olaf47: (sunset)
[personal profile] olaf47
Title: It Ain’t the Dark that I’m Afraid Of (It’s the Light)
Fandom: Glee
Characters/Pairing: Brittany Pierce, Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce/Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce/Artie Abrams
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Pre-series through 3.06
Summary: Brittany’s POV of Santana’s coming out story, through the years.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. The words are.

They’re thirteen when they kiss for the first time.

It’s not til the next year that Santana first tells her she’s not allowed to tell anyone. She doesn’t even consider it.

It’s fun, at first. It makes her feel like Sydney Bristow or something, like a secret agent. She feels a bit like a Siamese twin, too, connected to Santana by their pinkies. They only have half their classes together, though, so sometimes they can’t be conjoined. And other times they’re connected at places that aren’t their pinkies. That’s all behind closed doors and that’s the only part of the whole thing that stops being fun.

Brittany never doesn’t like hanging out with Santana. Time with her is always well spent. It makes Brittany happy. It’s just that hiding things started out awesome; it meant sneaky kisses and looks that no one else understood. But it turns out Brittany wouldn’t be a very good secret agent. She likes kissing Santana. She likes doing it when Santana’s being cute, or to distract her when her insults are too mean, or sometimes just when she looks extra pretty, which is a lot of the time, actually. And she likes kissing her when she’s the one being cute, or when she’s excited—like after the practice where she first nails a double down—or when she’s having a bad day. Kissing Santana is basically her favorite thing to do except maybe dance, but sometimes it’s even better than that.

The thing is—those times when Brittany likes kissing Santana? They happen a lot, and sometimes there aren’t bathrooms or closets or empty rooms to hide in. Brittany doesn’t see why she can’t just kiss Santana in front of people.

When she brings it up, gently, as they lay naked together across Brittany’s bed, Santana snaps at her. Brittany doesn’t even hear what she says, really, she doesn’t pay attention the exact words so much as she focuses on the way her chest feels like someone’s sitting on it or something, like she can’t breathe at all, and she didn’t know you could have a heart attack just because you love somebody who doesn’t love you back.

That night Santana texts her. telling ppl will just mess everything up. Brittany kind of gets it. When she told everyone her stuffed rabbit was actually the Easter bunny, all they did was laugh at her. She texts back: Ok. I love you. They’ve said it before, so many times that neither of them remembers when they started. They said it before they ever kissed, because it was true even then. Now, Brittany knows it maybe means something more like I’m in love with you, which she knows is different, but she keeps saying it the same so Santana doesn’t get mad at her.

Her phone buzzes on her bedside table well past one. She reaches for it but has to rub at her groggy eyes before she can read the message. I love you too.

She decides having to be sneaky isn’t really that bad, after all.


She doesn’t talk to Santana about kissing in front of people ever again. Junior year, though, she thinks she’s maybe in the clear to ask about singing a duet together.

Whenever they're done kissing, Santana always has to fix her hair because Brittany likes the slip of it between her fingers. This time, when Santana rolls off of her prematurely and redoes her perfect Cheerios ponytail, Brittany's chest doesn't pinch quite as tight as last time. She knows the more times things happen, the less they hurt—like sex at the beginning, or new moves in Cheerios. It's not that she loves Santana any less; she's just used to this by now.

She's the one to text Santana that night. It doesnt have to be melissa ethridge. Like, she knows that that's not what Santana's upset about, but it probably wasn't the best song choice. Maybe if she pretends it was just a stupid Brittany idea it'll all be okay.

She tries to stay up until Santana texts her back, because she knows it's not going to be until super late. Brittany doesn't know why but it's like, impossible for Santana to text about important stuff unless it's past midnight. She's never been able to. When they were eleven, Brittany got a text at almost three am saying Santana's abuelo had cancer. So Brittany stays up, phone in her hand but on vibrate so it doesn't wake up anyone else. She tries to stay awake, rereads old text messages and tries to memorize Quinn's new phone number and blinks as quickly as possible. She thinks of other songs they could sing. Surely there's a song about sex with boys or something they could sing. She falls asleep before she decides if their ranges could handle "It's Raining Men."

Her phone buzzing in her hand wakes her up, but she doesn't bother figuring out what time it is.

Don't tell anyone but my song's about you, okay?

She types back: Ok. Love you.

She's almost asleep when her phone vibrates again.

Love you too.

She saves the message, just like every single other one Santana has ever sent her saying those words. It's number 128.


For days after Santana and Mercedes sing, Brittany can't stop humming. The margins of her notes are usually filled with doodles of Lord Tubbington and Charity, but that week she can't stop writing in cursive and print and big block letters, and sometimes a mix of all three.

oh how I LOVE YOU baby, baby baby baby.

She blushes when Mercedes catches her in English class.

"I really liked your song."

Mercedes pulls a bitchface. "Not enough to vote for us, apparently."

Brittany sort of half shrugs and just keeps shading the block letters of I LOVE YOU. The truth is, she didn't vote at all. She doesn't know if Mr. Schue noticed or not; he's about as good at math as she is. She really only wanted to vote for Santana, but she was supposed to be mad at her and was supposed to be sad that Artie broke up with her and everything. So she just didn't vote, figured she could say she forgot if anyone actually noticed.

She copies biology notes from Santana after Cheerios practice that afternoon. Santana takes the best notes, highlights them in different colors for different things and uses bullet points and numbered lists. Brittany still isn't all that great at biology, and sometimes forgets which color means what, but her best friend's notes definitely help.

Santana pulls Brittany's notebook away, though, while she’s copying something about the respiration cycle. Her pen leaves a line across the page. Santana stares at the notebook, flips back a few pages. Brittany remembers that yesterday she made "like the robin loves to sing" look especially pretty in one of the margins. She even drew a little robin next to it. She beams. Santana made her happy, and Santana pretty much always likes making her happy, so she doesn't get it when Santana doesn't smile back. Instead, she rips out the last four pages.

Brittany's face falls.

"Whatever, I'll type everything up for you so you don't have to copy it all."

"Right," Brittany says. "Or I could just take those home and type them up myself. You know I'm trying to get better at computers."

She never quite could play the dumb girl when it came to Santana.

"I got it," the brunette says.


Brittany likes dating Artie. He takes her cool places, like his favorite little bookstore. Everything is old, and Brittany likes the way the shop smells. But then Artie, like, gets frustrated when she spends the whole time in the greeting card section. Sometimes he can be super nice, though. And maybe the sex isn't, like, awesome, physically, but he's sweet to her, and makes her feel so loved, and she loves that. It's, like, better than a really good orgasm. 'Cause she can give herself a really good orgasm, but she can't make herself feel loved like he does.

She knows Santana loves her, too, probably more than Artie does, really. Like, Santana would never get mad that she spent so much time looking at cards. But Santana would also never take her to a bookstore, or anywhere that people could see them out together, except like the mall. Or if a boy took them to Breadstix.

Brittany's braver now, and Artie’s probably the reason. He makes her feel good about herself. It's like that Alanis Morissette song, actually, because Artie making her braver is why she talks to Santana about feelings. It goes well—better than she expected. And God, when Santana sings to her, she—well, she doesn't forget that everyone is there, because that's kind of the whole point. Santana is singing to her. In front of people. Even if she flees from the room afterward, it feels like some kind of progress.

Later, though, Brittany says she can't. Brittany blames Artie. Brittany says no when all she wants to do is shout yes. That's the problem, really—she wants to shout it. She can't shout it.


After that, it takes dirt pouring out of their lockers to even have a conversation, and that's really just Santana cussing out Sue while helping Brittany get the dirt out of her eyes. It feels normal, though, like it used to. Santana even lets her link their pinkies together on their way to Spanish.


Brittany cries when Artie calls her stupid, because, yeah, it hurts. But then Santana's the one comforting her, in the hallway in front of people, and she sings to her again, even if that part's in private. Brittany's tears aren't sad, then.

Maybe she should feel bad that she forgets about Artie so easily. Maybe she would feel bad, except, this is Santana. Santana has always been her number one.


When Brittany was nine years old, this girl knocked on her door, holding a kitten and trying not to cry.

"I found him behind my house and he doesn't have a mom or anything but I can't keep him because my dad's allergic and he wanted to take him to the pound or whatever but I want him to have a good home and you've got a cat—I’ve seen it around and stuff—and can you just take this one too so he can have a home?"

Brittany knew she was absolutely not allowed to make that decision herself, but the girl's eyes were wide and dark brown and totally filled with tears and Brittany did not like it when people cried. So she nodded. The girl handed over the cat and rubbed at her eyes with her fists. The kitten was tiny and brown and Brittany didn't know why, but he was not as interesting as the girl in front of her.

"I'm Brittany," she said. She was supposed to shake hands when she met someone, but her hands were full of kitten, and the girl looked her age, anyway. Kids only shook adults' hands.


Brittany let her in, even though she totally wasn't supposed to do that with strangers. Her dad didn't yell at her when he came down fifteen minutes later to find the girls in the living room playing with the kitten.

Instead, he asked, "Who's your new friend?"

Brittany said, "Santana." before she realized he meant the cat. But it made the brunette grin, and those dark eyes glittered.

Brittany loves Lord Tubbington, but the best thing she got from that day was definitely Santana.

When she doesn't show up for the interview, Brittany's chest does nothing more than twinge. She's getting better at this.

She puts her phone on silent before she goes to sleep.


They go back to being friends, and it's okay. It really is. Because she loves Santana. She loves being her friend. She wants to be more, she thinks they could be so much more, but she's okay with being friends.

She will not chase Santana. She's already decided that. She tried to make it easy for her. All she had to do was come on Fondue for Two and say yes. And she couldn't do that. So Brittany won't chase her, won't go through that again. She loves Santana too much, loves their friendship too much, to try and try and try for something more, only to get sad and frustrated every time.

Instead, she'll be honest when Santana asks, what about us?, and she'll lock their pinkies together. But Santana has to be the quarterback, or whatever, 'cause she's the one with the ball now.


Santana calls her play or makes her pass or whatever—Brittany really doesn't get that analogy—on the Fourth of July.

Brittany knows Santana hasn't forgiven Rachel for what happened at Nationals. So as soon as she sees the Facebook invitation to a Fourth of July pool party at Rachel's, she calls Santana. People say she’s stupid sometimes, but she totally knows how to get simple stuff from her best friend. Like, all it takes is an "I'm so excited" and "I might have to drop my little sister at a party beforehand, so I can't drive with you, but I'll meet you there?" for Santana to click the "Attending" option.

Brittany pairs her red bikini top with white bottoms and jean cutoffs. She wears a white tank, too, but only for about two minutes once she arrives. It's Ohio in July, which means it's like eighty plus a million percent humidity. She's not wearing anything more than she has to. And yeah, the way the buzz of conversation dies down, just a little, as she pulls her shirt over her head is also pretty nice. Santana is just gaping, and it's both adorable and flattering.

The party is fun. It's great to see everyone after being out of school for a month, even if Rachel is a little obnoxious talking about songs for next year already. They play Marco Polo but Santana refuses to join. Brittany only plays for a little while before quitting to sit at the foot of her lounge chair. Santana doesn't move away, lets her ankle press against Brittany's thigh.

They chat aimlessly, about nothing really. About how it’s hot and how they wish Quinn was there and how Rachel looks surprisingly normal in a navy blue one piece. Santana is wearing sunglasses, and even though they’re dark, Brittany knows that for most of the conversation, she’s totally not looking at her face. Brittany’s guilty of the same thing. It’s just that Santana’s in this black bikini that isn’t even skimpy or anything, but just because she’s the shorter of the two does not mean she doesn’t have a lot of leg to look at.

Brittany ends up suggesting everyone chicken fight just so she has an excuse to put her hands high on Santana's thighs. When they’re getting ready, she maneuvers and adjusts a couple of times and totally wishes she could see Santana's face. The girl always claims that ethnic people don't blush, but Brittany's seen that face flush red more times than she can count. She'd bet it was a little red now, and by the way Santana smacks her gently on the top of the head, she's pretty sure it's a bet she'd win.

Puck climbs onto Finn's shoulders and Rachel argues that the two football players against the girls is unfair. Santana and Brittany laugh at her and totally kick their asses. You don't win cheerleading nationals without serious muscles. Plus, Brittany can hold her breath for like three minutes, but Finn starts sputtering as soon as the girls back them toward the deep end.

Brittany keeps Santana on her shoulders for a victory lap of the shallow end before finally letting go. Santana doesn't stop smiling as she returns to her lounge chair. Brittany, on the other hand, is having so much fun she can't stop moving. Her body feels like a beehive or something, all buzzy. She swims laps until the nervous energy bouncing through her, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes, settles down a little. When she finally climbs out of the pool, someone wolf whistles at her.

It turns out to be Tina, which makes everyone laugh. But then Puck says, "Seriously, Lopez, you are one lucky chick." and Brittany feels like a deer in spotlights. No one seems to notice anything, but Brittany swears she can hear the blood rushing through her brain, and Santana won't look at her. She swallows. The party continues around them like nothing has changed, so she sits in the chair next to Santana like she had planned. She still won't look at her.

Fifteen minutes later, Brittany's pulse won't slow down and she doesn't even know why. She isn't the one scared of what people think. It's not until Santana reaches out, pinkie extended, that Brittany feels like she can breathe again.


It turns out you can get on Rachel's roof—and they are so lucky no one knew that the last party they had here—so they've got an awesome view for the fireworks. It's Lima, so they aren't too fancy, but Brittany would like just about anything that she got to watch while leaning back, one of Santana's legs on either side of her. Everyone else who is sitting like this is dating, and Santana was the one who pulled her against her, and Brittany focuses really hard as red sparks pop over her head. She doesn't really understand the idea of mental pictures—like, her brain doesn't have a camera in it—but she knows she wants to remember this feeling forever.


Brittany doesn't know how Santana got to the party, but she doesn't bother to find out when the brunette asks, wanna get outta here?, her breath hot on Brittany's face. She's not really sure what she's feeling, or what she is supposed to be feeling, or anything. She wanted to be single for a while, focus on herself more, because she's so good at focusing on other people, like, she notices stuff all the time—like how sad Quinn looked after they performed “Born This Way.” (Brittany had taken her home and let her cry for an hour about how her shirt should have said Beth instead of Lucy Caboosey, and then they'd eaten a whole tub of ice cream in the middle of her bed.) But sometimes she forgets to notice things about herself. Like how Artie made her feel loved, but he didn't really make her feel in love. But, like, she's been single since May or something, and it's July, and Santana is pressing up against her side in front of people and she hasn't had sex in forever but she's also maybe in love with this girl and what is she supposed to do? She's noticed things about herself lately, like how all she's really certain about in life is that she wants to dance and that she loves Santana. Those seem like pretty big things to know. So maybe it's okay, the way she's leaning into Santana, the way she doesn't quite feel so single anymore, the way she doesn't think she's going to be the only one in her bed tonight.

But when they get to her car, Santana pulls away, doesn't even link their pinkies between the seats like usual.

“There's just—“ she starts, when Brittany is driving but still isn't sure if she's supposed to be taking Santana home or to her house. “I just want to talk to you about this. You're my best friend, and I love you, and I need you to understand why I'm so scared.”

Brittany decides they're both going to her house, because she's not dumb enough to not know this is a big deal, especially for Santana. Plus, swinging toward Lima Heights Adjacent would mean they’d get stuck in the post-firework traffic. The route to Brittany’s house doesn’t have the red glare of brake lights like most of the Lima streets right now.

“Tonight was nice,” Santana says first, and Brittany agrees but is pretty sure she's not supposed to interrupt. She's also pretty sure that Santana waited until they were in the car to have this conversation so Brittany would have to look at the road instead of at her face. “It's different with glee club. Kurt's like the gayest man alive and everyone still thinks he's perfect with his 'I haven't hit puberty yet' voice.”

Brittany knows that Santana's insults are kind of like a bullet ricocheting. Like, they change her trajectory or whatever (she thinks that's the word they used in physics, but she only passed ‘cause Santana let her cheat), so even though she was headed in one direction, she's suddenly going somewhere else. It makes everyone else look in that direction, too, and so they maybe don't see where she was going originally. Brittany usually knows, though, and she knows that this time, Santana's going to end up there no matter how many times she ricochets away.

“Not everyone is like them, though. I mean, obviously, if everyone was like Rachel Berry, I'd probably have to kill myself." She pauses there, but she's not even looking at her nails or anything like she'd normally be doing. Her voice is quieter when she continues. “It won't change anything with them. But with some people, God, even with people I don't even know, it'll change everything.”

Brittany doesn't get that. Like, the only reason people should care if someone likes guys or girls is if they want to kiss the person themselves. Otherwise it just totally doesn't make sense. But neither does football, really, and tons of people like that, so she at least knows what Santana means, even if she can't see why that would matter.

They pull into Brittany's driveway then, and Santana stops talking. Brittany thought about driving around for a bit and pretending like she forgot where her house was. She did that after her first sleepover with Santana, when Mrs. Lopez was driving her home, just because she wanted to spend more time giggling in the backseat with her new best friend. Santana had laughed at her but from then on she always made her mom take the long way to Brittany's house.

Santana has spent enough time at Brittany's house that sometimes when she's in her own kitchen, she opens the wrong drawers looking for silverware. Getting ready for bed together feels normal, almost. Except the current of tension between them has less to do with getting in the dark so they can get naked and more to do with getting in the dark so Santana's comfortable enough to talk again. Her toothbrush is still in the cup next to Brittany's, it stayed there even when they weren't talking, even when it had been months since they'd had a sleepover. It made Brittany feel hopeful, or something, like she knew all along that Santana would be coming back (which she didn't, really, but she liked to pretend that she was never nervous. In all those chick flicks Santana says she doesn't like but she actually loves, one of the two main characters—it’s always a guy and a girl, and Brittany doesn't get mad often, but don't even get her started on that—one of them always knows. Through everything they just know who they're supposed to be with, and they know that they will. Brittany figured since Santana obviously wasn't that one in the relationship, she had to be.)

It's not that late, since they avoided the traffic, not even midnight. But Brittany gets into her bed as soon as they're finished brushing their teeth. She scooches all the way to the wall so Santana has room to climb in beside her before clicking off the light.

Then, Brittany waits.

She was afraid of the dark until she started having sleepovers with Santana. In the dark, Santana starts tickle fights and giggles too loudly. Even at Cheerios sleepovers, when she put distance between herself and Brittany the whole night, when the lights went off, she curled their bodies together and synced her breath to the blonde's. Brittany stopped being afraid of the dark.

But it's dark now, and Santana's still not saying anything, is still just lying there, tense. It's not the dark that Brittany is scared of this time.

Santana stays quiet, long enough that Brittany would think she was asleep, except none of her muscles are relaxed and there's this little hitch in her breath. Brittany remembers waiting for text messages, remembers how she could never stay up long enough. She takes a deep breath, and breaks the silence.

"I was scared today, not of what people thought, but scared that you were scared. I love you, Santana, but I don't want to be with you if it's just going to make you scared all the time. I want to make you happy instead."

Santana's breath hitches a little more. Brittany finds her pinkie under the sheet and
wraps her whole hand around it.

"I am scared."

Brittany can count on one hand the number of times Santana has admitted that she was scared. First, in the dark of one of their sleepovers when they were 10. Puck was still Noah then, and at school that day, he had teased her about being afraid of spiders. Naturally, she told him she totally wasn't, and pushed him off the jungle gym. But when they were snuggled together under the covers with the lights out, she'd whispered, "Britt?"


"I actually am kind of scared of spiders."

Brittany tugged her closer. "They're pretty cool. Like, think of all the awesome dancing you could do if you had eight legs. I'm not scared of them. Just keep me around and you'll be fine."

Santana sighed, but Brittany could tell it was a sigh with a smile instead of a frown. After a moment she said, "Yeah. I think I will be."

Brittany hadn't heard Santana admit fear again until freshman year the night before they were flying to cheer nationals for the first time. Santana had never been on a plane, and she was nervous about competition. What Brittany really remembers, though, is how the whole world just seemed so big. She promised Santana she'd be right there the whole time, and plus, with Coach Sylvester's practice schedule leading up to nationals, there was no way they couldn't win. (They did.)

Then, there was that time in front of their lockers. That was the same kind of scared she's feeling now, Brittany thinks. This time she's not crying, and Brittany realizes something, or hopes it anyway.

"That scary feeling will go away," she says. "Every time you’ll be a little less scared, ‘cause you know you can handle it. Like, each time you broke my heart, it hurt a little less.”

Santana bursts into tears. That's totally not what was supposed to happen.

"No, sweetie, it's good! You'll get less scared, I promise!"

Santana twists the hand that she's holding the pinkie of. Brittany thinks she's trying to pull away, but she tangles all of their fingers together instead. She's still crying though, and Brittany lets her. She rolls onto her side and keeps one of her hands latched to Santana's while the other one combs through her dark hair, over and over, as she murmurs gentle words to her.

It takes a while for Santana to get a hold of herself, but even when she does, she also keeps a hold of Brittany.

“Britts, you just—I want to make you happy, too. And I haven’t been. I know I haven’t been. I’ve been breaking your heart, and that's not okay. I don't want to treat you like that. You don't deserve that."

Brittany smiles and brushes her hand over Santana's cheek.

"But Brittany, I can't yet."

The smile drops from her face.

"I'm not ready. And if I'm going to be with you, I have to be ready. You deserve that."

Brittany finds herself nodding, and saying something about how it's okay. She doesn't say she'll wait, and she can tell Santana wanted her to. She will, she thinks, but maybe only for a while. She thinks she also deserves better than having to wait.

Santana doesn't kiss her when she says good night. Brittany holds her hand and thinks about the two toothbrushes in the bathroom, thinks about how she's supposed to be certain, thinks that maybe the movies aren't real.


Brittany just lets the summer progress. She doesn’t try anything with Santana, except convincing her to rejoin Cheerios because Brittany misses it. Santana makes Sue sign something saying she won’t shoot Brittany out of a cannon and Brittany has to hold herself back from kissing her. Protective looks good on Santana, who ends up kissing Brittany after their first practice anyway. The blonde lets her, even though it’s easy to fall back on old habits. Brittany almost wants to, because sometimes it feels like hiding with Santana is better than being open with anyone else, but they never do anything more than kiss all summer. It doesn’t happen all that often, and they still only do it in secret, but Santana’s obviously trying to make things work.

She’ll hook arms with Brittany without checking who’s watching, and she smile this completely enthralled smile at her, even in public. When school starts Brittany half-expects them to backtrack to best friends, but on the very first day Santana waits for her in the lunchroom and they link arms on camera. Brittany doesn’t want to get her hopes up, because that’s just asking for another heart attack, for it to feel the way it first did when Santana rejects her again.

When Mr. Schue kicks Santana out of glee club, Brittany wants to jump to her defense. Brittany wants to follow her out of the choir room and wrap her in her arms. Her chest hurts in a different way this time and it’s not one she thinks is going to go away, or get better with time. It hurts like something’s trying to claw its way out to tell Mr. Schue he’s wrong, and maybe to smack Mercedes across the face. And also to hug Finn, who looks at her like he gets it, like he knows as well as she does that the thing trying to break through her ribcage is Santana’s girlfriend, or would be, if the brunette would just let it be.

She wants to do all those things, but all summer she researched “coming out” on the internet, and it’s super important to let people do it on their own. Leaving glee with Santana might make people notice, and though she’s pretty sure people already have, she’s afraid that might be one of those things that forces Santana “out of the closet,” and she’s not supposed to do that—even if she did occasionally pretend to forget to close her research tabs on Santana’s laptop. She had to think a bit before she understood why they called it a closet, but then she remembered when she hid in one during hide and seek once, and everything was dark and even when Mike opened the door looking for her, she was so far in the back he still couldn’t see her. It was a really good hiding place, but she never used it again, because it was kind of scary back there all by herself. She wonders if Santana’s just as scared in the closet as she is about coming out of it.

So Brittany doesn’t go after Santana, but they do convince Mr. Schue pretty quickly to let her back in the club.

Brittany joins booty camp not to dance her way into the voters’ hearts, but just so she can be with Santana a little be more. The brunette seems to know that, somehow. Even though they don’t talk about things like that, it feels like she knows. It feels like they’re okay, like maybe Santana isn’t afraid of whatever’s in Brittany’s chest anymore. (She’s never been afraid of her chest itself, that much is clear, but she seems a little more comfortable with what’s beneath her boobs now.)


The more open Santana gets with Brittany, the more she lashes out at everyone else. It’s that ricocheting bullet thing again. Brittany doesn’t think Santana can do quite as much damage as a bullet, but when she finds Rory almost in tears one day when she comes home from cheer practice, she’s less sure.

She gets it. She knows that Santana is scared, but telling her exchange student to go home to Ireland is a bit much. Plus, he’s like, her leprechaun. She’d be so sad if he left.

Most of what Brittany’s been doing these past few months is letting Santana learn about herself at her own pace, but this time she feels like maybe she should do some teaching.

Brittany thinks the word for how their conversation goes is stilted, but that doesn’t really make sense because they’re both the same height and stuff. It’s weird is all, even if it is probably the most honest they’ve been with each other since the Fourth of July. Even when they talked about dating, the conversation was light rather than serious. This one is different.

They’d said they didn’t want to be together if it was just going to make them sad, and Brittany adds to that. She won’t be with Santana if it makes her so mean. Santana’s first reaction is a scoff and a comment about how Rory barely even speaks English anyway, so he probably doesn’t understand. But Brittany’s wearing her serious face—she practiced in the mirror the day before, like she used to when Santana didn’t want her looking at her “like you want to have my babies. Jesus, could you stop?”—and when Santana realizes that, she just nods and heads to Rory’s room. Brittany doesn’t know what she says to him, but later, when she explains everything to Rory, he gives her a little smile and says, “I think she really loves you.” At least that’s what she thinks he says.


Santana doesn’t get that much better, though. Brittany would be really annoyed, but then Finn doesn’t think before he speaks and there’s a politician who apparently doesn’t think ever and Santana runs from the auditorium in tears. The girlfriend monster flares up, then.

Brittany thinks, “Fuck it.” (which is a big deal because even after so many years as Santana’s best friend, she’s never sworn much) and lets the monster loose.

Santana isn’t hard to find, sobbing in the nearest bathroom. Brittany would bet she can’t see through her tears, but she still screams for the blonde to leave her alone. The thing is, she couldn’t if she tried. The thing in her chest has taken over her whole body.

She always was stronger than Santana; even while the smaller girl panics, she can’t fight Brittany off when she wraps her arms around her.

It takes almost half an hour for Santana’s breathing to get back to normal, during which Brittany can hear Quinn blocking anyone from coming in the bathroom. Brittany thinks the best friend monster must never have left Quinn’s chest.

“It must have just gone into hibernation or something.”

“What?” Santana says.

Brittany had been murmuring softly to her, anything that came to her head really, and her last thought must have been out loud.

“Remember how your heart does stuff when you love someone a lot?”

Santana sniffles and nods against her neck.

“Quinn’s heart has a monster in it right now,” Brittany says. “A best friend monster. Mine does too, or maybe it has two monsters, a best friend monster and a girlfriend monster.”

Santana finally looks at her when she says girlfriend. It’s the first time Brittany initiates a kiss since before Nationals. It’s gentle, and she’s talking as soon as she pulls away.

“You can’t run away this time,” she says. “My monsters won’t let you. And it’s not going to be easy, or anything, but we’re not going anywhere. Not me and my monsters or Quinn and hers. Rachel’s probably got some monster that’ll fight for you, too. Like solidarity monster or something ’cause of her dads. And Kurt’s got solidarity monster and—”

“Britt, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Brittany is 100% sure that is a lie, because out of everyone she knows, Santana’s the only one who always knows what she’s talking about. But she’s always known what Santana’s talking about, too, so she knows what she means, knows what she needs. She thinks of all the research she did all summer and makes sure Santana’s looking her in the eyes before she explains.

“People love you, Santana. I love you. And we’re going to be here no matter what. And remember in fourth grade, when you were afraid of spiders and I said you’d be fine as long as you kept me around?”

Santana nods, half a smile on her lips.

“Well that still applies. I mean, the girlfriend monster is totally scarier than any spider, or any stupid idiot who wants to treat you differently, okay?”

Brittany knows she’s still scared, can see it in her eyes, but maybe she’s not quite terrified anymore. The girlfriend monster settles in the blonde’s chest, a little more relaxed but still ready to bare its teeth at anyone who even looks at Santana wrong.

Santana kisses her lightly, before taking a deep breath and saying, “Okay. Let’s go.”

Yeah, Brittany’s pretty sure she’ll never get rid of this feeling in her chest, but she’s also pretty sure that she never wants to.

Date: 2011-12-10 02:14 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] devilduckieee.livejournal.com
"That scary feeling will go away," she says. "Every time you’ll be a little less scared, ‘cause you know you can handle it. Like, each time you broke my heart, it hurt a little less.”

OH BAJEEBUS MY CREYS!!!!!! glkherjgkhgejkhgejkhgerwjkh

~feelings. ~love

So well done, hun. ♥

Date: 2011-12-10 06:15 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] likebrightness.livejournal.com
Brittany just doesn't get it because it's good that it hurt less! No more crying!

Thank you, boo ♥

Date: 2011-12-10 05:36 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] rockinrye.livejournal.com
* weeps everywhere *

Date: 2011-12-10 06:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] likebrightness.livejournal.com
* holds you so we can weep together *

Date: 2011-12-10 08:01 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] electrik-twist.livejournal.com
This is perfect.

Date: 2011-12-10 04:59 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] likebrightness.livejournal.com
You're perfect!
(deleted comment)

Date: 2011-12-10 04:59 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] likebrightness.livejournal.com
*hugs you tight* No more tears, bb. ♥

Date: 2011-12-10 08:20 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] shrwhyte.livejournal.com
Shut uppp, this is amazing.

Date: 2011-12-10 05:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] shrwhyte.livejournal.com
But seriously, folks, writing a Brittany POV that captures her magical thinking without infantalizing her or turning her into a Manic Pixie Dream Girl is no mean feat, and you've managed it beautifully.

Date: 2011-12-10 06:03 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] rockinrye.livejournal.com
SWAG! What T said.

Date: 2011-12-11 04:50 pm (UTC)

Date: 2011-12-10 09:03 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] xenite-tara.livejournal.com
They are so cute :)

Date: 2011-12-10 05:05 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] likebrightness.livejournal.com
You are so cute! ♥

Date: 2011-12-10 09:40 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 476ce.livejournal.com
So, I broke out into tears of joy when I saw you wrote this. And then even more tears of pain when Britt Britt saved 128 texts and RDMH was for her, and she doodled in her notebook, and here I go again.

Ugh, whenever you write Brittana it does something to my heart.

Date: 2011-12-10 04:45 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] likebrightness.livejournal.com
I know it sounds bad, but making someone cry always feels like the greatest accomplishment ever. ♥ You are so so sweet.

Date: 2011-12-10 07:43 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 476ce.livejournal.com
Oh, no, I know what you mean. I'm actually trying my hand at angst. I desperately hope SOMEONE is crying because I end up tearing up over my own plot (it was a prompt, cut me some slack). It's why it takes me so long to churn out chapters. I THINK crack humor and I'm currently writing angst.

So... lol, epic fail on my part.

And I deleted the comment because I'm an idiot and I didn't reply to you, but commented on the whole story. :)

Date: 2011-12-11 04:55 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] patmik.livejournal.com
This fic is amazing. Can you write more fics from Brittany's POV. It's seriously lacking that. Thanks.

Date: 2011-12-11 04:51 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] likebrightness.livejournal.com
Thank you, sweets!

Date: 2011-12-11 10:45 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mayonegg.livejournal.com
I can't even deal with how good this is. I love that this is from Brittany's POV because so few people write her and even few write her well. Props to you for doing both.

Date: 2011-12-11 04:51 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] likebrightness.livejournal.com
So glad you liked it! ♥

Date: 2011-12-11 08:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pee-wee-2005.livejournal.com

CREYS. Happy creys, sad creys, creys over the beauty, just...all the feelings in this one.

Your Brittany POV is wonderful.

This is excellent.

Date: 2011-12-12 07:08 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] likebrightness.livejournal.com
That gif might be the greatest reply I've ever gotten. Thanks so much, boo.

Date: 2011-12-12 12:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] theatrebob1.livejournal.com

Your Britanna is so freaking spot on. It's funny and moving at the same, and just all sorts of wonderful. So please, figure out how to send this to the head honchos at glee. They need to see how Brittana should be written.

Date: 2011-12-12 06:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] likebrightness.livejournal.com
You are way too nice. Glad you liked it, sweets. ♥

Date: 2011-12-12 04:00 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] beta-goddess.livejournal.com
This is just beautiful. Without using fancy words or moving metaphors, it's beautiful. Wow.

Date: 2011-12-12 06:05 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] likebrightness.livejournal.com
Thank you so much. ♥

Date: 2012-02-01 02:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] chilipeppasbaby.livejournal.com
Fantastic work. So many lovely little details. My favourite parts were Tina wolf-whistling at Brittany and Brittany wondering whether It's Raining Men would suit hers and Santana's ranges.

Date: 2012-07-08 08:54 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] absolutam.livejournal.com
This is wonderful!

Date: 2015-03-22 09:05 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] celaenos.livejournal.com
oh my god i loved this so much


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