Author's note: Okay, so I was requested to do a flashback chapter as a prequel to chapter 6. I wasn't originally planning on doing that, but I thought it was a good idea and I'm now so glad I did, because it explains a lot more stuff that I was going to struggle to fit in otherwise. This chapter has a lot of Brittany, but it was easier to write this time, so hopefully it comes off a little smoother :) I hope you can all remember the last chapter, this is the night before *time-travelling music*.

The first time she punched the numbers into her phone that night was in the kitchen, but she had hung up the phone before it connected, one hand holding the cell away from her face and the other gripping the side of the sink as the strong whiskey made its way past her lips for the second time.

The second time she didn't lift the receiver to her ear, she just watched the green dot moving across the screen, signalling that Brittany had answered at the other end. And then after seconds of holding her breath and willing herself to let it run a little longer, she snapped the cell phone shut.

The third time, there was something in the back of her mind telling her that she would regret what she was doing even as she did it. Although that part of her conscience was numbed by the liquid swirling in the bottle she held, clasped in her hand, and overpowered by the braver part of her, that dialled Brittany's number and left a slurred message.
"Brittany!" she dragged out the last syllable, "You should come over; I'm drinking. I've got vodka and my parents are gone and you can come and drink it with me, 'specially 'cause you're the reason why I'm drinking. When you get here I'll toast to you Britt, 'cause this is down to you".
Santana didn't stop to think that Brittany didn't have a car, or even a driver's licence, or that it was nearly midnight and raining, she let her cell drop to the floor and tipped her head back, letting the mouthfuls of liquid fall down her throat.

She didn't know if it was the amount of alcohol she'd drank or the smell of bleach and disinfectant from the toilet bowl that was making her head and stomach spin, but either way, moving was not an option. So she tried to focus her vision and watched the small rippling waves roll over each other and ignored how the strong smell scorched the inside of her nose the same way that her parents' vodka burned the back of her throat.
Something in the room dripped, its perfect regularity never faltering, the water droplets falling one after the other in an endless succession. Santana's heartbeat, pounding loudly in her chest and echoing in her head shadowed the dripping. A drop, a heartbeat, another drop.

A deafening hammering noise struck straight through Santana's head, but as she lifted it to react to the direction it came from a wave of nausea spread through her. Her head fell back down and she retched futilely, her back arching and stomach lurching.

She listened to a key turn in the lock, followed by shoes being kicked off and footsteps moving through the rooms downstairs. She wished she'd locked the bathroom door, because seconds later it swung open and Brittany, with her hair wet and plastered to her face was yanking back Santana's shoulders and pushing her back against the side of the bath, pressing a mixing bowl from the kitchen into her hands. The bowl came a second too late, because being pulled across a room without warning sent the contents of her stomach up her throat and out of her mouth. Brittany tried to manoeuvre the bowl to catch the acidic liquid, but most of it had already escaped and was seeping through Santana's clothes.

"Sorry, I thought...You always throw up more when you stick your head in there, it smells really bad."
Her head was still fuzzy and when she went to take the bowl out of Brittany's hands she couldn't grasp it and it tipped, spilling down her sleeve.
"You're still drunk?"
Brittany asked it as a question at first, and then started repeating it, not particularly to Santana or herself, as she dabbed at her friend's face with a wet washcloth. Santana turned her head away and tried to push Brittany away with her hands, but Brittany grabbed her wrists, and stopped speaking. She looked straight into Santana's eyes, whose arms were still being held aloft; her hands in fists, and then said, in an uncharacteristically quiet and serious voice, "You're still doing this?"

They sat, unmoving, for a while, Brittany's strong arms not faltering, until Santana relaxed her hands and uncurled her fists. She didn't pay attention to what Brittany did next, she let her arms fall and she let Brittany gently pull the dirty top over her head. Brittany didn't look back at Santana as she removed the soiled clothes and threw them into the laundry basket or as she squeezed water out of a sponge through the strands of Santana's hair that were stuck together. Santana's eyes, however, were fixed to Brittany's. She silently willed the blonde to turn to her and say something, but she only continued pulling Santana's hair through the heavy sponge. The water trickled through her thick hair and the droplets that hung onto the tip of the lock slowly fell, one by one onto Santana's arm, then rolling softly onto the floor.

Brittany stood up and, throwing the sponge into the sink, stalked out of the door and down the hall. Santana could tell that she was angry. Angry that she had been called in the middle of the night to clean up sick. Angry that she was cleaning up after her friend again.

Brittany returned in clean clothes, a set of Santana's work out pants and a t-shirt. She was holding a pair of pyjamas, and she held them out to Santana, gesturing for her to get up. When Santana didn't move, and lamely shook her head, Brittany leant forward, and in one swift movement, yanked Santana upright by her arm, so that for just a second their faces were almost touching, before Brittany swung round her head and marched out of the bathroom towards Santana's room, her arm stretched out behind her, her hand clasped to Santana's clammy fingers.

The next morning Santana had thought about how usually being in such close proximity to Brittany, especially when she was wearing nothing but her underwear, would have sent unwelcome (although not entirely unexpected) visualisations and thoughts flying through her head so quickly that she wouldn't have been able to stand being there - but at the time her head felt so thick that she couldn't contemplate walking out, so she sat and tried to focus on her reflection in the mirror in front of her. Brittany put the pyjamas back in the drawer and paced around the room, her bare feet treading softly on the worn carpet.

Her hair was wet down one side so that parts of it stuck to her cheek and others fell straggly beside her face. Her lips, normally full and pink were pale and thinner; pursed shut. The inside of her mouth tasted like fur whilst the back of her throat felt like it had been coated with sandpaper. Her irises were too dark to tell, but her pupils were wide and dilated. Two dark smudges formed the bags under her eyes.

Brittany had stopped pacing, and headed towards the doorway. She spun round as she reached for the handle. "You're going to sober up, and then we're going to fucking talk about this, San."
She hissed the swear word under her breath, and Santana recoiled. Brittany never swore. She started out of the door, dialling a number on her cell phone as she went.
"We can fucking talk about this now, if you want!" She emphasised the word, spitting it at Brittany with a meaningful look shot at her. Brittany had turned around, and was holding the phone up to her ear, her other hand clenching to the door handle.
"And you don't have to call Quinn every time something happens, this has nothing to do with her!"
"Okay, fine." Brittany snapped her phone shut. "Who is this about, then? Because I can't think of a single thing I've done wrong, but I'm starting to feel like it might be me!"
Her voice was raised and her eyes were wide, and she held out her arms, indicating her frustration.
"It's not about anything, Brittany, I just got drunk. Why the hell does everything have to mean something?"

Brittany dropped the phone onto Santana's desk and ran a hand through her hair. Exasperated, she stepped forward and grabbed Santana's shoulders in her hands. Santana shot upwards, their faces head to head, each of their eyes gleaming from the heat of the argument.
"It is not me who needs everything to have a meaning," she snapped, "You know exactly what I mean, stop hiding it from me." She lessened her grip and made to step away, then turned back and said, glancing at Santana, "or at least stop hiding it from yourself."

Brittany made it into the living room before Santana was behind her, her jaw clenched and hands in fists by her side.
"What is this about, if you think you know me better than I do?"
"You know what? I think I do know you better than you do, especially when you won't even accept what's going on."
They stood at opposite sides of the room. Brittany was giving up, she couldn't be bothered to care anymore, not if Santana didn't care, not if Santana didn't even realise.
"Go on then!" Santana shouted, surprised at the force at which her lungs shot out the words, "If you know me so well, and you know what's up, why don't you just tell me?"
Brittany opened her mouth to speak, and then faltered, closing it again. She looked up at Santana, who was waiting for an answer, her chest falling and rising heavily.
"I- I don't- You always tell me. You haven't told me." She looked defeatedly at Santana, who nodded, her chin set. "Quinn... and Rachel, and the others, they said stuff to me, like, about you... and me. And they said how-" She was still staring at Santana, but the brunette's head was ducked, her face hidden. "They said I shouldn't say anything, and I should just be, like, normal. But they didn't tell me properly. They thought I knew. I thought I knew. San?"
Santana lifted her head, her lips pursed and her eyes closed. Slowly, she opened them, and focused them at Brittany, who looked worried and hesitant.
She carried on, "San, you have to tell me."

Santana knew she didn't just mean she had to tell her so that Brittany would understand it. She had to tell her because Brittany was her best friend, and because she told Brittany everything. Because no-one else, not even Quinn or Rachel, were close enough to do anything. Because Brittany was the only person who could make a difference to her at all. Maybe Brittany did just want to understand, but without the other reasons Santana would never have told her anything.

She was still angry, still drunk, and mostly scared, but they were so close that the words had to be said.
"Fine! You don't understand, I'll tell you!" she shouted, and Brittany looked taken-aback that they were still arguing, but Santana could feel the anger inside her, the resentment that she was having to spell it out to Brittany when she was the last person she wanted to tell, but the only person she could. "I'm in love with you! That's what it is, now go and leave me the fuck alone!"
Santana stood, her mouth still open from the last word she had said and her breathing heavy and fast from what had just flown out of her insides and into the space between them.

Brittany didn't say anything, she just watched Santana screw up her eyes, and she stood still as Santana stepped backwards, clutching onto the doorframe. She didn't move as Santana pressed her forehead against the wood and caught her breath, but when started blinking and wiping at her cheeks furiously, Brittany stepped forward and held on to Santana's wrist.
"Come on" she said softly, tugging at her wrist.
Santana turned to face her, her eyes bloodshot and her cheeks shining from the tear stains. "Get off me." Her voice was steady and her words calculated, and she made sure that she didn't waver her stare.
"No, come on, I'm putting you to bed now."
Santana pulled her arm free quickly, and pushed her palms against Brittany's shoulders, hard.
"Did you hear what I just told you?" she snapped. Brittany nodded, a wave of confusion spreading across her face. "Then do you think I want you holding my hand and putting me to bed? What the hell, Brittany? I don't want you anywhere near me, you don't even understand." She wasn't looking at Brittany, but she looked straight into her blue eyes to say what she said next. She wanted it to sting, and she wanted Brittany to feel it. "You're too fucking stupid."

Santana stalked out of the room and back to her bedroom. "You're drunk" Brittany called out after her, but Santana was already out of earshot and Brittany's voice came out quiet and cracked.

She had left it two hours. She had called Mike, and then Quinn, and they had told her the same thing. Santana was drunk, she definitely didn't mean it. She mentioned to Quinn as they were about to hang up what Santana had told her, which had woken Quinn up, as she started asking if Brittany was sure, and what exactly had Santana said, and then she laughed and said "No, Britt, you definitely don't have anything to worry about. She doesn't hate you at all."

After standing outside Santana's bedroom door with her ear pressed against the wood, and she was sure that the other girl was asleep, Brittany tentatively pushed open the door. The room was dark, the curtains drawn and all the lights out. Brittany always slept with her lamp light on.
She watched Santana's sleeping form, and tried to think about it all. Santana had said she was in love with her, and Quinn had been giggling and kept saying "I knew it". I love you was what people said before they kissed each other. But Kurt and Mercedes always said they loved each other too. She decided it didn't matter, because Santana was asleep, and she could ask her in the morning.

Brittany gingerly stepped forward towards the bed. She wasn't sure if she should get into it, in light of what Mike had been going on about down the phone, but she didn't want to sleep on the couch, and it would be even weirder sleeping in Santana's parents' bed. She looked at how long Santana's eyelashes were when her eyes were closed, and how her hair spread out all over the pillow, like long flicks of black paint. She was pretty. Brittany smiled, and thought about how she loved the warm feeling in her tummy when she looked at Santana's defined features and smooth curves, and how much bigger it had been earlier, when she had felt the skin on Santana's back under her fingertips as she took off her dirty shirt.

Brittany climbed into the bed next to Santana and lifted the duvet over herself, the warmth from Santana's body spreading over her.
A while later, after she had settled in to the steady sound of Santana's breathing, Brittany started to drift off, but she heard Santana quietly say her name, and then "I'm sorry".
She didn't open her eyes, just shifted her body closer to Santana's and wrapped her arms round the other girl's shoulders, leaning in to the hand that she felt resting on her collarbone.
"It's okay, you'll forget about it in the morning. I already have."

I'm sorry in advance to the people who may be mad at me for having sad Brittany D: It had to be done! I'm annoyed at mean Santana but they had happy cuddles.
Next chapter will probably be a continuation of straight after chapter 6, maybe the next day, idk yet.