This has been a wild ride for me. It's been more than three years, and my life has changed so many times, so profoundly, I'm still taken aback by it.

I wrote this for one person, but I offered it to the world.

Thank you for sticking with this story. It means a lot to me.

I hope you had fun. I hope you have hope.

Chapter 13

The clock rings eight.

Brittany soothes Santana's back a few times just for the pleasure of it. The bed whines when she tries to move as silently as possible, and she cringes.

She closes the bedroom door slowly, quietly, and goes to the kitchen. The smell of coffee is wonderful and cozy. She takes out her phone and dials a number.

"Anderson." His voice is coarse with sleep. She can hear him mumble a "go back to sleep" to someone else.

Her throat feels itchy. "Hey, Blaine. It's Brittany."

A long yawn. "How are you, Britt? What can I do for you?"

"I'm okay. I just needed to tell you something." She takes out a few fruits and starts cutting. "Sorry I woke you up, I thought you-"

He interrupts. "It's no big deal."

Had five minutes already passed? "You have a big decision to make." She bites her inner cheek. "It's not my problem, and I shouldn't be calling you, but I needed to ask you to please, please give her a chance."

He sighs.

"She's good at it. She's good in court, and she's smart, and she's going to give you everything she has because she needs to, you know?" She puts her knife down. "She can do it."

"I know she can."

She hesitates for a moment. "You would do her good, too."

"I'll think about it, Britt."

She hates talking on the phone – how can she know what he's really trying to say?

She feels a little nauseous. "I'm sorry I called."

"You're always welcome," he says, soft as a feather, before hanging up.

The coffee brewer beeps.

Santana wakes up exhausted.

She has dreamed about Alexander again - the sad look in his eyes, his early defeat when they were still trying, when she was still trying.

Her body aches, and Brittany's side of the bed is already cold. Had she already left for work?

She rubs her face, trying to wake up properly.

Her favorite brand of coffee fills the air, and she hums.

Blaine brings Kurt his favorite bagels, even if Kurt says they're too many calories for a single breakfast.

Kurt smiles when he leaves the room and sees the table set, his favorite mug being filled with coffee and a soft folk song on the stereo.

"Have you made up your mind?" He asks, his hair sticking out in every direction.

"Yes." Blaine kisses him. "For better or worse."

Kurt knows better not to press any further.

She can never stop kissing Brittany once she starts.

Brittany tastes like coffee and smells like soap, and she makes all kinds of small sounds, scratching Santana's neck and nibbling her lower lip.

She presses Brittany against the table a little harder, the palm of her hands hot against Brittany's back.

"You should go," Brittany whispers against her lips. "It's going to be a big day."

"I know," she answers, not really stepping back.

The silver lighter shines as she rolls it between her fingers.

Santana takes a cigar, cuts it swiftly, the dry material scratching against her fingertips.

She rolls it between her fingers as she lights it, slow and sure, her briefcase by her side.

A mother with a small baby strolls around, talking to the baby.

She could have started a family if she wanted to.

She rests one arm on the bench and looks at her watch. Twenty minutes to go.

She stares at the sky, takes another drag, and tries to gather enough courage.

She used to have everything.

The office is buzzing with people, as usual.

The lawyers greet her, unaware.

She makes small talk here and there, dancing around Nestor's office for a while.

He goes there once a month to mentor the younger associates and to review a case or two; the meaning of retirement is still elusive to him. She closes the door behind her, taking in his expensive navy blue suit and well-manicured nails.

Alexander looks at her full of expectation; she looks at him and hopes she doesn't look too vulnerable.

Nestor could smell fear, and her palms are sweating.

She sets her resignation letter on the table, right by his usual mug of black coffee. "It's time," she says, simply.

He looks at her dumbly before putting his glasses on and looking at the document.

She takes off her wedding ring and places it in front of him. He frowns at her and immediately turns to his son, as usual. "Alexander, are you aware-"

"Yes, father." He says, giving her a look of encouragement. "I am."

"It's just inevitable," she starts, a tremble in her voice. "We have split our joint investments and the divorce is on its way," she says mechanically. Don't think about it too much, she tells herself. Don't think about the consequences.

Nestor stands up, clenching the letter in his hand. "That's unacceptable."

"It's done."

"I expected more from you both," he says, full of snark. "You just don't give up on the first crisis."

She looks at him dead in the eye. "You don't know that. You don't know us. You don't know me, and this is not the 1950s."

Alexander places a hand on her shoulder. How long had he been standing there beside her? "Father, don't make a scandal," he says. "There's nothing you can do."

The vein on Nestor's neck seems about to break. It's absolutely satisfying.

She takes a deep breath. "I recognize I don't have a place here anymore. It will be better for everyone if I move on to other projects."

Alexander caresses the back of her shoulder with his thumb, soothing. "We'll make sure her transition is smooth and we'll find another great lawyer to take her place. We've been wanting to make Emma partner for a while, and this might be a great opportunity."

Nestor gives them a look of understanding. This had been very rehearsed, thought out from beginning to end.

"I'm sure you and Alexander will think of a way to break the news to your family."

Nestor changes tactics. "Take a week. Think it out," he says, tired. "Then we'll talk."

"No," she says, firm for the first time. "No concessions this time."

She kisses Alexander's cheek and, with a nod, leaves.

She wonders why she ever feared Nestor.

The street lamp blinks in the dark.

She's so tired she can barely open the door to Brittany's studio; she fumbles with the key for several moments before she finally manages to open it.

She considers for a moment to ask Brittany to cancel their dinner plans in exchange for sleeping and cuddling and mainly sleeping, but that illusion is soon shattered when she realizes Brittany's advanced students are still there.

She'll have to wait even longer, until everyone has left and they can close the place. She curses under her breath and takes a few steps further, settling her briefcase on the ground.

But then something happens.

The older student, a tall 50-year-old man, looks into her eyes intensely, and his entire body stiffens.

The younger one, a lean teenager with blue hair, approaches him, and when she touches him she freezes in place.

One by one, the students touch each other and freeze, with no explanation whatsoever.

Santana frowns. Is this an elaborate rehearsal?

She hears, then, a button being pressed, and a remix of Where Do I Begin by Shirley Bassey starts to play.

She actually loves that song.

Brittany shows up at the back, her silhouette against the light, and she moves to the beat, touching each dancer; they fall on the ground immediately.

The music picks up when they rise, full of grace and movement, and Brittany touches the first student. He turns to her and they settle in position. She looks at Santana, impassible, before she's being taken away through the crowd, swirled around.

Another student, a black woman with full red lips, touches the older man's right shoulder; he disconnects from Brittany and turns to someone else. Brittany enters some kind of duel with the woman, until a young man whisks her away.

She dances with every single student, and Santana realizes she's going around the room as she switches partners. Everyone else performs their own solo in the meantime.

She finally gets to Santana.

Santana's eyes widen a little in panic, heart racing.

"Dance with me." Brittany offers her hand. Santana takes a deep breath and accepts it, because Brittany can lead.

Brittany looks at her so tender it's like she's begging to be kissed in front of her students. They get in position. Santana smiles, letting herself be taken around the room, watched by the students.

Brittany goes slow, coming to a stop as the last notes fill the room.

Only then does Santana notice there's a small table. The younger student is sitting on it, smirking. She's got long black nails, Santana notices when the girl opens her hand.

There's a small box, blue velvet.

Brittany takes it. Santana's eyes widen.

"Marry me," she says, standing before Santana, as equals for once. "Not right now, not this year, not next year. But marry me, someday."

The music dies, and there's only silence.

Brittany opens the box.

The End