Title: Some Things Are Meant To Be [Chapter Sixteen]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9.3k

Notes: So thank you for your feedback, feel it wasn't a great update so I do apologise and hope this makes up for it a little! This time it's back to Santana's POV, where it will stay until the end of the chapter. I only anticipate another 2 or 3 updates, so enjoy!

/

The next day, Santana wakes to the sound of something crashing outside her bedroom.

She stretches her arms above her head, feeling her bones pop back into place and cracks her neck to the side as she sits up. Her entire body aches, and she doesn't know why because she hardly danced, just carried Quinn back. Although she guesses it's probably more of a tired feeling than actual ache because yesterday was a lot to take in. Seeing Brittany just–

It just brought a lot of old feelings back she thought she'd forgotten.

Sunlight filters in through the curtains and she kind of wishes she thought ahead and closed them because it's not fun to have to fall out of bed and scramble for her glasses whilst trying to remember what having corneas felt like. Still, she manages to find her glasses and pushes them up her nose, rubbing at her forehead because she's still tired and she knows by the snoring that Puck's still asleep and he's got work at 9, so it's got to be way before then.

She grabs her phone and pocket sit before stumbling out the bedroom to find Quinn, hair stuck up, make-up smudged and clothes half hanging off her body, reaching for a coffee mug.

Santana just laughs. "You alright there, Boozy?"

Quinn whips her head around, eyes narrowed and growls. "Shut up and get me a coffee."

Chuckling to herself, Santana shakes her head and moves over there, pushing her friend towards one of the stools before grabbing a mug and the coffee pot. Steam flows off the top as she pours it in and she slides it over to her, grabbing a mug for herself and pouring it before sitting opposite her.

"Good night?"

Quinn grumbles as she sips on her coffee. "For the part I remember, yes."

Santana can't help but laugh again, resting her elbows on the counter. "You were drunk," she points out and Quinn rolls her eyes.

"Really? Thank you inspector, I needed to be told that."

Dark eyebrows shoot up. "Damn, you haven't changed a bit."

"And you're still annoying me just as much as you were ten months ago," the blonde spits back, but there's an underlying tone of emotion and Santana sits there in silence for a few minutes, knowing Quinn will perk up when the coffee settles in. Just as expected, it does, and Quinn rubs her hand over her face, pushing her hair back before resting her chin in her hand and tilting her head to the side.

And Santana knows exactly what's coming.

"What about your night?" She questions, the obvious meaning in the softness of her eyes. Coffee can do wonders, apparently. "How was Brittany?"

Santana takes a long sip before replying. Truth is, she didn't have a bad night. It was actually pretty decent, even if the last part where Brittany tried to talk to her freaked her out enough to get in the next available cab and leave the blonde on the sidewalk, in the cold, not with Quinn, Puck, or herself. She just couldn't stay there. She couldn't talk about the past and them because they're both a package. They are the past, and this trip is to celebrate Quinn and Puck's new life; not to discuss her old one.

"It was okay."

Quinn pauses, twists her head as if she's waiting for more. "Is that it?"

"Yeah," Santana shrugs like it's not something that's actually kind of a big deal. "We talked, and it was nice."

Quinn looks entirely unimpressed by Santana's answer, putting down her coffee a little heavier than necessary and leans forward, arms stretching across the counter as if she's trying to reach for her friend. But Santana doesn't move, just keeps sipping her coffee because that's the truth. Last night was okay. She and Brittany talked, and it was okay.

She's not lying.

"So, did she tell you–"

"Look, Quinn," Santana cuts in, sensing the sudden seriousness of this conversation. She lowers her coffee mug, too, lifting both her brows at her friend with an understanding expression and shrugs again. She can tell by the look on Quinn's face that she wants to know more, but honestly, there isn't much more to say.

"I really didn't come here to hear any news about anyone or anything," she continues. "I came for the wedding, and I know it's naïve to think I wouldn't bump into Brittany, or anyone else," her mind goes to a male form who even after ten months, makes her skin crawl. She shakes it off. "But I'd just rather be ignorant to everything, okay?"

Quinn frowns, almost like she's confused. "Really?"

Santana nods, a little dumbly and gives a light-tipped smile. "I'm here specifically for you and your wedding," she offers. "And that's it."

Her friend nibbles on her lip, staring at Santana with a look that makes her feel like she's being examined, like she's being scanned for some sort of lie or ulterior motive, but there's nothing. Everything she's saying is the truth and she doesn't even want to ask Quinn whether or not Brittany actually knew she'd be coming to the dress rehearsal, because judging by the way Brittany looked at her when she first laid eyes on her, she guesses not.

Like, okay, sure, it is actually bugging her that Quinn didn't tell Brittany, or didn't really discuss it with Santana at full length, but she guesses Quinn didn't want to cause any trouble or maybe just totally forgot considering there was so much more going on that was of high importance. But it really isn't important now, it won't be, because in less than two weeks, she'll be on a plane home to London, leaving all of this behind her and continuing with her new life.

And that's okay. That's good.

So, to change the subject, she decides to go for something she knows Quinn will immediately pick up on and lets out a long sigh of relief as she says, "So, tell me about your dress."

It works, too, because for a good hour, Quinn forgets about their previous conversation and jabbers on about her wedding dress.

/

The wedding comes around faster than anticipated.

Santana hasn't seen Brittany since the rehearsal dinner, and she's okay with that.

(She's not actually, but she has to be.)

Spending all this time in New York alone has certainly been an eye opener. It's brought back all these feelings to when she lived here before, pretty much spending every waking hour with Quinn or Brittany or Puck, or down at that stupid bar they used to get drunk at every weekend. But now it all seems so small. It all seems so pointless and she has to admit, she's going home in two days and she's more than happy to do so.

She's ready to leave this life behind again. For eleven days she's managed to dodge several bullets Quinn's thrown at her regarding meeting up for a few drinks after some wedding stuff which inevitably Brittany would've been at considering she's a bridesmaid, and she doesn't know how she'd continue doing it if she stayed here any longer.

So when the wedding day comes, she gets dressed alone. She's wearing a red dress with a black fur shawl draped over her shoulders. Her hair is pushed to the side, curled loosely and she's wearing bright red lipstick. This is the dress she wears for important meetings back in London, and she looks insanely hot in it so she thought she could whip it out for her old life to see.

The taxi drops her at the church, and she recognizes it as one of the many she and Brittany looked for way back when, and she has to admit it's beautiful. It's a little old school, with ivy growing over the entrance and the brick still the original from when it was built in the 19th century, but it's so Quinn. It's a classic, and Santana smiles as she hands the driver some cash with a little extra as he didn't stare at her ass or tits when she climbed into the cab like so many have done since she's been here.

"You look beautiful, by the way," the taxi driver says as she climbs out, and flattered, she smiles softly and thanks him, shutting the door and clutching her purse to her stomach.

She wanders up to the entrance, joining the small queue there and smiles at everyone, curious as to when she's going to find a familiar face. It's not like she can't talk to anyone because she does that for her job, that's how she got where she is, that's what made her this, but she still feels a little out of place. This used to be her home and had she stayed around, she wouldn't have to explain to the many people who will possibly recognize her once she's inside, why she disappeared off to London.

Still, she smiles at the minister and shakes his hand, but is stopped in her tracks when she hears someone call her name softly. A voice that she knows, but isn't too familiar with and she takes a look over her shoulder carefully, only to be completely and utterly stunned but none other than Shelby Corcoran standing before her, clipboard in hand and hair in a bun, held up by three pencils.

"Ms. Corcoran?"

Shelby looks over her glasses, a small smile tugging at her lips as she wanders to Santana. "Santana Lopez," she murmurs like they're old friends. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here."

A little shocked, Santana bobs her head. Way to look like a total idiot. "As it is to see you here," she responds.

"Sharp as always," the older woman chuckles a little to herself and lifts her head, nothing but power and professionalism oozing out of her. "But it's not a surprise that the wedding planner should turn up to the wedding," she lifts her brow and Santana narrows her eyes, wondering if that was a little jibe to the past. "As it turns out, Quinn and I have a link through my daughter."

Furrowing her brows, Santana asks, "How?"

Shelby grins, and there's a sparkle in her eye that Santana's never seen before. Not that she spent an inordinate amount of time with this woman, but she's never had any conversation with her that wasn't work orientated and so she's assuming it's nothing to do with that.

"Through Beth. I'm her adopted mother."

Yup, Santana's jaw just hit the floor.

"What?" She gasps.

Shelby nods and Santana recognizes that glint in her eye to be the love of a mother. Well, holy shit.

"Strange, small world, huh?" The older woman jokes.

Totally not expecting any of that, Santana stands there for a good minute or two, mouth open, trying to process how strange it is that Quinn Fabray, a woman who had a daughter far too young and put her up for adoption, somehow managed to wind up getting New York's most famous wedding planner adopting her daughter. Not to mention, it's also the woman that Santana was trying so damn hard to get a job for, and who is now just casually chatting to her like she didn't completely fuck it up.

This is already a weird day.

"Well, I better be getting back to work," Shelby comments, professionalism striking her once more. She lifts her chin and straightens her back, taking the smile off her face and giving one of the guests a courteous nod. "And Quinn's waiting in the back for you."

Santana smiles and bows her head. "Thank you. I'll see you later."

Shelby barely smiles and turns away, leaving Santana to head into the back room.

/

Naturally she knocks before she enters, and she hears Quinn's voice tell her to come in, but as this is the bride, and there's still guests arriving, she takes a double take over her shoulder before sliding inside, closing the door behind her. She carefully shuts it, letting go of the doorknob and she playfully covers her eyes as she spins around.

"Am I allowed to see?" She chuckles, sticking her tongue out which earns a giggle from Quinn. "Am I prepared for the severely unattractive bride I'm about to see?"

Something collides with her head and she laughs to herself, finally dropping her hands and her jaw, too when her eyes focus. Quinn's standing there, in a long white dress that trails behind her, her hair pinned up and decorated with daisies, and honestly, she looks like a goddess. Now, Santana's not blind. She's got eyes and she's attracted to women, and so she knows how insanely gorgeous her best friend is, but she's never really noticed it. But now, right here, Quinn in a wedding dress… It's breath taking.

But just as she's about to say something along the lines of, "you don't look totally horrible, I guess," she takes note of the other person in the room, which just happens to be Brittany, and really? Everything she just thought about Quinn is almost nothing in comparison to that blonde, because somehow, despite standing next to the freaking bride who is meant to be the sole focus of the day, Brittany is so stunning it actually takes a couple of seconds for Santana to remember to breathe. Oh, and to remember where she is, who she's with, and who she's meant to be complimenting.

So forcing a cough, she looks away from Brittany quickly, ignoring the fact that Brittany obviously knew the way Santana was gazing at her, and shrugs as she meets Quinn's eye.

"You look mediocre, I guess," she teases and Quinn's face goes from an annoying knowing smile to deadpan.

"You're an asshole," the bride throws back with a squint of her eyes. "But seriously, how do I look?"

Santana grins to herself, repeating over and over inside her head not to look at Brittany in the light purple dress with her hair long and straight and a new box type fringe cut in that she keeps blinking at. That may just become one of Santana's new favorite things if she's not careful, and so she trains herself to just look at the bride, and only the bride.

"You look beautiful, Quinn," she says, a little too softly.

Quinn eyes her and shakes her head after a few seconds. "Okay, back to the normal bitchy Santana, I'm not used to you being nice."

It gets a chuckle out of Santana who rolls her eyes, and Brittany sucks in her lips and looks up through her lashes because she knows it's true, too. But she also knows that Santana isn't a bad person. She only puts up the bitch front because she's actually quite insecure, and as Santana thinks about it, she realizes that even Quinn doesn't really know her that well. Brittany's the only person that she could officially say knows her inside and out.

Fuck. She hates that.

Still, as she stands here, she doesn't give Brittany a second look and instead fusses over Quinn, telling her that her ass looks good and her hair is better than usual, but not fantastic, until Quinn demands that Santana needs to go and see Puck to make sure he hasn't run out the building.

"I probably should, I'd skip out of here if I were him," she barely gets it out without laughing and ducks when Quinn throws a hairbrush at her. "Damn bitch, I was kidding!"

Quinn flips her the bird and she chuckles as she walks out, pausing at the door and turning back to get one last glance at Quinn.

"And honestly, Quinn, you look gorgeous," she has a more serious tone in her voice and Quinn raises her hand, about to flip her off again when she sees the look on her face. Except hazel eyes narrow but quickly flick to Brittany, and Santana knows what that means, so she takes in a deep breath and finally meets blue eyes that have been burning a hole into her skull for the past twenty minutes.

"So do you, Britt," she says, her mouth suddenly dry. "You look beautiful."

A soft smile comes across Brittany's face and she ducks her head slightly, a red tint highlighting her cheekbones and Santana, for a moment, just stares but instead of dwelling on it this time, she shakes herself out of it and nods at both of her friends.

"See you when you say I do," she chirps, throwing in a wink.

Quinn's eyes sparkle, the excitement clear in her expression and Santana takes a deep breath as she meets Brittany's eyes and leaves, all of a sudden grateful that she didn't accept Quinn's offer to be a bridesmaid. She's been in that room barely twenty minutes and had to put as much effort as possible in not to just take a sit, put her head in her hands and gaze at Brittany.

But it doesn't matter. She's only got today and tomorrow to get through, then she's going home.

She's just got to get through that with no problems, Brittany orientated or not.

/

Puck's now standing by the pews, and Santana walks towards him, swaying her hips and batting her eyelashes.

"Well, hot damn," she says, pretending to fan herself. "If only I were straight."

Puck rolls his eyes but laughs anyway, reaching up to fix his tie. She steps up to him, deciding to take over because if he screwed it up the first time he's not going to much to make it better now, especially without a mirror.

"How does she look?"

Santana looks up at him. "You're one lucky fucker," she responds and his mouth drops, eyes twinkle in the same way Quinn's did a minute ago. "She's gorgeous, Puckerman."

He nods his head, taking a long, deep breath and exhaling it over her head. His eyes search out around the church and she sees him smiling nervously at a few of Quinn's family members, but she just shakes her head, knowing just how nervous he is by the beat of his heart beneath her hand, resting on his chest. Her fingers work at his tie, and she decides to undo it completely because there's nothing like a woman's touch.

"Look, Santana, I wanted to apologize for being such a shit–"

Detecting the sudden drop in her voice, she jerks her head back and meets his eye again. "Don't, Noah," she interrupts. "I'm not here to talk about the past."

He frowns at her. "You're not going to talk to Brittany or even us about it?"

They hardly need to name the whole fucked up situation anymore. It's obvious when they talk about it because it feels like they're treading on thin ice. It feels like the whole vibe of the room drops and Santana just doesn't want to do it anymore. Ten months ago, she left it behind. Ten months ago, she decided that it was the end and she's getting kind of annoyed that Quinn and Puck aren't realizing that. Brittany, too, actually.

So she tightens up his tie for the final time and pats his collarbones to signal she's done. "It's in the past, Puckerman, and I'm here for the wedding."

"But there was no ending with you two?"

She shrugs. There's not much more she can say. "I know, and I guess we'll always be an unfinished story," she explains, trying not to let the sadness seep into her voice. "But, please? Can we just leave it to be your special celebration and after this, I'll go back to London, you and Quinn will go on a lovely honeymoon to Cancun, and that'll be that."

Puck eyes her, brows furrowed like he doesn't understand what she's saying, but honestly, she doesn't want to think about Brittany's life now. She doesn't want to think about Brittany being shacked up, or why that jackass husband of hers isn't here at the wedding. She doesn't want the pain of thinking about the past and the consequences, and she's grateful for two weeks Quinn and Puck haven't brought anything up because she probably wouldn't be here right now.

There probably would've been a ticket to another flight with her name on it about a week back.

"But there's something you don't know–"

"And we'll keep it like that," she jumps in again, smiling up at him with a smile that she knows doesn't reach her eyes. Only one person would be able to see that though.

He studies her for a long few minutes, his eyes tracing over her features like he's debating whether or not just to say what he was going to but the look on her face must be a strong one, a serious one, because he just looks away and sighs loudly, accepting her words.

"Okay," he lifts his shoulders. "So how do I look?"

Santana grins, a breath of relief escaping her lips. "Like a handsome gentleman," she replies. "Now go get your girl."

/

The wedding takes off, and Santana sucks in the tears and the shaky breaths as she walks Quinn walk down the aisle.

She's a picture, something Santana will never forget and it really does pull at her heartstrings as she listens to two of her best friends say their vows. They say how they'll be there forever, like birds and their feathers, and through thick and thin, they'll stick together. It's a little cheesy, and Santana rolls her eyes when Puck wipes away a tear and squares his shoulder because he still pretends to be a big man even when he's marrying the woman of his dreams.

But anyway, the vows are exchanged, the priest marries them and they kiss and everyone cheers. Santana wipes the corner of her eye, pretending like she isn't about to cry and can't help herself when she looks at Brittany, meeting her eye and smiling softly because… What if.

What if the night they met, Jason hadn't existed?

What if they'd found their happy ending together?

What if things weren't fucked up and somehow they really were meant to be?

But what ifs aren't why she's here. What ifs aren't something she should be thinking about because they're just… Possibilities that passed. They were things that could've been, that would've been, that should've been even, but weren't, and she can't go through the rest of this celebration wondering what would've happened if everything had been different.

Because Brittany's married now. Brittany's happy and it's fucked up because Santana's here, and it should be different. But she won't mix things up as she's going back to London in less than 72 hours. She won't cause a fuss. She'll play the best card and hold her head high, square her jaw and take it all in, only to let it out by taking some nameless blonde floozy with blue eyes back to hers in London and fucking the sadness away.

Well, if she can bring herself to.

(For the past ten months, it's been impossible.)

So she smiles. She plays the perfect part and claps as the newly wedded couple walk down the aisle. She throws the confetti and pointedly ignores the sad smile Brittany attempts to throw her, knowing that the thoughts in her mind are mirroring the person that's looking at her.

72 hours.

That's it.

/

She's never been good at speeches, and so when Puck winks at her and gets one of the waiters to hand her the microphone, she pulls down the edges of her dress and stands up at her table, looking out across the crowd. There are too many pairs of eyes to count staring at her and her collar starts getting hot, and it's not because she's shy, it's just because there's only one set of eyes really standing out and making her brain function strangely.

So, instead of a long speech, she makes a quick one mentioning how long she, Quinn and Puck have been friends and how her life wouldn't be the same without them. Puck winks at her, Quinn rolls her eyes in classic bitchy Quinn manner but still turns away to hide the lone tear trailing down her cheek, and when she's finished the waiter takes the microphone back to Puck who stands again and stares straight at her.

"And most of you thought she was a bitch," he jokes.

The crowd claps a little, laughs too, and Santana thanks the heavens she's ethnic because the blood is rushing to her face right now. Still, she plays it off like it's nothing flicking her hair a little, but when Puck continues talking she's entirely caught off guard and squints as she looks at him, his head now tilted and mouth twisted into an expression she knows is full of sadness.

Oh God. What's he going to say?

"Santana Lopez, one of the most beautiful and spectacular women I know," he continues, the crowd quickly settling down. There are tears forming in his eyes and she feels the pressure on her chest. She sends a quick prayer that she doesn't cry, too. There's only one person who will comfort her if she does and she can't be dealing with that right now. "It's a pleasure to have you back. You have no idea how much we've missed you since you've been away, so come home soon, okay?"

Something lodges in her throat and she manages a smile, knowing full well that there's only one person who can read through it. Damn. Why can't she get her off her mind? Being in this place, with all these people, is just too much and there's that voice in that back of her mind telling her that at some point she will have to face it. At some point she will have to come back here because she can't run away from it forever.

At some point, she'll have to put this shit behind her.

Still, though, she forces that out her mind and without conscious thought, finds her gaze flickering toward Brittany, causing the barely-there smile to fade from her face because the look on the blondes face is almost too much to bare. Those blue eyes that are usually so full of light are dark and sad. Her face is blank, but it shouts a million things and Santana wells up purely from looking at her. Her eyes prickle with heat, face stings from holding back how she really feels and she gulps, allowing herself to push the emotion away because if there's one thing these ten months have told her, it's that she can separate her feelings and block them out.

If only for a short while.

So that's what she does, and she just keeps repeating how many hours she's got left over and over again in her head, knowing it's not too long.

/

The first dance comes and Santana watches in awe.

Quinn's arms are looped around Puck's neck, her face resting beneath his jaw and his strong arms encircle her waist, grasping at the small of her back. His lips are moving, mouthing along to an acoustic version of I Don't Want To Miss A Thing playing as their first dance song, and Santana can see the glisten in Quinn's hazel eyes as she buries her face further into him, trying to hide the happiest smile on her face because this is her heaven.

And Santana's never been an envious person. She's never wanted to have something someone else has because she's always been privileged in that way, but right now, watching these two, she can feel the emotion curdling in the pit of her stomach and hates herself for a little bit because she does want this. It's the only thing she's never really had, and the hate only grows further because the more she thinks about it, the more all these memories of what could've been come back, and she's forced to twist her head away and wipe at the corner of her eye due to a familiar heat begins prickling the back of her eyelids, because really, she might have a lot, but she doesn't have that.

God, it's actually getting her emotional.

She takes a deep breath, shakes it off and waits out the rest of the song without searching the room for a specific pair of eyes and then gets up to get a drink.

Maybe that'll get her through this wedding.

/

"Drinking already?"

Santana looks over her shoulder to find Shelby sliding on to the stool beside her, pushing her glasses on top of her head and resting her elbows on the bar top. It annoys her a little because the woman has that I'm going to talk to you regardless of whether you want to or not look on her face that Santana just can't be dealing with, and she's trying to be completely antisocial so the time goes quick and she can just get out of here, completely avoiding the possible situation she may have should Brittany try to come up and talk to her.

But she guesses Shelby isn't just here for a drink.

"I'm just thirsty."

Shelby studies her for a long moment. "Of course you are," she says, sarcasm in her tone. She looks to the bartender. "I'll have a whiskey, please."

The bartender gets to it and Santana clenches her jaw, grasping her own glass of whiskey in her hand. She fingers the glass and sips slowly, crossing one leg over the other as she turns around and looks out across the sea of people. Shelby mirrors her movements when she gets her drink but leans back on the bar.

"So, how have you been?" She asks. "Quinn tells me you're an event planner in Mayfair now."

Santana runs her tongue along her teeth, nodding. "I've been good, and yeah, it's really interesting, plus it's great pay," she chuckles and smiles at the older woman. "How's things with your business?"

"Brilliant, actually," Shelby chirps up. She takes a long sip from her glass and winces slightly as she swallows. "Wow, this is good stuff," she lifts her glass and examines it. "But yeah, the business is good. We've actually branched out into new areas."

There's a suggestive tone in the older woman's words and it makes Santana turn her head. She studies Shelby, narrowing her eyes and wonders where this is going because sure, she doesn't know Shelby very well, but she's almost one hundred percent sure that wasn't just an offhand comment about her business extending.

So she presses on. "New areas?"

"We're now moving into event planning rather than just narrowing down to wedding planning," Shelby answers, eyes still trained out to the dance floor where several people are attempting to do the twist, with children tumbling down on the floor because they can't quite get it. "But we're still looking for someone who's trained in the area as even to myself, it's quite new."

The subtlety of Shelby's suggestion is like a bull in a China shop. Santana almost laughs out loud at it, but instead she quells the urge to do so and looks down at the ground before spinning around until she's facing Shelby completely, giving her the full attention. If the woman wants to start this, then she's more than welcome to but if there's one thing Santana hates, it's when people try and pretend like they're talking about something else when the elephant is in the freaking room.

"Not to be rude, but why are you telling me this?"

Shelby twists to meet her gaze, setting down her glass of whiskey. "You know why, Santana," she starts, hands folding neatly on her lap. "You and I both know you're looking for an escape route, and we both know you don't really want to go back to London."

A noise comes from the back of Santana's throat, something of disbelief. "You don't even know me."

Shelby chuckles knowingly to herself. It irks Santana. "Quinn talks about you a lot," she replies, adjusting her watch on her wrist, eyes darting down. "And I know more than you think because you and I are quite similar," she looks up, eyes dark and serious. "I know you're smart, and I know you didn't really want to give up the wedding that you think ruined your career but you had to with the deepest regret and heartache. I know you don't really like living four thousand miles away from your family and friends, despite putting on this act that you do, and I also know that you're trying to fight the inevitable, which will never work."

Jaw clenching, Santana continues to stay quiet. She knows that Shelby's trying to get into her head, make her take a step back and think about her life, but it won't–

Shit.

It is working.

She's already thinking about the look on everyone's faces if she moved back and how much happier she'd be–not that she's unhappy in London as such, it's just not home–but she shakes her head against the thought, trying to get rid of it. That's not what she needs. That's not what she wants. What she needs and wants is to get out of here and go back to London as soon as possible, and Shelby sitting here talking to her about 'knowing her' is just bullshit.

But instead of biting back, instead of causing a scene and telling Shelby she's wrong, she sticks to her guns and pushes away the need to hate Shelby for actually hitting all the nails on the head, instead choosing to lift her chin stubbornly and purse her lips.

"So," Shelby begins again, sipping down the rest of her whiskey and leaning in toward Santana. "If you at any point decide that pretending your life in London is wonderful gets too tiring," she pauses to grasp a tanned wrist and squeezing gently. "Give me a call."

She slides off the stool and taps the bar once, leaving behind a business card with her name and number on it.

Santana just stares at it as Shelby walks away.

/

The first drink isn't enough, and so she tries a second, then a third.

It quells the ache in her chest a little and makes her feel light headed but happy and that's good, so she finishes it up and decides that it's probably time to go and talk to Quinn's family or at least someone at the wedding, even if it's just one of the waitresses. Being alone at a wedding, drinking away the hours probably won't help, and will definitely take away the effect of the alcohol and she's only just got to a point where social interaction is possible, so she might as well use it up as she's in the right state of mind. Or at the right blood alcohol level.

She rubs at her eye with her spare hand, the other clutching another glass of whiskey, as she gets off the stool and begins weaving through the tables, prepared to find Quinn or Puck so they can introduce her. But just as she's about to step on to the dance floor to cut across as Quinn's fat auntie is blocking the other route, she picks up on the first few notes of a very familiar song and freezes.

Because no–

It can't be.

They can't be playing–

"This is another slow one, for all the lovers out there."

Her brain stops functioning at the DJ's words, knowing that yeah, this is actually about to happen, and she doesn't know whether to cry or laugh because it's pure chance that this song's come on. Fate, some would call it.

Wise men say… Only fools rush in…

Her vision begins to waver as the lyrics go on and Santana takes a deep shuddery breath, lifting her head and looking around, only to find Brittany, standing across from her, on the other side of the dance floor, her blue eyes wide and uncertain. Her arms hang by her side, and Santana begins straightening up as she continues to look around the room, wondering if anyone else is picking up on the situation.

It feels like they should.

It feels like the spotlight is fixed on her and all this pressure comes plowing down on her shoulders. She begins shaking her head, her head telling her to run, her legs burning with the urge to, but her heart anchoring her to her spot.

Then Brittany moves. Cautiously and carefully, she takes a step forward until she's on the dance floor with Santana, nearing the middle. She pauses, hesitates, and her face is full of emotion, but she's welling up and Santana doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know if this is some fucked up revenge or if this was planned, but she's quivering where she stands, so unsure of what she's supposed to do either that she just stares, completely unprepared for this, for this song, for Brittany.

But I can't help falling in love with you…

All the feelings she'd blocked out for the past ten months come flooding down against her, crashing like a wave upon a cliff but she refuses to fall. Memories of blonde hair and tears and broken promises and heartache come gushing back and she shuts her eyes against it, unable to stop herself from clutching at her chest as the pain tears through her, the tears now falling down her cheeks.

But it's only momentary because then she's glancing across the dance floor, past Brittany to Quinn and Puck, standing behind her, eyes wide but full of hope and Santana feels her face scrunch up in confusion because she doesn't know what this is.

Was this a plan?

Was this their plan?

Her head bows as the questions flow and tears continue to fall out, and she hears that voice in the back of her repeat for her to get out of here. The urge to just bolt pulses through her like electricity and she gasps when something touches her hand because she looks up to find Brittany right in front of her, so close her heavy, warm breath covers Santana's face every time she exhales.

"Dance with me," Brittany whispers beneath the music and Santana's heart stops as blue eyes gaze at her with unbridled hope, her heart dropping into her stomach and vision blurring until it's almost impossible to see anything.

She just wants to back away, go with what the voice inside her mind is telling her but she can't. It's as if her feet are concreted in to the floor and she stares up at Brittany, unable to help herself from remembering just how this girl makes her feel; like anything's possible.

Shall I stay… Or would it be a sin… If I can't help falling in love with you…

That alone is a reminder of why she's here, of what she can't get herself into and immediately she snatches her hand away from Brittany, ignoring the hurt and rejection that flash across a sea of blue. She can't believe she almost fell for it that easily. She can't believe it and she feels so fucking stupid she wants to bash her head against a wall or drink three bottles of whiskey and go to sleep.

"Santana," Brittany calls in a hushed tone, saying the name like it's a question and Santana lets her vision fall on her, but ends up shaking her head, hating the way Brittany's face falls, skin pales and eyes widen with realization of what's about to come next.

Because it's now so clear.

This is all too much, and she needs to leave.

She didn't come back for Brittany. In fact, she almost didn't come at all, just to stay away from the past for this very reason; she didn't want any of it to come up. She didn't want to have to deal with the things she built a wall around her heart against, but now it's here, quite literally standing in front of her and it's overwhelming. She thought she could've been able to avoid it. She thought it wouldn't be this difficult, but she guesses she was completely naïve to think that.

Because it never went away. It never disappeared.

Being in London was only a distraction. It wasn't an exit, just a diversion. It just delayed her for a while but eventually lead her in a full circle and brought her right back here, with the past being shoved in her face, and the pressure builds up so high she feels like she might pass out.

Her lungs are pumping harder and faster, her heart thudding loudly against her ribcage and she barely registers the sound of the glass she's holding breaking on the wooden dance floor before there's wind in her hair, a cold chill piercing her cheeks and she's running away, leaving everything behind.

Again.

/

"Santana! Santana, stop!"

It comes from behind her, but the wind is in her face, she's fighting the tears threatening to come and she just needs to get out of here. Never in her life has she wanted to run away more, not even ten months ago. At least back then it was a choice. At least back then she wasn't forced to, but right now, she has to leave because it'll all turn to shit again and she's worked her ass off trying to get over the last time it happened.

She can't have the past come back. She just can't.

So she ignores Brittany. She holds up her dress by her thigh and rushes down the hotel stairs, side-stepping down the sidewalk whilst simultaneously looking down the street for a taxi. Looking for something to come and save her.

"Santana, stop!" She hears, but this time it is closer and she damns herself for wearing these heels. Brittany used to freaking dance in high heels, so it's really no wonder she can sprint in them.

A hand curls around her bicep, tugging her back and because she's weak, because she feels like her legs are about to give and the tears are about to fall, she can't help but stop. Not to mention, she's managed to somehow avoid touching Brittany up until about three minutes ago, bar some barely there brushes, and this is the first time in ten months she's had skin on skin touches, and honestly, she hates the way it makes her body come alive. Makes her feel like finding water after too long in a desert.

So she jolts away, but still shakes her head like it'll stop her from feeling like this. Like it'll stop the whole world from feeling like it's crashing around her.

"I shouldn't have come back," she mutters, not recognizing her own voice. It's too full of hoarse, too full of emotion, too un-Santana.

Brittany tilts her head to the side in the same old annoying way she used to. Like she's trying to soften Santana. Like she's trying to remember her. She chews her lip and squints her eyes as she says, "Santana."

And it pisses Santana off.

It really fucking pisses her off and she rips her arm away, finally meeting watery blue eyes that damn near make her crumble, right here and now, in the middle of Park Avenue and she hates herself for it. But she can't crumble. She hasn't done anything wrong. She's bailing before it all goes wrong which is the right thing to do, if anything. If she stays then that damn song and that damn woman that she now thinks will always have a piece of her somehow, will break her down and she can't let it.

She won't let it because she's spent too much damn time repairing what Brittany destroyed to be torn down that easily by a God damn song.

"Don't," she entreats, her voice now cold. "Don't do that." Her hand flings out and she shudders as the cold hits her skin, hating the concern that flickers in Brittany's eyes. "You don't get to say my name like that because you don't know me anymore."

The way Brittany flinches really hits Santana in the stomach hard. Fuck.

"Why are you acting like this?" Brittany asks, coming closer. "Why are you shutting me out? Why are you running away from me?"

Santana lets out a breath of laughter, glancing away in disbelief. "Are you kidding me, Brittany?" She half-yells. "You're asking me that after how we left it ten months ago? After I just up and left, you're asking me why I'm shutting you out after you asking me to dance with you to our song like it'll magically make everything okay again. Jesus!"

She knew it was a bad idea. The wedding, coming back here, seeing Brittany… It was all too much and she fucking knew that, yet being the same old stubborn Santana Lopez, she thought she could handle it. She thought two weeks would be nothing, and she could just come back, do her thing, and leave again without a trace. She thought it wasn't too much too handle, but she was so fucking stupid for thinking that. Too fucking naïve, as always.

"But you left?"

Brown eyes widen. "I had to, and the worst part is that you let me, Brittany," Santana defends, mentally cursing herself for the break in her voice. Where's her strength? "You never came after me, nor did you fight for me at any point during our entire relationship! I had to fucking leave, don't you see that?"

The moment feels too surreal. Standing here, yelling at each other in the center of New York City. It all just feels like something out of a movie and Santana ran away from all this for that exact reason. She didn't want her life to be some dumb ass dramatic tale that people could watch and laugh at because of her misfortune. She didn't want to be the person people didn't want to relate to because she got all the shit.

"Santana," Brittany softens. "I tried but Puck didn't–"

"No," Santana snaps. "No, don't blame other people because regardless, you could've done something earlier. You could've stopped being so fucking scared and you could've not broken my heart," she sucks in a deep, shaky breath, feeling the anger fizzle down to her fingertips. Really, she should've expected a big blow out to come at some point. When she left, it was almost too easy, despite it being the hardest thing she's ever done.

"And that's something I can't forgive you for." She steps up to Brittany, so close she can see the silver specks in Brittany's eyes. "That's why I moved away because I couldn't be around you anymore because it just hurt too God damn much," she screeches, punching at her own chest like it'll take some of the pain away that's curdling within.

Brittany gasps, the words hitting her hard again, but she still reaches for her. "Santana–"

"Fucking stop it, Britt," she retorts. "You don't get to try and make me feel bad. You don't get to play some stupid fucking song that reminds me of you and think it'll make it all better, and expect me to dance with you and after ten months it'll be fine because it's under the carpet," she bursts. "God, I'm just so fucking sick of everyone backing you up, defending you and blaming me," she punches her chest and moves away again. "When all I ever did was love you."

The blonde just stands there, mouth open and eyes wide. She's speechless, and it strangely spurs Santana on. This has been building up for far too long and Santana knows she's going to explode if she doesn't get it out. She can't bear to stand next to Brittany and act like everything's rainbows and sparkles when at the end of the day she's still going to get the blame.

Out of her leaving, the only thing she regrets is sweeping all of this under the rug. Out of all of this, the only thing she's regretting as she stands here in the freezing cold, yelling at a woman she used to know, is that she didn't get it out earlier.

"You made a commitment to a man you didn't even love, Brittany," she starts again, the heat rapidly building inside her chest. It's like word vomit; she can't stop it. "You married a guy who you knew wasn't good enough for you, and fucked me over for it. You fucked over your best friend," she whispers, swallowing thickly and desperately fighting the tears prickling at her eyelids. "Someone who would've given you the world, had you asked." A long tear trails down her cheek and she swallows thickly, swiftly wiping the back of her hand over her face. "Shit, Brittany, I don't even know why you got engaged to him because we both know how you felt about me."

She leaves a space, intrigued to know if Brittany will interrupt but she doesn't. She just looks away, the tears falling and arms folding over her chest.

"Even Jason knew how you felt about me, Britt," she chuckles mirthlessly. "And still you blithely ignored it like it was nothing," she points out, clenching her jaw at Brittany just standing there, barely showing a flinch. And she gets increasingly irritated at herself because she knows Brittany is reacting. She knows just how much is going on inside the blondes head but these past ten months have not only been physical space, but created space between them mentally.

Right now, she doesn't know what those things are that are spinning around her brain and it's killing her.

She just wants her to say something.

Anything.

"I get that you were scared, Brittany," she moves closer, holding her hands out in front of her, but she quickly retracts them at the sight of Brittany looking sad and hurt because she knows if she goes any closer, she'll take all of this back and grab her. "I know you were terrified of loving me but that was no reason for fucking me over just because you were chicken shit."

Brittany's eyes flash to her in a glare, the words touching a nerve and a cruel sense of satisfaction buzzes through Santana.

"Because in reality, Brittany, you're still a chicken shit. You're still a scared, lost, little girl who doesn't know what she wants, even after ten months and honestly, a year ago, I would've done anything for you," her heart twists, tugs, yanks and she turns her head away at the feeling, hands shooting to clutch at her chest. "But right now I can barely look at you because somehow you're okay with the fact that you broke my heart and married a guy who would drop you for a dollar and a blowjob."

It's harsh, and Santana knows how blunt she can be, but she's never been this bad toward Brittany. She's never said something so brutal that Brittany's marched straight up to her, towered over her and stared her dead in the eye, tears streaming from her eyes but so much anger in them that she could start a fire just by blinking.

And later, Santana will realize that the reason she wasn't evoking any reaction out of Brittany, was because she didn't know the whole story.

Later, Santana will realize that all the things she's saying will play over and over again inside Brittany's mind, screwing up her thoughts and plans and affecting their future.

Later, Santana will realize that there's a reason Brittany's crying right now, and it's not for the reason Santana thinks.

But she won't realize any of that until later, and so for now, she tries to stand tall, tries to put the wall she spent ten months building and ignores the way her heart thumps unevenly with Brittany in this close proximity after too long. Instead choosing, for one time in this whole conversation, to keep her mouth closed and listen up, despite the anger flaring up within her chest and across her skin.

"I may be lost, Santana," Brittany hisses, leaning too close. "But I'm not the only one."

It's funny really, and ironic, because Santana may be lost, too–sure–but there's only one person that can do something, and so she says it. After all, she's come to learn that if she says how she feels, she'll fuck it up, but if she doesn't, she's allowing her hidden words to fuck her up instead, and she just can't do it anymore.

"Then fucking find me, Brittany. Fucking find me."

There's barely a breath before there's a taxi pulling up and Santana's hopping in, watching the lights reflect against the puddles on the sidewalk as she runs away.

(Again.)

/

So… Thoughts?