Because of the quick word of the beta I was able to upload it tonight! Let me know what you think as always. Thanks Dray!

Brittany slipped her legs beneath her as she hunkered down in a chair, cell phone pressed firmly to her ear. Her lips were thinned into a frown and her forehead crinkled with annoyance. The conversation wasn't going well. It was like talking to the dumbest, most nonsensical small child while keeping up the pretense that what the kid was saying did have merit and pretending she didn't want to punch it in the face.

God how she wished she could punch him in the face.

"That doesn't make sense," she rage whispered into the phone. She bit at the inside of her cheek to check herself. They say you get more bees with honey after all. To be honest, she's never really understood that proverb. Why the fuck would she want to go bee catching at all? Bees sting. And you could be as sweet as you want to them and bring them all the honey in the world, but somewhere along the way they're going to break off and sting the shit out of you.

If non-industry folks were bees, then Hollywood was a fucking hornet's nest. Frantic, hyper hornets encircling the flavor of the week like a vulture would encircle highway road kill. One wrong move, one snub, one toe out of line and they descend on you full force, ready to sting no matter the consequences or if it takes them down as well.

Unfortunately for Brittany, she wasn't speaking with honey bee or hornet. She was speaking to a very special kind of bee, one that probably couldn't find his way back to the hive even if he followed a yellow brick road paved with honey. If a retarded bee existed, he would be that bee.

"Brittany, are you listening?"

She snapped out of her musings and refocused on the conversation. He had said something.

But, what?

"Just trust me, she's ready." She pressed on, not wasting time by pretending to listen. He gulped from the other end, slimy and audible. She could practically smell the fear wafting through the phone receiver and it was making her nauseous. People were so stupid when it came to such simple things. She rolled her eyes as she began to stand. "Listen, she trusts me. I know her. You know what that means? I know what's best for her. So just stop being you for a second and be…Be me. I gotta go."

She ended the call with a practiced flick of her thumb and spun around. Her breath caught in her throat. Caught again. Callie stood a few feet away from her. Her wet hair was slicked back. She wore a red bathing suit and crisp long sleeve shirt, buttoned mid-way. It hung to her knees and her wet bathing suit made it stick to her body in some places but because the shirt was so large it fell off of her in others. Brittany's eyes flittered away when she realized she was staring. Maybe Alice was right? Maybe she definitely did have a type?

"Are we done with the Jacuzzi, already?" she smiled. Callie's arms crossed and her shoulders squared. It must be a defense mechanism passed down through genetics. Callie stepped closer. Brittany stood her ground, nervously drumming her fingers against her bare thigh. She could explain the call to Callie and make her swear not to say a word. Except Callie didn't look like she wanted to hear any kind of excuse. She looked angry, but more so Callie looked disappointed.

"It's really easy to think we had an easy life growing up," Callie side stepped Brittany as she spoke. She sat down in the chair Brittany had just exited. "And maybe we did?" She shrugged. "We had the money and the influential parents and the cars and the stuff. That part of growing up was easy."

Brittany sat in a chair across from her as she listened. Callie laughed, "Okay maybe I did have a really easy fucking childhood. My dad and I were rock solid up until the moment I fell in love with a woman. Did Arizona tell you about the time he came to the hospital with some Bible Thumper and tried to, like, exorcize the gay demon out of me?"

Brittany shook her head. She hadn't heard that one before.

Callie shrugged again, a smile still playing on her lips. "Doesn't matter. My Aunt and Uncle though and I love them, don't get me wrong. They just didn't know how to handle Santana when she became too much to handle," Callie paused. "Does that make sense?"

Brittany wasn't sure. She shook her head yes anyway. She wanted Callie to keep talking. She wanted to learn all that she could about Santana. Sometimes she felt like a Hurricane Hunter, defying logic and boldly running toward the eye of the storm instead of taking the first exit out and away from it, like all the normal people would.

But normalcy has always been overrated.

"I like you Brittany," Callie shifted tactics taking the focus from Santana and shifting it toward something easier to talk about.

Brittany grinned. "Duh."

"I don't know what it is that you're doing here but I do know that Santana doesn't like anyone. Ever. She barely likes me and I'm her cousin."

"It's obligated affection," offered Brittany.

Callie's smile pulled wider, it spread to her eyes. "Yes! Exactly. She's obligated to like me. And Quinn. But that's only because she needs someone to beat the shit out of every now and then."

"What?" asked Brittany, her head cocked to an angle. Callie spoke over her question.

"What I'm getting at…Is that she likes you and I understand that. You're likeable."

"But, you're getting at something else here aren't you?" pushed Brittany. Her mind churned with possibilities. What had Callie thought she heard?

"Yeah," Callie's eyes hardened, "I am."

Her smile vanished. "This is the fourth call you've snuck away to take today." As Brittany opened her mouth to explain, Callie raised her hand. The gesture reminded her so much of Santana she quieted instantly, "and I don't want to know why. It's none of my business. My cousin though? Is my business."

Brittany crossed her legs uncomfortably. She felt as if she was being interrogated and scolded for some terribly heinous act she didn't remember committing.

"I think you have the wrong idea, Callie," she murmured it into the wind; it floated away across the ocean.

"I really, really hope so. My Aunt and Uncle conditioned Santana to be maladjusted so finding someone she actually clicks with is so unheard of, I actually still don't believe it. So, if this is just another bullshit Hollywood ploy to get her in that movie of yours, stop. Be a human being and back away."

Callie stood. Brittany kept hear head down and her eyes glued to her hands.

"I break bones for a living, Brittany. People pay me to break things. Now again I really, really like you. But if you hurt my cousin, I will do damage. Oath or not, no one messes with my family." Callie exhaled loudly. Brittany could feel pinpricks of anger hit the top of her head.

A pregnant, quiet moment passed, "Understood?" Callie's voice was softer now.

Brittany glanced up with trepidation. She took a hard swallow. "Understood."

Forget your troubles (Happy days)

Come on get happy (are here again)

You better chase all your cares away (The skies above are clear again)

Shout hallelujah (So lets sing a song)

Come on get happy (of cheer again)

Get ready for the judgment day (happy days are here again)

That afternoon they went back to Eduardo's for lunch. It was a transparent ruse to get to the stage by Rachel and Kurt who, once again, had foregone eating for singing. Before claiming the microphones as their own, they promised Manny that they worked on their issues and could now share the stage as equal performers and they had. Their voices melted together dreamily. She found herself, for the first time that afternoon, swaying to the music.

The sun is shining

Come on get happy (shout it now)

The lord is waiting to take your hand (there's no one who can doubt it now)

Callie's words had spent the day eating away at her. They had brought up the same question Brittany still didn't have an answer to. What did she want from Santana Lopez? If it wasn't the movie (and it wasn't) then was it friendship? Her affection for Santana had been insidious, but now that it had finally taken over Brittany could feel it everywhere. In her hands, in her feet, in her stomach, in her bones.

In her heart.

It weighed her down while still making Brittany feel light as a feather. She could admit her crush, easy. Santana was the kind of girl you crush on. But Brittany knew Santana was also the kind of girl who made a crush feel like it was crushing you from the inside out when she inevitably broke your heart. And if that happened where would that leave them?

Brittany would be bitter and Santana would have to deal with the knowledge that the only person she had let inside of her world in years, only wanted to be there to get in her pants. Like everyone else.

But did she want that? Sex? Brittany chewed on her bottom lip. It hadn't crossed her mind until the very moment.

We're heading across the river

Soon your cares will all be gone

They'll be no more, from now on

From now on

Brittany wanted Santana, but only in the way that she wanted to know all of Santana's secrets. She wanted to know all the parts that made Santana who she was. She wanted to make sure Santana was okay. Brittany wanted to make her happy.

She wanted to bake cookies for her and do mindless stuff like watch reality television together. Sex with Santana wasn't a part of what she wanted.

But Santana having sex with anyone else wasn't what she wanted either.

A nudge to her side pulled Brittany out of her thoughts. She turned her head. Santana stared back at her. "Are you okay?" Her voice was low so no one at their table would overhear.

Brittany shook her head—too quickly. "Yes."

Santana gave her a look that all but said she didn't believe her, but still turned back around to face the stage.

Forget your troubles (happy days)

And just get happy (are here again)

You better chase all your blues away (the skies above are clear again)

Shout hallelujah (so lets sing a song)

And just get happy (of cheer again)

What if she hurt Santana, without meaning to hurt Santana? What if she wanted Santana too much and in the wrong way? What was the right way to want someone without hurting them?

Maybe she wasn't responsible enough for this after all?

Happy times (happy times)

Happy nights (happy nights)

Happy days

Are here again

Brittany sidled up to the bar, spinning around on one of the worn leather bar stools. She threw her hands out onto the cool wood of the bar to stop herself, grinning as Manny caught her eyes. He chuckled to himself as he finished drying the glass in his hand and walked down the length of the bar to her.

"You kids are so strange," he said as he poured her a glass of beer from the tap. "Is it an American thing?"

He sat the cup in front of her. She shrugged as she took a drink. "It depends on what you mean by strange," she said it as she swiped at the liquid that had pooled along her bottom lip, "You don't think we like, smoke crack, or anything do you?"

"All the singing. All the commotion. And the language?" he shook his head again, his lips once again breaking into a gap-toothed smile, "You kids cuss like sailors."

He thought to himself for a second, "Maybe worse than sailors."

Brittany beamed unable to shake the swelling pride overtaking her body. "It may be an American thing. We grew up without boundaries."

Manny nodded. He poured himself a beer and walked around the bar to sit next to Brittany. "Cheers?" He held up his glass for her.

"Cheers." She said as she clinked her glass against his. She took a drink of beer and sat it back down. Her eyes closed as Rachael's singing once again filled the room.

There's a fire starting in my heart reaching a fever pitch and its bring me out the dark

The lunch crowd had all but dispersed for the day. The only people left in the restaurant besides the kids from Hollywood, Manny and the waiters were a couple of drunk men half-conscious in a booth and an effeminate looking local boy who hadn't stopped staring at Kurt with his predatory eyes since they had arrived.

"So what brings you to beautiful Mehico?"

Brittany shrugged, averting her eyes, "Hanging out." She brought her beer back up to her lips. Manny laughed, his cheeks filling with color.

"What?" She asked, the blue in her eyes shining curiously.

Manny wiped at his forehead. "You're lying." He took another drink of his beer and met her gaze, daring her to prove him wrong.

"How do you know I'm lying?"

"Because you looked exactly like my daughter Isabel looks when she tells a lie. No poker faces at all," he clapped her softly on the back, "but don't worry. Every woman perfects the art of lying sooner or later."

"Do I detect a hint of bitterness, Manny?" She asked.

"No. But, I've been alive a long time." He stated simply, "I know women." He shrugged, "So you want to tell me the truth?"

Brittany exhaled her eyes once again falling into the half empty glass of frothy golden brown beer. "People keep asking me that," she murmured it softly, hoping Manny wouldn't ask her to speak up.

He didn't. "And what do you tell them?" he asked instead.

"I don't know...And I don't," she shook her head trying to make sense of the past few days. Trying to reconfigure where she stood in Santana's world or if she even had any footing at all in it, "I don't know."

"You know I get a lot of people in here. From the States. They're usually running away from something," he scoffed, "as if the problems wouldn't be there when they went home."

"What do people run from?" She didn't look at Manny; instead she kept her eyes down, focused on the sweat sliding off the clear glass of her beer.

"You name it." He licked his lips as he counted off on his fingers. "Girlfriends. Boyfriends. Husbands. Wives. Friends. Bills. Responsibilities," he hesitated before adding, "Themselves."

Brittany angled her head slightly to peer over at Manny. She knew he was looking at her with the same eyes he would use to look at his own daughter. It was adorable and hilarious. She smiled slightly, "I'm not running from anything, Manny."

He wasn't convinced. "You sure?"

Brittany flattened her palms against the bar as she sat straight up. "Yes." She replied confidently. "I'm chasing after something."

A spark lit in Manny eyes, clearly not expecting her answer. "What are you chasing?"

She glanced over her shoulder. Santana still sat at the table talking animatedly with Callie and Arizona. Brittany spun around to face Manny. Her grin was mischievous. "A girl."

Manny let out another loud succession of chortles. He clapped her again, this time on her shoulder. "I've been there, my friend!" His eyes brimmed with nostalgia, "so many times."

"Any tips?"

"If she asks you if you want to meet her parents. Do it. Don't wimp out," his eyes skimmed over to the table everyone sat at and then back to Brittany, "It's the one with the angry eyes isn't it?

Brittany looked over and sure enough Santana glared back at them, her eyes never leaving Manny, "Her eyes aren't angry, they're beautiful."

He hooted with laughter again, "Does she know how whipped she has you already?"

"I'm not whipped; I'm just...not blind. They're beautiful." She knew how pathetic her words sounded and judging by the way Manny's eyes rolled in the back of his head, he knew too.

He stood and rounded the bar. "Whatever you say, kid."

She downed the rest of the beer and dropped a few dollars into Manny's tip jar, "for the words of wisdom."

He bowed mid-way in gratitude before busying himself with cleaning more glasses. Before Brittany reached her table, she turned back around. "Manny?"

"Yep?"

"Did you get the girl you chased?"

Manny smiled warmly. "Better yet," he held up his left hand and for the first time Brittany noticed the gold band encircling his finger, "I tricked her into marrying me."

His face grew somber as he sat the glass down, "You want a real tip, Brittany?"

She shook her head, "Please."

He paused before continuing, "There's gonna be a ton of people rooting against you. Miserable people like to keep people miserable. Makes them feel better about themselves."

His jaw clenched. Brittany wondered exactly what he had to fight through to make his wife his wife. He pressed on, "If angry eyes makes you happy, fight for her. And don't stop until you trick her into walking down the aisle for you." His face flushed with laughter once again, "Or whatever it is you ladies do."

Brittany smiled with gratitude before turning again and taking her seat next to Santana at their table.

"Was that old dude hitting on you?" Santana asked her eyes still burning holes into Manny who was now turned around reorganizing the liquor bottles.

"No," said Brittany as she rolled her eyes, "He's like old enough to be my dad."

"Exactly. You're prime rib to his kind."

"He wasn't hitting on me, Santana."

She frowned, unconvinced. "Sure."

The sun had fallen completely from the sky by the time Brittany and Rachel made it back to their hotel room. Brittany lounged on the couch flipping through television stations. She could hear Rachel squawking into her cellphone outside on the patio.

Everyone decided to disperse for the evening before coming together for dinner later that night. Callie and Arizona were off doing some ultra-romantic couple only stuff for their last night in Mexico. Kurt was out with the guy he met at the Harbor a few days ago and if Brittany was to believe Santana he was probably half naked and chained to a bed somewhere. Santana had to take a couple conference calls from some Suits back in LA to wrap up some open-ended deals. She told Brittany she would call her when she was done and her and her Troll could come back over and help prep from Callie and Arizona's sendoff barbecue.

"Brilliant."

She heard Rachel before the small woman appeared in front of her. Brittany craned her neck to see the television behind her, "can't see."

"I have just confirmed two first class flights for us back to California tomorrow at noon!" She clasped her hands together, clearly pleased with herself, "and not on Delta!"

Brittany sat up quickly, panic in her eyes, "What?" She wasn't ready to go home yet. Santana wasn't ready to go home yet.

"I got us flights home on an airline that isn't Delta. First class!" She repeated the information again, still beaming. She was expecting some kind of congratulatory payoff. Rachel needed approval the way most people needed air.

"Rachel..." Brittany smoothed her hands down her legs before standing, "I'm not ready to go back yet."

Rachel's brow furrowed in confusion. Resistance wasn't the response she had been expecting. "But, Miranda says you need to come back?" Brittany's outright refusal to do something her mentor had asked was so out of character Rachel wasn't sure how to respond, "You're in the middle of making a movie."

"Yeah, I know." Brittany bluffed, "And I'm in the middle of securing the star for the movie."

Rachel shook her head. "Santana's out. She's taken too much time to sign." She sat her cell phone on the table. "They're offering the part to Rooney Mara tomorrow. You would know that if you would return one of Bailey's phone calls or answer when she calls," Rachel baited.

Panic once again filled Brittany, only this time it felt different. It was laced with anger. She hadn't banked on the possibility that they would forge along without her. "They can't do that."

"But they are."

"This is my movie. It's more mine than it is theirs. I wrote the stupid thing and I'm helping produce it," her voice shook with anger. She felt as if something was being taken from her. It made her skin crawl.

Sensing her agitation, Rachel pushed her back down on to the couch. She sat across from her. "I know it's an uncomfortable feeling, but you can't blame them."

"I am blaming them."

"But you can't." She held Brittany's hands in hers. "You've been MIA for days now. You won't speak to anyone back home. And the only thing I can think of to tell them is that you're still in talks with Santana."

Brittany scoffed, unbelievably. "That's all you could think of?"

"Well no!" Rachel replied offended. "You know my flare for the dramatic is incomparable. But, I didn't think that telling Miranda Bailey that her star writer had robbed a bank in Silverlake and was now hiding out in Mexico with her fellow accomplice, dim witted star Santana Lopez would do much to ease her worries."

Brittany thought for a moment, "Probably not."

"You need to go back home, Britt." Rachel squeezed her hand gently. "Santana Lopez is the kind of woman who loves having people beg her to do something for them."

Her voice was soft, kind, "You've made a career out of not conforming. Don't start now. Rooney Mara is an amazing actress. Better than Santana on her best day. Go with her. Go home. Make the movie. Show the world how good you are. Again."

Brittany was silent as she let Rachel's words wash over her. When she spoke she asked, "Did you ever see that movie she was in, I think it was called Love In the Time of One Night Stands or something like that.

Rachel frowned, "Unfortunately. I'm still trying to get the sour taste of it out of my mouth."

Brittany ignored her comment, "You know that scene in the bathroom? When Puck's character-"

"Johnny Black." Rachel quickly offered.

"Yeah, him. Johnny Black. When he dumps Santana's character –"

"Caroline Ward." Rachel interjected again.

"Yeah. When Johnny dumps Caroline. She leaves the pool party and she goes into the bathroom and she sits on the toilet and she just...cries. Do you remember that?"

"Yes."

Brittany turned to Rachel. "That's not an easy thing to do. At least not that way she did it. She just...broke. Does that make sense?"

Rachel huffed, "She was acting Brittany. Santana didn't break. Caroline did."

"Exactly!" Brittany tried to contain her excitement. "Crying on cue and making it believable. Without covering your face with your hands, is hard! But, she just sat there and it was like a floodgate. A really sad floodgate"

"What's your point?"

"What if she's better than the writing she's been given? What if she's better than people think she is? What if I can help her show the world just how good she can be?"

A small, condescending small tugged at the corner of Rachel's lips. She looked at Brittany the way a mother would look at a child who had just asked if she wished hard enough would dinosaurs come back to life.

A harsh rap sounded at the door. Rachel released Brittany's hand and stood walking over to the door. Before she opened it, she turned back to Brittany and said, "We need to go home Brittany. You need to apologize to Miranda for not returning her calls and you need to sign off on Rooney Mara before she commits to something else and you lose her."

Without waiting for Brittany's response Rachel pulled the door open. A tanned bellboy wearing a blue uniform and smile stood outside, his fingers wrapped around the bars of a luggage cart full of shopping bags. "Ms. Brittany Pierce?" He asked, a slight accent coating his words.

Brittany's eyes shot open as she took in what had to be twenty bags piled along the cart. "That's me."

"Wonderful." He bypassed Rachel and pushed the cart inside of the room and over to where Brittany now stood.

Brittany eyed his strangely, "What's this?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am." He pulled out the clipboard he had tucked underneath his arm. "I just need your signature." He held it out to Brittany along with a pen.

"She's not signing anything until we know what it is!"

He frowned as he turned the clip board back around. "It doesn't say what's in the bag, but it says it's compliments of..." His eyes widened as he read the name, "Santana Lopez? No way."

Brittany grinned, wasting no time diving into the closet bag. She pulled out a small card, flipping it open.

I had some free time after my conference calls. Thought I would get you some clothes that didn't make the world want to beat you into a bloody pulp. See you at dinner.

Santana's signature was at the bottom in perfect, loopy cursive. Brittany could feel her face flush. She blindly reached into the bag and pulled out a red cocktail dress. Simple and sexy. She reached in again and pulled out a pair of jean short shorts. A third dig into the bag retrieved a pair of skimpy purple lace panties. She held them up to Rachel and the Bellboy. "Santana bought me clothes!"

"She bought you purple dental floss," Rachel turned to the Bellboy, "I'll sign." She took the clipboard from his hands and scrawled her name across the page. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of laminated white paper that held stickers in the shape of gold stars. Half of them were already missing. She placed one at the end of her name and beamed giving him the clip board back. "You'll want to make a copy of that," she added, "It'll be worth quite a bit of money one day."

He smiled politely at her before backing out of the room and closing the door behind herself. Rachel looked to Brittany. She was still digging into the bags pulling out the clothes before throwing them to the ground and pulling out more. Her face was glowing, her smile never wavering.

"I hope that face doesn't mean what I think it means," detecting the controlled panic in Rachel's voice Brittany looked up. Rachel's brown eyes were rounded in concern, maybe even fear.

"What do you mean?"

Rachel frowned, "You're not stupid Brittany." She turned on her heel and marched back into the shared bedroom. "Flight's at noon!" She called behind her.

Brittany never put much thought into her clothing choices and when she did she was usually preoccupied with thinking about taking them off (or getting them off of someone else). When she was a kid, she had a style that could only be described as eclectic. Polka-dotted shorts with lime green halter tops. Big, frilly hats and thigh high socks. Silver metallic rain boots, on clear summer days. Those were staples of her childhood wardrobe. As she aged and began slipping into the person she is today, black began to take over her closet. It wasn't a conscious effort; it seemed to happen overnight. She remembered waking up one day, going into her closet and realizing that everything looked the same.

And she was okay with it.

But now, standing in her bathroom, in front of a full length mirror wearing a pair of denim shorts, black ankle boots and t-shirt so thin and white it was transparent enough for the yellow bra to peak out from underneath, she'd never felt sexier. Or more like herself.

Santana had taken moments to imagine what she would look like in these clothes and knowing that made Brittany's insides pull and tighten. There was something so incredibly intimate about it and she wasn't sure why.

Rounding the corner of Santana's villa, Brittany struggled to contain the frenzy building inside of her. She snuck out of her hotel room while Rachel was in the shower, leaving a note saying she'd gone to Santana's and that she would see her when they began cooking. She wanted alone time. It had been...nice having everyone around but in actuality, Brittany had wanted Santana to herself. She saw Arizona, Callie and Rachel practically every day at home. She didn't feel the need to come to Mexico and see them too.

Brittany jogged down the stone path leading to Santana's door. Before raping on the door, she smoothed her shirt out and hoped she looked as good as Santana had imagined. It didn't take long for Santana to answer. She was in the same white robe she wore the first night, except this time her eyes weren't filled with fear and her lips turned up into a smile. She stepped back to let Brittany in, checking her out as she passed. "So you look smokin' hot."

Brittany shrugged, grinning bashfully, "I know, right?"

Santana shut the door and lead Brittany down the hallway. "I did good?" She asked as she busied making them a drink while Brittany snuggled into the couch.

"You did amazing. Except. You know you didn't have to."

"Shut up, Brittany." She left the bottle of wine uncorked and walked a glass over to where Brittany sat. "I'm perfectly aware of what I do and don't have to do."

Brittany grinned into her glass as she took a healthy swallow of the plum liquid. "My liver is going to fucking riot against me after this week is over," she took another swig, "It's just gonna like, mutiny and walk out of me."

"I think I might be a functioning alcoholic."

Brittany looked over. Santana stared, zoned out and glassy eyed at the wall. She nudged her shoulder. "Seriously?"

Her plump lips broke against her white teeth. Such a perfect smile. "No."

Brittany let her head rest against the cushion of the couch. "You're kinda funny," she murmured quietly.

"Morose is what you mean."

She turned her head to look at Santana. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, her bangs hanging down, partially obscuring her face. Her eyes were glittering as if she knew a secret everyone else was dying to know and she refused to tell it. Brittany so very badly wanted to be in on that secret.

"Why did you call Callie here?" The question came out before Brittany had a chance to register what she was saying. She knew her face mirrored the same surprise Santana's held.

"I thought you gave me a pass?" She shifted in her seat. Brittany couldn't read her expression.

"I guess I didn't."

Santana let out a weighted sigh. Her fingers fiddled with the lip of her glass before she spoke. "You want the long version or the short one?"

"Whichever one's the truth."

"In short..." she replied, "You scare me." Her voice was an echo of its former self. The confidence nonexistent, replaced with a jarring frailty. Brittany had always known the truth had a way of breaking down the strongest of people.

"Why do I scare you?" asked Brittany, her voice low. She kept her eyes trained on Santana's profile, unable to look away even if she wanted to.

"It's not you that scares me. It's me. It's who I am when you're around." Santana finally turned her head to look at Brittany. Her voice shook with the most humbling uncertainty. "You keep pulling things out of me. Things I've worked really fucking hard to keep in...It makes me angry because I can't stop it."

"So you called Callie?"

"I needed someone to remind me of who I am. Except...Here we are. Callie's here...And you're still pulling stuff out of me," Santana smiled pitifully, "I can't win."

Brittany searched Santana's face, "I never meant to make you feel like that," she continued on, unsure if she wanted to know the answer. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Learning," she nudged Santana's foot with her boot, "About you."

Another thing about the truth, Brittany had always known? When people finally reckon with it, it encapsulates them in such a wonderfully, terrifying way that their entire body can't help but respond. Eyes flutter. Fingers twitch. Calves tighten. Eyes dilate and darken.

And that's exactly the way Santana looked when she quietly muttered a "No" in response.

Brittany smiled, relieved. "I was hoping you'd say that."

She suddenly had the urge to ask Santana a million questions, from the big to the small. She wanted to know what street she grew up in. Who she lost her virginity to? What kind of dog was her favorite? Did she speak with her parents? So many questions piled up at the tip of her tongue, her brain felt as if it was going to short circuit.

"You know what?" She finally asked.

Santana leaned back, suddenly weary. She rubbed at her eyes. "What?"

"That lame attempt to dig into my life was pretty much a bust right?" She grinned as a flush began to creep across Santana's face. "I thought so. It doesn't seem fair does it? I know this gigantic thing about you and you know that I dated a girl who had a bitch mom."

"Not fair at all," Santana agreed.

"So I'm going to tell you things. Important things. Stuff that makes me, me." Brittany smiled proudly, inwardly patting herself on the back for her clever idea.

"Like what?" Santana asked, intrigued. What kind of secrets could Brittany have? The girl was practically an open book.

Brittany shrugged in response, "Don't know. But I'm gonna tell you things. Don't worry."

"Brittany!"

Her eyes closed at the sound of her name. Santana let out a mangled groan. "I swear to God it's like It has sonar!"

"I left her a note," Brittany replied with a laugh, "Don't call her It."

"It's the honker. She's like the most annoying Bloodhound in the existence of blood hounds," she shifted her eyes toward the entrance of the hallway, "You could run all night, throwing pepper behind your back and she would still sniff you out."

Brittany watched as Santana loaded her arsenal for Rachel's inevitable arrival, "How do you know Rachel?"

"What?" Santana kept her eyes trained forward.

"You know Rachel, right?" When Santana didn't respond, Brittany leaned over, grabbed Santana's face with her hand and turned it so that Santana was facing her. Brittany's thumb and pointer finger wrapped around her chin gently, holding her in place. "How?"

Santana face relaxed into a grin. "Okay, first of all? Wanky." She wrapped her hand around Brittany's fingers and pulled them down. As their skin smoothed against one another, Brittany felt a rush of adrenaline surge through her body. If Santana noticed, she didn't show it. "She was my assistant, for like, a second." She kept Brittany's hand wrapped in hers as she spoke.

"What happened?" Brittany asked. She could only imagine the blood bath that ensued from their partnership, however brief it may have been.

"I dropped her creepy ass." Santana shrugged.

Rachel rounded the hallway, clearly pissed. Her eyes dropped down to the sofa cushion and to the tanned hand covering Brittany's. Noticing, Santana quickly snatched it away as she stood, "I thought your kind only came out after midnight?"

She crossed the room, sliding open the wall to reveal the dark blue sky. "Aren't you breaking like, the International Troll Rules of Conduct?"

Ignoring Santana, Rachel's eyes pierced into Brittany who refused to reciprocate the contact.

"Brittany..." ventured Rachel.

Jumping up quickly and slapping a smile onto her face, Brittany followed after Santana. "We should start the grill!"

Her suspicion growing, Rachel trailed behind, her eyes roaming across the room looking for clues as to what she just walked in on.

Brittany's family had barbecues all of the time when she was younger. Her father in his own words, was a professional griller. Anything that could survive the charcoal fire was tossed onto the grate (and sometimes even food that couldn't). But, despite her extensive history with grilling, Brittany had never actually grilled something herself.

And now as she hovered above the gas grill, flame whipping through the silver slots of the meat racks, it looked...confusing. Not to mention absolutely daunting. Whose idea was this?

"Coming through!"

She got her answer as Arizona barreled toward her. She carried a tray of raw, bloody steak and wore a chef's hat. "I'm so ready!" She smiled as she sat the tray down. Brittany watched her move around the grill for a moment, adjusting gadgets and checking gauges, all the while keeping the same face numbing smile on her face. Brittany sighed, life as a SHP must be exhausting.

Hearing her labored breath, Arizona looked over. "You okay, Britt?"

"Fine," she forced a smile. "You bummed about leaving?"

"Sorta. I like relaxing. Relaxing is fun. But, I have a tiny person who's been waiting on a liver transplant for the past four months and I just want to get back there."

Brittany watched as Arizona placed the steak onto the grill, the fire crackling and the meat sizzling. She closed the lid and turned to face Brittany, "If only to stand around and look impatient."

Arizona's eyes slipped from Brittany and over to where Callie and Santana sat on lounge chairs, laughing. Rachel sat across from them sipping on a virgin daiquiri, every once in a while shooting Santana a glare.

"She's so beautiful." Arizona's voice was filled with whimsy, her eyes glassy as she stared at Callie. "They've got good genes, right?"

"Yeah."

"So." Arizona suddenly turned to Brittany. "Did Callie scare you a lot today?"

Brittany smiled, "She told you about that?"

"Of course she did." Arizona raised the lid of the grill took a peek inside and shut it back. "We tell each other everything. In our pretty pink bubble there are no secrets."

"She didn't scare me," Brittany gestured toward the two cousins, "It's cool, you know? There should be someone looking out for her who doesn't want to like get anything from her."

"And what do you expect to get from her?" Arizona eyes softened as she asked. Brittany squirmed, her toes tapping at the patio floor.

"I'm gonna go get us another drink, okay?"

Arizona's lips slowly parted into a smile, "Okay."

I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, that much is true

Sometime during the night someone swapped out Rachel's virgin daiquiri for a full powered one. If the way Santana's brown eyes shined were any indication, Brittany was pretty sure she knew who. After her second daiquiri Rachel decided to pull out her portable karaoke machine and treat the group to rousing performance of hits from the 80s.

Kurt showed up with the boy from the harbor, who's name everyone finally came to know was Juan. The power struggle for the microphone continued, while everyone else sat back and watched and even though Rachel and Kurt yelled, screamed and try to out showtune one another it was okay. It was okay because Santana sat next to Brittany the entire time. And disregarding the fact that Brittany sometimes caught Callie glaring at her with so much venom it made her head ache, the night was perfect.

They decided to give Callie and Arizona Santana's villa for the night. Rachel practically seized when she realized that Santana was not only following them back to Brittany's room but she was also going to sleep in it as well. Kurt took Juan up on his offer to sleep on his house boat and after they had surreptitiously snuck Rachel's karaoke machine into the back of Juan's car, they drove off into the night. Before they left, Santana had offered to give Kurt the last of her lube supply; he adamantly insisted that sex was not on the table.

"You take the bed." Brittany insisted to Rachel who had her arms crossed looking past Brittany and at Santana.

Santana kneeled on the carpet, digging through the luggage bag full of clothes Rachel had overnighted to Brittany, her face scrunched up in disgust.

"Is there a lock on that door?" Rachel whispered. She focused onto Brittany. "I fear for my safety. I'm too talented to die."

Brittany rolled her eyes as she began steering Rachel toward the room. "You're not going to die. Santana's harmless."

"See!" Rachel whipped around, pointing an accusing finger at Brittany. "There's something you're not telling me! She's brainwashed you."

"Yes, yes she has." Brittany humored her. "There was shock therapy and everything." She pushed Rachel into the room. "Get a good night's sleep and alert the authorities in the morning."

"Fuchsia pastel!"

Brittany and Rachel turned. Santana stood holding a fuchsia pastel skirt in her hand. "The maker of this atrocity should be lobotomized. Yuck!"

"That's a one of a kind, Santana!" Rachel fumed, "It has a matching shirt to go with it!"

Santana tossed the skirt back down. "You better hope that door does have a lock on it," she said, "Because no matter what Britts tells you I'm totally going to try and smother you in your sleep."

"It was one mistake, Santana. One!" Rachel's hands dropped to her sides. "No one in their right mind would have reacted the way that you did." Rachel stalled. "You're just a...coward!"

Santana stepped toward Rachel, anger gleaming in her eyes and wafting off of every inch of her body. Her hands clenched together, her blunt fingernails digging into soft skin. This was the Santana Lopez Brittany had thought she left back in Los Angeles. In a rush, Brittany turned quickly and pushed Rachel further into the room.

"Our flight is at noon, Brittany." Rachel said. She took a last glance at Santana and slammed the door. They heard the lock click in place. Brittany looked to Santana.

"What was that about?

"Nothing. That midget needs her mouth wired shut." She answered, shaking her head. Her shoulders were squared in anger. She cracked her knuckles, her eyes steadily glancing at the closed bedroom door.

"Not nothing, Santana."

"Yes nothing," Santana spat, "Fucking drop it."

She swung around to face Brittany. "So are you leaving tomorrow or what?"

"Stop talking to me like that," Brittany kept her voice calm. She sat on the couch. Santana looked like a stray cat that had been cornered in an alley. Frightened. Angry. Lonely.

"Like what?"

"Like you talk to other people."

Santana's lips parted, but she said nothing. Her shoulders loosened as the anxiety slipped out of her body. Brittany fought the urge to wrap her arms around Santana, instead she held out her hand for Santana to grab.

Santana looked at her hand skeptically. It took her a moment, but eventually Santana swallowed a smile and grab Brittany's fingers and let her pull her down onto the couch. She burrowed into Brittany side as Brittany wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.

"We're going to have to talk about it eventually." She spoke into Santana's hair. Feeling Santana tense, Brittany rubbed circles into her shoulders.

"Talk about what?" Santana asked.

"Going home."

Santana fisted the bottom of Brittany shirt. "But not yet right?"

"No not yet." She wrapped her arms tighter around Santana, pulling her in as close as possible. She kicked off her boots and let Santana tangle their legs together.

"You looked super-hot in your clothes."

"You mentioned that."

Brittany fell asleep before Santana.

She was having one of her recurring dreams. In the dream, she woke up in her bed, took a shot of tequila with Cristina in the bathroom. Then suddenly she was dressed, but in the gown she wore the night she won her Oscar. From there the location skipped from her bathroom to Bailey's office. Except Bailey wasn't really Bailey she was Angelina Jolie (Billy Bob Thornton Jolie, not Brad Pitt Jolie). The dream almost always ended with Angelina offering Brittany a vile of her blood to wear around her neck.

Except tonight, the dream was different.

She could feel something on her face. And in her dream, she could see herself swatting at it. The sensation would stop, only to start again on another spot.

"My mother would kill me if she knew I was wearing blood around my neck."

Angie shrugged, tossed her head back in a laugh. "I know your mother. She's cool, man."

Brittany brushed at her cheek again. "You know my mom?"

"We grew up together."

Angelina stalked across the office wearing a wolfish grin and holding out the vile of blood. Brittany could feel herself slipping back into consciousness the closer Angelina came, her dream becoming muddled and distorted.

"It's cool, man..."

Angelina's voice echoed somewhere faraway. Right as the vile of blood was to reach Brittany's outstretched hand she awoke.

But she kept her eyes closed because it was still happening.

Brittany felt the weight on her body, moving slightly. It took her a moment to remember that she had fallen asleep on the couch, holding Santana.

It happened again and Brittany's heart lurched.

Lips.

Soft lips were grazing her cheek, placing sporadic kisses along her jawline. She kept perfectly still underneath Santana not wanting her to stop and not wanting to catch her if she didn't want to be caught. From the delicate way her lips moved so effortlessly across Brittany's burning skin, she knew Santana had waited for her to fall asleep for a reason.

Her lips connected with Brittany's cheek again and stayed. She opened her mouth against Brittany skin, her teeth dragging softly against flesh. Brittany fought back a moan, her toes kneaded into the carpet. Her insides felt so tight she was sure they were going to snap. She could feel moisture pool between her legs, sticky and overwhelming.

Santana placed another kiss, this one to the tip of her nose before she pulled back. Brittany could feel her hovering in front of her face. She wanted to open her eyes and see the way her eyes looked after kissing. Were they dilated? Were her cheeks flushed?

Despite her needs, she kept her lids shut tight. Santana inhaled deeply and repositioned herself nestled back into Brittany's side, her head tucked into the hollow of Brittany's neck.

It only took forty seconds in a dark room for Santana to completely obliterate every boundary Brittany had thought they had put up for each other.

The swagger that exuded from his body was apparent to even the most unperceptive of people. He wore a suit, dark black and tailored. The slate gray shirt was left undone at the top and swatch of muscular, tanned flesh peaked out from underneath.

Despite the late hour he wore sunglasses as he confidently strode into the building and to the reception desk where the female clerk noticeably shivered. He grinned cockily having grown accustomed to the reaction years ago.

He was immaculate, save for the tiny abrasion on his bottom lip. He placed his sunglasses on the counter.

"Welcome to the Esperanza Resort, Mr. Puckerman."