...

A "Brittana" fic (Brittany/Santana)

One-Shot

...

Disclaimer: I am most certainly not Ryan Murphy and, as much as it pains me to admit, I do not write for Glee, nor do I own anything from it.

...

A/N: Post-2x18 "Born This Way". This is the scene I see following the last scene of the episode.

I have to thank my best friend for helping me with the amazing Brittany lines. As much as I'd love to take credit for them, I'm not half as good at getting inside Brit's head as she is.

Please, enjoy and review.

"Uh, you sure you're okay?"

Of course I'm not fucking okay. I mean, really, do I look okay?

"I'm fine." Just smile and nod. It's not that hard. I try, fail. But Karofsky, whether out of pity or sheer stupidity, I can't tell which, accepts it, nodding his massive head and turning around, lumbering out of the auditorium, leaving just me, in the dark. The stage is empty. Has been for a while. Still, I can't bring myself to look away just yet.

I should have been up there. I know I should have. I look down at my shirt. 'Lebanese'. It's not like anyone would have gotten it.

I sigh again. When did I start sighing like a melancholy Disney princess? I roll my eyes. That's better. Looking back up at the stage, I falter. When did someone come back in? And how were they so quiet? I look down at my knees immediately. Have you seen the wash on these jeans? So fascinating. But it's too late. I can hear her descend the stairs off the stage. Fuck, I can't handle this. It's not too late to run, she won't catch me.

Damnit, listen to yourself, you sound stupid. It's just Brittany. She's harmless.

"Is anyone sitting there?"

My chest aches at the sound of her voice. Harmless my ass. I look to my side at the empty chair and shake my head. "Unless you see someone I don't."

"Sometimes, squirrels sneak up in places we don't expect." I look up at her. Is she serious? Of course she is, this is Brittany. She smiles at me. I wince and look away. "You're wearing…"

"I know what I'm wearing."

Sometimes, when I say things, they come out sharper than I mean. I can feel her falter; picture her face as I memorize the lines in my palm. I don't know what to say… I wish I did. But I know, as soon as I start talking, the damn lump in my throat will swell and I'll choke. She shifts, sitting beside me. Her knee presses against mine and I can feel her hair brush against my forearm. For some reason, it makes my eyes burn.

"San, please don't do this. I miss you." Her voice is small, fragile. I have to fight the urge to turn around and hold her. "I don't want you to leave me. It hurts too much."

It hurts too much? I can't fucking look at her. Every time I see her with Wheels, all smiling and happy, it feels like someone is wringing my heart like a ketchup packet. What about what hurts me? I can't just play bff and pretend everything is hunky-fucking-dory.

"Brit. I told you I loved you" My voice is barely there. I sound pathetic.

"I love you too" Her long fingers wrap around mine in my lap, and I can feel her blue eyes on me. "I love you as much as Santa. You're my best friend."

"No," I choke, that damn lump strangling me. My eyes blur, and I try to remember the last conversation I had with Brittany that didn't make me cry. "That's not what I mean, Brit. That's… That's why this hurts so fucking much"

My voice wavers and I swallow. My tears are hot, and I wipe at them quickly, pulling hand away from her. This isn't fair. Why are my eyes betraying me now?

"San… tell me how to fix this. Do you need a… a band-aid? Or a teddy bear?"

"You can't fix it. It's just… When I say I love you, I mean I am in love with you. Not like Santa, or your parents or best friends." The tears are really coming now, and my voice is a wavering, whining mess. I look down at the black spots of salty mascara on my white shirt and I just try t breathe, but it catches in my throat. "I love you like… Like you love Artie."

"I love you like I love Artie too." Her voice is barely a whisper, and I cough.

"How?" I finally look up at her, shocked to see her eyes are red and wet too. "How can you love two people when just loving one feels like its fucking killing me? I mean, this feels so consuming, I don't know how there's room enough in one person for anything else." Now I sound like a cliché fresh from a chick flick. I hate every word I am saying. But they won't stop. And they're all true. As much as I hate them, they are. Still, there's this frustration building inside of me, and I drop my head into my palms, pressing thumbs against my temples. "I can't handle it sometimes. I should be better about this, but I'm just not."

She inhales sharply at my side and her hands leave my lap, her body shifting away from mine slightly. "Can't we just… go back to how it was before?"

My face crumples and I shift my palms over my face, hiding my pain. I wish with everything in me that we could just go back to before, erase these last few months and just start over. But we can't. And I can't just forget how I feel. "I wish I could. But I can't."

"But why not?" Her voice dissolves into a whine and I fight the urge to reach out for her again.

"Because everything is different now."

"So you don't even want to be friends?"

"It's not that," Fuck, this hurts too much. I just want to go somewhere where I don't have to deal with all of this. I'm tired of crying and of hurting. I close my eyes tightly, sighing wetly. "I just can't pretend that I don't want to be all over you every time I see you, or that I don't want to kiss you so much until you completely forget who Artie even is, or that I don't want to hold you so close that we forget where I stop and where you start. I want to be so much more than just your friend that anything less feels like it is killing me."

There is a moment where neither of us talks and I can hear her breathing, wet and shaky. I rub my palms over my cheeks and stand up, wiping the wetness off onto my jeans. "I should go." I can feel her stand up behind me and feel her fingers wrap around my wrist as I step away, and my chest aches again. Why can't she just let me go? Put us both out of our miseries.

"Please. Don't. I don't want you to go."

Her voice is brittle. It breaks my will and I sigh. My head feels too heavy and it lolls forward, my eyes welling again. "Brittany, this is only hurting both of us more." I turn, facing her. She still has my wrist caught in her grasp, and her knees are tucked up against her chest. "Give me one reason to stay."

"Because," Her blue eyes flicker up to mine, and I swallow the lump in my throat. "I don't want you to, okay? I want you to stay with me." The break in her voice over the last words cause a shiver to crawl up my spine, and all I can do is watch her for a long moment. I know she loves Artie. And I know she can't leave him. It would hurt her too much to hurt him. I can't ask her to give him up. But I can't stop myself when I reach out, placing my hand on her soft cheek. Her tears are clammy beneath my palm in the most perfect way. I know I can't have her. She isn't mine. But I can't be without her anymore. I step forward and kiss her, the taste of her lips infinitely better than what I remembered. I want to ravish her, to gather her against me, to kiss every centimeter of her skin. I want to me closer; need to be. But I don't. I hold her here, in this kiss. And when I finally pull away, I wrap my arms around her and hug her tightly, face buried in her hair. Her thin arm wrap around me, a sense of familiarity settling between us, and her long fingers piece through my hair.

"San?" Her lips graze over my ear as she mutters softly. "When you leave are you going to ignore me again?"

I lean back and look at her. Yes. Because I can't pretend I'm alright seeing you with anyone else. I can't say that too her. It'd break her. But I can't lie to her. "If you need me, I'll always be here for you." Slowly, I retract from her. As soon as her arms fall away from her, I ache again. But I turn around anyways, wrapping my arms tightly around myself and walk away. As the tears spill down my cheeks, I try to remember the last time a conversation with Brittany didn't make me cry.

...

End.

Please, review, positive or negative.

Thank you for reading!