catches the falling container before it hits Santana on the head. Santana shrieks preemptively, stopping abruptly once she realizes the crown of her head is sugar-container free. Brittany’s pressed against her back, trapping Santana against the counter and the sugar container against the shelf.

Santana sighs and tips her head back to rest against Brittany’s shoulder, craning her neck so she can kiss the underside of Brittany’s chin. “How is my wife more badass than me?” Santana teases.

Brittany giggles as she carefully pulls the sugar container out and sets it on the counter. “Because despite being in the Cheerios for four years, you have terrible hand-eye coordination, honey.”

Santana swats at Brittany’s shoulder as she wiggles her way out from Brittany and the counter. “I resent that,” she says, but she can’t really argue because, well. Santana takes the sugar jar and heads back to the kitchen island where the cookie dough rests.

“What are you doing?” Brittany asks.

Santana gives her a weird look. “You said the dough needed more sugar,” she explains slowly, her face twisted in confusion, shaking the sugar container for good measure.

“That’s cute,” Brittany laughs, “But I actually meant sugar like sugar.”

Santana blinks at her, standing in the middle of the kitchen and clutching the sugar container to her chest, her face blank.

It takes a moment before it dawns on Santana, and Brittany’s pretty sure she’s never been more adorable than right now, her face clearing and instantly flushing, her eyes wide and her lips parted. She looks windswept and glowing, and Brittany falls in love with her just a little bit more. Santana rolls her eyes but looks too eager for it to actually work, and Brittany takes slow, measured steps towards her, her eyes dropping to the way Santana’s throat works as she swallows thickly. Brittany takes the sugar container from Santana’s hands and sets it on the counter before kissing her, deep and openmouthed and wanting.

Santana’s hands fall to Brittany’s hips, tucking her fingers into her belt loops and tugging Brittany closer. Brittany licks into Santana’s mouth, a thrill of satisfaction curling low in her stomach when she feels Santana’s pulse jump under the fingers mapping her neck. Santana’s fingers twitch against her hips and Brittany pulls her closer, feeling Santana soften against her until she’s pliable and warm, her entire length pressed against Brittany’s at ever possible point. Brittany gets lost in the kiss, and only realizes she’s walking them to the living room when Santana pulls back with a gasp. “The cookies,” she protests halfheartedly.

Brittany shrugs as she continues to back Santana towards the living room. “They’ll be fine.”

Santana sighs into Brittany’s mouth as it moves against hers, melting into Brittany’s embrace until Brittany’s arms are the only thing really holding her up because her legs feel like jelly and her knees are weak. She falls back onto the couch with a gasp, Brittany quickly settling herself on top of her. Brittany quickly swallows Santana’s groan, and Santana’s hands instantly fall to Brittany’s hips to hold her tightly against her (as if Brittany would ever want to move).

“The oven,” Santana manages in between Brittany’s kisses.

“I never preheated it,” Brittany admits into the intoxicatingly soft skin of Santana’s neck.

Santana’s hands stall against Brittany’s ribs, in the middle of ridding Brittany of her shirt. “You planned this?” she accuses.

Brittany pulls back just far enough to smirk at Santana. “You’re complaining?”

Santana just tugs her into a kiss in answer.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Usually, Santana tells Brittany absolutely everything. Usually.

But this is the biggest thing she’s ever kept from Brittany, and the most important, the most precious. It’s a thing that she’s been working on for months and that she refuses to give in on; it’s her one thing, the one thing that she hasn’t shared with anybody yet.

It’s one of those things that Santana wants to shout to the world, but she wouldn’t dare tell anyone; not yet, at least. Sometimes when Brittany gets too close to Santana’s secret her heart will pound so loud she can feel it in her fingertips, and she always makes up some quick excuse or kisses Brittany until she forgets what she was about to do. She’s kept this secret for so long that some days she feels like she’ll never be able to tell it, and other days she feels like Brittany must somehow know what her secret is, and that’s the worst part.

Santana’s exhausted after the show today, and she blames that and her lack of sleep the night before on her actions.

They get into the hotel room and Santana immediately heads to the bathroom while Brittany throws herself onto the bed with a loud groan. “I’ve never been more tired in my life,” she complains loud enough for Santana to still hear her.

Santana laughs and shakes her head. “Last night was all your fault.”

Brittany’s giggle reaches her ears and it’s still the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard. “I’m pretty sure it takes two for that,” she calls suggestively.

Santana shrugs despite the fact that Brittany can’t see her. “I’m still blaming you,” she singsongs.

“Of course you are,” Brittany mutters, purposefully at full volume. There’s a rustling of bed sheets and then shoes hit the flow, one at a time, as Brittany kicks her sneakers off.  “Where’s the makeup remover?” Brittany calls.

Santana leans towards the mirror and pokes at an eyelash that’s still attached but not aligned with the rest, poking her in the eye uncomfortably. “Uh, I packed it in my makeup bag.” She can almost hear Brittany’s nose wrinkle and she giggles. “Go ahead and find it, if you dare.”

She hears Brittany rummaging through a suitcase, dropping extra shoes and clothes on the floor. “You sure it’s in here?” Brittany asks, “I don’t want to open the contamination zone if I don’t need to.”

“Oh it’s fine, you big baby,” Santana calls teasingly, “It’s not that ba—” Santana freezes, on her toes and staring wide-eyed into the mirror, her face less than a foot from her panicked reflection, making her throat tighten and her head spin.

“Santana?” Brittany calls in worry after a moment.

“No!” she shouts as she tears out of the bathroom, her body suddenly unfreezing in time for her to salvage the whole situation, charging at a shocked Brittany and snatching the unopened makeup bag from her girlfriend’s hands.

“What?” Brittany asks blankly. “I— You— What the hell was that about?”

Santana tucks the makeup bag behind her, out of Brittany’s curious eyes. “Nothing. It’s nothing. But I, uh, didn’t want you to have to sort through this thing, it’s impossible to find anything in here anyway.” Santana winces; the excuse sounds is flimsy and obviously fake, even to her.

“Uh,” Brittany says. “I’m pretty sure I can locate the makeup remover, honey. Big bottle, looks very different from mascara and eyeliner.”

“No!” Santana says, too loudly. She winces again. “Let me, please.”

“What’s in there that you don’t want me to see? Show me what’s behind your back,” Brittany pouts deeply with her request, and despite Santana’s inability to say no to Brittany regarding anything, she holds her ground on this.

“It’s just my makeup bag,” Santana says, playing dumb.

Brittany rolls her eyes. “I know that, I meant whatever’s in said makeup bag that’s got you acting so weird.”

“It’s nothing, really Britt-Britt,” Santana pacifies, but the worry churning her stomach makes her sound more nauseous than confident.

“Santana, I really want to know,” she says as she takes a step towards Santana; Santana matches her with a step back, but she ends up with the backs of her knees pressed against the bed.

“Do you trust me?” Santana whispers suddenly.

Brittany’s eyes are bright and blue and clear. “Of course I trust you,” Brittany answers without any hesitation.

“Then let me have this one thing,” Santana begs, “It will all make sense soon, but just let me keep this one secret for a while.”

Brittany’s face softens, her brows drawing apart and her lips parted in that thin, gentle smile of hers. She steps forward without the questioning intent. “Okay,” she murmurs.

“Okay?”

“Okay, I trust you.” Brittany leans forward to kiss Santana softly, and Santana can taste her promise. “I’ll drop it.”

“So you won’t peek?” Santana assures.

“I promise,” Brittany says, holding out her pinky. Santana grins and the butterflies in her stomach flutter wildly at the trusting expression on Brittany’s and she can’t wait until Brittany finds out about the small velvet box hidden in that makeup bag, and the even more precious ring inside.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Santana’s pretty sure if her junior year self could see her right now, she wouldn’t be able to believe it. Junior year Santana was constantly terrified and hurting and forcing herself to be someone she wasn’t; current Santana is in the middle of a tickle fight with her wife instead of out partying on New Years Eve.

Brittany’s got the upper hand right now, pinning Santana to the bed with one hand on her wiggling shoulders and the other dancing across her ribs. Santana squeals and squirms underneath Brittany, trying to throw her off, but Brittany’s always been freakishly strong. Santana twists her hips up, trying to catch Brittany off guard, but Brittany just giggles and tickles her harder, her clever fingers digging into the spaces between her ribs and coaxing bright, guileless laughter. Santana manages to grab onto the pillow beside her, and swings it up to smack her wife in the side of the head. Brittany’s smug face falls into shock, her blue eyes still glowing with amusement.

Santana takes advantage of Brittany’s momentary shock to jerk herself up, flipping Brittany up and off her and settling herself on her hips, squeezing her knees along Brittany’s ribs to hold her from squirming. Brittany twists under her but can’t shake Santana off. “I’ll banish you!” she threatens around her laughter, “You’re banished to the couch!”

“You can’t banish me!” Santana giggles. “This is my bed too!”

Brittany surges up and tries to throw Santana off, falling back against the pillows with a teasing groan. Santana grins proudly and leans down to kiss her. Brittany relaxes and sighs into her mouth, her hands falling to clutch Santana’s hips instead of tickling her. She’s soft and warm under Santana, and Santana settles herself more comfortably over her wife, kissing her slow and deep.

Fireworks break into Santana’s consciousness and she nips at Brittany’s bottom lip, swallowing Brittany’s groan, before she pulls back. Brittany chases Santana’s lips before they get to far, licking into Santana’s mouth. The fireworks keep going and Santana finally pulls away to glance at the television in the corner of the room.

Brittany’s hands trace over her hips and draws her attention back to her wife. “Happy New Years,” she whispers.

Santana beams and leans down to kiss her wife again. “Happy New Years,” she mumbles against Brittany’s lips. The fireworks fade to the background and she gets so distracted she doesn’t even notice Brittany’s hips moving under her until she’s being flipped off of Brittany.

Santana gasps into Brittany’s smirking mouth. Brittany trails kisses across Santana’s jaw to that spot behind her ear that always makes her breath catch. “We should start the new year out honestly,” she teases, her lips brushing the shell of Santana’s ear and causing goosebumps to erupt throughout her body.

“I can top,” Santana says, but the fact that she’s breathless and whining makes her protest ridiculously flimsy.

“Of course, honey,” Brittany soothes.

“I can— Uh, I can, um,” she trails off as Brittany’s fingers teasingly brush the hem of her shirt. She can feel Brittany’s smirk against her neck, and she anchors her hands on Brittany’s hips, scratching lazily in retaliation.

Brittany’s groans at the soft press of fingers, kissing her way back up to Santana’s mouth. Pulling back to just smile down at her wife. Something changes in her bright blue eyes and Brittany grows small for a moment. “We can still go out, if you want. To a party or something. Ring in the new year in fashion, you know.”

Santana shakes her head fondly; Brittany’s adorable when she’s unsure. “There’s absolutely nowhere else I would ever want to be.”

Brittany’s smile spreads, making her eyes sparkle. “Yeah?”

Santana just tugs on the back of her neck and kisses her in answer.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Santana’s mom knows something is up as soon as Santana walks in the door. Brittany isn’t with her, which is rare; she’s visiting family a town over, and Santana stays glued to her phone for most of the night. Maribel rolls her eyes fondly. Even back before they were together and out, they were constantly messaging each other despite only living five minutes away and seeing each other at school every single day.

She can tell there’s something different though; Santana messages Brittany as frequently as usual, but she’s jumpy and skittish. Every time Maribel walks into the living room, her daughter jumps and flinches, and she keeps staring blankly at the wall with a weirdly nervous smile. By nine o’clock, Maribel’s had enough of it and she stands above Santana where she’s sprawled in the armchair.

“Okay, mija, spill it.”

Santana starts and blinks up at her mom. “What?”

“You’re acting insane,” Maribel says, “What’s going on with you?” Santana’s face changes, flashing through expressions so quickly that Maribel doesn’t have time to process them. Maribel breathes deeply and hesitates for a long moment. “Does it have anything to do with Brittany?” she asks carefully, “Are you two having problems?”

Santana blinks, her eyes wide. “What? No, of course not.”

“Then what’s going on?” Maribel asks softly. She perches herself on the arm of the chair when Santana doesn’t answer. “C’mon, mija, you can tell me. Are you sure it’s not Brittany?”

“Britt and I are fine, we’re doing great,” Santana answers quickly. “We’re—” she cuts herself off abruptly, indecision playing on her face for a split second before she shakes her head and gives her mom a disbelieving smile. “Actually, we’re more than fine.” She stands and Maribel loses her balance at the sudden movement, almost falling into Santana’s vacated seat. “I wanna— I’ll be right back.”

Santana takes off to the basement, storming down the stairs with a force Maribel would usually scold her for, but she’s too dumbfounded to shout at her daughter to slow down. She slides down into the armchair with a fond, confused eye roll.

Santana’s back in barely a minute, storming back up the stairs, her hands tucked into her hoodie pocket (Maribel’s pretty sure it’s actually Brittany’s hoodie, because her daughter and her-daughter’s-girlfriend/her-second-daughter are that incredibly cheesy and adorable). Santana sits on the coffee table across from her mom, keeping her hands buried in her pockets; she has this thin, nervous smile on her face, but her eyes are bright and hopeful.

“Mercedes has been keeping it for me,” Santana admits, and the hoodie bulges by her stomach as she fiddles with whatever’s in the pocket, “But I’ll give it back to her soon so Britt doesn’t find it. I wanted to show you first though.”

“Santana, what’s going on?” Maribel asks quietly, leaning forward to reach for her daughter’s hands.

Santana melts and her smile widens as she pulls something out of her pocket, and as soon as Maribel realizes what it is, tears spring to her eyes. Santana’s smile turns inward and her eyes soften as she opens the red velvet ring box. The diamond glitters in the warm living room light, casting sparkles across Maribel’s vision through the haze of tears.

“Mija,” Maribel breathes.

Santana lets out a shaky breath and gives her mom a wavering smile. “I’m going to propose to Brittany,” she whispers.

Maribel shakes her head slowly and reaches for her daughter’s hands, clasping them between her own and trapping the ring box between them; when she looks up, for the first time, she doesn’t see her little girl, but her grown daughter, ready to start a life of her own. She’s beyond ecstatic that her little girl is so grown up, but her heart still aches with nostalgic pride.

Maribel can still remember how excited Santana and Brittany both were at the start of the tour; she’s loved Brittany like a daughter for so long, and it hurt to know that she was hurting just as much as Santana; and she’s so relieved and thankful that they finally found their way back to each other.

She can still remember when Santana first told her she was gay, clasping Brittany’s hand under the counter so tightly Maribel’s sure her bones ached; Santana’s eyes were bright with fear and tears and relief, and Brittany carefully caught tears on her fingers before turning to Maribel with a look so determined and fiercely loving that she knew her little girls would be just fine.

Maribel can still remember how lost Santana was; those months when Brittany was rarely around and Santana spent most of her time sitting quietly, her headphones in as she laid on her bed and stared blankly at the ceiling, her eyes so dull that Maribel’s heart ached every time she saw how lifeless her daughter was, those months when Maribel was so desperate to figure out how to make her daughter happy again and hating that she couldn’t.

Maribel can still remember their first sleepover by themselves; they were fourteen years old and giddy-excited when Maribel let Santana stay alone while she worked nights for the first time, on the condition that Brittany stayed with her. The next morning, when she got home from work, Maribel found them fast asleep on the couch, their legs tangled together and Santana drooling on Brittany’s shoulder, the television still on and their bowl of popcorn not even half eaten. Maribel had just smiled and covered them with the afghan, maybe snapping a few pictures because they were both so adorable.

Maribel can still remember how adorable the two girls were after Brittany’s first dance recital, when Santana spent fifteen minutes picking out the perfect bouquet of flowers to give to Brittany, she even has a picture of how furiously Santana blushed when Brittany kissed her on the cheek in thanks tucked away somewhere; that was the very first time Maribel suspected Santana might have a little bit of a crush on Brittany.

Maribel can still remember that second week of kindergarten, when Santana skipped out of the front doors with a little blonde’s hand clasped tightly in hers.

“Mami?” Santana whispers nervously, her eyes flickering and starting to shutter closed in defensiveness, “Say something, please.”

Maribel shakes her head and releases Santana’s hands to tug her into a hug so tight it almost feels like Maribel’s scooping a much younger Santana into her arms to ward off nightmares and monsters in the closet. Santana laughs breathlessly into her shoulder as Maribel presses kisses to her temple. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, “You and Brittany are going to make each other so happy.”

Santana sighs and tightens her arms around her mother. “Thank you, mami,” she murmurs, “I love you.”

Maribel blinks quickly but it doesn’t stop the happy tears slipping down her face. “I love you too, mija.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Our love became a rhythm
That I could not

That I could not help but find

It happened when I least expected it

It happened when I least expected it
  Brittany loves lazy Sundays. She loves waking up to the sun already high in the sky and not having to get out of bed until her stomach grumbles and coffee at noon instead of sunrise and lounging around doing absolutely nothing important; but what she especially loves is being able to do lazy Sundays with her wife.
Waking up to Santana grumbling at the sun streaming in through their window because they forgot to close the blinds last night is the best feeling in the world, topped only by Santana throwing a sleep-heavy arm across her stomach and burying her face into Brittany’s shoulder until her breathing evens back out; cuddling in bed and having slow, lazy sex until their stomachs force them to find some sort of food is amazing; making breakfast together while dancing around the kitchen in nothing but sleep shirts and panties makes Brittany melt; and Brittany’s pretty sure that there’s no one in the world who is as lucky as she is, spending the rest of the day doing nothing but puttering around the house together and napping on the couch while watching trashy reality television.

Brittany loves Sundays because they’re always warm and soft, the one day the city takes a couple minutes to breathe during an afternoon sunshower before resuming it’s non-stop pace; Brittany loves Sundays because they always remind her of all the reasons she fell in love with her wife (as if she actually needed any reminders).

Today they’re sprawled on the couch after a late brunch that really should have just been called lunch, but Santana insisted that as long as they started eating before noon it was still brunch. (They made it by about three minutes, and two of those minutes were spent kissing against the kitchen counter because Brittany’s pretty sure Santana is the most adorable person ever and she’s not sure how everyone in the world hasn’t fallen in love with her).

(Actually, Brittany’s pretty damn thankful that she’s the only one who gets to claim Santana’s heart and give her own in return, because Brittany really doesn’t share well, and she knows she definitely wouldn’t be able to share her most precious thing — maybe in a few years, when there’s little feet running around after them, Brittany’s confident she could learn to share Santana then.)

Santana lays on her back, her feet kicked up on the arm of the couch and her head cuddled into Brittany’s lap; Brittany uses one hand to play with Santana’s soft hair and the other one to stoke down Santana’s side, tracing ribs on her way down and detouring up her stomach on the way up, counting breathes on the way down and the shivers her touch elicits on the way up, occasionally pausing to flip through the channels when they get too bored of whatever commercial or probably-staged-screaming-match is on (much to Santana’s complaints).

Santana’s eyelids are drooping, watching a vet play with a little orange kitten before preparing their vaccine through sleepy eyes. Brittany stills her hands, grinning when Santana’s eyes snap open in protest. She quickly resumes her stroking, watching as Santana softens and relaxes further, melting into Brittany’s ministrations.

“Hey Britt-Britt,” Santana mumbles, “Can I ask you something?”

“Not to be that guy, but you just did,” Brittany teases. One of Santana’s eyes opens to glare at her, and Brittany can’t resist bending down to kiss Santana quickly; the angle’s awkward and makes her back twinge, but with Santana’s warm, familiar lips under hers, Brittany couldn’t care less. She pulls back and brushes the thumb of the hand she had been stroking her sides with across Santana’s lips, waiting for Santana’s eyes to flutter open and turn liquid soft, as they always do. Santana’s smile spreads first, that dopey one she always gets, the one that makes Brittany fall in love with her again, before brown eyes flutter open, sleepy but aware. “What did you want to ask?” Brittany whispers.

Santana remains soft in her lap, and she smiles lazily. “I was just wondering why you chose me?”

Brittany stiffens and stares down at Santana with narrowed eyes. “What?” she rasps.

“No, no, no,” Santana quickly says, becoming more alert than she’s been in a couple episodes, catching the hand on her stomach and lacing their fingers together. “Not in a I don’t deserve you kind of way,” she drops her voice to a dramatically low tone and Brittany bites hard on her bottom lip to stifle her giggles, “Like in a I’m curious and just sleepy enough to have absolutely no filter kind of way.”

“Like, in a why do I love you kind of way?” Brittany asks slowly.

“Yeah, like the reasons or whatever,” Santana laughs at herself, “I probably could have asked that better, but your magic fingers were turning my brain to mush.”

Brittany wiggles her fingers against Santana’s stomach, tightening around Santana’s fingers briefly and dancing their clasped hands dangerously low, “Oh, I definitely have magic fingers.”

“Oh, hush you,” Santana scolds, tugging their hands back up to a safer place just above her bellybutton, and despite everything, all the years and struggles and easiness and the fact that they’re married, Santana still blushes. “I meant in a relaxing way.”

“I can make you relaxed,” Brittany protests.

“The post-orgasmic part is relaxing, the whole build up is just plan cruel.”

“What? No way!”

“You, Mrs. Lopez-Pierce, are an incorrigible tease.”

Brittany opens her mouth to protest, but then snaps it shut with a thoughtful shrug. “That’s fair.”

“Now come on, Mrs. Tease,” Santana laughs, poking her stomach and making Brittany squirm, “Answer my question.”

Brittany cards her fingers through Santana’s hair with a thoughtful hum. There’s so many reasons Brittany loves Santana, far too many to count (though Brittany’s been trying), but trying to explain any of them makes her feel inadequate and inarticulate. “It’s like— I dunno how to explain it, it’s like— It’s like one day I was alone and confused, and then next day you were standing there holding my hand and everything suddenly made sense. You make everything make sense.”

Santana makes a small noise of surprised happiness in the back of her throat, but Brittany barely notices, lost in thought.

“I don’t think I really can explain why I love you,” Brittany admits with a small frown. “It’s like explaining why the sun exists or how black holes work or why prime numbers are so weird. It’s unexplainable because it just is. I guess I’ve kind of always known I’d love you forever. It’s been so long and it’s so engraved in my soul that I don’t think I know any other way.”

Santana melts even further into Brittany, buying her face in Brittany’s stomach, and Brittany can even feel Santana’s blush through her shirt. Brittany continues to stroke through Santana’s hair and along her side, until she coaxes Santana away from her stomach with a warm smile. “You flirt,” Santana accuses, but the softness to her voice makes her just sound like she’s swooning.

“You asked for it.” Brittany giggles and brushes dark strands of hair away from Santana’s face.

“What about back in kindergarten?” Santana asks softly, her face shimmering with emotion, tipping her head back slightly so Brittany’s fingers scratch lightly at her skull; she acts like a kitten demanding cuddles half the time, and Brittany loves it. “That first day you talked to me?”

Brittany shrugs and plays Santana’s hair, letting it slip through the gaps between her fingers as she strokes to the tip. “You looked like you needed a friend,” she says easily, “and I didn’t realize how much I needed one too until you took my hand.”

Santana’s eyes are deep and molten when she meets them, and she surges up so fast it catches Brittany off guard, and all she can do is let her hands fall to Santana’s hips, opening her lips under Santana’s and swallowing the I love you breathed hotly into her mouth. Santana settles herself more comfortably on Brittany’s lap, her hands cupping Brittany’s jaw, and the kiss turns from desperate to soft. Santana nips carefully at Brittany’s bottom lip, running her thumbs across Brittany’s cheeks. Santana melts into Brittany’s embrace, and when she pulls back with sparkling eyes, Brittany smiles.

“You,” she says simply.

“What?” Santana whispers, pressing their foreheads together, her nose wrinkled adorably in confusion.

“I chose you,” Brittany explains, punctuating each word with a soft kiss, “because you’re you.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Mercedes used to be absolutely terrified of Santana, but for the life of her she can’t remember why.

Since joining glee, Santana had slowly gotten easier to be around, especially after their duet last year, but she still maintained an untouchable, bitchy persona; Mercedes has mostly seen through that for years though. Mercedes is really good at sitting back and watching, and she’s also really good at seeing things that others never do because they never even think to look for it. Mercedes was there on the party line back in sophomore year, and she never forgot Brittany blurting out that confession and the tense, almost scared silence that fell over the line until Santana stuttered out a diversion; Mercedes didn’t take that as a one off, we’re slutty and don’t care who we sleep with, because she had noticed how Santana melted around Brittany even before that, so she tucked that little bit of information away and kept watching.

She saw the pinky linking and the playing with hair and the shoulder massages and the fight during junior year and how damn sad Santana was whenever Brittany sat beside Artie and especially how soft they were with each other, and she put it together far before anyone else even had a chance to look. Mercedes admires the two of them, to be honest, because even through all their struggles and all their fear and their entire small, conservative town looking in, they still had one another no matter what; Mercedes admires them because no matter what, they still found ways to love each other.

It’s why, when everything about Santana and Brittany gets shoved carelessly out into the open, Mercedes isn’t the least bit surprised (unlike a lot of the glee club, who are, for some reason, shocked when the gossip spreads; though Mercedes supposes that they aren’t always, if ever, the best at noticing anything that doesn’t directly relate to them). She’s definitely not surprised to find out that Santana and Brittany are dating, but she’s furious about how everyone finds out about them — not just because she’s friends with them, but because she’s a decent human being with a sense of morality.

They aren’t exactly the most subtle people, and Mercedes and Sugar exchange knowing, affectionate eye rolls over Santana and Brittany’s flirting heads during Troubletones practices more often than not; they’re both adorable together, which is something freshman (or even sophomore) year Mercedes never would have believed.

Mercedes knows that Lima isn’t the best place for people like Brittany and Santana and Kurt and Blaine; she understands that they know to always check over their shoulders before they hold hands, that they know to hide in the pet-food aisle of the grocery store when they see Mrs. Tidd walk past, that they know to never walk past Kyle Eckenswile’s locker by themselves, that they know to stand a couple feet apart when picking up the Brittany’s little sister, that they know exactly which teachers will turn a blind eye when they’re cornered in the hallway and which teachers’ classroom to duck into when they see the hockey team walking down the hall.

It’s because she understands all of this that she hates when she’s not surprised to find Santana standing at the sink, covered in bright red and blue slushy and staring blankly into the mirror, when she walks into the washroom during second period. She’s hidden in the washroom by the library, the farthest you can get from the front doors without leaving the school, the one only used by those who desperately need to go during Mr. Wall’s history class and stoners before they skip the last period of the day — Mercedes is a part of the former statistic, and she’s thankful for that second bottle of water she chugged in first period today, because she’s pretty sure Santana would be cleaning herself up all alone if she didn’t walk into the washroom right now. Brittany would be here in a heartbeat, Mercedes knows, but she’s at a dentist appointment this morning; Mercedes also knows how much Santana hates to worry Brittany, because she wants to be brave and strong for her girlfriend.

Mercedes is pretty sure Santana is one of the bravest people she’s ever met, because she keeps her head high and a scowl on her face even when she’s terrified to walk down the hallway half the time.

Santana’s head snaps up at the sound of the door opening, a snarl already half formed on her face before she recognizes who it is through the slushy stinging her eyes, and she deflates instantly, turning back to scrubbing at her uniform top with a shredded piece of paper towel.

“Santana,” Mercedes whispers with wide eyes. Santana shrugs like she doesn’t care, but she keeps her head down and her eyes averted. Santana goes through her waking day with her head high and her eyes small, and the world thinks she’s big when she’s really just soft; she’s always fighting in a war no one ever sees.

Mercedes quickly flicks the deadbolt on the door and crosses the washroom. Santana stares resolutely down at the paper towel she’s using to furiously scrub the front of her Cheerios uniform clean; all it’s doing is leaving little balls of cheap paper towel on her shirt, but Santana barely seems to notice. Mercedes wonders if Santana has to keep herself focused on cleaning her uniform so she doesn’t fall apart.

“Who did this?” Mercedes demands.

Santana shrugs again and lets out a humourless laugh. “Does it even matter anymore?”

Mercedes chews on the inside of her bottom lip. “I suppose it doesn’t,” she mumbles with an angry shake of her head. After Santana got in trouble for slapping Finn (even though he totally deserved it, in Mercedes’ opinion), Mercedes couldn’t help but reflect on how much the school protects and praises its precious athletes and shoves everyone else under the carpet. It’s made her notice things she never had before, like how anyone on a team and sporting a letterman jacket its untouchable by other students and the teachers and the administration, and how if anyone else stepped out of line they’d get attacked sooner than not.

Though, Mercedes thinks absently, looking at the slushy staining the white background of the Cheerios emblem on Santana’s letterman jacket, she supposes you only get that protection as long as you keep your head down and don’t challenge what’s considered normal.

Mercedes plucks at the shoulder of Santana’s uniform. “You might as well take this off,” she suggests, “We can soak it in the lukewarm water here since the school’s water heater broke, like, fifteen years ago and they still can’t be bothered to fix it.”

Santana cracks a small smile and Mercedes’ insides twist with pride. Santana throws her useless paper towel in the garbage and quickly wiggles out of her uniform, wrinkling her nose as the cold air hits the sticky mess of red and blue drying on her skin. “These just gets worse every time,” she mutters, her nose wrinkled in disgust as she fingers the slushy that managed to soak down to her sports bra.

“Tell me about it,” Mercedes agrees as she runs the tap. Santana’s Cheerios top is a mess of sticky, ice-cold sugar, and Santana herself has fared no better. Her hair is drooping sadly with slushy, her ponytail making its own separate puddle of purplish liquid behind Santana, her skirt is splattered with dots of red and blue, and her torso is painted in sticky, half-melted ice. Santana’s face had obviously gotten the worst of it because, despite her best attempts at cleaning the slushies off, there’s still a smudge of red by her temple, and her cheeks still shine with stickiness, and her lips have just the slightest tinge of blue, and her eyes are bloodshot from the slushy that dripped into them (and probably from tears too, but Mercedes’ isn’t one to judge; those things are cold, and Mercedes knows intimately how they somehow still manage to make your heart feel colder than your numb nose).

Santana runs the tap beside Mercedes and splashes her face with the water, hissing at the cold and muttering something along the lines of her “dumb fucking shirt taking all the warmish water in the school.” Mercedes snorts out a laugh as she scrubs at said dumb fucking shirt and sees Santana send her a crooked grin out of the corner of her eye. It’s always good to know that, no matter what Santana goes through, her snark never, ever gets bruised.

After five minutes of quietly scrubbing Santana’s top and letting Santana attempt to wash away the rest of the slushy from her face and torso, Mercedes resigns herself to the fact that she’s going to need a dry-cleaner and probably, like, a lot of bleach, to get the quickly drying stain out. “We need help,” she finally says.

“Of course you do,” Santana snarks, “but I don’t think anyone in Lima offers the kind you need.”

“Ha, ha, Satan,” Mercedes drawls. Santana’s bark is far bigger than her bite, and once Mercedes figured that out she realized that Santana was actually pretty funny, especially when she genuinely likes you and never actually means half the things she says. “I meant, like, a dry-cleaners.”

Santana runs a hand through her hair, wincing when her fingers meet half-dried slushy. “Yeah, unfortunately you might be right. But that doesn’t solve the fact that I need to wear something other than a sports bra to walk through the school. It’d be just my luck to get dress coded too.”

“Honestly,” Mercedes agrees with an eye roll, squeezing out as much water as she can from the uniform. She leaves it in the sink and quickly drys her hands to give her a couple moments to think. “You can borrow my jacket for the day,” Mercedes offers; being cold today is a small price to pay for making her friend feel better

“Thanks,” Santana says quietly, which Mercedes knows translates to genuine sincerity, “But I can’t wear this all day. Sue will kill me for not wearing my uniform, and then probably the guys who slushied me for ruining Cheerios property, and then probably me again for letting myself get slushied.”

Mercedes briefly wonders when the Cheerios property is the uniform, or Santana, but quickly shakes her head so she doesn’t get angry. “Yeah, well Sue’s straight up insane.”

“Oh absolutely,” Santana agrees, “She definitely belongs in a psych ward.”

“And a straight jacket.” Santana snorts at that last one and Mercedes hides a grin by shrugging off her own jacket and offering it to Santana.

Santana hesitates for a split second before she nods in thanks and takes it, slipping her arms into it’s warmth and quickly zipping it up to her collarbone. “That solves the modesty problem, but what about the Sue problem?”

Mercedes barely even has to think about the consequences of skipping the rest of her morning classes. “I can run you home for a change of clothes,” she offers, “we can drop this uniform off at the laundromat for dry-cleaning after.”

Santana’s face closes and turns suspicious for a split second before she relaxes and gives Mercedes a small smile. “Sure,” she says.

Mercedes inwardly cheers at her successful attempts to make Santana smile again, but she knows to play it nonchalant. “Then maybe we can meet Brittany at the mall for lunch,” she adds, grabbing Santana’s letterman jacket and wrapping Santana’s wet shirt in it, “I’m sure watching her try to eat around her freezing will cheer you up.”

“Hey,” Santana complains, “I would never laugh at my girlfriend.” Mercedes sends Santana a droll look as she unlocks the deadbolt and holds the door open from them. “If I laugh it’s only because she’s adorable,” Santana continues to protest, but there’s amusement sparkling in her dark eyes.

“Sure,” Mercedes drawls, grinning in pride when Santana smacks her lightly in the arm but doesn’t have a retort beyond that.

“Really, Mercedes,” Santana suddenly murmurs as they walk down the empty halls, a shy, grateful smile playing across her lips, “Thank you.”

Mercedes shrugs and throws an arm around Santana. “Anytime, Satan,” she says easily, breaking the serious moment, giving Santana a quick smile because, in a lot of ways, she gets how Santana works, and she knows how uncomfortable she gets with emotions around anyone but Brittany. “Now c’mon, let’s go meet your girlfriend for lunch somewhere and get you a shirt, you nasty.”

Santana rolls her eyes but lets Mercedes drag her down the hall. “Watch it, Wheezy,” she threatens toothlessly, her sneer bellied by the grin she’s fighting, “Or I’ll make you wear the sticky jacket.”

Mercedes laughs loud enough for a couple teachers to poke their heads out of their classrooms with a reprimand on their tongues, but by then the two girls are already gone.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany loves her little sister, she really does, but there are some days that she kinda wishes she could open a closet to Narnia and shove her through it. Except she only ever entertains that thought for like a minute before she forgets about it (because her sister is pretty adorable, and she does love her, but there are just some days—). But she’s fairly sure that’s pretty healthy for siblings though, so.

Her sister is great, as far as nine year-olds go, except for the fact that she requires an adult present at all times, which means when her mom and dad want a date night or want to work late or want to go visit their friends a town over, they get free labour out of Brittany. Unfortunately for Brittany, that means that this is the fourth date she’s had to cancel in a week, and she’s starting to get frustrated because it’s Friday and Maribel is working nights and Santana and Brittany would have the Lopez house to themselves for the first time in almost a month.

When she calls her girlfriend to cancel, Santana has to go and be all understanding and sweet and make Brittany feel awful about bailing on her again, and also make her fall a little bit more in love with her.

“Hey, Britt-Britt,” Santana greets on the second ring, “I’m really excited for tonight. It’s been far too long since we’ve had time for an actual date.” Brittany’s rather inclined to agree, and more than reluctant to cancel again; Brittany sighs and she hears Santana shift on the other end of the line. “That was an I’m really sorry, babe sigh,” Santana says slowly.

Brittany sighs again and shakes her head, walking around to sit heavily on her bed. “I’m really sorry, babe,” she starts, pausing to let Santana chuckle knowingly in her ear, “My parents are going out tonight.”

“So, no date tonight then?” Santana sounds a little disappointed but not mad, just understanding and soft.

“Yeah, they’re spending the night at my cousin’s place in Elida,” Brittany explains, “It’s my aunt and uncle’s anniversary and they’re doing something for adults only, so.”

“So you’re on munchkin duty then?” Santana asks.

Brittany sighs again. “I’m really sorry,” she whispers sadly.

“Oh, no, Britt-Britt, it’s fine. I completely understand,” Santana soothes, and it just makes Brittany feel even worse for having to cancel again. “It just,” she trails off and Brittany picks at some lint on her jeans.

“It just kind of sucks,” Brittany finishes.

“Yeah, it kind of does. But hey, why don’t I just come over?” Santana suggests.

Brittany giggles and flops back onto her bed. “I was thinking that too, but remember last time?”

Brittany can’t see her girlfriend, but she knows that she’s blushing furiously even without seeing her face. “Hey! I wasn’t the one who forgot to close the door, Ms. I’m-an-impatient-top-with-no-time-for-silly-things-like-doors.”

“We had to bribe the munchkin with so many promises of ice cream so she didn’t tell my parents,” Brittany reminisces fondly.

Santana giggles, one of those blush-hot-embarrassed ones that usually end up in Brittany’s mouth while they’re making out, and Brittany desperately wishes her girlfriend was beside her instead of a couple neighbourhoods over. “Why don’t we take her to a movie then?”

“Uh, The Lorax just got to the theatre,” Brittany suggests.

“She hasn’t seen it yet?” Santana asks in surprise. “It came out like a month ago or something. I figured it was a staple elementary school movie.”

Brittany rolls her eyes. “You know the Lima Theatre,” she says, and Santana’s giggles are right in her ear and Brittany melts. “Anyways, mom refused to drive all the way to Findlay to, and I quote, ‘Force either of my children to watch a creepy old hairy thing yell about trees.’”

“And by her children she actually meant herself?” Santana asks knowingly.

Brittany laughs. “Exactly.”

“Well why don’t we take the munchkin to that, tire her out at the park after, and then we can put her to bed and remember to close the door this time.”

Brittany laughs and turns her head at a knock at her door. “Sounds good honey, but I think we summoned the munchkin by talking about her.”

“It looks like there’s a showing at five forty-five, so pick me up at five twenty?” Santana asks.

Brittany grins because her girlfriend is literally the best person ever and promises not to be late before hanging up and calling for the knocker to come in.

Her sister warily opens the door; despite not telling their parents anything (which Brittany sort of really loves her for), her sister is still a little cautious of what’s behind closed doors in the house (or, what’s behind slightly ajar doors, at the very least). “Britty?” she asks shyly.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Brittany asks, gesturing for her sister to join her on the bed. The munchkin crosses the room slowly, her dark eyes averted to her feet. Brittany frowns and grabs her sister’s wrist, tugging her onto the bed with her. “Hey, come on, what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“For what?” Brittany prompts, her frown deepening.

“For making you not see ‘Tana again,” she mumbles.

Brittany’s heart clenches and she brushes her sister’s bangs out of her eyes. “Hey now, kiddo, I love spending time with you too.”

Her sister sniffles a little and looks up at Brittany with wide, dark eyes. “Really?”

Brittany’s stomach twists. “Of course.”

“Even if you don’t see ‘Tana as much?”

Brittany shakes her head and chuckles. “San’s coming over tonight.”

The munchkin gasps and bounces up on her knees, every trace of her earlier sadness gone and replaced by a toothy smile. “Really?”

Brittany grabs her sister and tugs her into a bear hug. “Really really,” she promises, “We’re going to take you to a movie after supper.”

“What?” the munchkin exclaims. “Can I have popcorn too?”

Brittany shakes her head fondly and hugs her sister tighter. “Of course you can, kiddo,” she laughs, “It’s the movies.”

Her sister giggles and struggles out of Brittany’s embrace, already babbling nonstop about everything she’s got to tell ‘Tana and what she’s going to play with her and Britty do you think she’ll like the movie? and how she’ll finally get to show ‘Tana that science project we worked on together, Britty, and Brittany’s heart clenches for a much happier reason now.

The munchkin eats her food too fast and gets a bad case of the hiccups, doing everything she can think of to get rid of them before sitting impatiently in the living room while they watch cartoons and wait until they can go pick up Santana. They leave ten minutes earlier than they should, because the munchkin is practically vibrating with excitement; she swings her legs the entire way to Santana’s, and she’s out the car and at the Lopez’s front door before Brittany can even take her seatbelt off. Brittany follows at a slower pace, smiling and stealthily pulling her phone out to take a picture of what she’s greeted with; her little sister’s arms wrapped tight around her girlfriend’s waist, her head tipped back and grinning up at Santana so widely Brittany’s sure her girlfriend can see the molar that the munchkin lost last week. The knowing smile Santana sends her as she walks up the porch stairs tells Brittany that she wasn’t as stealthy as she thought she was, but she gets a soft, warm kiss anyways, and even the munchkin’s whining complaints don’t break them apart for a long moment.

They get to the movie theatre too early, but Santana had thought ahead and has a pocketful of change, guiding the munchkin to the tiny arcade just past the ticket offices and immediately starting to play a game with her. Brittany smiles fondly as she pays for their tickets with the money her mom left her before joining her two favourite people in the world and getting absolutely crushed in a game of air hockey (Santana and the munchkin always gain up on her, and Brittany loves every second of it).

The munchkin insists on sitting on Santana’s lap the entire movie, which means Brittany has to feed Santana her popcorn since her arms are occupied with the youngest Pierce (not that Brittany’s complaining, like, at all). The munchkin watches the movie in rapt attention, and Santana shifts slightly until she can cuddle into Brittany’s shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there when Brittany makes a classic preteen-boy move and yawns before wrapping her arm around Santana, getting giggles from Santana and a reprimanding shush from the munchkin.

They get out of the movie at about seven thirty, and the air is chilly but not freezing, so they bundle the munchkin up with a hat and a scarf and her spring jacket and head to the park to play her out, chasing her around until she’s breathless with giggles. Santana sits in the backseat with the munchkin curled into her side on the way home, making faces at Brittany in the rearview mirror while the munchkin dozes off against her shoulder. She’s easy to put to bed after that, only waking up long enough for Brittany to change her into her pjs and to join the toothbrushing party in the bathroom. She insists on being read a story by Brittany and Santana, but falls asleep before they get to the third page; they finish the story anyways, and Santana kisses the munchkin on the forehead while Brittany shuts of the bedside lamp, putting the story away while Brittany kisses her sister in turn. They creep out of the room and down the hallway to Brittany’s, making sure the door is definitely shut tight.

Santana rises up on her tiptoes to kiss Brittany, soft and slow and long, before giving her a gentle smile and walking over to Brittany’s dresser, pulling out a pair of Brittany’s pjs that she had claimed as her own long before they ever started sleeping together. Brittany watches Santana change in interest, drawing in a deep, steadying breath when Santana’s bra goes flying onto the chair in the corner and reveals the delicious expanse of golden skin of her back, her shoulders flexing enticingly as she pulls her shirt on. By the time Brittany’s blinked out of her Santana-induced stupor, Santana is already crawling into bed with a knowing smirk, and Brittany springs into action. Quickly changing into her own pjs without any sort of finesse, but by the hungry look in Santana’s dark eyes it doesn’t really matter all that much. She turns off the lights as she crosses her room, quickly crawling under the covers Santana holds up for her in the silvery moonlight.

She settles against Santana in the middle of the bed, sharing a pillow and kissing sweetly for long moments. Santana’s hands tease at the waistband of her sleep shorts for long, excruciating moments, before she slips her fingers under the hem; they don’t strip, it’s much too risky with the munchkin only down the hall, especially with the nightmares she’s been having lately. The sleep shorts restrict Santana’s movements a little bit, but Brittany really couldn’t care less, especially when she’s gasping desperately into Santana’s mouth and swallowing Santana’s own groan when Brittany manages to wiggle her hand under Santana’s sleep shorts too; and while Brittany was looking forward to a night alone with Santana, she also kind of loves this sleepy, soft, we-have-to-be-quiet-so-we-don’t-wake-up-little-ears sex because it makes the future seem within reach instead of some vague, undefinable quantity. (Brittany tries not to get her hopes up, but there are somethings that you just know, and there’s really no point in pretending otherwise).

They fall asleep cuddled together in the middle of the bed, and that’s exactly how the munchkin finds them the next morning when she creeps in for her own cuddles before breakfast, squirming her way in between her favourite people ever and laughing when they both fold her into their arms for a long moment, before grinning at each other and pinning the munchkin to the bed, tickling her relentlessly until she’s breathless and flushed and giggling.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Santana doesn’t really expect their first anniversary to be too extravagant because they both work all day; their plan is to make supper together and drink wine in the bathtub and make love until they remember they still have work in the morning, and Santana’s pretty sure it’ll be the best anniversary anyone could ever have (not that she’s biased or anything).
She’s expecting it to be special because it’s just the two of them, being together, as they’ve always been; she’s not expecting there to be some grand gesture, which is why, when she walks in the front door after work to be greeted, not by Tubbs, but by her abuela, she’s pretty sure she just stepped into an alternate universe.

Her abuela stands at the end of the short entrance hallway, an apron covering her dress and the scent of freshly baked empanadas drifting through the apartment. “Abuela!” Santana shouts, loud enough to scare Tubbs, based on the sound of claws scampering across the living room.

“Santana,” her abuela chides, “you are always too skinny. Come, eat,” she demands.

Santana doesn’t move, her purse hanging low to the ground and one shoe already off. “Abuela,” she says again.

“Yes, yes,” abuela tuts, “we know each other’s names. Now come, I have been baking all day.”

Santana shakes her head, but can’t quite shake off her shocked stupor as she mechanically follows her abuela into her tiny apartment kitchen, kicking off her other shoe and hanging up her purse and coat on the coatrack as she passes it. Abuela wasn’t kidding; every inch of counter space is filled with cooling baking or rising dough or scattered ingredients or containers of pastries (Santana’s pretty sure her and Britt don’t even own that many containers). “Abuela,” Santana says blankly again.

Abuela stops in the kitchen and turns to survey her granddaughter with critical eyes. Santana fidgets under abuela’s stare, but then abeula’s face softens and she steps forward to take both of Santana’s hands. “You look happy,” she says, and Santana can’t help the smile that spreads. She’s definitely happier than she’s ever been before, which has a lot to do with being married to the most amazing woman in the world.

“I am,” she says simply instead of all the things she’s thinking about.

Abuela pulls her into a tight hug. “I am glad,” she whispers fiercely.

“So am I,” Santana agrees into abuela’s neck, “But, uh, what are you even doing here?”

Abuela pulls back and holds Santana at arms length. “It is your first anniversary—”

She’s interrupted by the door opening and Brittany calling “Honey? I’m home.”

Abuela pushes Santana towards the front door with a knowing nod and a fond smile; Santana doesn’t take much convincing to go greet her wife anyways. Brittany lights up as soon as she spots Santana, her coat caught around her elbows, and Santana feels all the stress of her shift at work drift away. “Hey wifey,” Santana murmurs.

Brittany’s smile widens and her eyes soften, sparkling in the single light in the hallway since they keep forgetting to change the one that burnt out a couple weeks ago. “Hey wifey,” she murmurs back, starting to reach for Santana before her coat restricts her. Santana giggles and crosses the hallway, helping Brittany out of her coat before letting herself be pulled into a warm embrace. Brittany’s lips are cold against hers, and Santana makes it her mission to warm them up; she kisses Brittany long and deep but remains mindful of her abuela just down the hall and slowly draws back before they get carried away.

“Hi,” Brittany whispers, brushing some stray hair away from Santana’s forehead.

Santana giggles. “Hi,” she whispers back, tightening her arms around Brittany’s waist.

“Did you get my gift?” Brittany asks quietly, and Santana’s smile widens and she nods. “Good,” Brittany says, leaning down to kiss Santana again. “Did you like it?”

“Of course I did,” Santana says in awe, “You brought my abuela here.”

“What?” Brittany says blankly.

“My abuela? She’s here and,” Santana trails off at the look of utter confusion on her wife’s face. “And you have no clue either,” she realizes.

Brittany shakes her head. “No clue,” she confirms. “When’d she get here?”

Santana shakes her head and leans her forehead against Brittany’s shoulder with a sigh. “She was here when I got home. I just assumed you flew her out here since I’ve been missing her so much lately.”

Abuela had a minor medical scare a couple months ago, one that scared Santana far more than it scared abuela, and ever since then Santana hasn’t been able to stop thinking about how old her abuela is getting, and how much time they’ve already lost. She knows Brittany’s noticed, because every time she talks to abuela on the phone, Brittany holds her tight and sprinkles kisses along her temple.

“I definitely didn’t. I mean, I was actually planning on flying her out for easter,” Brittany admits with a slight blush, chewing on her bottom lip, “But apparently abeula beat me to it.”

“I—” Santana trails off and shakes her head in disbelief, all her love for her wife bubbling up until she has to kiss her, soft and sweet. She pulls back and Brittany runs her thumb over Santana’s cheek. “I don’t know what she’s doing here,” Santana admits, “Or how she got here.”

Brittany starts to answer, but abuela calling both of their names from the kitchen cuts them off. Brittany shrugs and presses a quick kiss to Santana’s lips before they head back to the kitchen.

“As an aside,” Brittany whispers, “If you didn’t bring her here, and I didn’t, how’d she get in?”

Santana glances at her wife sharply, her eyes wide and her brow furrowed. “I don’t know,” she whispers back.

“We should probably deal with that later,” Brittany suggest mildly. “Because, like, locks and safety and stuff.”

“Probably,” Santana agrees.

When they enter the kitchen, Brittany’s eyes go wide at the spread of baking across their tiny counters, and Santana can practically see her drooling at all the homemade food.

“Brittany,” abuela greets, quickly crossing the kitchen to pull her into a hug almost as fierce as the one she gave Santana. “It is good to see you.”

Brittany can barely get out the “You too, abuela,” before abuela is scolding them for not eating enough and ushering them to the breakfast bar, placing a large plate of all the different food she’s cooked today.

Brittany grins at Santana as she bites into an empanada, groaning as she chews it gratefully. “This is delicious,” Brittany says as soon as she’s swallowed, and abuela lights up.

“Santana told me you love cinnamon, so I experimented a little bit with the filling and dough to make it more of a dessert empanada,” she explains with pleased delight.

“An amazingly successful experiment,” Brittany gushes.

“You must try some of the flan then, I found an old recipe of my mother’s while cleaning out my bookshelves.”

Santana melts as she listens to her wife and her abuela discuss baking techniques and stories of food gone wrong. She chews thoughtfully on her empanada, feeling a slight tug of nostalgic homesickness she hasn’t felt in years; but looking at how Brittany lights up when abuela takes her plate and piles more food on it, the homesickness fades and she knows that, no matter where they end up, Brittany will always make every place feel like home. She just sits, basking in how easy it feels for her wife and her abuela to talk; and knows she’ll never forget just how easily this day almost didn’t happen.

“So, do you two have any plans for tonight?” abuela asks, and Santana starts, glancing at Brittany.

“Um, not really abuelita,” Santana says slowly.

Abuela regards them with unreadable eyes. “You didn’t plan anything for your first wedding anniversary?” she asks slowly, making both girls squirm.

“We were just going to have a quiet night,” Santana says without meeting her abuela’s eyes. She’s overjoyed to have her abuela here, but she was also really looking forward to spending her evening with Brittany celebrating their first year of marriage. Abeula’s eyes narrow and before she realizes what’s happening, Santana is explaining the evening they had planned (leaving the sex part out, of course, because it’s her abuela and Santana always still feels like a little girl around her and that would be far too weird).

“You should not change your plans because of me,” abuela insists, staring them down until they each meet her eyes. “I am here for a week and a couple days, so we have lots of time to spend together and catch up.”

“Speaking of,” Santana says quickly, “Why did you come out here?”

“I told you I will not miss any more important days,” abuela says easily, and Santana’s chest clenches with something light and happy, “And there are fewer days more important than your anniversary.”

Santana can’t help but glance at Brittany, who’s already smiling back at her. She takes Santana’s hand under the breakfast bar counter, pulling it into her lap so she can play with her fingers, carefully and lovingly tracing the wedding band snug against her knuckle.

“I will leave you two,” abuela says with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

“No, abuela,” Brittany starts.

“You should stay for supper,” Santana adds, but abuela just shakes her head.

“No, Santanita,” abuela says with a knowing smile, leaning forward to take the hand not occupied by Brittany. “You should spend the evening doting on your wife,” she says with a wink, and Santana feels like she might float away at her abuela’s acknowledgement.

“Oh, I definitely will,” Santana says before Brittany has a chance to argue that she should be doing the doting. “But hey, since you’ll be here for a while,” Santana starts with a grin, wide and uninhibited, “Britt and I will have to show you around the city.”

“I would really like that,” abuela says with a smile. “Except for tomorrow around lunch time,” abuela adds, “I am busy then.”

Santana frowns a little and glances at her wife. “Uh, okay? What do you have planned then?”

To Santana’s surprise, it’s Brittany who answers. “A new telenovela episode comes out tomorrow. You can’t miss it, Eva just found out about Rafael’s affair and the argument will be, just, impressively dramatic.”

Abuela laughs and squeezes Santana’s hand, who’s glancing between her wife and her abuela in confusion. “You should listen to your wife,” she says, and Santana has a feeling the thrill that goes through her every time her abuela says your wife will never go away, “she is very smart.”

Santana shakes her head and glances at Brittany, who’s watching her with steady, adoring eyes, a slight blush pinking her cheeks even after all these years of being acknowledged as one of the greatest mathematical minds of their generation. “You’re right abuela,” Santana murmurs, “she’s a genius.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

When Finn outs Santana in the hallway, Brittany gets really, really cold. She knows it’s November and the days are more often chilly than not, but Brittany knows this is a different kind of cold, the kind that creeps in from her bones, turning her stomach to ice and itching at her fingertips and hardening her heart.

Brittany doesn’t even find out from Santana, she hears it in the hallways as she walks to her last class. It feels like someone doused her insides with ice water and she stops dead, staring at a couple of juniors gossiping against their lockers, and Brittany instantly knows that something’s very, very wrong. Santana had been talking about coming out, starting with Mercedes and Sugar and then the rest of the Troubletones, but Santana had been talking about easing in to that sometime in the new year, and Brittany was behind her one-hundred percent.

But hearing people whispering Santana’s name and gay slurs in the same sentence throws Brittany for a loop until her anger starts to thaw the ice in her stomach. (Brittany hears her name in the whispers too, but she barely registers it beyond a passing recognition; her thoughts are consumed with SantanaSantanaSantana—)

There’s no text messages on her phone, but it doesn’t really matter, she knows exactly where Santana will be. She takes off down the hallway, shoving through people and ignoring teachers calling at her back. The bell rings and the hallways start to clear, but Brittany keeps dodging backpacks and slipping past football players until she’s at the farthest end of the school from the front doors. A couple stoners are slipping out of the bathroom but Brittany ignores them, turning down a short hallway and stopping in front of a rarely used janitor’s closet. She pauses for just a moment to catch her breath before she slips the toe of her sneaker under the heavy blue door, pushing the door up and carefully turning the doorknob until she feels the slight hitch in the lock. She hip checks the door before turning the doorknob the rest of the way and shouldering her way in. The lights are off so Brittany doesn’t bother turning them back on, instead dumping her textbooks and binders on the shelf beside the door and squeezing past old paint cans and half fixed knickknacks; the musty scent of dust and cobwebs and paint fills the air and Brittany sniffles the urge to cough as she stumbles her way through the small room in the dark, only a strip of golden light slipping under the door.

She follows the sound of sniffling until her feet knock against another pair. Santana is curled between a unsteady shelving unit and an old filing cabinet, and the ice creeping throughout Brittany’s body doesn’t quite reach her eyes because they start watering at the sounds of her girlfriend’s sobs.

“Oh honey,” Brittany murmurs as she drops to her knees. Santana is hugging her legs to her chest, but releases them and throws herself into Brittany’s arms as soon as Brittany’s close enough. She sobs incoherently into Brittany’s chest as Brittany shifts and turns to settle them against the wall, tugging gently at Santana’s hips until she’s gathered fully in Brittany’s embrace. Brittany presses kisses to every part of Santana she can reach, holding her as tight as she can. Santana claws at Brittany’s back desperately, almost painfully, and chokes on her breath and her words as she struggles to suck air into her aching lungs. Brittany doesn’t fully understand what Santana’s trying to explain, but she understands words like Finn and outed and everyone knows now, and the ice just keeps crawling throughout Brittany’s body until she feels like she might be numb with it.

They sit like that until the last bell of the day rings, and then they keep sitting even after that. They sit until Santana’s hiccuping and no longer clawing at Brittany’s back, until she’s exhausted and heavy in Brittany’s arms.

“Will you stay with me for a while?” Santana whispers suddenly, her voice hoarse and broken, “I just— I don’t wanna be alone right now.”

That cold feeling in her chest warms at Santana’s question and Brittany quickly nods her head, kissing the dark hair under her chin. “Of course I’ll stay,” she promises quietly, fiercely, “I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.”

Santana sucks in a shuddering breath and buries her face further in Brittany’s neck. “Thank you,” she mumbles, “I love you.”

Brittany kisses the top of Santana’s head again, lingering for a long moment while she holds Santana even tighter, hoping she can hold all the broken pieces of her heart together too. “I love you too, so much,” she whispers and Santana melts further into her embrace, and Brittany thinks that just being here might be enough.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Santana loves thunderstorms, she has ever since she was little and would race into the living room and press her nose up against the window to watch the lightning, managing to capture a few, magical moments before her mom would race in after her and pull her back to a safe distance. She can still remember those moments right before her mom got there though, with her breathe fogging up the glass and pure energy dancing across the horizon in blinding flashes.

The Pierce girls, however, hate thunderstorms. Brittany’s been terrified them for as long as Santana’s known her, and those fleeting memories of watching the lightning from the living room window were quickly replaced with ones of standing in the middle of the living room and watching the thunderstorm from afar, Brittany’s arms wrapped around her and her face buried in whatever part of Santana she could reach. Santana found she didn’t mind being pulled away from the window so much, not when it was Brittany, because there was something equally magical about Brittany hiding in her embrace, something that made her feel big and strong and worthy because Brittany trusted Santana to protect her from something as violent and unpredictable as Mother Nature.

It wasn’t that much of a surprise, to anyone who knew Brittany, that the youngest Pierce was also terrified of thunderstorms. More often than not, the munchkin would crawl into her older sister’s bed and they would hide from the storm together; as Brittany grew older and started to grow out of her fear of thunderstorms, the munchkin started to seek out Santana for protection too, just as her sister had done before her.

Brittany’s parents go away for a week in August, just the two of them to celebrate their twentieth anniversary, and they leave Brittany and Santana in charge. Because it’s August, Lima is sticky hot and motionless throughout the day, heat that is only cooled off by the thunderstorms at night. This storm has been building all evening, and it’s past ten by the time the rain finally starts pouring. Brittany shifts against Santana in her sleep as large drops ping off her bedroom window, mumbling something about the bathroom before stumbling out of bed. Santana smiles at her retreating back, adoring warmth filling her at Brittany’s cute, sleepy movements. The lightning and thunder starts soon after that, and Santana gives herself a ten-count before she hears the telltale patter of light feet.

Santana smiles up at the ceiling and glances at the door. The munchkin stands there in her pajamas, clutching her stuffed tiger (the one her and Brittany picked out together, back when they were nine years old and the munchkin was only a couple days old). “Tana?” she asks nervously.

Santana doesn’t say anything, she just smiles and holds up the covers. The munchkin wastes no time in running across the room and diving into Santana’s arms at the crackle of thunder; it sounds like it’s directly above them, and Santana just cuddles the munchkin closer. “Tana I’m really scared,” she whimpers into Santana’s chest, her stuffed tiger caught between them.

Santana hugs the munchkin tighter and hums quietly, hoping to drown out the sound of the rain, but another clap of thunder makes the munchkin jump again. “Shh,” Santana soothes, “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“Promise?” the munchkin sniffles.

Something clenches in her chest and Santana knows, more than ever before, that she’d protect this little girl with her life. “I promise,” she whispers.

The munchkin promptly falls asleep, and Santana’s awe at how quickly children can succumb to dreams is interrupted by fabric rustling in the doorway. Santana glances over, careful not to disturb the munchkin cuddled against her chest, and instantly feels heat rise to her cheeks at the sight of Brittany leaning against the doorframe, her eyes crinkled and her brows drawn together and a soft smile playing on her lips, her entire posture practically screaming how much she loves the girl comforting her little sister on the bed.

“You’re adorable,” Brittany whispers. Santana has to strain a little bit to hear Brittany over the sound of the rain, but once she processes what Brittany just said the heat in her cheeks flames up into a full-scale blush.

“Oh, hush you,” Santana mumbles.

Lightning flashes and thunder almost immediately follows, spurring Brittany across the room. She crawls in under the covers and wraps her arms around her little sister and her best friend and, despite the fact that she’s not even seventeen yet and that her and Brittany still haven’t really talked about what they are yet, Santana feels a tug in her chest at the thought of nights like this, far in the future, and she wonders if Brittany is thinking the same thing; Brittany’s eyes sparkle with something like adoration and hope and longing in the next flash of lightning, and Santana just knows.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Ever since they first stepped foot onto that airplane to take them to Lesbos, Santana and Brittany have barely been apart for longer than a couple hours. Now, standing in a different airport and heading to a very different, much more lonely destination on the other side of the country, for what could be more than a month apart, Santana feels misery claw at her stomach.

Brittany stands pressed against her, Santana’s suitcase long forgotten beside them, both dreading each second that ticks by and draws them closer to their farewell.

“I think Reno’s supposed to be nice this time of year,” Brittany says, aiming for optimistic but landing somewhere past despondent.

“Yeah, but New York’s nice too,” Santana pouts, “Mostly because you’re in it.”

“I know, babe,” Brittany says, bumping her head gently against Santana’s, “but someone’s gotta stay here and look for an apartment.”

“I know,” Santana sighs, running her hands up and down Brittany’s sides. “It just sucks that you can’t come with me.”

“I guess we really should have double checked the contents of those boxes before we locked them in the storage unit,” Brittany pouts. Brittany’s pout quickly turns mischievous and she leans even closer so their noses are pressed together and their lips brush with every word. “We were a little,” she pauses for so long that Santana impatiently tips her head up and whines when Brittany moves just out of reach. Brittany takes pity on her girlfriend (and on herself), and breathes her “Distracted” into Santana’s mouth.

“I can’t believe you went almost a week without realizing you were missing your wallet,” Santana mumbles when she pulls back just far enough to speak.

Brittany shrugs. “I was also missing most of my clothes for that time, but I’m blaming that on you and a locking hotel room.”

Santana grins proudly even as a blush heats up her cheeks; Brittany can feel it where they’re almost touching hers. “Well you need I.D. to get into our storage locker so good luck getting your wallet back before I get home.”

(A thrill goes through both of them at that thought, that concept, that idea that home is where the other is; Santana’s lived in New York for a while, but this is the first time the city actually felt like home to her, and she knows it has everything to do with the blonde who will be waiting for her when she gets home.)

Brittany grins, playing with the hem of Santana’s shirt where it rests against her ass. “I am very charming.”

Santana rolls her eyes but when Brittany quickly kisses her again her mock annoyance melts away to reveal the underlying affection. Santana catches sight of the giant clock behind Brittany’s head and groans when she realizes how little time they have left, throwing herself further into Brittany’s embrace, her groan turning into a content sigh when Brittany’s arms release her shirt to wrap tightly around Santana. Brittany leans back a little so she can drag Santana completely against her. “Are you going to tell them you’ve been in the city since we got back?” Santana mumbles into Brittany’s chest.

Brittany shrugs and grins into the dark hair tickling her chin, rocking them back and forth. “I dunno, I think I’ll wait and see how dramatic Rachel’s going to be when she answers the door. I already have a whole background story about losing my passport in Hawaii prepared so we’ll see.”

Santana giggles at the thought — her girlfriend is both a genius and the biggest troll ever — and draws back just far enough to see Brittany’s face, mumbling her “Awful” against Brittany’s lips. When she pulls away, her phone is already ringing with the alarm she set so she won’t miss her flight. Santana groans and buries her head in Brittany’s neck, letting her girlfriend dig her phone out of her back pocket and turn the alarm off. “I’m not ready to say goodbye,” she mumbles.

Brittany sighs and buries her face in Santana’s hair. “I know, honey, but it’s just for, like, a couple weeks,” she soothes. “A little over a month at most.”

“Still,” Santana pouts, and she doesn’t even care that she sounds whiny and childish, she knows herself and she knows how badly she’s going to miss her girlfriend when she’s gone.

Brittany sighs and nudges her nose against Santana. “Still,” she agrees.

People really start to hurry towards security, and Santana reluctantly pulls away from Brittany, already missing her warmth and her scent and her touch even though they’re barely a couple inches apart. Brittany pouts at the sad look on Santana’s face and leans forward to press her lips to Santana’s, deep and searching and gentle. “I’m going to miss you so much,” Santana whispers, her fingers drawing shaky hearts on Brittany’s hips.

Brittany cups Santana’s cheeks and kisses her again. “I’m going to miss you so much too,” Brittany murmurs, running her thumbs across Santana’s cheekbones.

Santana finally extricates herself from Brittany and grabs her carryon, throwing it over her shoulder before she clutches at the handle of her suitcase. “I love you,” Santana says.

Brittany surges towards her to hug her one last time, breathing in deeply and trying to memorize the exact scent of citrus and vanilla and pinewood that always clings to Santana, the strongest at the smooth skin of her neck where Brittany has buried her nose. Santana sighs and hugs Brittany so tightly she feels like she might break apart, and Brittany still wishes Santana would hold her tighter. “I love you too,” Brittany breathes, and then Santana is walking towards security and before she knows it, her girlfriend is swallowed by the crowds.

When Brittany gets back to the hotel room they’ve been staying in for the past little bit, she finds one of Santana’s hoodies neatly folded on the bed. She laughs, soft and adoring, as she tugs the fabric over her head, burying her nose in the collar and breathing deeply and melting when citrus and vanilla and pinewood once again fills her nose. She shakes her head and hears her phone ping and when she opens the picture from Santana, it’s of her girlfriend sitting on the plane before takeoff with the hoodie Brittany had snuck in there before they left for the airport and a wide smile on her adorable face. Brittany sends a picture of herself in the hoodie Santana left her, and even though Santana is on a plane that’s about to take her to the other side of the country, Brittany suddenly doesn’t feel as far away from her anymore.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Santana’s never been happier these last couple months, ever since she gathered every last ounce of courage she had and dropped to her knee in the choir room, ever since she slipped that ring on Brittany’s finger, ever since Brittany agreed to spend the rest of their lives together.

She’s never been happier, and when her and Brittany found a tiny apartment in New York and move their meagre possessions into it, she’s not really sure how she’ll contain her happiness. They have a mattress with no boxspring or headboard and mismatched plates and no stand for their television, and it’s the first time that New York has actually felt like home to Santana. She’s never been happier and every time she sees the sparkle of light on Brittany’s ring, everything bubbles up in her chest until it’s too much and not enough all at once and she just has to kiss Brittany (Brittany seems to have the same urge too though, because sometimes she zones out as she admires her ring or she gets lost staring at Santana and then surges forward to kiss Santana with every last bit of her love).

Except, Brittany’s been acting so weird lately. Santana’s not worried, not really, because she knows that if it was something serious that Brittany would tell her, but she is a little suspicious. Brittany’s jumpy and she keeps zoning out and she plays with her engagement ring a lot, a new nervous habit that Santana’s noticed she’s picked up lately; when Brittany’s thinking or anxious or worried, she starts spinning her ring around her finger, and Santana wonders if the cool metal against her skin comforts her in some way, like a reminder that Santana’s always going to be there, like how seeing Brittany’s ring sparkle comforts Santana in turn.

Tonight, Santana’s planning on confronting Brittany about it, because it’s been over two weeks and Brittany continues to act a little squirrelly. She starts supper since Brittany is still at work, and she calls her mom to get her recipe for her homemade mac and cheese, the one that Brittany’s been obsessed with since they were in kindergarten. Santana’s made it on her own before, and she’s had the recipe memorized since at least junior year, but it’s just not the same when her mom isn’t fondly teasing her about putting too much cheese in it.

She has the mac and cheese in the oven and is just washing dishes when she hears the front door open. Brittany works part-time at a dance studio, and she comes home sweaty and dressed in sweats most of the time, and Santana kind of loves her fiancée’s job for it. Today, Brittany glows, her smile wide and exhausted, as she drops her dance bag by the couch and immediately walks to the kitchen to wrap herself around Santana’s back.

“Have a good day?” Santana laughs, quickly reaching for the tea towel on the counter to dry her hands.

Brittany nods and nuzzles into Santana’s neck; she smells of the dance studio and sweat, and it’s a scent so familiar to Santana it immediately relaxes as a tension she didn’t even realize she was carrying melts out of her muscles. “Amelia gave me some flowers she picked in the park today,” Brittany explains, “Charlie lent me one of her mugs so I could keep them on my desk.”

“The little girl with all the freckles?” Santana asks with a smile; it’s things like this, with a ring already around Brittany’s finger, that make it impossible not to think of future years, when that little girl with freckles giving Brittany flowers is their daughter instead of a student. Brittany nods and presses her lips to Santana’s neck. “She has such a huge crush on you,” Santana laughs.

“Unfortunately for her, there’s only one girl I have a crush on,” Brittany teases, running her nose along Santana’s jawline, thoroughly enjoying the hitch in Santana’s breathing.

“It’s that barista at the Starbucks on Franklin isn’t it?”

Brittany laughs her bright, guileless belly laugh; Santana can feel it against her back and she melts into the feeling. “You know it’s you, you goof,” Brittany teases, and Santana can’t help the smile that spreads across her face.

“Yeah,” she agrees dreamily, “I do.”

Brittany tightens her arms around Santana and trails her lips along her neck and across her jaw. Santana turns her head into Brittany’s until their lips catch and she sighs into Brittany’s mouth, eight hours is far too long to go without Brittany’s lips on hers. They stand there for a while, just silently enjoying the other’s comforting warmth, and Santana makes a quick decision to talk to Brittany about how she’s been acting lately and takes a moment to run her fingers over Brittany’s arms around her stomach, collecting her thoughts.

“Hey, can we talk?” Santana asks quietly.

Santana can feel the slight hesitation in Brittany’s response right before she nods, and worry knots Santana’s stomach. Brittany loosens her hold on Santana just enough for Santana to turn in Brittany’s arms. She plays with the hem of Brittany’s shirt and draws comfort from her fiancée’s warm skin; Brittany gently traces her fingertips over Santana’s shoulder blades, her blue eyes bright and concerned.

“I’m worried about you,” Santana murmurs. “You’ve been acting really,” she pauses, and finally settles on, “weird, lately.”

Brittany flushes and relaxes as shakes her head. “It’s nothing. I— It’s just— It’s nothing, really.”

“Britt—” Santana starts, but Brittany quickly runs her hands down Santana’s arms, drawing Santana’s hands from her back and stilling her nervous fidgeting as she tangles their fingers.

“Do you remember when you asked me to trust you San Fransisco?” she asks, her eyes bright and clear on Santana’s. “And you said you needed to keep a secret for a little while?” Santana nods slowly but doesn’t interrupt. “Okay, well now I’m asking you to trust me,” Brittany says, and Santana’s heart leaps a little bit.

She doesn’t want to get her hopes up, but they both know exactly why Santana asked Brittany to trust her and let her keep that secret, because Santana had confessed everything that had happened over those months she kept a ring hidden the night they got engaged, and Santana can’t help the bright, fluttery feeling that blooms deep in her chest. “Okay,” Santana whispers easily, letting Brittany kiss her long and deep in promise.

“I’m going to go and shower,” Brittany whispers when she finally pulls back, breathless and giggling, rolling her eyes when Santana’s nose crinkles in mock disgust.

“That smell is you?” she grumbles.

Brittany’s giggles turn to full belly laughter and she wraps Santana in an even tighter hug, rubbing her slightly sweaty face all over Santana, to Santana’s giggling protests. Santana uses Brittany’s kryptonite to get away though: Sweet lady kisses. Brittany melts into Santana and her arms relax and Santana keeps kissing Brittany for longer than she needs to (though she knows that she’ll never be able to kiss Brittany for long enough) in order to finally slip out of Brittany’s grasp. Brittany pouts at her, and Santana quickly kisses her again to pacify her.

Brittany smiles into the kiss, and she keeps smiling softly even as Santana pulls back. “I’ll shower quick,” she murmurs, “since supper’s almost ready.”

Santana kisses her again, and Brittany sighs into her fiancée’s mouth. “Take your time,” Santana offers easily as she reluctantly disentangles herself from Brittany and starts to head to the fridge. “There’s still like twenty minutes left on the mac and cheese. And I’ve still gotta make the garlic bread.”

A  bright thrill floods Brittany’s body at how domestic their life is now, and she just smiles goofily at her fiancée’s retreating back as she grabs her forgotten dance bag from the tiny living room and heads down the hallway to their tiny bedroom. She’s sure it won’t last forever, but she kind of loves how small their apartment is, mostly because said apartment is theirs, the first home they’ve ever made, one that they made together. She makes it to the bedroom and dumps her dance bag on her side of the closet, quickly moving to the bedroom door and listening to the quiet clang of dishes and the jangle of cutlery, making sure that Santana is sufficiently distracted by setting the table and finishing off supper.

Once Brittany’s positive that Santana’s busy in the kitchen, she creeps back over to her dance bag and reaches into an inside pocket to pull out the ring box she has hidden there. She only has a couple more days before she’ll put her plan into motion, but she can barely contain herself from giving it to Santana right now, and Brittany has no clue how her fiancée managed to hold onto the engagement ring that currently sits proudly on her finger for months without blurting out her proposal; it’s been almost two weeks and Brittany’s already had to catch herself far too many times.

But she manages to resist, because she knows that the look on Santana’s face in a couple days will be more than worth it.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The first time Maribel suspects her daughter likes girls, Santana is seven years-old and they’re at a flower shop. Santana stands dressed in her brand new dress and her hair is carefully braided back. She continues to stare at the rows and rows of flowers like she has been for the last ten minutes, carefully picking out the best bouquet to give to her best friend.

Maribel smiles and waits patiently for her daughter. It’s rare, these days, that Santana is so carefree and happy, and Maribel knows it has everything to do with her daughter’s best friend as surely as she knows that her daughter’s sadness has everything to do with her husband’s absences and aloofness.

Santana finally settles on a bouquet of white daisies and blue peonies and pink tulips, and she timidly points at it and looks up at her mom with wide, dark eyes and a small smile on her face.

Maribel carefully crouches down beside Santana and reaches for the small bouquet Santana has been eyeing since they first set foot in the store, inwardly rolling her eyes because she should have known that Santana would have picked out the bouquet within the first couple minutes but still want to check every other one there just in case, Santana is her daughter after all. “This is the one you want, mija?” she asks softly

“The pennies look like Brittany’s eyes,” Santana says guilelessly. Her eyes widen at what she just said and she ducks her head and looks away guiltily, and Maribel feels that small seed of anger at her husband bloom up for a moment. Maribel’s not blind; she sees how Santana talks about the other girls in her grade, how she talks about Brittany, specifically, how she only mentions how annoying the boys are in passing, and she also sees how her husband gets that dark, repulsive look in his eyes and how Santana deflates around him when he gets like that.

Maribel’s not blind, and she’s not dumb, and she knows how careful she has to be, how damaging her words can be, how she hates that her daughter will have to face so much hate on her own, even from her own father, if Maribel’s right about what she thinks she’s right about.

“They’re actually called peonies,” Maribel corrects softly, gently taking Santana’s hand and guiding her little fingers to carefully trace the delicate petals. “And you’re right, they are the same colour as Brittany’s eyes.”

Santana relaxes and presses closer to her mami, and Maribel hates that Santana feels so unsure and wary regarding her best friend when it comes to her parents, and she beats back the blooming anger at her husband for making Santana feel this way. It’s been a long time since Maribel has been in love with her husband, but she’s stubborn and determined to keep her family together, not for her sake but for her young daughter.

“She has really pretty eyes, mami,” Santana mumbles shyly, her fingers still carefully tracing the blue peony, a small smile on her face.

“She does,” Maribel agrees, and Santana presses even closer to her as her smile fades and her brow furrows.

“Am I allowed to say that?” she asks quietly, in a way that makes Maribel’s chest ache. “Papi says that I should only think boys are pretty and not girls, but I think Brittany’s the prettiest person in the world.”

Maribel leans forward to kiss her daughter’s cheek and buy herself sometime to think, and she can feel Santana’s blush hot against her lips and it makes something bright leap in her chest. She knows how fiercely and how easily Santana loves, and she already knows how much Brittany loves Santana in return, and no matter the current or future nature of that love, it eases Maribel’s earlier worry.

“Papi is very,” she hesitates and Santana turns from the flowers to look up at her mami with wide, trusting eyes and Maribel tries not to falter in her daughter’s faith in her, “traditional. He thinks that only boys and girls can love each other.” Santana’s gaze never wavers as she watches her mami, and Maribel smiles at her daughter and hopes she’s doing this right. “But sometimes, girls love other girls and boys love other boys.”
 
“Like Rachel’s dads?” Santana asks and Maribel nods quickly.

“Yeah, just like her dads.”

“But papi said I can’t talk to her at recess anymore,” Santana says with a confused pout. “He said— He said that it’s— That it’s a vergüenza,” Santana stumbles over the words, the unfamiliar Spanish fitting awkwardly in her young mouth.

Maribel sighs and shakes her head. “Your papi isn’t always right,” Maribel says, brushing a few stray strands of dark hair back behind Santana’s ears. “And he definitely isn’t right about this but— If you have any questions, ask me, mija, and I promise I’ll answer them, okay?”

Santana nods and kicks at the floor for a moment before she raises her head and looks warily at her mami. “So girls can marry other girls like you and papi are married?” she asks slowly.

“Yes they can, mija,” Maribel says and she hopes that by the time Santana is old enough to actually be thinking about marriage, she won’t be made into a liar.

Santana chews on her lip thoughtfully. “You mean I could marry Brittany?” she asks and, hidden underneath the genuine curiosity, Maribel can hear the hint of hopefulness and she can’t help but smile encouragingly at her daughter.

“Someday, when you’re older, if that’s what you both want, then of course you can marry Brittany,” Maribel assures her.

“Okay,” Santana says simply, and she carefully takes the flowers from her mami and starts tugging her in the direction of the cash register. They head to the counter and Santana carries the bouquet of flowers as if they were the most precious thing in the world, and Maribel smiles because, at this moment, to Santana, they very well could be.

The woman on the other side of the counter smiles brightly at Maribel as she rings the bouquet through and starts wrapping it. Santana is distracted by the little knickknacks at her eye level, and the woman pauses and leans over the counter, lowering her voice so only Maribel can hear her words.

“I overheard what you said to your daughter,” she murmurs, her eyes darting down to glance at Santana with a small smile before she looks back up at Maribel, “And I just wanted to say that I thought you handled that really well.” Maribel just stares wordlessly at the woman as she resumes wrapping the flowers. “Not many parents take it so well when they think their kid might be,” she hesitates and her eyes dart to whoever is standing next in line and she shrugs instead, “you know. I hope one day your daughter knows how lucky she is.”

Maribel breathes out shakily and profusely thanks the women and desperately hopes that she’s right.

They make it to the dance studio right on time, and Santana is giddy with excitement at seeing her best friend dance in a recital for the first time. Brittany’s parents sit beside Maribel and smile affectionately at Santana as she asks them all kinds of questions about Brittany’s dance. Their eyes slide to the bouquet of flowers that’s cradled so preciously in Santana’s arms and then up to Maribel’s with wide, knowing smiles, and Maribel briefly wonders if Whitney and Pierce suspect of Brittany what she suspects of Santana.

The lights dim before she can figure out how polite it is to actually ask that, and Santana squirms impatiently until she spots Brittany on stage, and then she grows very still and very bright, her eyes glowing in the briefly flashing lights of the stage, her smile wide and adoring and uninhibited and Maribel tries to memorize this moment, how happy and carefree her daughter is, how the deep dimples in her cheeks match the brightness in her eyes, how Maribel’s heart clenches in happiness and pride that this amazing little girl is her daughter.

Maribel holds Santana’s hand and the flowers as they follow the Pierce’s backstage, and when Brittany spots them she charges at them and flings herself into Santana’s arms, chatting into her ear at a mile a minute. Maribel’s quickly takes out her camera and snaps a picture, managing to catch the adoring, excited smiles on both girls’ faces.

Brittany eventually releases Santana and gives her parents a hug, flushing under their gentle teasing for completely ignoring them. Maribel hands the flowers to Santana and Santana’s eyes widen and, though it’s hard to tell for sure, Maribel’s pretty certain Santana is blushing. Brittany turns to Maribel and politely thanks her for coming, but Maribel can see the question in Brittany’s eyes and she quickly brings her into a warm hug and congratulates her on her small solo, smiling widely when Brittany fiercely hugs her back.

Soon enough, Brittany drifts back to Santana’s side, taking her hand and swinging it between them, only now realizing that Santana has something hidden behind her back.

When Santana presents the bouquet of flowers to Brittany, something in Brittany’s eyes blooms and brightens and her expression eases from surprise to wordless wonder and something warmer, and Santana ducks her head and blushes furiously when Brittany leans over and kisses her on the cheek, quietly murmuring her thanks against Santana’s skin, and there’s a double flash of light as her and Whitney both take pictures of their daughters.

//

The first time Maribel knows for sure her daughter likes girls, it’s a decade later and Santana is almost seventeen years old and Maribel is washing dishes at the kitchen sink, Santana hugging her tightly from behind.

The relief Maribel feels that her daughter has finally accepted herself is probably only rivalled at the relief Santana feels at being able to tell her mom about her and Brittany, about what she’s known about herself for so long but had only just recently started to accept. Maribel reaches up and pats Santana’s arm with a soapy hand, feeling Santana’s nose wrinkle in complaint against her shoulder, and Maribel grins at the sink.

Her daughter is almost graduated, almost grown, but with the way she clings to her, Maribel can’t help but remember that tiny girl with the braided hair and the worried eyes and the delicate bouquet of flowers, and she quickly dries her hands and turns to pull Santana into a fierce hug.

“I love you so much,” Maribel whispers into her daughter’s neck, blinking back tears when Santana’s arms tighten around her and she nuzzles her head into her mom just like she used to.

“We should eat,” Maribel finally says when she thinks that the tears are contained, “before Brittany gets back.”

Santana flushes as she pulls back and gets that breathless, bashful look at her mother’s teasing and Maribel grins at how easy it is to fluster her daughter, but then Santana’s expression wavers. “You don’t think,” Santana starts but then trails off, her eyes bright and tight with worry, and Maribel feels a little bad at her sudden laugh.

“Oh God no,” Maribel says as she grabs the pulled pork out of the slower cooker, bringing it over to the table and nodding at the plates and cutlery for Santana to bring. “Whitney and I have known you two were in love probably long before you two did.”

“What?” Santana asks blankly.

Maribel laughs as she sits down, accepting the plate and knife and fork Santana offers her. “Santana,” she says, waiting until Santana is sitting and reaching forwards to dish up the pulled pork, “I’ve suspected you were gay since you were seven years old.”

Santana blinks, her hand freezing and hovering over the table with a spoonful of pulled pork. “What?” she repeats.

Maribel chuckles and shakes her head, leaning across the table to gently and teasingly push her daughter’s jaw back into place. “Mija,” she says firmly, a smile playing across her lips, “You’ve been talking about marrying Brittany since you found out two women can get married. Whitney and I have been planning your wedding since you brought Brittany flowers after the first dance recital you saw.”

Santana just blinks blankly before her face stretches into a small, awed smile as she drops the serving spoon back into the pulled pork. “Really?” she whispers, and she sounds just as curious as she did in that flower shop all those years ago, just as quietly hopeful as she did when she asked if she could marry Brittany when she was older.

Maribel smiles and reaches across the table to take her daughter’s hand. “Really, really,” she promises.

Santana ducks her head and gets that bashful, wonder-filled look that Maribel knows means that Santana feels too full and bright and doesn’t know what to do with it, and Maribel pats Santana’s hand one more time before releasing it and sitting back. She starts dishing up pulled pork for both of them and gives Santana a moment to compose herself, mindlessly starting to narrate her night at work yesterday and complaining about some drunk patients she had.

Santana doesn’t take as long as Maribel thinks she will, and before she knows it Santana is smiling back up at her with eyes as dark and open and trusting as they were when she was seven years-old and Maribel’s heart twists in nostalgic pride. “Thank you, mami,” she murmurs when Maribel pauses in her story.

Maribel shakes her head and smiles back at her daughter. “You don’t need to thank me,” she says softly, “I’m always going to love you.”

Santana just nods quickly and ducks her head down a little, scratching softly at the skin under her eyes, and Maribel lets her be and pretends she isn’t blinking back her own tears. They pass the salad and buns back and forth and regain their composure enough that Maribel starts complaining about work again and Santana chimes in with her own snarky comments and the conversation quickly changes to Brittany and Santana being girlfriends finally, and warm pride settles in Maribel’s chest as she listens to the woman her daughter is quickly growing into.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Santana sometimes likes to complain about things she’s excited for because, sometimes, her tough façade makes her feel a little bit safer. Most times, especially over this last decade, when she’s sure of herself and not scared anymore, it’s become this amusing thing to bug her wife about it. It’s something Brittany learned about her wife when they were five years old and just playing at house, and it’s something she still knows now, after twenty-five years of being best friends and nine years of being wives.
Now, it’s more of a game they’ve played for years than any actual attempts at a tough façade, to see whether Santana will break and give in to her wife first, or whether Brittany will give up on making her break first (Brittany is the undisputed champion of the game, which might annoy Santana if Brittany wasn’t so adorable when she breaks into her victory dance, or if Brittany didn’t kiss away Santana’s losing pout after).

Today, they barely make it onto the subway before Brittany is doing that wiggling victory shimmy and listening to Santana admit that, yes, she is excited to go to Mercedes place for supper, even as she fondly rolls her eyes. Brittany’s victory shimmy is restricted by the crowd on the train, so she contents herself with warmly and gently kissing Santana’s pout away. The train lurches a little as it takes off, and Brittany quickly steadies Santana before pulling her against her body, curling herself into an unoccupied corner of the train across from the sliding doors, wrapping secure arms around her wife. Santana melts into Brittany, slipping her hands under the open lapels of Brittany’s light jacket and seeking out the small of her wife’s back; the weather has unseasonably warm this past week and Brittany loves the moment she gets to put away her winter jacket for the spring weather, even if it’s not quite spring yet. Santana sighs against Brittany’s neck and nuzzles closer, soaking up the warmth that radiates from her even through her sweater.

“Do you think Mercedes will make those garlic mashed potatoes of hers tonight?” Brittany asks suddenly.

“I dunno,” Santana says, her breath tickling the sensitive skin where Brittany’s neck stretches into her collarbones and making Brittany squirm a little, “They said it was a special supper, and if Chris is barbecuing those steaks like he promised weeks ago you know Mercedes will make her potatoes.”

“Good,” Brittany says into Santana’s dark hair, widening her stance a little to brace herself against the slowing momentum of the train as it reaches it’s next stop. “Because I’ve been craving those for like a week.”

Santana laughs, her body shifting against Brittany’s in such a familiar way that light blooms in Brittany’s chest. “Babe, you’re always craving her garlic potatoes,” Santana teases, tightening her hold around Brittany’s torso as the train lurches back into motion.

Brittany just shrugs as Santana kisses her collarbone, soft and quick. “Guilty.”

There’s two more stops before they get off, and they spend the ride in comfortable silence, cuddled up against the corner to escape the pushing, crowd of people entering and exiting the sliding doors. As the train slows to their stop, they untangle from each other, Brittany reaching out to put a steadying hand on the small of Santana’s back as the train lurches to another stop, before following her wife out onto the platform. Santana reaches her hand back, fingers flexing and grabbing at air until they find the slippery material of Brittany’s jacket and catch, sliding down until she finds Brittany’s fingers as they head up to the street.

They make it to Mercedes’s house ten minutes before they need to be there, and Brittany suggestively offers to make the most of those ten minutes, delighting in the blush can still cause, even after all these years, just as the door swings open to reveal Chris in that ugly apron Brittany and Santana got him last Christmas, the one he absolutely adores and wears at every possible opportunity, much to their delighted pride. He hugs them both in welcome and takes their coats, carefully hanging them on the coatrack so they don’t wrinkle and so Mercedes doesn’t get on his case about it later. Brittany chats with Chris about his newest project while she digs through her bag for whatever little knickknack Chris left at their place two weeks ago; Santana follows her nose and wanders into the kitchen to find Mercedes at the counter, aggressively mashing up some potatoes.

“Those better be garlic potatoes,” Santana says in lieu of greeting, “or my wife will be sad and I’ll be vengeful.”

Mercedes laughs as she leans the masher against the side of the bowl and wipes her hands on a tea-towel before rounding the kitchen island to hug Santana. “Everyone knows you’re the sappy one, Satan,” Mercedes teases into Santana’s shoulder, “Britt is far more likely to be doing the vengeance.”

“Eh,” Santana concedes noncommittally as Mercedes pulls back. Her hair is pulled back in a slightly messy ponytail and a bright smile stretches her face until her eyes are practically glowing with it. “So, how’s married life treating you?”

Mercedes rolls her eyes as she rounds the kitchen island again. She picks up her masher and gestures at the cupboard with all their plates and bowls behind her, but Santana is already halfway to it. “I’ve been married for almost two years now,” Mercedes reminds her.

“I’ve been married for a nine years now, I’m practically an expert.”

“You really don’t have to ask me about being married every single time as if you’re some kind of marriage Yoda.”

“‘Marriage Yoda’,” Santana snorts.

Mercedes rolls her eyes again, but this time it’s at Chris as he enters the kitchen. “I blame him and all his nerdy movies.”

“Star Wars is a classic!” Chris protests.

“A classic nerdy movie,” Mercedes agrees. The two continue to bicker fondly and Brittany slides up beside Santana, running a hand briefly down her bicep before grabbing napkins off the counter and cutlery out of the drawers with an adoring smile.

“They’re both nerds,” Santana mumbles, and Brittany’s face lights up in an agreeing grin as she grabs pot holders out of the drawer and they both head to the dining room to set the table.

An hour later, everyone is stuffed and Mercedes and Chris are jittery and nervous; Santana and Brittany can tell by the way they trail off when they speak, they way they glance at each other and then away, the way neither one of them won’t meet Santana and Brittany’s eyes. Santana and Brittany exchange a quick look before Santana pushes her plate forwards and leans her elbows on the edge of the table. “Okay, spill you two,” Santana demands, “You’re acting weirder than usual.”

Mercedes and Chris exchange another nervous glance, but this one is bright and glowing, before Mercedes turns back to her two best friends. “We’re pregnant,” she blurts.

Santana blinks in shock before an excited smile starts to spread across her face, a mirror the one spreading across her wife’s face. That bright, lifting feeling blooms in Santana’s chest and she laughs. “Seriously?” At Mercedes’ and Chris’ overjoyed smiles, Santana laughs again. “Oh my god,” she manages to laugh.

Brittany claps her hands together and rocks forward on her chair, glancing between Mercedes and Chris with glowing blue eyes. “How far along are you? When are you due?”

“Fourteen weeks,” Mercedes answers shyly. “We wanted to wait until the first trimester was over, and I really wanted to tell you two in person.” Brittany and Santana exchange sappy glances before turning back to Mercedes and Chris.

Chris is practically vibrating in his seat, his smile so wide it’s almost blinding. “The baby’s due in September,” he says, just a hair above too loud but nobody notices over their smiles, “We have an ultrasound in two weeks to find out the baby’s sex, but considering I have five sisters and Mercedes’ is fifty-fifty in her family, I’m thinking it’s a girl.” His smile is so bright and happy that his face can barely contain it, and Mercedes reaches over to take his hand in hers.

“I bet it’s a boy,” Santana says with a little bit of unfounded certainty and overjoyed wonder, and she can already see a little baby with Chris’s eyes and Mercedes’ smile, Chris’s chin and Mercedes’ curls, Chris’s humour and Mercedes’ heart.

“I bet it’s a turtle,” Brittany offers blankly, and there’s a full three beats of complete silence before all three girls burst into laughter so loud it echoes around the kitchen, bouncing back around them until they’re surrounded by their giggles and happiness, Chris smiling at all three girls, confused but adoring.

After they all calm down, Chris and Mercedes sober as they glance at each other, Chris nodding at Mercedes and then across the table. Mercedes turns to her two oldest and best friends and gives them a small smile. “So Chris and I have been talking about it, and we were wondering if you two would be our baby’s godparents.”

Brittany sucks in a breath as her heart thuds and expands in her chest at the request. She glances at her wife, and finds her already teary and lost for word.

“Wheezy,” Santana breathes, her voice high and watery.

“No crying in front of the baby yet, Satan,” Mercedes teases, but the waver to her voice and the brightness to her eyes gives her away.

Brittany’s hand finds Santana’s and tangles their fingers together on Santana’s thigh only a heartbeat before her eyes find Santana’s. There’s a split second of question that passes between them, a conversation so fast that Mercedes and Chris both miss it, an lightning arc of understanding that trembles along the string tying their hearts together.

“We would be honoured,” Brittany answers for the both of them. Her voice is the strongest and most sure of the three, but she scratches quickly at the skin under her eye and gives the softest smile she has, the one that only Santana usually ever sees in the half-light of the moon from the window above their bed, the one that means Brittany is stripped down to her rawest form and knows someone will be there to hold her together afterwards.
“I bet that kid will be the luckiest person in the world,” Santana manages, glancing between Mercedes and Chris. Mercedes and Chris exchange adoring glances before looking shyly away, flustered and grateful all at once.

Brittany’s fingers tighten around Santana’s and, as she glances at her wife, bright and teary and overjoyed, she knows without question that their family just got a little bit bigger.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany likes dancing with Theodore well enough. He’s funny and kind and always keeps a respectable distance. She’s pretty sure they’re the best dancers here, and it reminds her a lot of dancing with Mike, which she’s missed these last couple years; Mercedes likes to joke that if her and Theodore get too close to the front of the stage they’ll completely upstage her. Brittany scoffs, because Mercedes has the kind of voice you have to stop and listen to, especially when she hits those high notes, and she’s pretty sure her and Theodore don’t have a chance of upstaging her unless they, like, tumble right off the stage and go viral.

Brittany also likes dancing with Theodore because it keeps her mind off missing Santana too much. Despite talking on the phone at least once a day, usually twice, and texting in between, Brittany misses her girlfriend with a constant ache beneath her sternum. It’s not really like the ache of those awful eight months when she was stuck in Lima and Santana wasn’t hers anymore though; this is ache is softer, less sharp edges and more quiet warmth, less miserable and more bittersweet, less like heart-stopping terror and more like tingling homesickness.

Brittany likes dancing with Theodore because it’s fun and easy and it keeps her mind of the fact that it’s been over two months since she’s danced with her girlfriend, since she’s held her and kissed her, since she’s seen her through more than a laptop screen. It wasn’t supposed to be more than a month apart, but then there were reshoots and interns who lost the original film and issues with copyrights and even more reshoots and all of a sudden Brittany was in Reno with the rest of Mercedes’ tour crew and Santana was still stuck in Iowa on the other side of the country.

“Brittany?”

Brittany blinks out of her thoughts and refocuses on Theodore. “What?”

Theodore laughs and swings Brittany around and under his arm in the next step and Brittany follows the movement easily without really thinking about it. “You were pretty zoned out there.”

“Oh, right,” Brittany says cryptically, “I was just thinking about corn, and how much I miss it and how I wish it would come home.”

Theodore’s face softens as he continues through the dance. “You really miss her, huh?” Brittany shrugs a little, feeling a blush rise because, even though she wasn’t explicit about where her thoughts lie, Theodore could obviously tell what she really meant. He laughs a little and waits for Brittany to spin back to him before he speaks. “You forget that I’m from the corn state,” he teases, and then softens, “I know what it’s like to miss someone when they’re there and you’re here.”

“You really miss your girlfriend too, huh?” Brittany whispers.

Theodore gets this misty, far away look in his eyes before he blinks it away. “I know your girlfriend isn’t here yet, but you’re really lucky that she’s coming on the whole tour with us,” he says earnestly. Brittany manages a smile and there’s a couple beats of silence as the song repeats back to the beginning and they get back into their first position. It’s one of Mercedes’ slower songs, and Theodore and Brittany had worked out a choreography that’s half ballroom and half interpretive dance a couple days ago, and running through it with each other is about the only things that are keeping their minds off their respective girlfriends.

“You know,” Theodore starts conversationally as he swings behind and weaves around Brittany, “I’m heading back to Iowa for a couple days before the tour starts, and I might have an extra ticket.”

Brittany freezes as Theodore spins in front of her, completely missing her next cue. She feels like she’s barely breathing even as her heart races. “Really?”

Theodore smiles widely as he draws to a stop, his eyes bright as nods. “My friend was going to come back with me but he had to back out last minute, so I have an extra ticket to Sioux City if you wanna go?”

Brittany can’t really control her smile as she launches herself at Theodore. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she laughs into his ear as his hands come out to catch her and he staggers as he tries to steady both of them.

“You’re welcome,” he laughs back, and Brittany’s too busy trying to make sure her building excitement doesn’t completely bloom out of her that she doesn’t even notice the door to the studio opening or the way Theodore’s eyes lock on someone over her shoulder.

“Why’d you hug him?” a voice teases from behind her, all rasp and warmth and bright, bright affection, “You love him?”

Brittany blinks at Theodore as he releases her, and the smirk on his face confirms what Brittany feels trembling along the string that connects her heart to Santana’s. She turns slowly and is greeted with Santana, in living, breathing, touchable flesh for the first time in over two months and her knees go just a little weak. Santana looks exhausted, there’s darker shadows than usual under her eyes and her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, but her dimples are deep and her eyes are glowing and Brittany feels a little bit like she’s flying as she crosses the studio and throws herself on Santana.

Santana laughs, but it’s watery and choked and her hands are desperate as she wraps her arms around Brittany’s shoulders. “Hi,” she mumbles into Brittany’s hair.

Brittany buries her face in the juncture between Santana’s shoulder and neck. She smells of coffee and airport and travel, but underneath all of that is citrus and vanilla and pinewood, underneath all of that is Santana, underneath all of that is what home smells like. The scent had faded from the hoodie Santana left her less than two weeks into her absence, and Brittany almost can’t believe she lost the scent of Santana to the recesses of her memory; two months is far too long to go without Santana in her arms. “Hi,” she mumbles back, and Santana giggles as Brittany’s warm breath tickles against her skin.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Santana whispers, and her arms tighten around Brittany so securely that it feels like all of the pieces she lost over the last two months of missing Santana fall back into place.

“I’ve missed you so much too,” Brittany manages to breathe, and she doesn’t want to put any space between them again but she pulls back far enough that she can find Santana’s lips with her own.

Santana sighs into her mouth and Brittany’s heart skips a couple beats at how familiar it feels to have Santana’s mouth against hers once again; she can’t believe how much she almost forgot what it’s like to kiss Santana because even though every facet of Santana is burned into her body, her mind sometimes needs the reminder that no matter how many memories she has of Santana, it will never beat having her in her arms. Brittany lets herself sink into the sensation of Santana, solid and warm, against her as her mind works to catalogue each individual sensation again, like how warm and soft Santana’s lips are, how she always tips her head back slightly so Brittany can take the lead, how her fingertips always find the soft skin just under the hem of her shirt and make tingles explode across her back, how when she pulls back to breathe she always stays close enough that their noses remain pressed together. It feels like she’s relearning all of those best parts for the first time, but it also feels like coming home, like she was always made to fit against Santana just like this, like her nerves have finally came alive again after months of hibernating.

Santana nuzzles closer to her, burrowing back into Brittany’s chest as Brittany rocks backwards on her heels so Santana is pulled against every single part of her; neither of them notice when Theodore slips out of the studio and softly closes the door behind him, chasing a couple other dancers away Studio 3. Mercedes’ song repeats throughout the room and Brittany pulls back just far enough to offer her hand to Santana with the smallest bow.

Santana’s face softens and opens and blooms at the gesture and she lets Brittany kiss her hand and tug her against her body. They’re too close to really dance, and they keep getting distracted by kisses, but with Santana’s hand in hers and Santana’s bright eyes on her and Santana’s warm body against hers, everything is so tangible that Brittany can close her eyes and feel the love, trembling along that string between their hearts until she can almost feel her soul shake. She can finally feel the rhythm of herself in Santana’s arm around her waist and Santana’s fingers tangled with hers, she can feel the music in her bones start up again even though she didn’t realize it was missing. Santana lets Brittany lead her through a small spin and lets herself fall against Brittany’s body and her lips find Brittany’s again, soft and probing and warm, and Brittany can feel herself coming back home.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s almost two in the morning when Santana’s phone starts ringing, casting the entire bedroom in too bright, too harsh light. Santana groans in displeasure at the annoyingly loud sound and buries her face further into the gentle rise and fall of Brittany’s chest, warm and soothing. Her phone eventually stops ringing and she sighs as the blissful darkness and silence of the middle of the night reappears. Brittany shifts under her a little and tightens the arm that’s draped around Santana’s shoulders and down her back, her fingertips just grazing Santana’s hip. Santana shifts around a little too, scooting up the bed just a couple inches so she can bury her face into Brittany’s neck, quickly kissing the soft skin and letting her lips linger there as she drifts off to sleep to the sound of Brittany’s gentle breathing above her.

She’s almost fully back asleep, can feel the release of consciousness just creeping at the edges of her mind, when Brittany’s phone starts ringing on the other bedside table.

“Fuck off,” Santana mutters darkly into Brittany’s neck, but it comes out as more of a whine than anything.

Brittany’s groggy as she shifts and stretches to reach blindly for her phone, clumsily palming at Santana’s hip to pacify the displeased grunt she makes at being dislodged from her wife’s side. “I’s prob’ly imporan’,” Brittany mumbles, her words all slurred together and raspy with sleep.

Brittany finally manages to grab onto her phone’s charging cord and, in a practiced move, gives it a sharp jerk to send the phone flying onto the bed. She grabs it from there and settles back into Santana, fumbling with the touchscreen to answer the phone. “It’s Chris,” Brittany mumbles before raising it to her ear and trying to stifle her yawn with a “Hello.”

Santana’s sleepy for all of five seconds before she’s wide awake and pushing herself up on her elbow to watch as Brittany’s face slowly fades from sleepy to wide awake and excited in the little bit of light escaping her phone screen where it’s pressed against her face; Santana can only hear one half of the conversation, but based on the way Brittany’s body comes awake and starts to wiggle against hers, Santana knows exactly what’s going on. She doesn’t wait for Brittany to say her goodbyes, she just presses a sloppy kiss on Brittany’s shoulder and scrambles out of bed and towards the bathroom. She’s halfway through brushing her teeth when Brittany makes it there too; she places a soft kiss to Santana’s cheek before reaching for her own toothbrush. They brush their teeth in synch and, no matter how many times she thinks of it, the fact that they can press their hips together and not knock elbows while brushing their teeth never fails to make something in Santana’s chest flutter.

They shower together, still just a little sleepy as they wash each other’s hair; they don’t speak while they shower, but they exchange soft, languid kisses as they pass shampoo bottles and face wash and the loofa back and forth. Brittany passes Santana a towel before grabbing her own, and it earns her a quick kiss to the underside of her jaw as Santana passes her. Brittany quickly dries off and heads for the bedroom to get dressed while Santana fights with her thick, sopping hair. Brittany wanders back in after a couple minutes and eases the brush from Santana’s hand before gently teasing the tangles out fo her. She kisses the top of Santana’s head and reaches for her moisturizer as Santana heads to the bedroom to get dressed herself.

They skip making coffee into travel mugs because Brittany says Chris promised them some, and they are almost out the door when Brittany stops them. “Wait, we forgot the present for the little turtle.”

Santana laughs and releases her wife’s hand as she hurries back to their bedroom. Brittany’s been calling Mercedes’ and Chris’ unborn child the little turtle since they first found out about the pregnancy, and despite the parents-to-be fondly rolling their eyes, they both found so it adorable and had painted swirls of swimming turtles around the walls of what will be their child’s room. Brittany reappears a couple moments later with a small gift bag in one hand, sliding her other one into Santana’s again. This time Santana makes it as far as opening the front door before Brittany’s tugging on her hand again. “Wait,” she repeats, “we forgot something else.” Santana glances up at Brittany in question, but gets her answer as soon as Brittany’s lips brush over hers, gentle and chaste, once, twice, three times. “Official good morning kiss,” she explains as she pulls back, bright and adoring, and Santana’s stomach still flips over despite all the years.

She giggles and bounces up to kiss Brittany one more time, mumbling her “Good morning” against soft, soft lips before they finally make it out the door. They splurge and take a cab to the hospital because it’s the middle of the night and they’re both a little antsy to get to the hospital and meet their godchild, even if they know they’ll be waiting for a very long time.

Both Mercedes’ and Chris’ parents don’t live in the state, and since it’s still ten days before her due date, neither set of parents had flown in yet; it means that Brittany and Santana are their closest family, and it makes both of them giddy in a way that makes it hard not to bounce around. Santana elects to sit in the middle of the backseat to cuddle with Brittany and speculate about their godchild; Brittany wants to teach them dance and help them with math when it gets too hard, and Santana quietly admits she’s always wanted to teach the meaning of music and how important it is to be true to yourself. Santana’s quiet for a beat before she looks up at Brittany with a shy smile. “I learned that from you,” she whispers, and Brittany kisses her softer and more adoring than anyone ever has before; Santana sighs into Brittany’s mouth because Brittany’s always kissed her softer and more adoring than anyone else ever has.

The spend the rest of the ride in comfortable silence, cuddling and watching the city lights flicker by. They’re at the hospital before three in the morning, and Chris is in the waiting room when they walk in the front doors with a large coffee in each hand. He smiles wide and bright as he engulfs them both in a hug, almost sloshing hot coffee onto the floor. “I’m going to be a daddy soon,” he breathes, and Santana and Brittany both giggle at his enthusiasm.

Chris leads them to see Mercedes briefly, all the while explaining how far along Mercedes is and how long she probably has to go and how over-the-moon excited he is. They meet one the nurses in the room and chat with Mercedes for a couple minutes, but slip out with a wave to Chris as she works through a sudden contraction. Mercedes looks exhausted and, as Chris leans down to gently tuck Mercedes’ hair back behind her ears, Brittany and Santana exchange a sappy glance and tangle their fingers together. The nurse leads them to a small, empty family room and they sit in the loan big chair in the corner, Brittany first and Santana settled on her lap, her legs thrown over one side of the armrests and one arm around Brittany’s shoulders, Brittany’s free hand teasing at Santana’s hip.

They spend the next couple hours sipping their coffees and setting them on the floor so they can play with each other’s hands and dozing off against each other’s shoulders and chatting about what dumb coworker did what and nothing and everything all at once. (Santana’s is the first to admit that she’s always loved it about them, that they can be anywhere doing anything and just be them. She loves how she was lucky enough to marry her best friend, the one person who’s been with her almost right from the start, because there’s so many things she can’t even imagine sharing with anyone else but Brittany, the little blonde girl with the pigtails who took her hand that second week of kindergarten and never let go.)

Brittany angles her phone towards Santana and Santana blinks and tries to refocus on the conversation she was just partaking in. “See,” Brittany explains, “it’s actually really cute once you overlook the whole mess of it all.”

“You’re cute,” Santana says automatically but earnestly as she studies the picture and desperately tries to remember why they are talking about renovating gardens in the first place.

“I’m exhausted and look it,” Brittany corrects.

Santana shakes her head quickly and stops playing with the fingers of Brittany’s left hand long enough to bring it up to her lips and sprinkle gentle kisses across her knuckles, paying special attention to the two rings that sit snug against Brittany’s ring finger. “Even running on two hours of sleep and caffeine,” Santana whispers earnestly, “You still look as beautiful as you did on our wedding day,

“Quit flirting,” Brittany chides, but the way her lips twitch and her cheeks pink means she’s fighting a smile.

“I didn’t mean to—” Santana protests (even though she definitely meant to, because even after being married for almost a decade, bringing out that pretty pink blush of Brittany’s is still one of her favourite things in the entire world), but Chris appearing in the family room doorway with a bundle of blankets takes the words right from her mouth.

“Hey,” Chris whispers, looking up at Santana and Brittany with tears in his eyes and the entire world in his smile. Brittany and Santana exchange a quick glance as they stand, and it’s all Santana needs to confirm that Brittany’s just as teary as she is. “Come meet your new goddaughter,” he says, his voice wavering and watery and it throws Santana back in time to two years ago when he stood at the end of the aisle and promised to love Brittany and Santana’s oldest and dearest friend. “Sweetheart,” he whispers to the bundle of blankets, and Santana can already see Chris’ eyes and Mercedes’ lips, the jut of Chris’ chin and the start of Mercedes’ curls, “meet your aunties.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Santana’s known she’s going to propose in the choir room since the moment she first got the idea, she wants it to be perfect and Santana can’t think of a better place than the choir room where Santana felt safe for the first time, safe enough to pull her head out of her ass and do what both of them had always wanted and love each other. But the problem is convincing Brittany to go back to Lima, especially now that they’ve just gotten a tiny apartment they can call their own; they’ve barely been in it two weeks after finishing Mercedes’ tour, and as much as Santana wants to coax Brittany back to Lima, she’s loathe to disturb the routine they’re settling into.

(Santana’s kind of in love with her life right now, because coming home to Brittany? Pretty much the best feeling in the world.)

She’s been debating the pros and cons of calling her mom and telling her of her proposal plans in the hopes that her mom will make up an excuse for them to fly back to Lima, when, for once in her life, she’s actually glad to see Rachel’s dumb face pop up on her phone because it gives her just the excuse she needs.

The real trick though, is getting Brittany to agree to go back to Lima for Rachel Berry. Which proves difficult when Brittany comes stomping through the front door with her phone pressed to her ear, saying in that sickly sweet voice of hers that promises trouble that no, Rachel, Santana and I are very busy sorting out Lord Tubbington’s gang ties and we really can’t fly back to Lima tomorrow.

Santana shouldn’t be giggling, because Brittany shoots her a mock glare and Santana’s pretty sure she’s watching dreams of those plane tickets to Columbus disappear, but Lord Tubbington is probably curled up on the munchkin’s bed back in Lima right now, and Brittany is beyond adorable when she’s annoyed at Rachel.

Brittany drops her dance bag by the couch and ends the call quickly, crossing their tiny apartment so she can drape herself over Santana’s back. Santana turns her head and catches Brittany’s lips in a welcome-home-I-missed-you-all-day kiss before Brittany’s attention is drawn to Santana’s laptop open on the kitchen island bar.

“Santana,” Brittany mumbles. Santana hums and sinks back into her girlfriend’s arms, soaking up the warmth she radiates from dancing all afternoon and walking home in the sunshine. “Why did Rachel tell me that she’ll see me tomorrow?” Santana bites down on her grin and shrugs. “And why are you looking at plane tickets to Columbus for seven in the morning?”

Santana shrugs again. “No reason,” she says easily.

Brittany frowns, Santana can feel where Brittany’s cheek is pressed to her own. “Santana,” she says warningly.

“I wanna go back,” Santana says quickly, “Just for a couple days and see everyone. We both have four days off—”

“And we were going to spend it doing absolutely nothing,” Brittany interrupts.

“—and who knows the next time we’ll see them,” Santana continues, ignoring the interruption and trying to ignore the way Brittany is trying to distract her by brushing her nose over Santana’s cheek and tickling at Santana’s stomach.

“Santana,” Brittany whines.

“Please,” Santana pouts, spinning on the stool so she can pull Brittany closer and hoping that her pout is as effective on Brittany as Brittany’s pout is on her, “We haven’t seen your parents or my mom in forever. And you know the munchkin’s been begging us to come home because she’s dying to see us through more than just your dad’s iPad screen.”

Brittany makes a noncommittal sound and Santana slides her hands from Brittany’s hips to her back, slipping her fingertips under the hem of her shirt and scratching lightly at Brittany’s warm skin. Brittany’s noncommittal sound lengthens into a groan that’s part complaint and part purr, her body betraying her reluctance.

“Britt-Britt,” Santana whispers, pulling Brittany further into the cradle of her legs. “Please? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Hmm,” Brittany purrs, her back arching under the pleasant, comforting tingles that always sprout and spread like creeping ivy from Santana’s hands on her skin. “I could be persuaded.”

“Come with me to the other room,” Santana coaxes, standing up and slipping her hands back out of Brittany’s shirt so she can trail her hands down Brittany’s arms and playfully tug on her hands. She can feel Brittany’s body starting to melt towards hers, reluctant assent making her eye roll ineffective because of the smile across her face.

“We’re not going to talk about this now,” Brittany warns, and Santana tugs on Brittany’s hands again, unable to fight the grin as Brittany falls towards Santana, stumbling them back towards their bedroom. “Only cuddles. And if you mention Lima or Rachel in our bed,” she growls, and her threatening face is still as adorable as it was when they were seven years old and she was threatening Puck with worms in his pudding cup if made Santana cry again, “I’m kicking you out.”

Santana hums her agreement, knowing full well that even in the unlikely event that she did mention Rachel in their bed (which is about as likely as Santana voluntarily throwing herself into a pit of alligators), Brittany still wouldn’t kick her out. “C’mon, babe,” Santana teases, “I know you’re tired after all that dancing. I know you wanna use me as a body pillow.”

“I do want that,” Brittany grumbles, and as they enter their bedroom Santana divests Brittany of her sweaty dance clothes, crossing the room to toss the clothes in the hamper and grab one of Brittany’s old, comfortable shirts while Brittany struggles out of her sports bra. Santana quickly crosses the room again and helps Brittany free herself, Brittany’s sigh of relief when her bra finally comes off hitching at the soft kiss Santana presses to the top curve of her left breast, right above her heart, before she helps Brittany into her shirt. Brittany sighs at the comfort clean clothes bring, even against her still sweaty body, and she yawns as Santana sets about rearranging the pillows on their bed before crawling in, holding the covers up enticingly; Santana’s already in her sleep shorts and a hoodie, and Brittany doesn’t bother with sleep shorts, wasting no time in crawling into bed and sprawling herself over Santana, who is more or less the embodiment of comfort and home and love in human form.

“I know you want to go back,” Brittany mumbles into Santana’s neck, and Santana hums but doesn’t say anything beyond that, waiting until Brittany sighs and curls even closer, rubbing her bare legs indulgently against Santana’s. “But I’m still undecided,” Brittany finally continues, and Santana quietly cheers her success, recognizing that conceding tone to Brittany’s voice as well as she knows every other part of the woman sprawled on top of her.

“Sure you are,” Santana laughs, easily finding the knots in Brittany’s back and massaging the tension out of them. Brittany moans and stretches like a cat in a sunbeam and sinks further into Santana’s body.

“I am,” Brittany complains, but her voice is soft and high and they both already know that they’re going back to Lima.

Santana hums in agreement, kissing Brittany’s temple and feeling Brittany’s eyelashes brush against the sensitive skin of her neck as Brittany’s eyes flutter. She feels a sleepy kiss pressed to the stretch of skin between her collarbone and her neck, and she sighs as Brittany easily drifts off to sleep.

(Santana’s kind of in love with her life right now, because being Brittany’s personal body pillow every single day? Pretty much the best feeling in the world.)

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Mercedes is more than grateful that Brittany and Santana decided to postpone their engagement party by a couple weeks, because she was forced to miss the engagement and she refuses to miss this because it’s not everyday that your two best friends get engaged. Mercedes has suffered through them being insufferably adorable for months while on tour, and she deserves to be able to go as the proud best friend because she’s over the moon happy for them.

Santana gets roped into getting ready at her mom’s house with her mom and her auntie halfway through the day, and so their plans of all getting ready together get derailed. Brittany kisses Santana goodbye, quick and comfortable like they’re a couple of old marrieds — something Mercedes has teased them about since their senior year of high school, something they take a lot of blushing, bashful pride in — before Brittany ushers Santana out the door. She turns to Mercedes with that bright, teasing look in her eye she always gets right before the two of them gang up on Santana. “It’s probably for the best,” Brittany tells Mercedes, and out of the corner of her eye she sees Santana pause on the front porch and eye them suspiciously, and Mercedes tries not to burst out laughing already, “Santana takes too long to get ready anyways.”
“You’re much better at doing my hair anyways,” Mercedes agrees before Santana can even open her mouth to protest, “Satan isn’t nearly gentle enough.”
“Watch it, Wheezy,” Santana threatens as she trudges backwards down the front yard of the Pierce’s house to her mom’s waiting car in the driveway, before pointing warningly at Brittany, who’s smiling sweetly with fake innocence, “And you, you’re the reason I take so long to get ready in the first place.”
“Love you, babe!” Brittany calls back sweetly. Santana’s returning sentiment is cut off by the front door swinging shut. There’s a beat of silence before Mercedes and Brittany meet each other’s eyes and burst into giggles.
“You’re the only person in the entire world who could get away with that,” Mercedes manages around her laughter.
Brittany’s eyes soften and melt and she runs her thumb over the inner band of the ring on her finger, a habit that Mercedes’ noticed she’s picked up lately, before she shakes her head slightly. “You could probably get away with it too,” she argues as she heads for the stairs.
Mercedes laughs and trails after her. “Maybe, but I still have to worry about some kind of payback if I do.”
“She gets back at me too,” Brittany argues over her shoulder. When Mercedes raises her eyebrows, Brittany’s skin blooms in bright red splotches across her cheeks, obscuring the freckles she’d picked up from their time in the southern states. “Okay,” Brittany concedes, quickly looking straight ahead and cupping her cheeks to will away the prickling heat there, “Maybe my payback is more enjoyable than whipped cream to the face.”
Mercedes barks a laugh and follows Brittany into her room. The bed’s neatly made, something Mercedes knows is more due to Brittany’s parents than any inclination Brittany has to make her bed, and Mercedes’ bag is already tossed against the pillows. “What time do we gotta leave again?”
Mercedes quickly checks her phone. “We’ve got, like, two hours and a bit before we’d be late.”
“Cool,” Brittany grins, “Because I have no clue what I’m going to wear.”
Mercedes groans and flops back on the bed with a laugh. “Start the fashion show,” she concedes easily.
Brittany claps her hands and throws herself on the bed to hug Mercedes and give her a messy kiss on the cheek, much to Mercedes’ protesting laughter, before she bounces off towards the closet. “Santana hates fashion shows because we always end up late to everything,” Brittany says, the rattling hangers a backdrop to her bright voice.
“I can’t imagine why,” Mercedes says dryly, and she barely has a moment to smirk to herself before she’s being whacked in the face with a decorative pillow. “Hey!” she complains, tipping her head back to glare at Brittany.
Brittany shrugs from where she stands by the closet, upside down and tilting to the side like she’s drunk from Mercedes’ position sprawled on the bed. “I picked up a lot from Lord Tubbington’s gang days. He was always teaching me new moves, but he always said stealth is the most important.”
“What?” Mercedes laughs, scanning the area around Brittany for the any sign of where she grabbed the decorative pillow turned ammunition, but the closest pillows are the ones neatly arranged on the armchair in the corner, undisturbed and nowhere near Brittany.
Brittany shrugs and pulls out a couple hangers before shaking her head and shoving them back into to her closet. “Stealth, my young pupil, is the most important part of any sneak attack.”
Mercedes laughs and shakes her head, turning back to stare up at the ceiling. “You’re crazy, you know that, right?” Mercedes teases, and she receives another pillow to her face. “Hey!” She snaps her head back to glare at Brittany, but she’s still pawing through her closet, giving no sign of where she’s pulled another decorative pillow or any indication that she’s moved at all. “Where are you getting those from?”
Brittany shrugs but Mercedes can hear the smirk in her voice when she answers with a flippant, “A sneaky attacker never reveals their secrets.”
Mercedes just laughs; she’s long given up on trying to decipher every single thing Brittany says, but she doesn’t need to understand her to know that Brittany’s particular brand of humour is both downright hilarious.
The fashion show goes by seamlessly, including blasting music from Brittany’s speakers until her little sister comes in to investigate. She frowns at the both of them from the doorway until Mercedes scooches over on the bed and holds her arm open for Brittany’s sister, who doesn’t take much coaxing before she wanders across the room and crawls onto the bed. With Brittany’s sister cuddled against Mercedes, they relentlessly tease Brittany for both her outfit choices and for her exaggerated, joking dance moves, until they both vote yes on a loose sweater and a skirt, right before Brittany’s sister is called out of Brittany’s room by their mom to go get ready herself. Brittany and Mercedes share the bathroom down the hall to do their hair and makeup together; Brittany carefully straightening Mercedes’ curls and then putting a slight wave back into them, Mercedes helping Brittany braid back the longer parts of her bangs into a crown and then pinning the rest of her hair up, Brittany helps Mercedes with her eye shadow and Mercedes helps Brittany with her lipgloss. Brittany leaves to go change into her outfit back in her own room while Mercedes quickly changes in the bathroom, smoothing her shirt out before reaching for her earrings. They’re not in her makeup bag and they aren’t on the floor and they aren’t in the bottom her overnight bag either, and Mercedes slowly starts to panic before she remembers Brittany’s earlier suggestion to put them on her dresser where Lord Tubbington has no chance of getting at them. 
She breathes out a sigh of relief and quickly tidies up the bathroom before heading back to Brittany’s bedroom down the hallway, knocking politely on the door more out of respect for Brittany’s parents still wandering around the house; they’ve been sharing a hotel room with Santana at least every couple weeks — depending on how much money they made in the last city sometimes they even got their own rooms — for the last couple months and accidentally walking in on one of the others naked lost its shock value after the first couple times. 
“Britt, I hope you’re halfway decent because I’m coming in,” she calls. There’s silence as Mercedes pauses to listen and that’s when she finally realizes that there’s no music blasting from the speakers anymore. “Brittany?” Mercedes tries again. When there’s still no answer she carefully eases the door open, expecting to find Brittany knocked out somewhere from falling over but instead finding Brittany sat quietly on her bed, flipping through a photo album and in a dress her sister and Mercedes definitely hadn’t approved.
“Britt?” Mercedes calls quietly. Brittany jumps a little and glances up at Mercedes in surprised fright. “What happened to our pick earlier? Your sister and I vetoed that dress before you even put it on.” It was a hot dress, but Mercedes knew it also wasn’t really Brittany; she doesn’t even know why Brittany had it in her closet, it clings to Brittany’s body instead of flowing around her playfully like the rest of her clothes.
Brittany plucks at the hem of her dress and shrugs. “I dunno,” she mumbles, avoiding Mercedes gaze and staring back down at the photo album. “I just wanted to try something different.”
Mercedes frowns and crosses the room, carefully sitting beside Brittany so she doesn’t disturb the photo album in her hands. “We were so young,” Brittany murmurs. Mercedes leans closer to look over Brittany’s shoulder, smiling when she sees Brittany and Santana’s grinning faces staring back at them, both exhausted after an almost seventeen hour flight to Lesbos, but both happier than Mercedes had seen them in months, which had been her first thought when she liked the photo on facebook almost a year and a half ago. 
“You’re still young,” Mercedes teases, but instead of laughing like Mercedes intends, Brittany just grows small and nervous.
“I know,” she says simply and Mercedes shifts closer until she can wrap an arm around Brittany, moulding to her side and hoping her own warmth will brighten Brittany back up again.
“Girl, what’s this really about?” Mercedes murmurs. “You’re not having, like,” she hesitates, because it feels ridiculous and wrong to even put the thought out there because Brittany and Santana have always been Brittany-and-Santana long before they were outed, but she takes a deep breath and continues anyways, “second thoughts about getting engaged or anything, are you?”
Brittany shakes her head vehemently. “No, never,” she says, her blue eyes growing bright and fierce and determined, “I’ve loved Santana since we were five years old and I know I’m going to keep loving her until we’re a hundred and five.”
Mercedes smiles because Brittany and Santana are downright adorable, once you get to know them, but it fades a little because Brittany grows even smaller a moment later. “But,” Mercedes prompts gently.
“But sometimes—” Brittany bites down so hard on her lip that Mercedes winces, watching Brittany knot her hands together over the photo album and worry her fingers in a gesture endearingly reminiscent of Santana’s own nervous habit. “But sometimes, and I know it’s stupid but— I worry about Santana waking up someday and realizing that she didn’t get to, like, live her life when she was young, or something,” she mumbles.
“I hope you aren’t taking Kurt’s dumb outburst to heart,” Mercedes says on a soft sigh, “Lord, I love that boy but he doesn’t know when to keep his nose out of other people’s business.” Brittany just shrugs and keeps staring at the album in her lap, and Mercedes feels that fierce protectiveness fill her, the one she first felt in November of their senior year when Santana and Brittany got outed, the one that only grew in strength over the past almost half a year of touring together. “I swear I’ll give him an earful if it’s his fault,” Mercedes promises, “He’s lucky I had to leave for New York before you two got engaged because I would have given him a piece of my mind right then and there.” 
Brittany just shrugs again, small and quiet and Mercedes so wishes she could ease that insecurity out of Brittany. “I mean, we are really young,” Brittany says quietly, “I just don’t want her to regret anything.”
Mercedes can’t help the soft laugh that escapes her because the idea is ridiculous, but Mercedes knows that sometimes those ideas stick and claw at your heart despite your brain telling you otherwise. “Britt,” she says earnestly, pouring all her certainty into her voice, “that girl loves you so much she can’t see straight.”
Brittany chokes out a small laugh despite herself, seeming surprised by the sound. “The best part about being out of the closet is the pun opportunities,” she says wisely.
Mercedes laughs and tightens the arm around Brittany’s shoulders, drawing her further into her embrace. “I can’t imagine Santana ever waking up and regretting anything about loving you even for a second. That’s the craziest idea I’ve ever heard, and you know all the crazy things we’ve done in the name of glee club.”
“I know,” Brittany mumbles, “I know it’s dumb because Santana is, like, a huge sap about everything regarding our relationship but— I dunno. I can’t help but worry sometimes.”
“That’s natural,” Mercedes says gently, “No one knows the future. But I know you, and I know Santana, and I’ve seen how hard you’ve fought to get to here. And I know, I know that no matter what happens in one year or ten or twenty, you and Santana are going to still be fighting just as hard to keep loving each other.”
Brittany remains quiet but then Mercedes feels that steely fierceness — the one Mercedes’ always admired in the other girl once she knew to look for it — fill up Brittany’s limbs like molten metal before she sits up, shoving the photo album towards her pillows, and turning to give Mercedes a proper hug. “Thanks ‘Cedes,” Brittany mumbles, “Sometimes I just need someone to remind me when I’m being dumb.”
“Please, you’re the genius of the Troubletones,” Mercedes says fondly, tightening her hold on Brittany. “It’s not me and it’s not Santana, and it certainly wasn’t Sugar.”
Brittany flushes with that pink, creeping heat as she pulls back with bright laughter. “I don’t know whether to be flattered that you called me the genius of the group or insulted at the implication that my fiancée isn’t.” 
Mercedes shakes her head and grins at Brittany. “Puh-lease,” she snickers, “As if Santana wouldn’t be the first to proudly admit that you’re the genius.” Brittany laughs and ducks her head, biting down on her lip to try and hide the bashful-in-love smile threatening her and running her thumb over the inside of her engagement ring. “Now c’mon, girl,” Mercedes says with a sudden clap, causing Brittany to jerk out of her thoughts, “hurry up and get changed, we’ve got an engagement party to get you to.”
“But I like this dress,” Brittany whines.
“Nuh-uh,” Mercedes scolds shoving Brittany off the bed, “We’re going with my pick. I have best friend veto privileges.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Oh, come on,” Santana whines.

Brittany giggles, finally relenting in her teasing and tugging her her hoodie over her head. She crosses the room to dive onto the bed beside Santana, sending her bouncing and trying to maintain her petulant façade. “What?”

Santana shakes her head and flops backwards onto the bed, throwing an arm dramatically over her face, but it doesn’t quite hide the flush in her cheeks. “You,” she complains, her free arm gesturing vaguely towards the dresser where Brittany had just been changing into more comfortable clothes after their brunch at that diner on Main Street, “With the changing and the teasing and the everything.”

“What?” Brittany laughs.

Santana groans and peels her arm away from her face just far enough to pout at Brittany. “It’s not fair that you’re hot and funny,” she whines.

“Look who’s talking,” Brittany whispers, and she pauses just long enough for Santana to duck her head and blush, before she continues, “Just kidding, your jokes suck.”

Santana gasps in mock outrage and Brittany only gets half a giggle out before she’s being bombarded with a pillow. Brittany sputters and bursts into bright, deep laughter, swatting at Santana and wiggling, trying to escape the onslaught of the pillow to her face. Santana is relentless as she smacks Brittany with the pillow, barely allowing Brittany to gasp a breath before the next hit is landing. Brittany keeps squirming until Santana crawls over her settling over her stomach and pressing her thighs into Brittany’s ribs to try and keep her in one place. It helps, and with one arm trapped between her body and Santana’s leg, she can barely block any blows and Santana grins triumphantly.

“Take it back!” Santana shouts around her laughter, not letting up in her assault.

“No!” Brittany giggles, managing to block a hit with her forearm as she throws it between them. She tries to free her other arm but Santana just tightens her legs against Brittany’s body and smacks her again. “Fine! Fine! I take it back!” Brittany finally manages to gasp around her giggles, “You’re hot and funny!” Santana tilts her head and hums a little in consideration. “Your jokes are hilarious and not at all dorky or corny or lame,” Brittany adds, and that earns another smack with the pillow. Brittany sputters out a laugh and cautiously lowers her arm to glance at Santana, completely unprepared for how soft and adoring Santana’s face is, and her stomach flips over, the bright amusement exchanging itself for even brighter love. “I love you,” Brittany says and the teasing fight goes out of Santana’s body, her grip on the pillow slackening.

Santana quickly leans forward and presses her lips to Brittany’s cheek, the pressure soft and gentle and gone long before Brittany even realizes it. Santana chews on her lip as she draws back, her eyes bright and nervous. Brittany sighs at how adorable Santana is before pouting her lips a little. “Well that made my cheek feel better,” Brittany teases, “but you’ve been smacking me with a pillow so much that my nose hurts too.”

“Aww, poor baby,” Santana coos, the worry and nervousness on her face easing.

Brittany pouts, her hair a mess of blonde frizz and static against her pink comforter. “You should kiss it better,” she suggests.

Santana’s face softens and she tosses the pillow to the side, ducking down to kiss Brittany’s nose and causing goosebumps to race along Brittany’s skin. “Better?” she teases.

Brittany nods. “My lips hurt too,” she says, and Santana rolls her eyes at Brittany’s antics but the smile she’s fighting as she leans down means she’s enjoying this game just as much as Brittany.

There’s a knock on the door and both girls freeze, Santana’s eyes going wide and darting around too quickly. Brittany runs her hands soothingly over Santana’s bare thighs but it makes something shudder violently through Santana’s body, unfreezing her stalled fear and making her eyes shutter closed as she scrambles off of Brittany.

“Girls?”

“Yeah, mom?” Brittany calls.

“We’re leaving now, there’s some money on the counter for supper later. I’ll call you when we’re on our way home.”

“Tell the star player that she owes me a home run,” she calls back.

“I will, bye honey, bye Santana.”

They chorus their goodbyes, Santana’s voice high and a little shaky as she resolutely avoids Brittany’s gaze. They lay there in silence, the inches between them feeling more like an ocean, listening to the rest of the Pierce’s putter around the house, collecting keys and wallets and gatorades and last minute snacks until they’re listening to the garage door finally creak closed.

Santana lets out a shaky breath and stares blankly across the room, her eyes fixed on the closed door of Brittany’s bedroom. “I’m sorry,” she chokes and something deep in Brittany’s chest cracks open.

She just rolls into Santana in answer, curling herself around Santana’s warmth, burying her nose in the soft skin of Santana’s neck and draping a leg across Santana, sliding a hand across Santana’s hip and pulling her into the Santana-shaped groove of Brittany’s body that she’s had ever since they were five years old. Santana softens and lets Brittany wrap herself around her, lets herself be held for a long moment until Brittany feels Santana’s fingers start to trail across Brittany’s back, and that’s when Brittany knows Santana is starting to forgive herself for her own fear.

“You’re my best friend, you know that, right?” Santana whispers suddenly.

Brittany’s breathes out a content sigh, the warm air sweeping across Santana’s neck, goosebumps quickly bumping the skin in response. It’s been something Santana keeps saying lately, ever since that last day of glee club at their lockers, something else in her voice that means she means exactly what she says, but also that she means something else entirely.

“Yeah, I do,” Brittany says, tightening her arm across Santana’s stomach and stroking her nose along Santana’s jawline, because she’s always known what Santana says and what she actually means. Brittany ghosts her mouth carefully across Santana’s cheek as she pushes herself up to hover above her, just far enough that she can press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. Santana’s breath hitches and she stares up at Brittany with eyes so deep and open Brittany feels like she’s falling straight into them. “You’re my best friend too,” she promises, and something eases in Santana’s face, the tightness under her eyes relaxing until she’s smiling with them, her breath warm and sweet on Brittany’s lips.

Brittany smiles softly, until Santana’s eyes are fluttering and she’s tilting her chin up towards Brittany, following the siren call of inviting pink lips hovering above hers. Brittany slides her hand along the bed as she props herself up above Santana, the move earning another hitched breath, until she can wrap her fingers around the corner of the pillow Santana had dropped earlier.

Santana’s eyes have already fluttered closed in anticipation, which means the faceful of pillow takes her completely by surprise and she shrieks. Brittany pulls back long enough to see Santana’s completely indigent and shocked face, grinning at the glare Santana gives her before she swings the pillow back into Santana, catching her on the side of the head and across her chin.

“Rude!” Santana sputters around the mouthful of pillow hitting her, struggling to protect her face with her arms.

Brittany just giggles and hits her again.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

When Brittany gets home late that night, she’s tired right down to the centre of her bones. Her legs shake a little and her back twinges when she twists too far to one side, she’s pretty sure her heels will be aching for days and her there’s a prickling at the back of her eyeballs that’s threatening to turn into a headache if she doesn’t fall asleep soon. She groans as she finally musters the energy to push herself off the front door, flipping the deadbolt before painfully shrugging out of her coat. She dumps it on the coat rack and winces when it slips to the floor; she leaves it there because she’s pretty sure if she bends to pick it up she won’t get back up, hoping Santana will understand come morning, and if not Brittany knows she has a killer pout and a good excuse.

“Santana,” Brittany quietly calls as she kicks off her sneakers. There’s no answer from her wife, but there is an annoyed meow that means she just woke up Lord Tubbington. He stalks out of the living room where his cat bed is and glares at Brittany. “Sorry, Tubbs,” Brittany whispers. He sits for a moment, waiting for Brittany to bend down and pick him up for cuddles in apology, but Brittany winces at the thought. “Not tonight, bud,” she apologizes. Lord Tubbington stares at her for a long moment before meowing reproachfully and turning with a swish of his tail, strutting back to the living room with his nose in the air. Brittany shakes her head at his dramatics, knowing that he definitely learned it from Santana.

The stove clock reads that it’s long past midnight as Brittany quietly pours herself a glass of water, chugging half of it in one go to alleviate the scratchiness of her throat. Mike’s lucky they’ve been friends for so long, because he’s about the only person who could call her last minute to fill in a night lesson when one of the other instructors called in sick; for anyone else Brittany probably wouldn’t have even picked up the phone. There’s still leftover pizza in the fridge from when her and Santana had quickly scarfed down supper before Brittany had to run out the door to the studio, and though she knows she probably shouldn’t, she eats a piece to fill the empty gurgle in her stomach.

She’s still chewing on her pizza as she heads for the bedroom; the lights are off and she carefully stumbles her way towards the ensuite, wanting to feel clean before she collapses into bed. Santana doesn’t greet her, and the only sound in the house is the scratch of Lord Tubbington’s claws as he wanders the house and the muffled sound of sirens and constant traffic outside and Santana’s steady breathing, so Brittany just skirts the bed and heads straight for the bathroom, swallowing the last bite of her pizza. She quickly brushes her teeth as she runs the shower, slipping in as steam curls around the bathroom, scrubbing herself clean of the sweat and grime of the dance studio, running the water a little too hot to soothe the ache in her muscles, feeling the stretch and soreness in her shoulders as she washes her hair; the class was an advanced class and Brittany did more demonstration of some more complex moves than usual, but it’s satisfying to feel the ache in her muscles. She towel dries her hair, running a brush through it quickly and rubbing moisturizer on her face as she heads for the bedroom.

“Are you getting jealous?” Santana mumbles as Brittany emerges from the bathroom in a swirl of steam and damp heat. Brittany pauses on her way to the closet, glancing towards their bed. It takes a moment for her to pick out the lump of blankets that is her wife through the darkness, and Brittany makes a small noise of confused acknowledgement, waiting for Santana’s response; it’s not until Santana’s quiet little snuffling snores — the ones that mean she’s probably coming down with a cold, the ones she refuses to admit to even though Brittany has video proof — resume that Brittany realize’s her wife is dreaming. She smiles and heads to the tiny walk-in closet, flicking the light on, knowing that once Santana starts snoring she near impossible to wake, and rummaging around for her pjs from the night before. Her pj shorts are there, and she tugs them up her legs with a groan, her lower back protesting the movement, but her shirt isn’t anywhere to be found. Brittany frowns and runs through her routine from the morning; she’s almost positive she threw her pj shirt and shorts in the same pile.

“You’re changing your outfit, now?” Santana whines from the bed. Brittany pokes her head out of the closet and glances towards the bed. Santana’s rolled over to her stomach from her previous position under a lump of blankets, one arm falling off the bed and one eye squinted open against the light.

“I’m just looking for my pjs, honey,” Brittany explains quietly, smiling at Santana’s grumpy face as it scrunches up at the realization that Brittany is both shirtless and too far away to reach. Santana mumbles something else and stretches her arm towards Brittany anyway, the movement shifting the covers off her shoulder and revealing Brittany’s missing pj shirt. Brittany’s smile softens; she should have known that the only way Santana would be already asleep before Brittany got home was if she had stolen Brittany’s shirt.

“Come to bed,” Santana whines. Brittany quickly finds a fresh pj shirt and tugs it over her head before flipping the light off and heading for bed. Santana’s already dozed off by the time Brittany rounds the bed to her side. Brittany shakes her head with a fond smile as she slips under the covers, immediately scooting towards Santana and draping herself over her wife’s back. Santana sighs and softens as Brittany moulds herself to Santana, curling an arm around the small of her back and throwing a leg over Santana’s, nuzzling her nose through Santana’s mess of dark hair until she can kiss Santana’s neck, breathing in deeply and feeling every single ache and sore muscle relax and ease.

Santana shifts around a little, turning her head until she can blink sleepy brown eyes at her wife, her body softening further into Brittany. “Hi,” she mumbles.

Brittany kisses her on the nose in greeting. “Hi,” she whispers.

“Miss you,” Santana says, struggling to get her arm out from beneath her body, finally managing to curl it over Brittany as they turn into each other, Santana’s mouth finding hers for a gentle kiss.

“I can see that,” Brittany teases softly, plucking at the back of her pj shirt.

“My shirt now,” Santana declares with a smirk that’s a little too sleepy to be smug.

Brittany just smiles and agrees, knowing better than to argue with Santana who’s been stealing her clothes for the better part of a decade. “Love you,” Brittany says, tugging the covers back up around them before pressing a kiss to Santana’s forehead and settling into the pillow they’re sharing.

Santana snuggles closer, her hand slipping under the back of Brittany’s shirt and pressing comfortingly to the warm, still damp skin there, as if she instinctively knows exactly where every ache Brittany’s ever felt is. “Love you, too,” she sighs, pressing her face to Brittany’s chest, her breathing deepening back into sleep barely a moment later. Brittany’s body is still wired from the near constant adrenaline of the evening and wide awake from her shower, but Santana sniffles and sighs against her and tugs them closer together as if she can tell Brittany’s still too awake to sleep, nuzzling impossibly closer. Brittany feels the weight of sleep start to fill her limbs at the sound of her wife’s breathing until they turn heavy around Santana, and far quicker than she thought it would take, she’s already drifting to sleep.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany stares at the board of flight times and pouts as she waits for Santana to answer her phone. She’s already been away for a week and she’s more than ready to see her wife again, but with mechanical delays and bad weather on its way and technical issues it looks like it’s still going to be another couple days until she gets home.

“Hello?” Santana finally answers, her voice raspy and slurred with sleep.

Brittany mentally counts the time between their timezones and smiles when she realizes that it’s not late enough for Santana to be in bed for the night, but it is right around the time Santana usually has an impromptu nap when she works a late shift. Usually Brittany is there to wake her when her wife hasn’t emerged from their bedroom after going to change out of her work clothes, knowing Santana never sleeps well after having a nap in the evening, but unfortunately she’s kind of on the other side of the country right now. “Sorry, honey,” Brittany says softly, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine, you didn’t,” Santana mumbles.

“Sure I didn’t,” Brittany teases gently.

“Okay, I might have dozed off,” Santana concedes, and Brittany can hear the wide smile in her voice. “What time is it? Have you landed already?”

Brittany sighs deeply and continues to stare at the flight times. “No, I haven’t even boarded yet.”

“What?” Santana says, sounding a little more awake, “Your flight was supposed to leave hours ago.”

Brittany sighs again, finally turning away from the flight board and adjusting her carryon so it sits better on her shoulder as she wanders the gate of her original flight. “We did board the plane hours ago but there was some sort of serious mechanical issues so we had to all get off, and then there were technical issues with the airport’s computers? I dunno I didn’t really follow what they were saying, but long story short there was a butt-ton of problems going on and it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting out of here for a couple days and this is the first time I actually had a chance to breathe let alone call you.”

“Really?” Santana says quietly, and though Brittany knows she’s trying to mask her disappointment, Brittany’s known her for far too long for that to work.

“Unfortunately,” Brittany sighs. “There’s bad weather coming in tomorrow too so unless I manage to somehow catch a flight tonight I probably won’t be home until Wednesday.”

“Well that really fucking sucks,” Santana finally says.

Brittany chokes on a laugh and shakes her head because, yeah, it really fucking does. “I’ll hang out here for a couple hours and see. They said if there’s any cancellations they’ll try to get people from my flight out of here but they can’t promise anything so.”

“How’s your auntie?” Santana says after a moment.

“She’s good,” Brittany says, “My mom said they discharged her about an hour ago actually.”

“I wish I could have gone with you,” Santana murmurs.

“I know,” Brittany promises, “I know you’d be here in a heartbeat if your boss wasn’t such an asshole.”

Santana laughs, and there’s a rustling and a loud meow that can only be the sound of Lord Tubbington being disturbed by Santana being too loud. Brittany listens as Santana shifts around, presumably helping Tubbs up onto their bed since it’s too high for him to jump with his arthritis and general laziness. “C’mon you dumb cat,” Santana mumbles, “At least help me out if you wanna cuddle.”

Brittany giggles as she imagines her wife struggling to balance her phone against her ear and shoulder and lift Tubbs up into bed at the same time. “I can’t believe you would betray me like this and cuddle when I can’t take embarrassing pictures of the two of you,” Brittany teases.

There’s a shuffling and Santana’s voice is distant when she says, “You’ve been replaced,” in that haughty, teasing tone of hers. Brittany’s phone vibrates against her ear and when she quickly checks it she finds a message from Santana, a selfie of her wife and their cat curled up together against Brittany’s pillow, and an ache of fond homesickness flares up in her chest.

“Alright,” Brittany concedes, “we’ll see how you feel when you need me to kill a spider in the shower.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Santana gasps, “There was one in there on yesterday and Tubbs and I both just screamed at it. I have literally no clue where it is now.” There’s a beat of silence and they just listen to each other smile before Santana sighs a little. “I miss you,” she whispers.

Brittany’s chest clenches and she stares at her feet for a long moment, breathing deeply until the lump in her throat eases enough for her to manage an “I miss you too.” It’s been a long week and she hasn’t really slept, instead just dozing off in uncomfortable hospital chairs while her family crowded around her auntie’s bed and waited for her to wake up after her stroke, desperately missing her wife’s comforting embrace. “Listen, I’m going to go check and see if there’s any cancellations,” she says. “I’ll let you know if I can get a flight.”

“Okay,” Santana whispers, “I really hope you make it home soon. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Brittany murmurs, “And so do I.”

After hanging up she heads straight to the desk and finds apologetic airport staff telling her that there’s still nothing they can do. She nods and sighs, allowing herself to sulk and pout because it’s been a tiring and emotional week and all she wants is to get home and hug her wife; she finds an empty chair to collapse into, close to the desk so she’s nearby in case there’s any changes.

She somehow actually manages to catch a red-eye flight when another passenger cancels it last minute, and after a frantic rush with the airport staff to get organized she ends up flopping down into a middle seat only minutes before the plane taxis out onto the runway, and by the time she gets settled the flight attendants are telling everyone to shut their phones off and she can’t even let Santana know she’s finally on her way home; she spends the entire flight fitfully dozing, anxious to get back to her wife.

She gets in around six in the morning and instead of calling Santana she just finds the first taxi outside the airport and directs the driver back to her apartment, paying him quickly before she collects her stuff and stumbles up to her home.

Lord Tubbington greets her at the door, haughty and annoyed at being abandoned by Brittany for over a week until she scoops him into her arms and cuddles him close; only then does he start purring and decides he’ll forgive her. She releases him once he starts wiggling around, and he scampers off into the living room to curl up on his bed in there.

Brittany kicks off her sneakers and leaves all her stuff by the door, needing to find and cuddle her wife more than she needs to do anything else. She heads straight to their bedroom and finds Santana sprawled on her stomach with the sheets tangled around her bare legs, wearing one of Brittany’s old sweatshirts and underwear and nothing else, her head buried in Brittany’s pillow and a nest of blankets by her stomach where Tubbs probably spent most of the night.

Brittany leans against the doorframe and watches her wife sleep and takes a long moment to just marvel at the fact that she’s finally back home, until the urge to feel Santana’s body curled into her own gets to be too much. She’s exhausted and desperately needs a shower after spending a week in a hospital and most of the day in the airport and the night on an airplane between a man who smelled like ground beef and an old woman who wouldn’t stop coughing, but she needs the comfort of Santana’s embrace more than she needs to feel clean, so she quickly strips until she’s in her camisole and panties and tosses her clothes in the vague direction of the hamper before
eagerly crawling into bed with her wife.

Santana stirs as she feels the bed dip beside her, her hand landing on Brittany’s hip and instinctively tugging her closer. Brittany rearranges them so she’s not squished against the edge of the bed and in danger of falling off, and Santana just sighs at her wife’s manhandling of her until they’re curled together in the middle of the bed. “Hi,” Brittany whispers, kissing the tip of Santana’s nose.

It scrunches adorably as Santana cracks an eye open. “You’re home,” she rasps, struggling to wake up, “You managed to get a flight? When’d you get in? What time is it?”

“Time for sleep,” Brittany says quietly, finding Santana’s lips with her own until Santana sighs and softens. “We can talk later, it’s cuddle time now.”

Santana hums and nuzzles into Brittany’s chest, wrapping an arm that’s heavy with sleep tightly around Brittany’s lower back and tugging them together and Brittany feels like she can breathe for the first time since Santana drove her to the airport last week. “Glad you’re home,” Santana mumbles, “Love you.”

“Me too,” Brittany whispers, kissing Santana’s head and burying her face into dark hair that smells of comfort and home. “Love you too,” she manages, and then they’re both lost to sleep.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Santana can’t even remember what the fight was about, just that they’ve both been stressed the past couple weeks and have barely seen each other between work and other commitments and it’s been taking a toil on both of their patience.

It was probably something super dumb, Santana laments as she tries to punch the couch cushion beneath her into submission. Santana can count the number of times that they’ve slept apart since they got married on one hand, and those times were because one of them was out of town for something work related not because some dumb argument blew up on them and Santana was too stubborn to sulk into their bedroom after Brittany had stormed in there earlier.

She hates that about herself, that she has a hard time swallowing her pride sometimes, that she’s too stubborn for anyone’s good, that she makes everything so much harder for herself; but she’s struggled with it her entire life and tonight is no different. Which why she finds herself shivering on the couch under a blanket that smells of mothballs and a dusty pillow she found at the back of the linen closet that she didn’t even know they owned.

The couch is somehow so much lumpier than she ever remembers it being, especially since she had no problem falling asleep on it a couple nights ago while she tried to wait up for Brittany after her evening shift. Her nose keeps twitching with the urge to sneeze and every time she breathes in all she can think of is how much she misses the sweet scent coconut-honeysuckle-jasmine of that’s always clung to Brittany. Their apartment is freezing out in the living room, so unlike how warm she always becomes curled up in their bed with Brittany, but Santana’s so emotionally and physically exhausted that she can’t bring herself to push herself up and stumble to the thermostat.

She only spends about an hour dozing fitfully before she senses movement above her and blinks tired eyes open to a tall shadow towering over the couch. Santana swallows thickly as her wife’s sweet scent invades her senses, wanting nothing more than to just bury herself in Brittany’s embrace and finally fall asleep but unsure if she’s even welcome in their bed.

“Why are you awake right now?” Santana mumbles, her quiet voice sounding unbearably loud in the tense darkness of the living room.

“Why aren’t you in our bed right now?” Brittany shoots back instantly, but there’s no bite to her words, she just sounds sleepy and confused; Santana doesn’t need to see her wife’s face to know she’s pouting.

“I thought—” Santana starts, relaxing instantly and curling towards her wife’s body as Brittany perches herself on the edge of the couch, “I mean— You slammed our bedroom door and didn’t come back out all evening so I kinda figured I was in the doghouse for the night. Hence, the couch.”

Brittany’s smile flashes in the dim light of the living room and she shakes her head fondly before leaning down and kissing Santana so deeply and thoroughly that Santana forgets absolutely everything outside of her wife’s lips on hers. Despite the urgent movement of Brittany’s lips, her hands are gentle and tender as they softly map across Santana’s neck and collarbone and shoulders. Santana sighs against Brittany’s mouth and Brittany takes that as invitation to slip her tongue past Santana’s lips. Santana’s hands find Brittany’s hips and tugs insistently at her until Brittany is settling herself over Santana, the blanket draped over Santana preventing Santana from feeling the comforting press of Brittany’s bare legs to her own.

Brittany’s lips soften and gentle against hers until she’s pressing chaste little butterfly kisses to Santana’s mouth, pressing their foreheads together as she pulls back a little. Even in the unfamiliar shadows of their living room at night, Brittany’s eyes are still the most beautiful shade of blue Santana has ever seen in her life. “Hi,” Santana murmurs.

Brittany grins widely and shakes her head a little, nudging their noses together. “Hey,” she whispers. “You’re the silliest person in the world.”

“Hey!” Santana protests, pretending she’s insulted even though she’s actually charmed.

Brittany kisses Santana to pacify her, the smile pressed against Santana’s lips a sign that Brittany sees right through Santana’s façade. “I was laying there waiting for you to come to bed so I could actually fall asleep and you were out here being stubborn the entire time,” Brittany says around a fond smile, “Silly.”

Santana just shakes her head and concedes Brittany’s point; ever since they had their first sleepover back when they were just kids, she’s always slept better when Brittany was right beside her. Now that they’ve been married for a couple years and in love for even longer, she doesn’t even know why she even tries to fall asleep without her wife right beside her. “I’m sorry I blew up,” Santana says sincerely, “I don’t even know why I got so angry about something so dumb and trivial.”

“We’ve both been so stressed and tired lately and it’s just been building for a while,” Brittany soothes, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have stormed off like that either.”

Santana kisses Brittany softly, slipping her hands under Brittany’s shirt to seek the comfort her wife’s warm skin always provides. Brittany shifts around a little until she can slide under the blanket and tug Santana into her arms, both of them sighing as they settle into the suddenly comfortable couch and grow instantly sleepy with the air cleared between them.

“I think,” Brittany drawls, “That even if you think I don’t want to see you, you should still come to bed anyways because otherwise I won’t be able to fall asleep and then we’ll both just be angry and grouchy in the morning.”

“A genius idea, Britt-Britt,” Santana mumbles, and then she’s fast asleep against Brittany’s shoulder. Brittany smiles adoringly and presses a gentle kiss to Santana’s forehead before quickly following suit.

///

It’s Brittany’s laughter that wakes her up the next morning. Santana’s sprawled over Brittany, soaking up the heat her wife always emits, like a cat sunning itself on a warm rock. Despite the blanket tangled around their hips and the knot she can feel in her neck, Santana is as warm and comfortable as she’s ever been.

“What are you laughing about?” Santana mumbles, dragging herself up Brittany’s body until she can steal half of the pillow Brittany’s head is on, blonde hair tickling her check. The pillow still smells a little stale and dusty, but Brittany’s coconut-honeysuckle-jasmine smell has almost completely masked it and Santana indulges herself in the scent with a deep breath of the best smell in the world.

Brittany’s eyes are soft and warm and she carefully brushes Santana’s messy hair back from her face. “Nothing,” she says, shaking her head fondly before giving Santana a quick good morning kiss, “It’s just— We’re really bad at this whole arguing thing.”

Santana’s laughter is muffled by Brittany’s lips pressing against hers. “We really are,” Santana mumbles, tightening her arms around Brittany and sighing against her mouth, “But I love it that way.”

Brittany just kisses her wholehearted agreement against Santana’s lips.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Since Coach Sylvester is probably going to murder the freshmen, Santana doesn’t have to worry about crawling out from the bleachers to kill the girl herself. It’s not that she can’t, because she definitely can beat up anyone (more or less), but standing kind of hurts and turning her torso kind of hurts and, actually now that she’s thinking about it, breathing kind of really hurts too.

She hisses and tries to adjust the ice pack, but her back spasms every time she twists slightly, so she can’t even get the ice pack to sit in the proper spot. Squads are clustered along the gym doing last minute practices, the schools competing today already warming up, and most of the Cheerios are spread throughout the bleachers watching the other squads since Coach Sylvester is off doing who knows what, and therefore not forcing the entirety of the Cheerios to sit together ramrod straight on the uncomfortable bleachers. Chants echo around the gym, interrupted by coaches yelling and the screech of rubber soles along the floor and laughter, a wall of indistinguishable noise. She groans in frustration and tries to get comfortable, her head on her sport bag, sprawled on her stomach in the foot well of the last row of bleachers where no one dares bother her; she may barely be able to move, but her glare is just as effective as ever.

It’s been so long since she’s been dropped that she almost forgot just how much the impact knocks the air out of you, and just how much the mat doesn’t really do anything to soften your fall. She’s pretty sure she’s never seen Coach Sylvester turn so many shades of red, and if she hadn’t been in so much pain, wheezing for breath on the mat, she might have actually felt a little bad for the freshman who dropped her. Santana’s not altogether convinced that the girl will actually make it back to Lima; knowing Coach, and considering it’s a competition weekend, the girl will probably never be seen at McKinley ever again.

The only good thing is that McKinley isn’t competing until tomorrow, so she at least has tonight to ice her back and, hopefully, she’ll be at least able to breathe properly by tomorrow. She wonders if Brittany brought that muscle ointment she always uses; it smells sharp and minty and Santana’s not really sure if she dislikes the smell or not, but Brittany swears by it, and she supposes she should trust her considering how many times she’s pulled muscles between the Cheerios and dance.

As if just the thought of her girlfriend summoned her, Brittany blocks out the off-green florescent lights high above them, a pout on her lips that makes Santana’s chest ache a little. She holds a bag of Subway in one hand and a couple of water bottles in the other. “How are you feeling?” she asks softly, perching on the bleachers by Santana’s hips.

“Like I got dropped from the top of the pyramid,” Santana says with a grunt. Brittany makes a small noise of sympathy and sets their supper down by her feet. “Can you—?” Santana struggles to articulate what she needs, but Brittany’s already reaching for the ice pack and Santana kind of loves her for knowing what she needs before Santana can even ask for it (and, sometimes, before she even realizes what she needs).

Brittany grabs the ice pack from where it’s slipped out of place again and lifts the bottom of Santana’s Cheerios hoodie. Her fingers are cold from the winter air, and Santana sighs at how soothing Brittany’s touch is as she trails her fingers along the small of Santana’s back, her fingertips counting each of her vertebrae. “It looks like it’s starting to bruise,” Brittany murmurs.

“Yeah landing on Little Miss Botox’s foot will do that,” Santana says petulantly, feeling as if she’s earned a little bit whining considering breathing is more than a little difficult. Brittany’s fingers trace swirls along her skin, skirting the edges of the emerging bruise, before she finally withdraws her fingers and replaces her soft touch with the ice pack, tucking it under the waistband of Santana’s sweats to hold it in place.

Santana instantly misses the feeling of Brittany’s fingers on her skin—despite how soothing the ice pack is—and pouts a little into the crook of her elbow, her head pillowed on her arms on top of her sports bag. “Do you wanna eat right now?” Brittany asks, shifting on the seat and sliding just a little bit closer. Santana shrugs a little and instantly regrets it, gritting her teeth as her back spasms again. “Aww, honey,” Brittany pouts as Santana struggles to bite back the whimper threatening her.

Brittany’s fingers in her hair distracts her from the pain, blunt fingernails scratching tenderly at her scalp and carefully untangling knots of dark hair. Santana focuses on the clever fingers in her hair instead of the muscles screaming in her back and sighs. Brittany shifts again until she’s leaning over Santana, stretching one leg out on the blue bleacher seat until McKinley red is blocking her view of the gym. Brittany’s humming something but she sounds far away and muffled as the fingers on her scalp relax her towards sleep. She shifts and curls further into her arms, and a hand at her back adjusts the ice pack to keep if from slipping, and then fingers are in her hair again. Brittany’s shadow is comforting and she continues to hum something softly, something from glee that Santana is too sleepy to recognize; it’s soft and sweet and sounds like home, and before she knows it she’s already lost to sleep.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s late when it happens. Too late for them to still be awake considering the Cheerio recruitment coaches threatened to wake them at the crack of dawn. Too late for anyone else to be awake. Too late for her to hear her dad’s voice in her head muttering about the Berry’s in the grocery store. Too late for her to wonder what makes it vergüenza in her father’s eyes.

Brittany’s been sleepy ever since they shared s’mores at the fire after an exhausting day of practice, dozing off against Santana’s shoulder until she started awake at a roar of laughter, and then dozed right back off. The shoulder of Santana’s uniform was damp with drool and if it were anyone but Brittany, Santana would probably kill them for that; but Brittany is her best friend and kind of really adorable when she’s sleepy, so she lets it slide.

Santana’s still running on adrenaline from the fire and gossiping girls by the time her and Brittany get back to their shared tent. Brittany pauses in the entrance to yawn widely before sluggishly crawling further in to the tent. Santana feels like electricity is dancing along her skin, but manages to crawl in after Brittany. They change in the inky darkness of the tent, bumping into each other with sleepy smiles on Brittany’s part and fluttering butterflies on Santana’s part. Brittany’s practically asleep by the time they crawl into their sleeping bags, scant few inches separating them in the tiny tent, and she cannot get comfortable no matter how much she shifts around.

She finally sighs and props herself up on her elbow, peering through the dark at Brittany.

“Can’t sleep when you’re staring,” Brittany mumbles.

“Do you wanna play truth or truth?” Santana whispers.

“That’s not a real game.”

Santana grins. “It is when we can’t do dares.”

Brittany says something incoherent into her pillow before rolling to face Santana. “Fine,” she says around a long yawn, “But it’s gonna be your fault when we fall asleep during warmups.”

“I’m okay with that,” Santana shrugs, flopping on her back and grinning at the ceiling.

Brittany snorts a laugh and curls further into her sleeping bag. “Okay. What’s your favourite dad joke my dad’s told you?”

Santana’s grin widens. “Oh, that’s easy.”

//

They’re countless questions in—and Brittany’s yawns are coming more and more frequently—when Brittany snuggles even closer to Santana and stares at her with curious eyes flickering in the dim tent light.

“Have you ever kissed anybody?” Brittany asks quietly, sounding more alert than she has in a couple questions.

Something in Santana’s stomach churns and flutters. “Don’t you think I would have told you?” Santana answers quickly. Brittany hums in acknowledgement and, through the inky darkness, Santana can see her nod sleepily, a flash of teeth in the filtered moonlight as she chews on her bottom lip. Santana swallows thickly, anxious without knowing why, “Why? Have you?”

“No,” Brittany says quietly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Santana fiddles with her fingers, causing her sleeping bag to scratch loudly throughout the tent. Brittany shifts around, tugging her pillow closer to the centre of the tent so she’s closer to Santana. “Are you nervous about it?”

“No,” Santana says quickly, too quickly. Brittany doesn’t say anything, but Santana knows she can see right through her lie. She sighs and turns so she’s facing Brittany, shifting further towards the centre of the tent as well. “I mean, kinda. All the Cheerios made it seem like some big deal at the fire.”

Brittany’s quiet for a long while, but when she shifts Santana can see a flash of pale silver, her usually bright blue eyes muted in the darkness. “Do you wanna,” she starts and then abruptly stops, biting down on her bottom lip.

Santana feels like something is crawling under her skin, and her heart pounds loud and quick in her ears. “Wanna what?” she manages around the lump of nerves growing in her throat.

She can hear Brittany swallow thickly, and when she speaks, her voice is barely more than a whisper. “Wanna be each other’s first kiss?”

If it wasn’t so late, Santana would have probably about a billion protests and excuses, starting with but we’re both girls and ending with but my dad says.

But it is really late, and Santana can’t come up with any reason to say no. The older Cheerios running the camp seem to think that your first kiss is of utmost importance, something about not wanting to be inexperienced for high school, and Santana is already completely comfortable with Brittany, so she doesn’t see how it would be weird or anything. “Sure,” she whispers. Her face feels like it did when she was sitting too close to the fire, but it’s been hours since then so she doesn’t understand why it’s so hot. She’s a little concerned by how much it feels like her face might overheat and melt off, and her palms are sweaty and clammy so she quickly wipes them across her pj pants before scooting closer to Brittany.

Brittany closes the last few inches between them, her eyes alert despite how sleepy she’s been so far. “Okay, so,” she breathes.

“Mmm,” Santana agrees, “we just gotta—”

Brittany surges forwards, eager and languid and warm.

It’s kind of clumsy, and they fumble a bit to fit their noses together, but then Brittany’s soft lips are against hers. Santana gasps a little at the feeling, her own lips tingling like the butterflies in her stomach have relocated there, before she presses further into Brittany. Their lips slide against each other, soft and timid and sweet. Brittany sighs out whenever Santana breathes in, and it’s warm and tingling and fluttery and Santana wonders why they haven’t been doing this all along.

Brittany’s nose still brushes hers when they carefully draw back, their breaths soft puffs of air against the others face. Santana’s hands have tangled together and her eyes are wide, locked on Brittany’s wonder-filled ones, and when Brittany starts giggling and can’t stop, Santana gets caught up in the fit of giggles as well.

Brittany smothers her giggles against Santana’s shoulders, and Santana buries her face in Brittany’s coconut-scented hair. They gasp and try to stay quiet so they don’t get in trouble, and once they calm down Santana realizes their hands have become tangled in their laughter.

For some reason, it makes Santana’s face burn even more than the actual kissing did, especially when Brittany shifts closer and lets her head press to Santana’s shoulder, sharing Santana’s pillow instead of using her own.

“I’m sleepy,” Brittany yawns.

Santana sucks in a shaky breath and nods in agreement, not trusting her voice to keep steady.

“Night, Santana,” Brittany says, turning her face to press it to Santana’s neck.

Santana’s never felt more wide awake, her insides feel much bigger than they should, like her body can’t quite contain them, like this moment is going to be important and they just don’t know it yet. “Night, Britt-Britt,” she finally manages.

Brittany’s breathing evens out, and Santana’s pretty sure she’s already asleep, so when she speaks it almost makes Santana jump out of her skin. “You’re my best friend,” she mumbles, lips brushing Santana’s neck.

Santana sighs and relaxes. Her insides still feel too big and a little fluttery, but something deep in her chest eases.

“Yeah,” she whispers, “Me too.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

She hates feeling like this. Like her blood is bubbling and threatening to burn her up, like knives sharpened by her own shame and fear are slowly inching towards her heart, like this pulsing dark thing is consuming her from the inside out. Or— Or something. She’s more than a little past buzzed and it’s making her thoughts kind of really fuzzy.

Brittany laughs from across the room, and the arm around Santana’s shoulder feels even heavier, smells more like teenage boy than the coconut-honeysuckle-jasmine she craves. She’s just drunk enough to admit that she desperately wishes it was Brittany’s arm around her instead of whatever dumb jock that’s been supplying her with alcohol all night.

Santana’s watching Brittany closely, and she knows that Brittany can feel her gaze because blue eyes keep flickering to meet hers before dancing away. The dark thing in her stomach churns angrily, threatening to take control so she can march over there and tear apart the dumb jock hanging off of Brittany. When he ducks down to whisper something in Brittany’s ear, Santana can’t quite control how tightly she clutches her drink, tight enough that the red plastic bends and sloshes the cheap beer she’s been drinking down the side of her hand. “Fuck,” she mutters, glaring at the dark liquid. The jock beside her hurries—or stumbles—off to get some paper towel, but Santana has no intention of waiting around for him.

It’s like she’s tuned to Brittany because, even above the music and the drunken talking, she can hear her giggling from the dumb jock’s whispers. That dark and yearning thing coils in her stomach and she turns quickly, slamming her drink on a nearby table and shaking the spilled alcohol off of her hand. People part around her as she storms through the living room, and she’s glad her reputation precedes her; it makes it so much easier to navigate parties when everyone is terrified of getting on her bad side.

A warm hand wraps around her arm, just above her elbow, and drags her towards a door at the end of the hallway. Santana has half a mind to demonstrate some real Lima Heights hospitality to whoever is manhandling her, but she catches a whiff of that coconut-honeysuckle-jasmine scent she craves like constant ache and sees a flash of blonde right before the door swings shut behind them.

It’s a closet, Santana notices, and the alcohol has loosened her inhibitions just enough that she can acknowledge the irony.

Brittany doesn’t actually say anything, but as soon as the door is closed Santana finds herself pressed up against it. The dark churning in her stomach settles a little as Brittany presses the length of her body against Santana’s, nothing gentle or soft as Santana clutches her even closer, needing to feel everything to forget the jealousy that’s been coursing through her all night long. To forget the voices whispering in her head, accusing her of shame and fear and cowardice in equal parts.

It’s all desperation and no finesse. Brittany tastes like forest—gin, which means the jock who’s been hanging off her all evening sprung for the expensive stuff, which makes Santana kiss her harder to try and forget that dark churning in her gut. She bites down on Brittany’s lip harder than she means to, but savours Brittany’s whimper all the same. Brittany’s leg finds its way between Santana’s as she trails wet, sucking kisses along Santana’s jaw. She has half a mind to warn her not to leave marks, but her mind goes blank at a well placed nip at the hinge of her jaw.

“You’re jealous,” Brittany whispers against her skin.

Santana sighs and sags against the door, both because her knees are weak and because the fear clutching her heart like a violent fist reminds her how easy it would be for someone to burst in the un-lockable door. “So are you,” she mutters.

Brittany doesn’t respond but she doesn’t have to; her breath rattles out of her and tickles softly against Santana’s earlobe, in stark contrast to the desperately aggressive press of their bodies. Somebody bumps against the door and Santana shoves Brittany away from her, staring wide-eyed at her in the nearly pitch-black of the closet.

Brittany sighs and the sound of it is too harsh, too angry, too bitter to be anything but accusing. That dark thing in Santana’s stomach rears its head again, the fist clutching her heart tightens until it feels like she might actually be having a heart attack.

“We should get back,” she mumbles around a gasp.

“Yeah,” Brittany agrees, her voice sharp and icy, and Santana winces and shies away from the door.

She reaches for the doorknob, but pauses when Santana makes no move to follow. “I’ll—” Santana chokes on her words, the fist around her heart squeezing so tight she briefly worries it might explode, “I’ll be there in a second. I don’t want— I mean in case—”

“Right,” Brittany mutters, “Of course.”

Brittany swings the door shut behind her a little harsher than she usually would, and Santana winces as the slam reverberates throughout the closet, sulking further into the shadows by herself. “I’m sorry,” she croaks, wishing her heart would just go ahead and explode because at least it would probably hurt less than this constant ache she’s felt all year.

You’re a coward, that dark, yearning thing accuses, and Santana can’t find it in herself to disagree.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany likes to sit on the floor and use the coffee table as an impromptu desk most days. The chairs at the table hurt her back if she sits in them too long, and studying on their bed just makes her sleepy; sitting at the coffee table lets her stretch her legs out whenever she wants, which is how Santana finds her when she gets home from her afternoon shift at the diner.

Tubbs lifts his head at the sound of the front door opening, but just yawns and falls back asleep as soon as he hears Santana mumbling to herself. “Some protector you are,” Brittany mutters, before calling out to greet Santana, “Hey, honey. How was work?”

Santana looks exhausted as she walks into the living room, but she brightens as soon as her eyes lock on Brittany’s, and a little thrill sparks along Brittany’s spine because, despite the spaghetti sauce on Santana’s uniform and the fact that her hair is more than a little frizzy from the day and the dark bags under her eyes, that’s her beautiful fiancée leaning against the doorway; she can’t think of anything better than that.

“It was long,” Santana groans, dragging her feet as she dramatically stumbles further into the living room, “I think I’m going to go for a shower now.”

“Poor baby,” Brittany pouts, trying to fight the smile threatening her.

Santana sticks her tongue out at Brittany and Brittany lets her amusement get away from her. “What are you working on?” Santana asks, rounding the coffee table to look at the spread of papers around Brittany. She stretches down to kiss Brittany on the top of her head in greeting but backs away with an I’m all gross when Brittany leans up for a real kiss, scratching at Tubbs’ head as she straightens back up. Brittany breaks out her pout because she knows it gets Santana to give in about ninety-five percent of the time, but Santana just grins at her. “After I shower, I promise.”

Brittany sighs teasingly, grudging acceptance painting her features. “Fine,” she whines, “I guess that’s acceptable.”

Santana laughs and continues to scratch at Tubbs head, who purrs and nuzzles into her hand. “So, whatcha working on?” she repeats.

Brittany bites down on her bottom lip to hide her smirk. “Nothing much,” she singsongs.

Tubbs’ purrs rumble to a stop and he squints one eye open, glaring at Brittany accusingly. Santana frowns skeptically and leans down a little to read what Brittany’s working on. She groans when she realizes what the spread of papers are, and the fact that her plans for a stress-free evening are quickly slipping away. “Already?”

Brittany hums in agreement and subtly shifts a little closer to Santana’s legs. “We gotta finalize the guest list for Kerry by next Friday, which means that we have to get started on the guest list asap.”

Something shimmers in Santana’s eyes—something soft and a little watery at the mention of their wedding—just for a second until a teasing smirk spreads across her face. “Well, you’ve already gotten started,” she says, trying to keep her voice even as she slowly shuffles backwards, “so it’s not like you need me too—”

“Oh no you don’t,” Brittany giggles, moving quickly to catch Santana around the waist before she can flee. Santana squeals as she’s tugged down onto Brittany’s lap, twisting a little so she doesn’t completely squish her fiancée under her. Brittany locks her arms around Santana’s torso, trapping her in a tight embrace and nuzzling into her neck as Santana giggles above her.

“Britt— Wait, no— I’m all gross and sweaty!” Santana protests around her laughter.

“Mmm,” Brittany agrees, teasingly licking along the cord of muscle in Santana’s neck.

Santana squeals again and squirms in Brittany’s lap to try and get away. “Britt!”

Brittany grins in triumph and tightens her arms around her struggling fiancée. She lets Santana turn a little, but only enough that she can find her mouth with her own. Santana sighs against Brittany’s lips and instantly stops struggling, melting into Brittany’s embrace and draping her arms around Brittany's shoulders. Brittany’s nose bumps against Santana’s as she nods into the kiss; she had the day off, which means she had nothing better to do but miss Santana and wait for her to come home while working on some small wedding planning stuff, which only made her want Santana to come home quicker.

“Fine, I’ll help,” Santana finally manages to teasingly murmur between kisses. Brittany breaks the kiss to laugh, but Santana doesn’t let her get very far before she’s finding her lips again. “I’m showering first though,” she mumbles against Brittany’s mouth, humming softly when Brittany’s hands slip under her shirt and start to roam her back.

“Maybe I’ll help you with that then,” Brittany breathes as Santana’s fingers make quick work of the hair tie keeping her hair away from her face, “Since you’re helping with the guest list and all.”

Santana smiles and kisses her harder, scratching gently at Brittany’s scalp now that her hair is loose around her shoulders. “It’s the least you can do,” she mumbles.

Brittany smirks as her fingers find the clasp of Santana’s bra. “The least I can do,” she agrees.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s the first time since the Troubletones split off from the New Directions that all the glee club kids are back together for a party. Brittany rings Rachel’s doorbell, giggling when Santana mumbles about how much alcohol she’s gonna need to get through this night, Mercedes on her other side fondly rolling her eyes. Sugar just stands slightly behind the three, her eyes so wide that Brittany’s a little concerned they might pop right out. Rachel answers the door, already a little past tipsy based on how glazed her eyes are, and Brittany shifts a little to tangle her fingers with Santana’s, hoping to control Santana’s general irritation with Rachel so they don’t get kicked out. At least until they can get to the alcohol.“Ah! Our choral rivals! I’m so glad that you’ve made it. I have Finn setting up the karaoke machine so we can have a little bit of a pre-emptive performance before Sectionals so we can have a taste of the competition. Obviously the New Directions are already prepared to win—”“Rachel,” Mercedes says warningly. Santana’s fingers tighten around Brittany’s and she can practically see Santana’s hackles going up. Brittany bumps her hip against Santana’s and offers her a cheeky smile, and Santana’s annoyance melts off her.“Oh I’m sorry, where are my manners—”“Lost in the alcohol,” Brittany murmurs, much to the amusement of Santana and Sugar.“—come in, come in.”Rachel’s parents are out of town for the weekend, so the main floor is dark and deserted save for one light above the kitchen sink. Music—broadway tunes, of course—drift from the basement as Rachel leads them through the house. Only about half the glee kids are there already, with Kurt and Blaine already commandeering the karaoke machine. Rachel immediately forgets her new guests and heads straight for Kurt, while the Troubletones shuffle a little awkwardly over to the drinks table.“Thank God you’re finally here,” Quinn greets. “If I have to listen to Rachel do one more drunken encore of Don’t Rain on My Parade by myself I’m going to lose my mind.”“Oh, you still have some of that left?” Santana teases.“Don’t push it, Lopez,” Quinn threatens, mostly toothlessly. “Somehow it’s even more obnoxious when she’s not sober.”“You could always join the Troubletones,” Mercedes offers, only half-joking. Quinn hides her tempted look behind a sip of her drink.“Oh hell no she can’t!”“You’re not the leader.”Brittany smiles as she listens to the childish bickering. There’s some things she does miss about the glee club being all in a group together, but as her eyes drift to Rachel and Finn making out in the corner she remembers all the things she definitely doesn’t miss now that it’s just her and Santana and Mercedes leading the Troubletones.The rest of the glee kids arrive over the next half hour, and Santana and her nurse their drinks as they watch with increasing amusement as most of the glee club gets more and more wasted. Santana slings her arm through Brittany’s as they head to refill their drinks, dropping a long kiss on Brittany’s shoulder without even looking around first, and causing Brittany’s entire body to tingle and realign to Santana’s. She’s been doing that all night, cuddling into Brittany and hugging her and kissing her without checking over her shoulder first, and even though the thought of how Santana was outed still makes Brittany’s blood boil—and causes her to glare at Finn whenever his lumbering body is in her line of sight—she’s glad that at least Santana has a safe spot here.There’s no one else at the makeshift bar, so Brittany quickly takes Santana’s empty cup out of her hand and sets it on the table with her own. Santana looks at her questioningly, but quickly understands when Brittany’s lips press sweetly to her own. “What was that for?” Santana murmurs when Brittany draws back.Brittany shrugs and locks her arms around Santana’s waist. “Just for you being you all night.”Santana grins and bounces up on her tiptoes to gently kiss Brittany again. “I love you,” Santana mumbles against Brittany’s lips, her lips sweet and tingling, “So much.” Brittany has half a second to grin widely, but doesn’t get the chance to respond before Santana’s lips are crushed desperately against hers.Brittany’s breathless and dizzy by the time Santana pulls back, and Santana is smug and just a little dreamy in turn. She turns to make up their drinks, and Brittany manages to shake herself out of her stupor enough to step up and snake her arms around Santana from behind.“Santana?” Brittany whispers, resting her chin on Santana’s shoulder. Santana hums in acknowledgement and Brittany takes a moment to sweep her gaze around the group of teenagers that she loves even if she doesn’t always like them. She tightens her arms around Santana, grateful to have this amazing girl in her arms in a place where they don’t have to look behind them before showing affection. Santana sighs and sinks further into Brittany’s embrace. “I love you too,” she finally whispers, nuzzling into Santana’s neck, “so much.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany’s definitely on her way to drunk, Santana can tell from where she’s standing across the bar, watching her fiancée spin around the dance floor with Mike, who’s stumbling through steps and laughing just as much as Brittany. Since neither of them had seen each other in so long, both were like a couple of energizer bunnies at the prospect of finally dancing with someone as skilled and natural as they are again. Santana smirks, glad that her and Brittany stood firm on having their joint bachelorette party almost a week before the wedding, because she knows Brittany’s going to be hurting in the morning.

It’s been years since all the former glee club was together like this, and even longer since they were all together and almost all wasted. Most of their friends are scattered around the bar, in various stages of drunkenness, and Santana is a little tempted to video tape them for blackmailing purposes. She decides against the idea, but only because it would require exerting much more effort than she really wants to exercise tonight. The whole point of doing a joint bachelorette party was to free up more time for wedding planning, because there’s a lot more planning involved than Santana originally expected. Her and Brittany have already honestly contemplated just grabbing a couple witnesses and finding a courthouse somewhere across the state border because that would be so much easier (and cheaper) than their coming wedding, and all they really want is do be married like yesterday, but she’s pretty sure that both their mothers would kill them. So instead, they put Mercedes in charge of a joint bachelorette party and ignored all their friends who insisted they should do separate ones because of tradition or whatever; Mercedes didn’t argue with them, she just smiled and asked them what day, because she knows them better than anyone, and also knows how little they care for all the bells and whistles and things like traditional these days.

“Who ever thought we’d be here?”

Santana smirks at the voice as if her thoughts summoned her and tips her head back, twisting a little on the barstool, to answer. “Speak for yourself, Ms. Top One Hundred, I always knew I’d end up marrying Brittany.”

Mercedes laughs and reaches around Santana to steal a sip of her drink. Years ago, Santana would have flew off the handle if Mercedes tried that, but being on tour for months on end really erased a lot of their boundaries; instead she just rolls her eyes and swats half-heartedly at Mercedes’ shoulder.

Mercedes makes a face as she hands Santana back her drink, sitting down on the stool beside Santana. “What is that?”

Santana shrugs and smirks at Mercedes’ expression. “Whatever you don’t like.”

Mercedes shudders and wipes at her lips—much to Santana’s amusement—before nudging the bride-to-be, her face suddenly soft and serious. “Did you really?”

Santana’s fingers fidget around her glass, still a little nervous to open up to anybody, but she can’t help the small smile that tugs at her lips. “I mean— Junior year was hard. And there were some times that— But,” she shrugs and casts her gaze around the bar, searching and catching on blue eyes that are already smiling back at her, “if I allowed myself to actually think about it, I always knew.”

Mercedes smirks and teasingly knocks their feet together. “Who would have thought that the Satan from Lima Heights Adjacent was such a sap?”

Santana just grins around a sip of her drink, unable to argue the point because, when it comes to Brittany, her tough façade just can’t help but to melt away. Mercedes eyes alight with amusement on something just past Santana’s shoulders, and Santana doesn’t even have a chance to react before sweaty arms are being thrown around her shoulders with enough force that Santana slops her drink a little. Uninhibited giggles tickle at her ear as Brittany presses up against her, overly warm from dancing all evening and overly affectionate from the alcohol. Santana sets her glass on the bar before Brittany’s wiggling spills even more of it and sinks back into the embrace, turning her head to catch Brittany’s lips with her own. Brittany’s arms tighten around her, tugging them even closer, trying to kiss around their smiles but only managing clumsy pecks.

“Hey, you,” Santana grins when they part, “How’s the dancing?”

Brittany smiles and quickly kisses her again. “Hey, future wifey,” Brittany singsongs. Santana flushes with excitement and love while Mercedes just smirks at the two, more than used to their sappiness around each other. “It’s been so much fun! I missed dancing with Mike a lot! But we’re doing a quick drink break because it’s hot up there.”

“Mmm,” Santana agrees, causing Brittany to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively and Mercedes to groan loudly. Santana just smirks before grabbing her drink off the bar and offering it to Brittany, who takes it with one hand but remains draped over Santana’s back, her other hand tracing absentmindedly along Santana’s forearm.

“My favourite,” Brittany says in surprise after taking a long gulp, aware that Santana hates this particular drink. Mercedes eyes snap to Santana, regarding her knowingly. Santana rolls her eyes at the look—the same look her and Mercedes always gave the tour manager and his wife of fifty years whenever they did something adorably in-love—and offers her cheek up to Brittany’s lips, already anticipating the sweet kiss that’s placed there. Brittany catches sight of Mike making his way back to the dance floor and twists further around Santana to give her a sweet kiss before untangling their bodies, calling a quick Love you, babe! over her shoulder before the crowd swallows her up.

“I get what you mean,” Mercedes smiles thoughtfully as they watch Brittany reemerge by Mike, “You two were kind of inevitable.”

Santana doesn’t even try to hide the pride that fills her chest and spills into her smile, eyes tracing the twist and curve of Brittany’s body as her and Mike start up an impromptu dance battle. Blue eyes find hers just before Brittany dips around Mike’s freestyling, bright and excited and adoring. Santana glances at Mercedes’ knowing smile and she shrugs a little, taking another sip of her drink. “Yeah,” she agrees simply, “We kinda always were.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s a stupid game is what it is.

It’s a stupid game that Santana agreed to play because she has this stupid reputation to maintain. A stupid reputation that she wants to maintain for reasons she can’t even remember right now. Not when glowing blue eyes are studying her warily and nervously across the circle of glee kids. Santana swallows thickly, a hand hovering above the bottle that she just spun, the traitorous neck pointing unmistakably at Brittany. She has the option of taking a dare instead of kissing whoever the bottle lands on, but that would be chickening out, so instead she just shrugs and bounces up on her knees.

She doesn’t really hear the round of oohs that go around the circle, or notice the others craning their heads to see, all she sees is Brittany chewing on her bottom lip with such an understanding look on her face that Santana just swallows thickly and nods slowly. Are you sure? Brittany mouths, and Santana lets a small smile quirk her lips as she shuffles to the middle of the circle amongst another cheer of oohs.

Sure, she’s terrified half the time, but she knows everyone else is too drunk to remember this in the morning, and Brittany looks so understanding and hopeful as she meets Santana in the middle of the circle that for a moment Santana doesn’t even know what exactly she’s always so scared of.

Brittany’s lips are timid and sweet when they meet hers, tasting more of the chocolate they shared earlier than of the cheap vodka Puck brought. Santana sighs into the kiss, lingering for a moment before drawing back because her heart is pounding quick and hard and she’s a little dizzy from more than the alcohol. Brittany’s eyes are bright, bright blue and she smiles shyly as she falls back to her spot. A cacophony of noise goes up from the circle as Santana remains rooted to the middle of the circle for a long moment before she manages to carefully sink back into her place.

Both of them get a little lost in the other’s eyes from across the circle, while trying to not be obvious about it, until Tina nudges Brittany and quietly nods towards the bottle. Brittany starts forward as if she’s been shocked, falling in the middle of the circle with a slightly nervous laugh, having forgotten that it was her turn to spin the bottle now as soon as her lips touched Santana’s.

She offers Santana a small smile as she spins the bottle, and butterflies explode in Santana’s stomach at the shyly adoring look. The bottle wobbles as it spins quickly by Brittany’s knees, and the glee kids burst into another cheer of oohs. But Brittany doesn’t even spare whoever the bottle lands on a glance, just grins at Santana and loudly announces that she’ll be taking the dare option instead.

Santana’s butterflies don’t really settle down, not when her lips are still tingling from the soft press of Brittany’s, not when Brittany didn’t even spare taking the dare over kissing someone else a second thought, not when Brittany’s smiling at her so brightly while she jumps up to complete whatever stupid thing that the glee kids will come up with.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Are we the first ones here?” Brittany greets as she walks into the practice room.

Santana looks up from where she’s perched on the piano bench and grins, patting the spot beside her. “Sugar’s rewriting a quiz and Shelby has that teacher’s meeting until four. I dunno where Mercedes is though.”

“She had to meet up with her bio partner,” Brittany answers, firmly shutting the door behind her and dropping her binder and backpack off on the counters lining the side of the room, “Where’s everyone else?”

Santana runs her fingers over the white piano keys, smirking at Brittany without actually looking at her. “Today’s rehearsal is just us four leads to work on the vocals,” Santana answers, her voice dripping with suggestion.

Brittany smiles, glancing at the door to make sure she closed it all the way. “Oh, whatever will we do to pass the time?” she wonders as she slides onto the bench beside Santana, their hips and thighs pressing together and sparking an electric thrill up her spine.

“Hmm,” Santana contemplates, staring up at the ceiling and squinting an eye in thought. Her finger presses down on a piano key, slowly playing a simple scale as she thinks. “We could do some warmups,” she finally finishes, the last note ringing out in the silent room.

Brittany grins. “Warmup what, exactly?” She lets her hand fall on Santana’s thigh, dancing her fingers under the hem of her Cheerios skirt and delighting in Santana’s sharp intake of breath.

“Vocal cords, usually,” Santana manages to say, but it comes out almost as a squeak.

“Mmm,” Brittany hums, “I was thinking something a little more accessible.”

Santana’s eyes drop to Brittany’s lips, absentmindedly licking her own and making Brittany all the more desperate to feel them against hers. “Like what?”

“Well,” Brittany whispers, ducking forward slowly enough that Santana could object and pull away if she wanted, “your lips look a little chilly.”

Santana’s laughter is muffled against Brittany’s mouth, Brittany’s skin buzzes happily at finally having Santana’s lips against hers again after a long day. Santana’s lips are soft like always, and Brittany sighs at the feel of them moving against her own. Footsteps in the hallway cause them to break apart quickly, but the sound is distant and coming closer so Santana relaxes, turning back to the piano and carefully playing a simple melody. Only Brittany can tell she’s blushing from the shy smile playing on her lips, and she grins as she glances back at the door and—

It’s cracked open an inch or two.

Icy fear grips Brittany’s heart because she definitely double-checked that the door was closed which means that someone—

Mercedes walks in and greets the two of them. Santana doesn’t suspect a thing, but dark eyes catch hers across the room and Brittany could almost cry because it’s so obvious to her that Mercedes knows.

Brittany’s distracted all rehearsal, and she’s glad it’s only a short one because of Shelby’s meeting, because every second that ticks by she can feel the weight of Mercedes’ newfound knowledge pressing in on her until it feels like she can’t breathe at all.

As they leave, Mercedes has to head to her locker and Brittany quickly jumps on the opportunity, claiming she has to go to the bathroom and handing Santana her keys so she can head out and start her car. Santana just nods and gives Brittany a soft smile, still so unaware that someone knows about them now and Brittany’s heart breaks in the same moment it pounds out of her chest as she follows Mercedes down the hall to her locker.

“You saw,” Brittany accuses quietly as soon as they’re alone. Her limbs all feel weightless and the tips of her fingers ache from the fear spreading throughout her system.

Mercedes hesitates for a moment before dropping her books back into her locker and turning her full attention to Brittany. “I did,” she admits quietly.

“Okay,” Brittany says numbly, “Okay, this is— Santana will— Okay, okay, okay—”

“Hey,” Mercedes interrupts, gently reaching for Brittany’s arms, “Hey, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s really, really not because—”

“Brittany,” Mercedes says firmly, waiting until Brittany’s wild eyes catch on hers, “you need to breathe.” Brittany gasps in a couple deep breaths, desperately trying to slow her breathing, and Mercedes just breathes with her until Brittany’s sucking in steady breaths instead of rattling gasps. “You good?”

Brittany nods wordlessly, her gaze darting all around the hallway before settling on Mercedes’ eyes. “Yeah,” she croaks, “I’m good.”

“I don’t believe you,” Mercedes says with a small smile, trying and failing to cajole one out of Brittany. She sighs and gently squeezes Brittany’s arms. “You know I’m not going to tell anyone, I swear on my life.”

Brittany swallows thickly, blinking back sudden tears of relief. “Really?”

“Of course. I promise I won’t,” she whispers fiercely, “You’re my friends. I’m not going to share something that’s not mine to share, and I’m not going to confront you or Santana about it. Not until you and her tell me in your own time.”

Brittany wiggles out of Mercedes hold only to throw her arms around her in a crushing hug. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“Of course,” Mercedes says easily. “Now, c’mon, your girl’s probably wondering where we are. And you two are kinda really cute so we can’t keep you separated too long.”

Brittany grins at the words—the thrill of Santana being her girl still hasn’t faded even after all this time, and she has a sneaking suspicion it never will. “Yeah,” she agrees as they head down the hall, “she’s probably getting impatient anyways.”

“I dunno if it makes a difference, but I kinda already suspected the two of you might be together together already,” Mercedes says conversationally in a way that makes Brittany blush instantly. Mercedes bumps their hips together and grins widely, causing Brittany to groan and blush harder. “You’re both kind of really super obviously sappy about it.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Santana forgot how exhausting travelling can be. Not that she’s really travelled a whole lot, but the few times she has been on a plane she always ended up feeling gross and travel dirty and somehow even more tired than she thought possible despite dozing almost the entire flight. She has a feeling that their first day in Lesbos is going to be spent trying not to fall asleep and adjusting to the time difference instead of out in the sun like they planned on the plane.

She refuses to open her eyes, even though the sun is slanting across her face, warm and welcoming. She stretches an arm out, finding an even warmer and more welcoming body at her fingertips. Brittany mumbles something into her pillow as Santana’s fingers curl over Brittany’s hips, rolling them towards each other in the centre of an unfamiliar bed. Brittany’s lips hit her on the underside of her chin first, and they both let out breathy laughs, neither opening their eyes as Brittany’s lips trail up until she finds Santana’s mouth.

“Morning,” Santana mumbles, kissing Brittany closed mouth to be mindful of morning breath.

“Morning,” Brittany hums and smiles a little into the kiss, nudging her nose against Santana’s and kissing her slow and soft. She settles her body partially on top of Santana, as bed-warm and soft as Santana remembers. They’ve spent most nights together since Brittany’s grad, packing up Brittany’s room at MIT and then packing for their trip to Lesbos, but Santana still revels in the fact that she is lucky enough to wake up beside Brittany once again, and she blinks her eyes open to memorize the way Brittany looks in the morning, sleepy and soft and beautiful.

Brittany’s eyes are still closed, squinted shut against the morning sun and the desire to go back to sleep, her hair tangled from sleep, and she looks so adorable that Santana has to lean up to kiss her again. “This is nice,” Brittany mumbles, sliding one leg between Santana’s and reminding her that their clothes on spread across the floor from last night.

“Nice?” Santana teases as she trails kisses along Brittany’s jaw until she can nip at the hinge of her jaw. Brittany’s breath hitches and her eyes flutter, the honey-gold of her eyelashes casting spindly grey shadows on the freckled peak of her cheeks.

“Okay,” Brittany concedes breathlessly when Santana’s lips find her earlobe, “More than nice.”

Santana smirks as Brittany’s hand cups her jaw and directs her back to her lips. “Good,” she mumbles, “Missed this.”

Brittany sighs, her eyelashes fluttering against Santana’s cheek as she kisses her deeper, muttering a quiet Me too before slipping her tongue past Santana’s lips. Santana lets her hands roam Brittany’s bare back, tracing up each vertebra before tangling on hand in soft blonde hair and letting the other clutch her waist. Brittany’s hand dances along her ribs before sliding down to gently scratch at Santana’s hip.

Brittany has a dreamy smile as she pulls back that probably matches the one Santana feels spreading on her own face. Santana tightens her arm around Brittany as she settles against her shoulder, nuzzling into her neck. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

Santana kisses the top of Brittany’s head, breathing in the faded scent of her coconut shampoo. “I think we should just hang out here. Catch up on sleep from all that travelling, you know?”

Brittany’s lips find that one sensitive spot behind Santana’s ear that no one else has ever been able to find and Santana sucks in a sharp breath, her fingers digging reflexively into Brittany’s hip. “Just sleep?” Brittany teases.

“Or, something,” Santana says breathlessly.

Brittany hums in agreement against Santana’s neck. “Or something.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s not that Santana’s scared or anything. It’s just that the Cheerios camp the last week of summer starts in a couple days, which means Santana’s quickly realizing that she’s going to have to extract herself from the bubble of summertime happiness to face the real world. But she’s not scared; her and Brittany have been able to hide the fact that they’ve been more than friends since sophomore year so far, and she doesn’t see how that will change in the coming year.
(Of course, that was before. Before Santana accepted herself, before all the pain of junior year, before Brittany broke her heart, before she broke Brittany’s, before they admitted that this thing between them means something.)

(In reality, she’s actually terrified of going back to school, but she’d never admit that to anyone; not even to Brittany, which is mostly because the possibility of being with Brittany openly is part of the reason she’s so terrified.)

But Santana’s not scared, she just has a couple reservations about their senior year, like how they’re going to act, or if they’re going to come out, or what they even are to each other, exactly. Just a couple small itty-bitty concerns about what they’re going to do and what this all means.

Of course, Brittany already knows about the reservations (and about the truth of Santana’s fear), because she knows Santana better than Santana knows herself half the time, which would be a little weird if it wasn’t so comforting. So Santana really shouldn’t be surprised when Brittany turns wise, knowing eyes on her while they’re busy doing dishes, alone in the Lopez house.

“What?” Santana mutters a little defensively, scrubbing a little harder than necessary at the casserole dish from the leftover lasagna that her mom made for supper.

“You’re nervous,” Brittany observes, drying one of their plates. “Or anxious. Or scared. Or something that’s making you all jumpy and snappy.”

“I’m not scared,” Santana says in a voice so certain that she almost believes herself.

Brittany smiles softly, meeting Santana’s gaze in the kitchen window’s reflection. “You don’t have to lie to me,” she murmurs, “You know I’m not going to, like, make fun of you or tell anyone or anything.”

Santana takes a deep breath because she’s trying to get better at this whole communication thing since it’s important to relationships—or whatever it is that they have now. Santana doesn’t want to make any assumptions because that hasn’t gotten her anywhere in the past, so she keeps quiet even if she suspects that they might, kind of be in a relationship or something, like, at least a little bit. “I’m not scared,” she insists even though she knows that Brittany knows she’s lying, “I’m just— Concerned. About, like, school.”

Brittany bumps their hips together after a quiet moment of washing and drying. “What exactly are you concerned about?”

Santana swallows and pauses in scrubbing a particularly stubborn piece of cheese on the dish. Brittany just waits patiently, both for the dish so she can dry it and for Santana’s answer. “I don’t really know how to, like, act around you,” Santana finally explains, “You know, when we’re in public or at camp or school or whatever.” Santana swallows thickly again as panic starts to choke her at the thought of the coming year. “I don’t want to go back to last year ever again but I also can’t— I’m not ready to— Because people will talk and I can’t handle— I mean—”

“Shh,” Brittany soothes, quickly drying her hands before tossing the towel to the side and snaking her arms around Santana’s stomach, molding herself to Santana’s back and gently rocking them back and forth.

Santana’s chest continues to close up, the lump in her throat growing even bigger. “I can’t— Britt, I can’t— Not yet— Not when—”

Brittany suddenly starts humming, low and sweet and familiar, and the sound of it is so unexpected that Santana sucks in a surprised breath, all her tangled thoughts slowing down until the lump in her throat starts to ease and she can breathe again. Brittany just keeps humming until Santana forces her muscles to relax a little bit, focusing on the vibration of Brittany’s soft voice in her ear.

“Now everyone dreams of a love lasting and true,” Brittany starts singing quietly, “But you and I know what this world can do. So let’s make our steps clear so the other may see.” Santana is smiling before she even realizes it, tipping her head back to rest on Brittany’s shoulder as she resumes humming in Santana’s ear. A lingering kiss is placed to the soft ridge of cartilage and Santana sighs, the panic already ebbed out of her body. “And I’ll wait for you. Should I fall behind. Wait for me.”

“My mom was listening to Bruce Springsteen the other day,” Brittany explains after a quiet moment of simply breathing together, waiting until Santana’s chest loosens and she relaxes fully into Brittany’s arms.

Santana smiles and turns her head a little to catch Brittany’s lips for a soft, sweet kiss. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Brittany just smiles and kisses her again before resting her chin on Santana’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out,” she promises, kissing Santana’s ear again since it’s the closest to her lips, “Together.”

Santana nods and sinks further into Brittany’s embrace. She’s still a little nervous about the coming year—and more than a little terrified about the prospects of coming out in the coming year—but as long as Brittany’s there to hold her and help her through this part, she figures they’ll be just fine.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“This is ridiculous,” Brittany complains, dreading the coming afternoon partially because she has to deal with a bossy Rachel for all of it and partially because she won’t get to spend said coming afternoon with her girlfriend.

Santana plucks at the extravagant tutu Brittany is currently wearing and bites back her smirk, taking in the neon coloured and bedazzled fabric that Rachel decided was necessary for whatever so-called brilliant idea she came up with. “It’s,” she hesitates, unable to hide her amusement when she meets Brittany’s dejected blue eyes, “It’s something, alright.”

“You’re laughing at me,” Brittany pouts.

Santana presses her lips together and tries not to laugh at how cute her girlfriend is, rounding the chair Brittany’s sitting in to play with her purposefully fizzy hair. “It’s not like it’s my fault you got roped into this.”

“Oh, it totally is.”

“How do you figure that?”

Brittany tips her head back so she can meet Santana’s eyes upside down. “You were late to Glee last week,” she explains, “which was when I got roped into doing this. Therefore, your fault.”

Santana ducks down and quickly kisses Brittany on the nose, draping her arms over Brittany’s shoulders and nuzzling their heads together as they regard each other through the mirror, Brittany pouting deeply and Santana smiling widely at their reflection. “You didn’t have to say yes, babe,” she teases.

Brittany groans and sticks her tongue out at Santana through the mirror. “Everyone was staring at me, of course I had to say yes. And now I look like an oompa loompa.”

Santana giggles and buries her face in Brittany’s neck, the sequins on the collar of the ridiculous costume lightly scratching her cheeks. “Well, you’re much less orange than an oompa loompa.” At Brittany’s pointed look Santana grins and kisses her neck. “And much more beautiful.”

“Good save,” Brittany snorts.

“We’re starting in ten minutes,” an annoying voice calls from the entryway of the makeshift dressing room set up backstage of the auditorium.

Brittany makes a disgusted face in the mirror and Santana hides her laugher in Brittany’s shoulder. “This is all overly dramatic,” Brittany complains, just quietly enough that Rachel won’t be able to hear as she walks away.

Santana rests her chin on Brittany’s shoulder so she can meet Brittany’s eyes in the mirror, grinning at Brittany until Brittany finally cracks a small, amused smile. “Well, you knew that going in.”
Brittany groans and rolls her eyes. “This is still your fault.” Brittany stands up, blinking wide-eyes quickly when she wobbles a little.
“Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you,” Santana grins, grabbing Brittany’s hands and tugging her closer, needing to tip her head back to meet Brittany’s eyes with the added height of her heels, equally as ridiculous as the rest of her costume.

“Guess you will.” Brittany smirks and steps closer, her chin now level with the top on Santana’s head. “You know, I do kinda like this added height though.”

“Watch yourself Pierce,” Santana threatens toothlessly, “I’ll sit in the audience and force Rachel to keep running this practice over and over and o—”

Brittany ducks down and cuts Santana off with a hard kiss. She pulls away with a smirk at the dreamy glaze settling over dark eyes. “You better watch yourself, shorty.”

Santana rolls her eyes, releasing Brittany’s hands in order to slide her own around Brittany’s neck, bouncing up on her tiptoes and tugging her girlfriend back down to her lips. “Shut up,” she mumbles just before Brittany’s lip crash against hers.

Brittany teeters a little but manages to catch herself on Santana’s hips, using her new hold on her girlfriend to tug them closer together, Santana’s fingers scratching lightly at Brittany’s neck. “This is nice,” Brittany mumbles.

Santana pulls away, settling back down on her heels and taking her out of reach of Brittany’s lips, arching an eyebrow with a tiny smirk, “The new height or my kisses?”

Brittany pouts and ducks down further, ignoring how her neck spasms at the move. “Your kisses,” she whispers just before Santana bounces back up on her tiptoes to bring their lips together again, “Always your kisses.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s like their daughter knows whenever they’re about to drift off to sleep because, without fail, she picks that exact moment to use those tiny little lungs to wail loud enough to wake the neighbours, if the pounding on the apartment wall is anything to go by.

It’s the staticky sobs coming through the baby monitor that wakes her from her dozing, but it’s Santana moving beside her that startles fully awake her a little. Her wife had fallen asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, while Brittany was resigned to gently running her hands through dark hair in the hopes that she would soon follow suit. Which means, of course, it’s as she’s almost tipped fully into unconsciousness when Rosie wakes. She’s about to soothe Santana back to sleep before going to soothe Rosie too, because at least one of them should be able to get a little sleep tonight, when Santana rolls over and presses Brittany back to the bed.

“I got her, you sleep,” she mumbles, blindly searching for Brittany’s lips and hitting her chin first. She quickly locates her original target and kisses Brittany clumsily before tugging the comforter up to Brittany’s neck and rolling out of bed. Brittany listens to her wife stumble through their room, sinking into their mattress as she listens to Rosie’s wails be replaced by Santana’s raspy voice, her heart breaking at their little girl’s whimpering.

She listens to the garbled noises coming through the baby monitor until she can’t take it any more, needing to have her girls in her arms again, and throws the covers back before blindly making her way through their dark room and down the hallway.

When she gets to the nursery, Santana is rocking a wide-awake—though now smiling—Rosie against her shoulder, rubbing her back while their daughter drolls and giggles as soon as she spots her other mother in the doorway.

Santana half-way turns towards the door and catches sight of her wife in the glow of the nightlight, giving her a soft smile despite her drooping eyelids. “I told you to go back to sleep.”

“While the party’s in here?” Brittany gasps, crossing the room to grab one of Rosie’s excitedly flailing hands before it smacks Santana in the head. “No way,” she says teasingly as she kisses Rosie on the nose. Their daughter giggles, and Brittany already knows that this is going to be one of those long nights where Rosie just refuses to sleep for no apparent reason. Rosie gnaws on her other fist around her toothless grin and Brittany can’t help but smile in return. Even if she’s the reason that her and Santana rarely get three consecutive hours of sleep, she’s still the cutest thing Brittany’s ever seen.

Santana yawns widely, turning her head to Rosie’s and breathing in the scent of her baby shampoo. Brittany yawns in return, only to have a wet fist shoved in her mouth. She sputters, much to her girls’ amusement, and wipes dramatically at the baby slobber now covering her chin. Rosie makes a grab for Brittany, so she lets herself be drawn closer, pressing up against Santana’s back and resting one hand on her hip, the other scratching soothingly at Rosie’s back.

Rosie gives a little sniffle and lets her head drop to Santana’s shoulder, still wide awake but no longer squirming around excitedly. Brittany yawns again, twisting her neck to catch the corner of Santana’s mouth around their daughter’s head. “Thank god tomorrow’s Saturday.”

Santana smiles and turns her head to kiss Brittany fully, only breaking away to yawn widely too. “We should get Mercedes to come over and play with her so we can nap.”

“She might be busy, she has that launch-party-thingy coming up soon,” Brittany says, wrapping herself more fully around her wife, trying not to get her hopes up at just the prospect of  a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep.

“As if Mercedes would ever refuse a chance to play with Rosie,” Santana scoffs.

“Well, she is adorable,” Brittany directs to their daughter, who grins toothlessly and grabs for Brittany’s lip.

“Fucking adorable,” Santana agrees, and Brittany can’t wait until she can amusedly watch Santana struggle to control her potty mouth around soon-to-be impressionable little ears.

“Yeb,” Brittany mumbles around the fingers now probing at her tongue.

Santana chuckles as she watches their daughter inspect all of Brittany’s teeth. “Besides, ‘Cedes has been bugging me all week about bringing Rosie in to the studio for lunch.”

“Good,” Brittany moans dreamily, gently extracting Rosie’s hand from her mouth, “I can already feel the pillow under my head.”

“Do you think I should be offended that you’re more excited for sleep than sex lately?” Santana ponders teasingly.

Brittany rolls her eyes and tickles briefly at Santana’s stomach until she’s giggling and squirming in her wife’s arms. Rosie perks up to grin toothlessly at her mothers, wiggling around in Santana’s hold and accidentally smacking Brittany in the jaw with her tiny fist. “As if you aren’t the exact same lately,” Brittany grins as she finally relents, kissing Rosie’s cheek and then Santana’s in turn.

Santana just laughs and turns slightly to kiss Brittany fully in concession.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s not that Santana’s actively trying to avoid doing homework, it’s just that watching Brittany is much more fun. Way more fun. Like a concerning amount of fun considering they have a unit exam in biology tomorrow that they really should be studying for.
But Brittany is much more interesting than gene flow or genetic drift or whatever they’re supposed to be studying. Besides, anatomy is kinda like biology, so she’s technically studying something by watching Brittany. At least, that’s what she tells herself as she watches Brittany roll the pink eraser of her pencil back and forth across a thin pink lip, flipping carefully through their shared textbook with the other hand. She’s dressed in Santana’s sweatpants and Cheerios hoodie because they didn’t stop at Brittany’s house after school today, and the sight of the bolded LOPEZ across Brittany’s shoulders makes Santana’s stomach twist into all kinds of interesting new knots.

“Santana?”

“Huh what?” Santana startles.

Brittany rolls her eyes playfully and pokes Santana in the cheek her pencil. “I’ve been trying to ask you a question for, like, the last five minutes and you’ve just been gazing all dreamy-eyed at me.”

“What? It hasn’t been five minutes,” Santana protests.

Brittany just raises her eyebrows and Santana fights her blush. Sure, Brittany’s like her girlfriend now, which is incredible in and of itself, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing to be caught doing something sappy like gazing. “Then what was my question?” Brittany challenges.

“It was— I mean you asked— About— Stop that,” Santana scolds half-heartedly. “I can’t think when you’re being all—” she gestures vaguely to Brittany.

“All what?” Brittany teases.

“All adorable and stuff.”

Brittany grins and ducks down to kiss Santana on the top of her head. “You’re adorable.”

“I’m not adorable,” Santana pouts.
“Sure you are, Ms. Adorable,” Brittany grins, “now answer my question.” Santana rolls her eyes and pushes herself off her stomach so she’s sitting cross-legged beside Brittany. “What’s the difference between genetic drift and gene flow?”
Santana reaches for the textbook as she starts explaining, flipping open to the right page and pointing out some of the pictures meant to help describe the two concepts. Brittany occasionally hums or asks another question, but mostly she just lets Santana give a long rambling explanation with lots of examples and visual aids.

“So, like with genetic drift it’s like—” Santana makes a startled noise into Brittany’s mouth as lips press firmly and eagerly to hers. Once the surprise subsides she sinks into Brittany’s kiss, letting her girlfriend lead until she’s dizzy with love for Brittany. “What was that for?” she asks breathlessly.

“You’re cute when you’re focused,” Brittany explains simply, causing Santana to roll her eyes fondly. “Plus,” Brittany says quietly, swallowing thickly and shrugging a little, “you’re always so careful about how you explain things to me so you know that I’ll get it. Mr. Paine always confuses me because he makes it sound so complicated but you just like, make it simple.”

“Yeah, well, Mr. Paine likes to make things more complex than they need to be just so he sounds smarter than your average garden flamingo,” Santana tries to deflect.

“Maybe I’m just a bad student,” Brittany says with a slightly sad smile, “Everyone else seems to follow along just fine.”

“That’s not—” Santana starts and then looks sharply at Brittany. “Just because the stupid school system isn’t actually set up to cater to your way of learning doesn’t make you a bad student, Britt.” Brittany looks at Santana in surprise and Santana instantly flushes, her skin burning as she chews nervously on her lip. “I’ve been, like, reading up on stuff, or whatever,” Santana explains sheepishly.

Brittany shakes her head wordlessly before ducking forward and pressing an adoring kiss to the corner of Santana’s mouth. “Thank you,” she mumbles.

Santana just shrugs, blushing even harder as she turns her attention back to her textbook, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach and the fact that she can still feel Brittany’s lips against her skin. Ever since they actually labelled this thing between them Santana’s suddenly a thousand times more nervous for some reason, like the whole nine yards with the blushing and the butterflies and the gazing. Or maybe she’s just finally allowing herself to act as in love as she’s always felt, or something.

“It’s not a big deal,” she finally manages to mumble.

“It is to me,” Brittany whispers.

“Yeah, well,” Santana agrees without really saying anything at all, feeling heat crawl hot and prickling under her cheeks even as something warm swells in her chest.

Brittany just smiles softly and leans forward to kiss Santana again, long and grateful and sweet.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s not that Brittany doesn’t want to go to the loft for Rachel’s get-together, it’s that she really doesn’t want to go to the loft for Rachel’s get-together.

And she knows that Santana is equally reluctant, not just because Rachel’s like the most annoying person on the entire planet, but because they’ve barely seen each other these last couple weeks between picking up overtime shifts at their respective jobs and furiously studying for midterms.

Aside from falling into bed beside the other at increasingly ridiculous hours, and waking up for brief morning kisses when their first alarm goes off, it’s like they aren’t even married and living in the same apartment. Brittany figured that their fourth year of university would be stupidly busy, but she never imagined it would be this bad. Even when they can spare a couple hours for each other, it usually results in takeout on the couch before immediately falling asleep against each other.

So of course the first free evening they have together in weeks is when Rachel decides she just has to throw a get-together to celebrate god knows what. Most of the former glee club is in attendance—even if Brittany can only stand about half of them these days—and while she wants to see her friends, she really wants to see her wife more.

“What time is it?” Santana asks, coming out of the bathroom in a swirl of steam and heat, “We’re probably going to have to leave soon.” She catches sight of Brittany sitting on the edge of the bed, still in sweats and a t-shirt, her blue eyes darkening in interest as she stares at her wife in nothing more than a tiny towel, and rolls her eyes. “C’mon, Britt, it’ll only be a couple hours.”
“Ugh,” Brittany whines, throwing herself back on the bed and letting her arms stretch high above her, “But we could be doing much more important things during those hours,”
The room is silent until she feels Santana’s legs press to hers where they’re hanging off the side of the bed. “Important like what?” Santana asks teasingly, tickling gently at Brittany’s thigh.

Brittany remains very still while she considers her options. If she plays her cards right, she’s pretty sure she can get Santana to forget all about the get-together, and luckily for her, Santana’s only wearing a towel, which means that most of her work is already done.

She shrugs nonchalantly, keeping her eyes closed because she already knows that Santana will be able to read the intent in them, and she needs to wait until the last possible second before she springs her trap. “You know, just stuff.”

Santana laughs, and Brittany can feel the damp warmth of Santana’s skin against her legs even through her sweatpants. “We can do important stuff when we get back.”

Brittany shakes her head, cracking one eye open and feeling satisfaction curl in her body when she realizes Santana’s eyes are caught on her stomach where her shirt has ridden up. She subtly stretches a little and sees Santana’s eyes darken at the movement. “But we’ll both be too tired for that,” she pouts.

“We can leave early,” Santana says absently, a pink tongue darting out to wet her lips.

Brittany smirks lazily, knowing that Santana’s unintentionally fallen into her trap even before Brittany had set it up. “Or,” she drawls, moving slow enough that Santana doesn’t realize she’s about to be pounced on, “We could just not leave.”

“Everyone will be there,” she protests half-heartedly, still unaware of Brittany’s intent.

Brittany hums in acknowledgement, low and rumbling, and brown eyes dart to hers a moment before Brittany attacks. Santana gasps as eager hands land on her hips and spin them around until she’s pinned to the bed below her wife, the towel once snuggly tucked against her breast loosening at the movement. “And we’ll be here,” Brittany purrs, before ducking her head to kiss her wife, wet and hot and demanding. Santana lets out a surprised whimper before she’s kissing Brittany just as desperately, these past hectic weeks weighing just as heavily on her as they do on Brittany.

Brittany’s lips are both loving and desperate as she descends on Santana’s neck. It takes Santana a long moment to regain the ability to speak, her fingers digging almost painfully into Brittany’s hips as she tilts her head to give Brittany better access. “I told ‘Cedes we’d be there,” Santana finally manages to gasp, just as Brittany’s lips find that sensitive spot behind her ear and all coherent thought leaves her again.

“And I told her that we’ll be catching up on all the quality time we’ve missed these last few weeks.” Brittany’s breath is hot against her ear, and Santana gasps as Brittany trails sucking kisses along Santana’s jaw.

“She won’t believe that,” Santana protests, even as her hands start tugging at the hem of Brittany’s shirt until her wife is half-naked above her.

Brittany’s kisses gentle and turn sweet as soon as her head emerges from the collar of her shirt. “She’s been listening to me whine about never seeing you because of our schedules for, like, weeks,” Brittany says with a slightly sheepish smile, “She said she’d cover for us tonight.”

Santana’s hands come up to brush Brittany’s hair out of their faces, twisting her fingers through golden hair with a tiny smile. “I’ve missed you,” she admits quietly.

Brittany catches Santana’s left hand, pressing a long kiss to the rings nestled snuggly against the knuckle of her fourth finger. “Me too,” Brittany murmurs, “My last midterm was today.”

Santana smiles softly and tugs Brittany back down to her lips. “I know, so was mine,” she whispers.

Brittany sighs into the kiss, twisting her wrist to tangle her fingers with Santana’s and pinning them beside her head, careful to avoid pulling the waves of damp hair spread out around Santana’s head. “So we have nothing to do tomorrow then?” she mumbles hopefully against Santana’s lips.

Santana hums in agreement, more focused on exploring her wife’s mouth with her tongue than actually answering.

Brittany pulls back a little bit, ignoring Santana’s pout. “And nothing to do tonight?” she asks cheekily. Her smirk widens before disappearing into a groan as Santana answers with a bruising kiss, shifting until her towel falls completely away and pressing up into her wife until Brittany forgets her own name.

She’s going to have to get Mercedes a gift card or something.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany’s parents celebrate their eighteenth anniversary at the end of June after Brittany’s junior year. They decide to go out of town for the weekend and leave Brittany in charge of her sister with promises of babysitting money and strict warnings to behave herself, which includes no parties (as if Brittany would throw a party with her eight year-old sister in the house, who do they think she is?) and no friends allowed.
“But I can invite Santana over, right?” Brittany asks as her mom is rushing out the door and reminding her (for about the billionth time) of the rules. Brittany figures she should double check, even though Santana has always been the exception to her parents’ rules; Santana was right there beside her the first time Brittany ever babysat her little sister, so she doesn’t see why that has to change now.

“Of course, sweetie,” Whitney says teasingly, “We trust Santana more than you anyways.”

Brittany rolls her eyes and swats gently at her mom’s stomach. “You really shouldn’t,” Brittany says mildly; sure, she loves Santana, but she’s also about seventy percent of the reason they ever get in trouble (Brittany is definitely the other thirty percent, which is pretty much the opposite of when they were kids).

Whitney just smiles and pulls her eldest daughter into a crushing hug kissing her on the forehead before hurrying out the door and calling goodbyes over her shoulder—she had already said her goodbyes to her youngest daughter, who had wandered into the living room after getting bored of hearing the rules yet again.

“Santana’s coming over?” an overly excited voice exclaims couch, and Brittany grins a little, preparing to tease her younger sister.

“Oh, I don’t know. She’s been really busy lately.” Which is a complete lie, unless busy means spending every waking moment this summer hanging out with Brittany.

It’s been kind of like they’re catching up on the time they lost over the course of the school year, except everything feels so much lighter and easier now that both of their feelings are out in the open; even if they themselves aren’t out in the open yet, they’re finally open with one another, which feels ridiculously freeing.

“Really?” her sister pouts.

“Yeah, I don’t want to bother her.” Another lie, because she was texting Santana not two minutes ago.

“Britty,” her sister whines, drawing out every vowel, “Please ask her. I haven’t seen her in forever.”

“Hmm,” Brittany teasingly contemplates, “I suppose I can try.” Tiny arms are thrown around her hips and her sister cheers as Brittany dials Santana’s number.

Which is how Santana finds herself at the Pierce’s doorstep an hour later with pizza, much to the excitement of both Pierce daughters. Brittany’s sister greets her with a long hug and a whining complaint about Santana not being around enough, and Brittany greets her with a soft, searching kiss in the hallway as soon as her sister is occupied finding paper plates in the kitchen.

It’s also how Santana finds herself in a game of truth or dare, sitting in front of the coffee table and pressed against Brittany’s side. Santana is warm and comfortable, something she isn’t often outside of her or Brittany’s house or in front of people; Brittany’s sister is different because Santana’s been around the Pierce house longer than she has, and there isn’t anything better to hold over someone’s head in exchange for their silence than I used to change your diapers.

It’s Santana’s turn, and she picks dare because Brittany’s sister is awful at coming up with truth questions, but she always manages to imagine wild, ridiculous dares.

“I dare you to,” Brittany’s sister’s eyes dart all over the living room before landing on her parents’ wedding picture, her eyes lighting up in excitement. “I dare you to kiss Britty!”

Brittany tenses, barely breathing as she sneaks a glance at Santana, whose eyes are wide and unreadable. “What do you know about kissing, munchkin?” Brittany deflects.

“Lots!” her sister says defensively, “Danny B is always daring girls to kiss him at recess!”

“Danny B sounds like a little punk,” Santana says mildly, her voice much steadier than Brittany expected it to be. (To be honest, she kind of expected Santana to have already fled because that’s what she’s always done before; she’s still not quite used to a Santana who doesn’t run spitting words of fire at the slightest hint of something deeper than friendship between the two of them, but she’s kind of really excited to get used to it now.)

Her sister smiles in a way that’s all Santana, smirking and haughty, but still just a little childlike; she looks exactly like Santana used to when she got some elaborate revenge plan in her head. “He kind of is. He tried to kiss me after the end of the year water-fight.”

Santana raises her eyebrows and Brittany has half a mind to go and find little Danny B and threaten him to stay the hell away from her baby sister, the fact that he’s only eight years-old be damned. “What did you do?” Santana asks carefully.

Her sister shrugs and grins widely. “I kicked him in the shin,” she says proudly.

Brittany chokes on her water, Santana’s warm palm instantly rubbing soothingly at her back. “You what?” Brittany manages, her eyes watering, “And mom and dad didn’t ground you?”

Her sister looks a little worried at Brittany’s reaction, but there’s still a pleased sparkle in her dark eyes. “The teacher thought that he shouldn’t be trying to make girls kiss him when they don’t wanna so she just made me stay inside during recess for a couple days instead of telling mom and dad.”

“Nice going, munchkin,” Santana says with a proud smile. Brittany elbows her and gives her a pointed look. Her sister kind of adores Santana and would do anything to be like her, but Brittany’s pretty sure if her sister follows in Santana’s scrappy footsteps she’s going to have a premature aneurysm, probably multiple ones. “I mean,” Santana amends, “Uh, you really shouldn’t kick people.”

Brittany’s sister looks wide-eyed between the two teenagers. “I don’t! Only when they deserve it!”

Brittany chews on her lip because she can’t say the thought of kicking someone who deserved it hasn’t occasionally crossed her mind, but it’s different when it’s her baby sister. “Next time, maybe try something else,” she suggests, “like anything else.”

Her sister shrugs and takes a bite of her pizza. “I dunno how to outsmart them like you, Britty,” she says matter-of-factly, “So I gotta do something else.”

Santana looks at Brittany with eyes so soft and smiling that Brittany’s not quite sure what to do with herself, so she quickly turns back to her sister. “Okay, back to the game.”

“Oh yeah!” her sister wipes her mouth with the back of her hand even though her napkin is right beside her, “I dared Santana to kiss you!”

Brittany blinks in surprise because she totally forgot about that; by trying to distract her sister from seeing Brittany’s blush, she just got them right back to where they started.

“Fine,” Santana says faux-dramatically before Brittany can even open her mouth to responds, and before she knows it Santana’s fingers are pinching her chin and drawing Brittany’s face towards her. She has a brief moment to catch the love and timidness in dark eyes before Santana’s lips are pressing chastely to hers. Everything happens so quick that she is only just returning the kiss when Santana pulls away, much to the giggling amusement of her sister.

Santana sits back and gives Brittany a shy smile, so loving and bashful that Brittany quickly finds her hand under the coffee table and traces a heart on her palm. Santana takes a deep breath and dances her fingers across Brittany’s thigh before she finally turns back to Brittany’s sister.

“Okay, your turn, munchkin,” she declares.

“I choose dare!”

“No kissing,” Brittany interrupts, eyeing Santana with a soft smile; her sister just scrunches up her nose in disgust at the thought, “That’s only for us grownups.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Brittany used to think that there was nothing in the world that was better than taking a long, hot bath after dance; which is, of course, still true, but once her girlfriend started joining her too it became like heaven or something. She’s not really sure if she believes in the whole religion thing—especially after everything with Santana’s abuela—but she’s pretty sure if it exists, then baths with Santana must have been a little cloud of heaven that floated down to earth just for her.

The new routine her dance instructor had introduced last week has been killing her. She loves dance more than she loves certain relatives of hers, and it’s always so satisfying once she actually gets a routine down, but the time before that leaves her with aching muscles and a strong desire to sleep for, like, a couple years; hence her desire to take a long bath after practice.

When she gets home though, the house is completely empty. She finds a note on the counter reminding her that her sister has a soccer game—which she definitely forgot about—and that there’s leftovers from last night in the fridge for her to eat, since her parents are going to take her sister out for supper in celebration of her last soccer game of the season. Her stomach grumbles, but she needs to change out of her sweaty clothes and have a bath before she thinks about eating, so she just drops her dance bag by the bottom of the stairs—since it’s laundry day tomorrow—and heads for her room.

The house is silent and dark, except for the light from her room spilling into the hallway. She rolls her eyes as she heads into her room, because her sister is awful at remembering to turn off the light whenever she decides to go snooping in her older sister’s room.

But instead of the empty room she expects, she’s greeted with her girlfriend sprawled out on her bed.

“Santana!” she gasps.

Santana glances up from her phone with a wide smile. “You’re home,” she greets happily, and something about the way she says that makes Brittany’s heart leap in her chest, bright and warm and yearning.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you or anything, because I am. I definitely am. But what are you doing here?” Brittany asks as she crosses the room, scrunching up her nose in thought. “I didn’t forget a date night did I? Because you know I’d never forget that, but I might have forgotten what day it is today so like—”

“Babe, breathe,” Santana laughs, reaching for Brittany’s hands and tugging her between her legs, “You didn’t forget a date.”

“Oh,” Brittany’s shoulders relax and she gives Santana a sheepish smile, “Good. I was worried there for a second.”

Santana chuckles and presses a kiss to Brittany’s knuckles. “You’re cute.”

Brittany rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out. “But seriously.”

Santana scrunches her face up like Brittany’s the most adorable and most silly person in the world, and it makes something deep in Brittany’s chest hum in contentment. “We have that test in English tomorrow.” Brittany just stares blankly at Santana. “We decided we were going to hang out and study together during lunch, remember?”

Dance also sometimes makes her forget she has homework.

“Oh, I definitely remember that,” Brittany deadpans.

Santana laughs and shakes her head fondly, rubbing her thumbs across Brittany’s knuckles. “Sure you do.”

“I do!” Brittany protests but she can’t hide the grin tugging at her lips.

Santana just hums in amusement and tugs on Brittany’s hands until she half falls on her girlfriend. Warm lips are press to hers around a small smile and a mumbled hi. Brittany sighs and sinks into Santana’s soft kiss with a mumbled hi of her own. Sure, they’d kissed goodbye after school, but that was like a whole four hours ago, which is much too long in Brittany’s opinion. Santana seems to share that opinion because before she knows it, Santana’s hands have released hers and anchored on the back of her neck and at her waist, tugging Brittany fully down on her in a bruising kiss. Brittany follows willingly, Santana’s mouth warm and hot and demanding against hers, swallowing Santana’s soft groan and returning it with a whimper when Santana tugs her down onto her thigh and causes heat to curl low in Brittany’s stomach.

It isn’t until Brittany twists a little so she can run the hand not holding her up under the hem of Santana’s shirt that her body reminds her of how sore it is.

She breaks the kiss with a startled gasp when her back spasms at the move, falling off Santana and to the side with a pained whimper.

“Britt?” Santana breathes, rolling over so she’s hovering above Brittany with wide, worried eyes. Cool fingers press to a flushed cheek, gently tracing the length of Brittany’s sheepish smile.

“S’okay,” she mumbles, “My back’s just sore. And my legs. And my arms.”

“Aww, Britt,” Santana pouts, leaning over to peck Brittany’s cheek. “You wanna take a bath before we study?” Brittany’s stomach growls loudly, not to be forgotten. “And eat?” Santana laughs after a beat of silence.

Brittany pouts and makes a grab for Santana as she stands, just missing her arm. “Only if you join me,” she bargains with a winning smile.

Santana rolls her eyes but can’t hide the amusement in her dark eyes as she heads to the bathroom. “Manage to get out of your sports bra and we’ll see,” she teases.

“Score!” Brittany quietly cheers, pumping a fist in the air and immediately regretting it. She slowly sits up and strips; her sports bra proves to be the most difficult since it kind of hurts to raise her arms above her head, but she eventually manages it and wanders down the hall to the bathroom. The glass her and her sister use to rinse after brushing is filled with water and two ibuprofen sit beside it. Brittany sighs and smiles, her heart stuttering in how much she loves Santana, and quickly takes the pain killers.

Santana hears the door close and smiles over her shoulder, steam curling up around her body as she dips a hand in the water to check the temperature. Brittany quickly steps forward to wrap herself around her girlfriend, dropping soft kisses to her shoulder in appreciative thanks. Santana pats at Brittany’s arm wrapped around her torso with a wet hand, leaning forward to shut the water off and slipping out of Brittany’s hold so she can quickly strip too.

She steps in first before holding out a hand to help Brittany in after her, both of them sinking slowly into the steaming water, Santana slung against the end of the tub and Brittany slung against her body. Santana tugs her closer and they both sigh at the warmth surrounding them; there’s something comforting and intimate about feeling the other’s warm skin against their own, even when they have no other goal than to just relax together. Santana nuzzles into Brittany’s shoulder and presses a gentle kiss there, no intent behind the gesture as her hands firmly start to massage the soreness out of Brittany’s muscles.

Brittany feels all the tension ease out of her body in the wake of Santana’s touch, enough that she feels relaxed enough to crane her head back to catch Santana’s lips against hers. Santana hums into the kiss, her hands faltering at the feeling of Brittany’s mouth slanting hungrily against hers before they start moving again. Brittany can feel the desire from earlier start to curl again, and of course the exact moment she starts to turn into Santana her back decides to spasm painfully.

“Not again,” Brittany whines against Santana’s mouth, painfully twisting around and sinking back into Santana’s embrace with a pout.

“Poor baby,” Santana pouts teasingly, her breath ghosting along the shell of Brittany’s ear and causing her to shiver even in the steaming water.

“It’s your fault,” Brittany complains.

“Is it?” Santana whispers, her lips following the line of Brittany’s shoulder and making it decidedly hard to concentrate.

“Yeah, it is. You’re all hot and naked and stuff and I’m too sore to actually do anything about it.” A gentle nip to Brittany’s earlobe causes her brain to lose all coherent thought for a moment.

“Well, tomorrow’s Friday,” Santana husks into her ear, “Maybe you’ll be less sore then.”

“Hmm, maybe,” Brittany agrees with a small grin.

“And my mom’s working nights,” Santana adds conversationally.

Brittany’s grin turns wicked and she sinks back into her girlfriend, making sure to squirm enough that Santana sucks in a sharp breath and clutches desperately at Brittany, payback for all of Santana’s earlier teasing. “Then it’s a date.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“I still can’t believe she’s graduating,” Santana says for like the fortieth time.

Brittany laughs and rolls over, wrapping her arms and legs around Santana so she can’t move, trapping her in a tight embrace. “Go to sleep, babe,” she laughs, “We gotta be at the football field for her class photo early tomorrow.”

Santana squirms around a little, trying to escape for a moment before she gives up and goes limp, nuzzling into Brittany’s neck. “I still remember when she was in diapers,” she whines, “And now she’s gone and getting graduated and heading off to university.”

Brittany rolls her eyes fondly and kisses the top of Santana’s head. “You used to be terrified of doing the steps all wrong.”

“Hey! I wanted to make sure I didn’t, like, fuck it up and give her diaper rash!”

Brittany snorts and presses her face into Santana’s hair, dancing her fingers up her wife’s back. “You’re cute.”

“She was so young! She’s still so young.” Santana kisses Brittany’s neck before stiffening suddenly. “Wait,” she says slowly, “Does this mean that we’re old?”

Brittany’s laughter shakes their bodies. “I mean, that’s kind of how it works.”

Santana gasps dramatically and wiggles so suddenly that she dislodges Brittany from her side. She quickly dances her fingers along Brittany’s ribs, easily finding every single one of Brittany’s most ticklish spots, places Santana has innately known for most of her life. “You take that back!” she cries.

Brittany gasps and tries to breathe around her laughter, trying—and mostly failing—to swat Santana’s hands away. “It’s true!” Santana’s fingers keep digging into her ribs, a leg thrown over Brittany’s hips to try and keep her from squirming off the bed. Everything feels like it did almost a decade ago; Santana laughing and carefree, both of them trying to stay quiet so they don’t wake the rest of the Pierces, Brittany’s soft pink sheets under them, the rectangle of moonlight slanting across the floor, the glint of pictures through the dark, and even her little sister bursting in unannounced.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her hands on her hips, “You’re going to wake mom and dad up and then they’ll never get back to sleep.”

Santana’s hands still on Brittany’s ribs but don’t slide off her like they would have a decade ago; instead her wife just settles more firmly over her and traces soothing patterns across her sides. “What are you doing up?” Santana sneers with absolutely no real heat, “You’re like a baby, isn’t it your bedtime?”

Her sister raises an eyebrow with all of Santana’s snark and her older sister’s deadpan. “I’m graduating tomorrow and I’m eighteen now. You were there at the party, remember? Or are you so old you’re starting to lose your memory?”

“You’re just a baby adult, not a real old adult like us,” Brittany teases, pausing for dramatic effect before adding a smirking, “munchkin.”

“Ugh, you guys haven’t changed at all,” she whines, rolling her eyes in exasperation, but Brittany knows her sister well enough to spot the tiny smile playing on her lips as she turns away and pulls the door shut again.

“I can’t believe the disrespect,” Santana complains as she turns back to her wife.

Brittany smirks and tugs Santana back down, running her hands comfortingly along Santana’s back as she settles against her, tucking her face against Brittany’s neck and slinging an arm across her waist. “She might legally be an adult but she’s still a teenager,” Brittany muses teasingly, “But she should really learn to respect her seniors. Do you think we’ll get special seats since we’re practically seniors now?”

Santana’s quiet for a beat before she gently smacks Brittany in the stomach. “You’re the worst,” she whines.

“You love me.”

Santana doesn’t say anything other than to make a noise of displeasure, but considering how cuddled up she is and the kiss she presses to Brittany’s neck and the fact that she kind of married her like seven years ago, Brittany already knows she does.

“You love me, you love me, you love me,” Brittany singsongs.

Santana rolls her eyes and wiggles in Brittany’s embrace until she can crane her neck up and give Brittany a chaste kiss. Brittany’s eyes flutter back open as Santana pulls away, and the look of teasing adoration in her eyes makes Brittany quickly tug her back down, their lips meeting hungrily. Santana whimpers and presses down into Brittany, her thigh slipping between her wife’s strong ones and her fingers dancing under the hem of Brittany’s sleep shirt before hooking in the waistband of her sleep shorts. Brittany’s hands slide down past the curve of Santana’s spine and pulling her more firmly against her, groaning at the heat burning between them.

“You have to be quiet,” Brittany mumbles, sliding under Santana’s own sleep shorts under she meets her wife’s soft skin.

Santana whimpers again and presses her thigh up against Brittany until she gasps into the kiss. “Just like old times,” she smirks.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

They’re at the climax of the movie when the power goes out with a pop and a whoosh, startling the both of them fully awake as everything goes dark in the crack of thunder that follows the blackout. Santana’s mom is on night shifts, which means that they have the house to themselves. Last year they would have been long gone to some party before stumbling back to the Lopez house and falling into Santana’s bed, followed by a nice dose of gay panic the following morning, with Santana’s mom none the wiser to anything (or, so they always thought).

This year though, they’re half-asleep in the rain-darkened twilight filtering through the living room curtains, curled together on the couch and rewatching old movies. Brittany’s steady heartbeat under Santana’s ear is soothing, her hand languidly wandering along Santana’s back drawing them both deeper and deeper into a peaceful doze. A year ago Santana would have been desperately running from any affection like this, sprawled across Brittany’s body and with her head pillowed on her chest, but now she savours every quiet moment between them. She’s gotten so tired of fighting herself, of pretending that being with Brittany in every way isn’t her deepest desire, and she’s gotten tired of hurting both of them with her fear and shame, so she’s given up fighting it. Sure, she’s not ready to be with Brittany in front of prying and judging eyes, but she doesn’t feel the need to hide anymore when it’s just them.

Which means that they’ve barely been to any parties this summer, electing instead to just spend time rebuilding their friendship and laying the foundation for, what Santana hopes is, a future relationship. Everything is so familiar and new all at once; they already know each other better than they know themselves, and they fell in love with each other long ago, but there’s an aspect of innocent shyness to their interactions now.

Sure, she kind of misses sleeping with Brittany, but there’s something tantalizingly intimate about relearning each other like this; something that leads them to spending their evening cuddling on the couch instead of getting drunk with all the other teenagers at some senior’s party, because there’s practically nothing else to do in Lima.

“Kyle’s gonna be upset,” Brittany says conversationally, both of them now more alert from the blackout than they’d been since the start of the movie, “A blackout’s gonna kill the mood of his party.”

Santana muffles her laughter against Brittany’s chest. “As if he’s sober enough to even realize the power went out.”

“He will be once his beer starts to get warm.” Santana can feel Brittany’s smirk against the top of her head, her hands still running gentle circles across her back. “Not that he’s smart enough to tell the difference even in the light.”

Santana giggles and props herself up on her elbows so she’s hovering above Brittany, her blue eyes as dark as midnight in the dark living room. “I love you when you’re all snarky,” she says, only a hint of shyness creeping into her voice.

Brittany glows, the way she always does whenever Santana says those words, the way that Santana always dreamed about even during her darkest moments, the way that reassures Santana that she feels the exact same.

But Santana still ducks down and presses her lips to Brittany’s before she has a chance to respond, a hint of Santana’s old fear of rejection reappearing, their noses nudging together and the peaks of their cheeks brushing. Brittany’s fingers slip under the hem of her shirt, drawing tiny hearts against the small of her back, so adoring and intimate that Santana’s lips slip from Brittany’s with a choked whimper.

“You don’t have to do that every time,” Brittany breathes in the space created by Santana’s gasp, “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” Brittany presses against Santana’s back, her palms gentle and insistent as she draws their lips back together. “I love you, too,” she mumbles.

Santana sighs into Brittany’s mouth, her body melting into Brittany’s as she easily chases away all of Santana’s old fears, just like she always has. They kiss languidly and sweetly as they sink into each other, getting so lost in the warm press of lips that they don’t even notice the lights flickering when power is restored to the neighbourhood as the thunderstorm slows to a drizzle, awestruck at the emotion kissed wordlessly into the other’s mouth, echoing the phrase that had always been felt but that finally came easily to them now, too lost in the other’s love to bother with the outside world for a long while.