Hello, so I haven't exactly fallen off the face of the earth, though I have been absent from this account for some time. I like to think in that time my writing style has grown considerably, though I guess that remains to be seen. Welcome back to my old friends, hello to my new ones. This idea has bothered me to the point where it can no longer be ignored, so let's begin.

I still don't own Glee.

The colors bled together and Brittany let the brush hover over the page. Everything was still so new, the layout so foreign. Every building, corridor, and room, was still strange, caught somewhere between new and exciting and slightly terrifying. Though all she heard was silence, the whole campus felt like it buzzed around her. People were coming and going, groups of students that took up the whole of the sidewalk were talking, laughing, having conversations that she'd never hear, but sitting at the desk with the brush in her hand, none of that mattered. She painted with broad, easy strokes, reconstructing the picture in her mind on the page with little trouble - she'd always liked to paint. Putting colors onto a page was easy, it didn't matter that she couldn't hear the swish of the bristles against the cotton of the canvas, or the splash of the brush in her cup of water as she cleaned off one shade in favor of another; it was effortless.

Life had been easy at her high school for the deaf, everybody signed, a few could speak, but Brittany was too self-conscious to ever try. Students moved around the studio in her peripheral vision, but she ignored them, content to continue with her painting, to stay enveloped in the peace it brought. She'd always been deaf. By the time she was old enough to understand that not everyone lived their lives in silence, her parents had learned to sign, and that was simply how people communicated in her world. As she grew older, Brittany would watch her parents speaking. As she saw more of the world outside her window, she'd watch lips move and wonder what it meant to hear… what sound was actually like, a world that was more than just moving pictures? She'd never know. The blue paint smeared easily across the canvas, the bristles spreading to distribute it evenly, the line of color smooth, exactly as she'd intended for it to be.

Her parents had never wanted a deaf child, as she grew older, she had realized that. They were both hearing, they were both perfectly content with their lives, and although they loved her, supported her, Brittany could see the longing in her Father's eyes when they watched his colleagues children at their singing recitals. Her mother was always patient, always kind, but Brittany sometimes caught the flash of frustration, when she had to touch her on her shoulder to get her attention, to spell out the words so arduously with her hands, that she could have spoken in just seconds.

Brittany wanted to push herself, to experience college like every other teenager, not cocooned in the safety of the college program her old school offered. Even though she couldn't hear what was going on around her, she could see it, smell it, taste it, and although it was terrifying sometimes, it was empowering. She smiled to herself as she remembered how surprised her parents had been when she showed them the acceptance letter from the small community college just a fifteen minute bus journey from their home - she hadn't told them that she'd applied, too scared that she wouldn't be accepted, that she would seem stupid to hearing people thanks to her broken ears. Now she had her place there, it felt like a dream.

Sometimes she missed her old school, she missed not having to just point at what she wanted from the cafeteria and watch the staff eye her suspiciously, or feeling like a fish out of water when someone approached her, smiling, their lips moving too fast for her to read, leaving her powerless to do anything but smile shyly in return and walk away. Yet it felt so good to be here.

Her blue eyes inspected the image on the canvas, the line where the sea met the shore, yet as she gazed at the coastal scene, she could still remember the day she went there with her parents, though it seemed so long ago now. Stepping back to take the picture in, Brittany jumped as her body collided with something, spinning around, sending her palette of paint skittering across the table and onto the floor, her hands already moving to sign that she was sorry, before she had chance to find out who or what she had bumped into to.

Santana was practically snarling. Pain splattered her umpteen hundred-dollar Louboutins, and she was livid.

"Are you blind?" She hissed the words, dark eyes ready to burn holes into whichever student had the gall to just run into her like that.

"Well? What the hell is your…" Her words got lost, her face smoothing into a careful mask as her gaze found the wide blue eyes that were staring back at her, full of apology. The girl's beauty caught her off-guard, her loosely curled golden hair and her ocean eyes, they cut through the rage, and suddenly, she felt naked. Aware that the clatter of the paint palette had attracted eyes to the situation that was so suddenly unfolding out of her control, she ducked down, happy to use cleaning up the mess as an excuse to catch her breath from… that.

Brittany had spun around, her eyes wide with shock and embarrassment as she watched the girl, no woman, standing before her speak. Her lips were moving fast, too fast, and Brittany had never been the best at reading them anyway, so she was almost relieved when the woman bent down and reached for the overturned palettes. She had expected to be confronted with one of the girls in her class, the ones who she knew whispered about her in their little gaggle, despite the fact that she couldn't hear a word they were saying. She had not expected… her.

Her blue eyes watched her dark curls fall forward, loose around the woman's shoulders as she picked up fallen brushes, before she noticed the paints that had splashed and smeared on the cheap tile floor of the studio, blending together into accidental chaos that was actually cohesive somehow. She was stunning, dark and sultry, the mere sight of her commanding a presence that Brittany doubted she would ever feel again in her life, let alone muster in herself. She was stunning, a ruby against all the pebbles that McKinley Community College had to offer. Brittany's cheeks burned with embarrassment and awe; of course she had to be the one on the other end of her impromptu floor decorating.

All too soon, the woman was standing again, and Brittany had to forget about the paint on the floor, her cheeks already growing warm again, as she anticipated the words that she wouldn't hear, the look she would get when she simply stood there, unable to reply. She had kind eyes, big and dark - the expressive kind, and Brittany was too busy thinking they were pretty to try to watch her lips as she spoke again.

"Are you… okay?" The words got stuck in Santana's throat, threatening almost to choke her. Her inner badass hissed in disdain, at her absolute utter lack of game, while the career-minded part of her questioned why she needed game to begin with.

The girl stood silently before her, all smooth skin that was softly freckled across her nose, and innocent azure eyes, and Santana wondered if she had said something way worse than she thought she had, or if the girl was just deaf. Either way, she was gorgeous.

Brittany stared back at her, and once she realised the woman was standing in front of her waiting for an answer, she just blushed.

These moments were always the worst. They were the fear that had almost stopped her from coming to a regular college, the thing that made her afraid to go to the mall on a Saturday, or to join any of the sports teams at her new school.

Being deaf wasn't painful to her anymore, or at least it had somehow become a pain she could live with, but moments like this, feeling like half a human, being so utterly disconnected, unable to communicate, rendered totally mute without signing, as well as unhearing - Brittany hated them.

Seconds were ticking by, and she knew what the woman was thinking, she'd watched it flash across people's faces too many times - confusion, annoyance, disgust. Sometimes they'd repeat themselves until they were blue in the face, until Brittany had to just shake her head, smile apologetically and walk away. They'd tried to teach her at her old school to say just two words – 'I'm deaf', yet Brittany had never understood why people would waste a gift such as speech on proclaiming the very reason they were without it to begin with. She'd refused to learn.

She watched her now, the woman with the dark eyes, waiting for all those things to dance across her face, to twist her beautiful features into disapproval, even fear of the unknown. Brittany could already imagine her going back across the room, whispering to a group of girls close to the drying rack, several pairs of eyes looking in her direction wondering what the hell was wrong with her. The thought hurt like a slap in the face, and she blinked it away.

The confusion came, she could see it creep in, her brow slightly furrowed as those honey dark eyes watched her, waited expectant, for a reply. She tilted her head a little, curious, and Brittany let her lips pull up at the corners, not enough to be a total smile, just enough to show that she was present, thinking, alive, even if she was trapped in her silent prison, unable to say so. She could feel brown eyes on her now, as much as she could see them, and looking back, Brittany wondered what was going on in her head, how this must all look, sound, from her point of view.

Santana stared back at the blonde haired girl, the ghost of a smile that tugged at rose pink lips wasn't lost on her, yet for the first time in so long, she had nothing to say. She should have been choking on a biting remark, ready to tear the girl to pieces, or raise hell until she had an answer, as to what the fuck was going on here. Yet she felt still, quiet, an odd serenity washing away the usual rage as the girl stood before her dumbly, and just smiled.

She was just about to smile back, the edges of her own mouth just barely turning upwards, when someone approached the two of them.

The TA came from nowhere, but Brittany saw him coming in her peripheral vision - her eyes were sharp, her only defence in her silent world. She turned to look at him, breaking the eye contact with the woman, disappointed that she'd never gotten to see the smile that she swore was forming so beautifully on her plump lips. She was both relieved and ashamed that the man had seen it fit to intervene.

He looked at her and she knew what was coming, she could already feel the heat rushing to her cheeks in anticipation. His lips moved slowly, deliberately, in a way that she found actually kind of repulsive, a way that made her feel like it was her IQ that was lacking, not her ears.

"ARE. YOU. OKAY?" She made out the words as he enunciated them very deliberately, and by the way half the room turned to watch the scene unfold, she guessed he was shouting. She nodded, her blue eyes finding the ground, unwilling to look up and subject herself to anymore of his shaming attempts to help.

Santana watched the exchange, her lip immediately curling in disgust at the way the short, spectacled man yelled at her unexpected companion. She watched the girl turn her head, she watched the smile fall from her face, and suddenly, all the rage that seemed to have deserted her just seconds ago, was back in full force.

"Do you think she's deaf or something, Golem?" She spat the words out, though the loaded silence in the room slung the insult right back in her face. Holy shit. Immediately her cheeks threatened to color, but being Santana Lopez, she held her embarrassment at bay as the realization smashed into her with all the force of an oncoming tornado.

"Actually Miss Lopez…"

"I get the picture, lard lump." She spat the words out cruelly before the TA could say anything else, desperate to wrestle the situation back in her own favor, and to quell the shame that burned down the back of her neck at her own careless words.

Brittany had been silent, letting enough time pass, time she counted out by the beat of her own heart that she could feel in her chest, if she concentrated hard enough, before finally, she looked up.

He was saying something to her now, the dark haired woman, and Brittany wished she could understand. She hated this, these moments where she was so cut off, so far removed from everything, and just for a second, she regretted her decision to come to this school. She wanted to turn away, to go back to her painting and forget the entire conversation, but that would be rude - speaking wasn't like sign, you couldn't just reply and then avert your eyes to avoid further communication. In a world of sound, you could be reached even if you weren't looking. They had taught her enough that she knew, if you could speak, you were present until dismissed, and breaking those kind of rules would only make her seem even more crazy than she already knew she did.

Still, unwilling to stand around, watching cluelessly as the TA said things about her that she would never know, Brittany spotted a stack of paper towels at the end of a nearby desk, and carefully sidestepping the spilled paint, she retrieved them. Bending down, she ducked out of the communication above her, taking one last look at the accidental brilliance that stained the floor, before regretfully, she began to clean it off.

"I was just trying to…."

"Can it." Santana hissed the words, before she leaned threateningly towards the TA, "Why don't you go back to whatever paper-grading hole you crawled out of… Shoo." It was enough to send him skittering back across the classroom.

Deaf. The word echoed in her mind, pressed up against that beautiful almost-smile, and somehow, they wouldn't mesh. Noticing the girl now crouched at her feet, she mirrored the gesture on instinct, her knees pressed together lest her tight pencil skirt give her sudden companion all too warm of a welcome. The girl didn't look up, and watching her scrub at the paint-splattered floor, Santana picked up a discarded paper towel and did the same. She didn't know what to say – how to even say anything to her, but a part of her burned with curiosity, and she wasn't ready to walk away just yet,

Brittany scrubbed at the floor. The paper towel frayed, dissolved into the paint, ruined by the way she rubbed it hard against the tile, and frustrated, she set down a new one, and carried on. It was hard to express her emotions outside of her dancing and art. Shouting wasn't an option, and angrily signing didn't have quite the same effect. She could scream, but she never did, the closest she came was some nights in the privacy of her room, when she would hum softly, only the vibration of her lips telling her that she was succeeding in making sound.

Her cheeks were still burning, and she wished she could speak now, communicate somehow that she wasn't an idiot, that her mind was fine, it was just her ears that were broken - though like all her angers, all her frustrations, it soon passed. The memory of his lips, dry and chapped, gaping and then smacking back together, vulgar, his tongue visible, as he yelled every silent word to her, it still stung; but as she slowed her movements, scooped up the broken paper towel in the fresh one, she could feel herself letting it go.

She'd never known how to hold a grudge, not against her parents for the disappointment they failed to hide, not against the people that shot her strange looks when she couldn't verbally reply, not against whatever cruel twist of fate had decided she should be born into a world without sound. She was alive, and somehow she saw too much good in life to spend too long captivated by the bad.

The soft brush of air against her forearm alerted her to a movement beside her, and although she didn't look up, Brittany knew the girl from earlier had crouched to her side. She continued to clean up the spill, though her gaze strayed sideways, watching long tanned, slender fingers smooth paper towels across the floor.

Santana watched pale fingers too. Her own insensitive comment still ringing in her ears, until finally, she reached across the small space between them.

The bump against her elbow was gentle, unexpected yet unobtrusive, and automatically, Brittany raised her blue eyes to brown, so used to being bumped or tapped when someone wanted eye contact to speak to her in sign.

The smile came from nowhere, soft, easy, the kind that reached the woman's dark eyes, and before she knew what she was doing, Brittany was smiling back, all the guilt of her non-reply, the embarrassment of the whole situation, suddenly absolved. The eye contact lingered, and she let herself get lost for a minute in rich brown eyes, all molten treacle and dark chocolate; bathed in their warmth, she felt somehow more welcome than she had since her orientation at McKinley College a few weeks ago.

Eventually, the moment broke, swelling right before it peaked, the wave crashing over their heads, pulling them under, each deeper into the other's smile. Santana could feel heat creeping up her spine, as her gaze roamed greedily over the girl's features, basking in the sincerity in that single gesture.

Remembering herself, Brittany instintively looked away, though her eyes returned quickly. She found herself longing to be able to communicate with her; she supposed if she could speak or the woman could understand sign, she'd mutter a shy 'Hi', or maybe sign to ask her name. Of course, she was frozen.

Dipping her eyes again, Brittany noticed all the colours staining the woman's palm, and without thinking, she reached for it, taking the hand gently, and turning it over, holding it in her own, as she waited for her to follow her gaze. She looked up, pleased to see dark eyes looking down, studying the colors that had blended together so effortlessly, so unintentionally on her caramel tan skin. As she realized what she had done, that she'd just reached out and touched a stranger, Brittany felt her heart stutter, her pulse picking up, but she didn't pull her hand away. Feeling suddenly brave, buoyed by the smile that still lingered on full lips, she shifted a little, turning her body slightly as they crouched, so she could reach across the space between them with her other hand.

It seemed stupid. Even as she was thinking it, it seemed all kinds of weird, pathetic, desperate, but her sudden and burning desire to somehow communicate with the other girl didn't let her change her mind. Her blue eyes glanced up to study her face one last time, before they moved to watch her own finger trace two letters carefully into the palm that she held. 'Hi'.

Her movements barely smeared the paint that had started to dry on her skin, yet as she drew the letters slowly, deliberately, she hoped dark eyes would follow the pattern, that the smooth skin beneath the pad of her finger would recognize the movements and interpret her little message. Still holding a hand gently in her own, Brittany looked up, a hopeful little smile tugging at her lips, her cheeks still colored slightly, shy, as she waited to see if the girl would respond.

Santana's eyes narrowed, and the fight she'd had with herself when the girl had first reached for her hand was waning. Physical contact that wasn't completely on her terms was new, to say the least. Her eyes followed that pale finger as it traced over and over her palm, until finally, it disappeared, leaving behind a simple message that set firecrackers exploding in her chest.

"Hi", she answered immediately, looking up into those drowning blue eyes, a nervous laugh immediately escaping her lips, which was mirrored by her companion, as they both realised at the same time that she couldn't hear the word. An understanding in her eyes told Santana that she had caught the greeting regardless.

The silence between them lingered, that stillness again, soft and pleasant and content, though it lasted barely long enough before reality tugged at the edges of the sunshine filled bubble this girl had so effortlessly lured her into. Santana was suddenly hyper aware of the hushed whispers around them, of the girl's hand still holding onto her own. One reflexive glance over her shoulder was all it took, and her trademark frown was back in place, her hand yanked away without her even giving the command for it to move.

Standing quickly, she turned on her heel and strode away. As her expensive, and now paint splattered shoes, rang out her exit, she fought the urge to turn back and look at her, one last time.

So, this story is planned in my head as a long multi-chapter affair, though I'm not entirely sure if I want to write it out yet. If you want more, then I will continue. Thoughts are appreciated, as always.