Outside of no longer having a laptop and travelling for work, I've kind of been holding onto this for longer than I should of. I apologize, but Glee kind of sucked the creativity out of my soul and I found it difficult to get out of it. In true RIB fashion - I am deflecting the blame onto them. I just can't bring myself to continue watching a show that treats my gender like shit.

However, this story will be finished. Thank you for continuing to read. If anyone wishes to be my beta let me know, my dyslexia and is kicking my butt at the moment.

She sees stars and darkness above her, and feels something a lot like numbness seeping through her back, and filtering into her rapid heart. She feels nothing but the swirling dizziness around her, as she lays still in a place oddly familiar.

The nausea begins to overcome her.

There's a silhouette blocking the beauty of the night sky, peering over carefully, intrusively. She'd tell the figure to move if she didn't feel her stomach flip.

Her eyes flutter shut when a pair of small hands takes her wrists, and begin to pull at them lightly. With a spark, her body comes to life as she leans against the silhouette, their jacket soothing the shakes, but not the nausea.

They prevent her from swaying and push a bottle into her hand before breathing out a breathy sigh that smells like grape and red vines.

"I'm taking you home, you're safe with me." They say in a voice that sounds so maddeningly familiar.

Her rambles are endless; her words are slurred. The body pressed against hers is comforting in the warmth and stickiness that feels a lot like a hot summer night.

She wants to talk and she has someone patiently listening, as they make their way down the lowly lit sidewalk.

"I bought you a bracelet today." The low voice says quietly in a moment where she stops her own rambles to concentrate on focusing her eyes and keeping the nausea at bay.

"You did?" She replies. She struggles to piece the words together. The dizziness makes her see beautiful colours dance before her eyes, her body doesn't feel her own as she tries to focus on the body next to her.

"It's of those charm ones." They continue, as they squeeze their hands into her side to keep her from stumbling, "You used to wear one full of charms but you don't anymore, so I thought I'd get you one to start fresh one day."

She stops suddenly. She sways on her feet and moves her head from side-to-side.

They sigh and move into the amber hues of the streetlight. The dark hair from the smaller person shines brightly, glowing a chocolate colour she wants to eat, as she tries so hard to focus her eyes.

She raises an expectant hand as she sways merrily.

"Are you gunna give me it?"

It sounds like a chuckle, deep and throaty, and it sends a cool shiver down her spine.

"Maybe at our senior graduation."

"That's so mean." She pouts.

The other body moves closer and puts their small hands on her biceps. A smell so pleasant fills her senses, beyond smoke that hangs on her barely-there dress. It smells a lot like oranges and lilies.

There's no chuckle this time and she feels something more than sadness filling the night air.

"Yeah well, we can't always get what we want can we?"

Full of swirling emotions that makes her dizziness find a focus, she trails her hands down the smooth skin of the girl in front of her. Her dizziness has taken a sobering quality when she sees the smaller girl's dark eyes watching her carefully.

Her hands take a mind of their own as she runs them down the smooth face in front of her - pulling the glasses they hide behind away from their face. It feels so familiar, so right, and she can't stop the content filling her insides, pushing the nausea away.

It's a moment she wants to remember forever.

"You are so beautiful." She whispers into the darkness, her head moving ever so slowly towards the girl with caramel skin.

There's a feeling of déjà vu rumbling in her chest. Why, she just can't put her finger on.

If she could focus harder she is sure she'd see the sadness reflected thickly in the raspy voice on their face.

"When you can tell me that sober, maybe that's when I'll believe you."

The smaller girl replaces her glasses and wraps her arms around her own taller frame once more.

The tanned hand resting tenderly on her hip, she covers with her own. There's a promise deep inside her to tell her exactly that.

She feels groggy when she awakes the next day. Her alarm is shrill, and her stomach lurches uncomfortably as she rolls her from her bed, collecting her uniform. Her sleep was restless and her dreams were filled with recurring themes much like the dreams she used to have back home. The ones she used to have time and time again, that felt so real, that plagued her in ways she felt they had meanings she was supposed to gauge. And as the hot water from the shower hits her, rejuvenating her tired soul - the more she begins to realise those damned dreams were anything but dreams. It had all happened before – and it makes her feel soul feel heavy.

Morning comes, and she doesn't feel much different at all.

She dresses in silence, hearing Tina mulling around the living area unusually early for reasons Brittany has no care about.

Tina - drinking a sickly coloured shake at the kitchen island - smothers her with words when she enters the room. And when she sees Tina with the same look she had before, Brittany can't stop the whole story of last night tumbling from her mouth.

It tumbles from her mouth like water through her hands, and she runs out of energy quicker than she expected. She needs a boost she knows she won't find here with Tina and her gross health shake.

They sit on the couch, while Tina looks at Brittany like she's the dumbest person in the world. It makes her hurt and grouchy all at once.

"And you just - walked out?"

Brittany nods mutely. Tina's mouth opens wide like a fish.

"That has to be the worst decision ever right there."

Tina fixes her with a pointed gaze - which Brittany only catches from the corner of her eye. Brittany doesn't even have the energy to be mad at her. She's pretty certain Tina is right and that makes her stomach ache a little.

"Sorry but it is." Tina continues with her hands raised.

"I couldn't think properly." Her voice sounds quiet as she sits with her hands resting of her cheeks, "It was like the air had cut off my head or something, and it was about to fall off. I couldn't breathe and I had this echo in my head that made my ears ring. Kinda like the feeling you get just before you get that gas that makes you get Britney Spears fantasies at the dentist. And I couldn't think. My eyes were funny and blurry."

Tina looks disturbed and Brittany finds it slightly unnerving.

"Have you like, reassured her or anything?" Tina asks, deflating Brittany from her ramble.

She shrugs sullenly and begins to bite her fingernails.

"I sent a text."

"Saying?"

"'I'm sorry.'"

Brittany realises she did the wrong thing when Tina flips out and jumps up from the couch to pace in front of the coffee table, pointing a badly-applied black, acrylic fingernail her way.

"Oh my God you suck, Brittany! You suck!" Tina shrieks and Brittany winces, "Way to make it sound like a break up text!"

Brittany starts to suck on her hair thinking about the look of Santana's face when she drove away. She looked sad and reminded her of her Mother's face when she took her first cat, Charity to the vet. She never did see the Russian Blue cat that acted more like a dog again after that morning she left for school. When she asked where Charity had gone, her Father only told her she's gone to a better place and she wasn't hurting any longer.

Brittany thinks maybe she's Santana's cat, and maybe Santana thinks she's never going to come back from the vet, gone forever without a goodbye. The thought of that makes Brittany feel sick and turn a shade of grey.

It also makes her think in the deep, dark, depths of her mind that she may just be little dramatic.

"Look, maybe you do need to have some space and realise this was weirdly fated from the beginning, but damn girl, you need to like, work on your game or something."

And she kind of hates she agrees with Tina a little bit. She's not feeling so flaw-free after all.

"I have game."

She drops Tina off at a rehearsal studio not far from the garage. Brittany was nice enough to stop on the way to get coffee (obviously) and and a gross herbal tea for Tina (which smells so much like vomit, Brittany almost heaves on her way back to Mulsanne). Tina left Brittany and Mulsanne with a promise to help her 'find her love game' which she thinks is kind of inhumane. She'll always have more swagger than Tina could ever dream to have.

She finds Carl waiting for her when she pulls into the garage. With his days old stubble, pressed navy suit and his clipboard, he urges her to follow him into his office.

"You're on runt duty." Carl says evenly after he watches her slump into the chair. "Which means, any lazy ass actor on that set wants something off it, it's up to you meet their request. And because union coffee tastes like crap - it'll most likely be trips to Starbucks."

He throws the file he's suddenly holding onto the desk, urging Brittany to take it.

She scans over the pages, before her eyes catch one particular detail.

Location: 20th Century Fox Studios.

She feels butterflies awaken in her stomach.

"You're gunna be stationed on the FOX lot for the next three days and taking the important crew to the airport Saturday. And no more Mulsanne," He continues wagging his finger like he's caught Brittany in the cookie jar, "You're takin' the Mercedes Viano for this job. You're gunna have to pick up some bit part players on the way to set."

Brittany slouches lower into the chair and pouts sullenly. She loves Mulsanne more than most people she knew, and taking her away only makes everything more upsetting.

Carl flashes her an apologetic look, before coming to lean against his desk.

"Don't worry I know you did nothin' wrong. These things happen, ya know?" He grabs her shoulder, squeezing tightly, "The girl did you a favour really."

"She did?"

He looks at her like she should understand what he's implying – and she does. If only she still didn't feel like her brain was going to have a thunderstorm caused by the clouds that grow inside.

She stands on autopilot.

"Can I get some time off?" She blurts out as Carl rounds his desk to open the door.

"Sure, kid." He replies passively. "When?"

Brittany hadn't really thought that far ahead.

"Soon?"

Carl flashes a half smile and slaps her shoulder as she nears the door.

"When you decide just let me know."

Sometimes, her boss really is just awesome.

But then she gets into the Mercedes Viano; all shiny and oversized, smelling like vanilla air freshener and leather polish, she mourns the loss of her beautiful Mulsanne even more than she did before.

She spends most of the morning making numerous coffee runs for grouchy important people, and picking up dry cleaning for the costume department (where her Mercedes is parked outside of and perfect to catch the rays of the LA sunshine). It's not as boring as she expected it to be, at least. She enjoys listening to the voices of the PA's filter through the radio perched carefully on the dashboard of the van become more, and more shrill with each request.

Although, not when they get snippy with her. That's not cool.

The urge to track down Santana rumbles under her skin; makes her feel twitchy and restless, but she resists - opting to stay put in the van that's too much of a stranger to really enjoy.

The door is slid ajar as she lies taking in the afternoon sun beating down on her face, basking in the radio silence.

She's not sure how long she's been lying there - totally not thinking about what Santana is doing - when Brittany hears the distinct sound of someone, most likely a man, clearing their throat.

She opens her eyes to find the upside-down face of Tyler peering over her curiously.

"It's amazing how things can change in a day isn't it?" He says rhetorically. Brittany squints up at him as he scratches his growing beard, and peers down closer.

Tyler flashes her a wide smile and Brittany rises from her place.

"I think your replacement, Wilbur, either hates me or wants to tap my perfect ass. It was hard to tell this morning - I was distracted by his shiny fat head."

Tyler laughs at his quip and picks up a bright pink beach cruiser bicycle (with a basket and bell to boot) from the ground, and wheels it closer to the van. He looks sheepish as Brittany stares at the effeminate bike. He's gay but not that gay, Brittany thinks.

"I borrowed it from props." Tyler explains sheepishly, "I'm on my way to the basketball courts to watch closeted menly men try and play sports." Brittany can't help but quirk her eyebrows, "Wanna come?"

Brittany takes the radio, clips it to her pants, and hops on the back of the cycle with a nod at Tyler's grinning face.

"Shouldn't you be asking Santana about this?"

They sit on a bench in the basketball courts as Brittany manages to feel grilled without any talking.

She watches the basketball game absently (which is so terribly poor, Brittany feels like running up and stealing the ball away) as she picks at her nails, while Tyler takes a sip from his bottle of something cool and too fancy for Brittany to try before.

"Possibly, but getting anything out of 'Tana is like pulling teeth a lot of the time."

Brittany winces at the thought.

"So." He continues full of mirth, "What did Santana do this time?"

"Nothing." She replies back defensively, her eyes narrowed to slits.

Tyler can only smirk in return.

She sighs, deep and heavy and folds her arms around her knees as she pushes them against her chest.

"I've hurt her." She mutters.

Tyler nods lightly, rubbing his chin, before shrugging his shoulders and nudging Brittany on the arm.

"No more than you're hurting yourself I'm sure."

Brittany finds her shoes very interesting for a moment.

"She started telling me about her life last night." She starts quietly, and Tyler looks at her with empathetic eyes, "We were getting somewhere, she was opening up." She can't seem to find her voice as trembles. "I couldn't breathe and I walked out."

She takes a calming breath to stop her speech being laboured with tears, "I used to have these dreams," She continues as the breeze picks up the wisps of hair fallen from her ponytail, "They felt so real." Her voice begins to tremor again. She shakes her head and clears her throat, "It's taken all this time to realise all those things happened."

She watches Tyler out of the corner of her eyes, and sees nothing but a kind half-smile and his eyes shining in empathy. She feels freer somehow to continue.

"I know, I know her now and it's the best thing ever, but I can't stop my brain from thinking how much time we could have had together if I had just looked at what was right in front of me."

A fight breaks out on the basketball court, when a man in pink polo shirt staggers to the floor clutching his nose.

Tyler doesn't do anything for a while, and Brittany looks on nervously from her place on the bench, cringing at the violence. He heaves a deep breath and squeezes Brittany's thigh in something that feels like a comforting gesture.

"Drama queens, the lot of us!" Tyler says before rising from the bench to break the fight up.

She knows what he's implying - and in the dark depths of her mind, she maybe agrees - but that boulder pressing directly onto her chest only gets heavier.

Her radio barks out orders just as Tyler (who practically looks hulk-like in comparison to the punier and shorter men) grabs a man slapping another across the face by the scruff of his Navy stripe polo shirt. In a way Brittany's relieved – it means her mind can focus on other things.

It's late evening when she's delivering the tenth round of coffees for the day (or the thirtieth, she's kind of lost count), when she sees a flash of dark hair illuminated by the floodlights she knows belongs to Santana. Her stomach clenches in nervousness and her heartbeat rattles like it wants to beat out of her chest. She has the urge to move, track down the girl down and kiss her like she means it, but she doesn't. Her mind is stuck and her limbs are frozen, like a sexy iceberg. All she can do is stare at the place she spotted that flash until the radio comes to life once again, and forces her move back to the van.

She gets home just after midnight and collapses into bed soon after. When she sleeps, she dreams of home, and Charity.

The next day is much of the same. She feels more fatigued, and the circles under her eyes are darker than before. She's exhausted and it's not even 9am. Her mind is numb and her muscles are weary.

She finds Tyler waiting for her in the parking lot in returning from her third visit off-set. With a smile on his face and a coffee in his hand - she'd never been so happy to drink a warm latte in her life.

"This is the worst job ever." She sulks as she throws her arm to shield her eyes from the morning sun bleeding into the open door of the van.

She's tired, hungry and she can't find more than two minutes to herself before she's bothered by another request from the shrieking radio.

Tyler sits on the step with his head tipped back in a scoff.

"Honey, try being a film director." Tyler replies as he sips on the coffee she just made a journey for, "Those bitches barely sleep during production. Or a PA." Tyler adds with a point of his finger as he begins to chew nosily on the brownie Brittany also brought for him, "Those poor things are overworked and underpaid. I would know - I used to be one."

Brittany knows one thing she isn't is underpaid. Her salary is more than your typical Hollywood regular job and she's grateful for that. Well, Tina is anyway.

"At least you get considerably large bonuses and a nicer-than-your-average car, or in your current case – a multi purpose vehicle."

There are a few beats of silence and Brittany's thankful for that, but then she finds herself filling it with words she had only thought.

"I want to go home. Maybe everything will be clearer then."

Tyler looks away thoughtfully before he turns to take his laptop out of his satchel and places it onto his lap urging Brittany to sit next to him. It makes that noise that sounds intimidating and pretentious and Brittany finds herself rolling her eyes.

"Then lets get you a flight to Ohio, honey."

When her payment is processed and her phone notifies her of a new e-mail, that bolder in her chest gets just a little lighter.

"We should do lunch together today." Tyler says as he chews loudly on a piece of laffy taffy.

Tyler hasn't left her side since he helped her book flights back to Ohio. He went with her to the café to get more coffee orders, picked up dry cleaning, he even came to the pharmacy to pick up Plan B for an actress Brittany is legally obligated not to mention.

Brittany wonders if Santana sent him to keep an eye on her. She doesn't say anything, but having him around all the time is a nice distraction.

"And stop feeling sorry for yourself, pretty. You'll get wrinkles."

Brittany thinks that lunch would be a great idea if her busiest time was not when that stupid bell that reminded her of school went off at exactly 12noon, leaving her with nothing but the rush of orders and requests she needs to do in that time frame. Then there are the annoying assistants of the actors who tag along with their shrill voices, and their phones permanently attached to their ears.

"That's when the rush starts." Brittany says sullenly, balancing gracefully as she pirouettes along the white markings of the basketball court.

Tyler hums lowly and Brittany walks over to where he sits on the bench.

"Then you'll just have to come back here when you have the chance."

Brittany thinks he looks constipated, but she realised that sometimes that look means people have plans, sometimes big, sometimes small. Just like Quinn Fabray in junior year, but those big plans sucked. In a way, Brittany she doesn't mind Tyler's constipated face. Really, she's kind of grateful he's frying up a plan.

Although the guilt that she can't even think up of a way to just talk to Santana makes her feel a little awful.

Her radio comes to life and it's time to work once more. This time, Tyler doesn't come.

She takes home a young girl no older than sixteen. Her golden hair and hazel eyes look tumultuous as she does nothing but cry, and ruin her white shirt with the heavy mascara that runs down her cheeks with each sob that racks her body.

Brittany wonders where this girl's parents are, why this beautiful girl that looks older than her years is so sad, and why nobody seems to care.

She asks if the girl is okay, only for the girl to wrap her arms so tightly around her self-Brittany wonders how the girl can still breathe.

Brittany watches her carefully in the rear-view mirror, noticing the reddening marks beginning to appear on her neck. She feels the unease pool in her stomach and her hands grip the steering wheel tightly.

Brittany finds out the girl's name is Jenn when she stops outside her apartment block and hands over a business card.

"If you ever need a driver. Or just someone to talk to." She trails off with a tip of her hat.

The way the girl looks at her like she's the nicest person in the world makes the bolder in her chest feel that little bit lighter once more.

She'll never speak about it, but her dreams of becoming a cultural icon seem a lot less awesome when she sees what it can take away from you. She doesn't have the full story, but even she can see when someone has been taken advantage of, and spat out like they're nothing.

She arrives back to the set with the last lunchtime request with plenty of time to spare. One was Tyler's extremely large sushi order, coffee and milkshakes - which made Brittany totally suspicious. The other was a bag full of red cups, and an overpriced phallic shaped birthday cake for someone called Reg. Her finger may have accidentally touched the green and black vanilla frosting as she was walking to the wardrobe department with the item, but it was worth it as it melted in her mouth.

She gets a ride from friendly brunette PA on a golf cart back to the basketball courts to see Tyler no longer alone. As she walks closer, sees spots the dark hair of Santana, all coiffed and pinned and drop dead gorgeous, looking pouty and deep in serious discussion about something that looks, well, serious.

Breathe. Just Breathe.

When Brittany eventually remembers to breathe, she notices Alyson with them talking carefully and quietly. As she moves closer - with her heartbeat thundering in her chest - she hears the shrill nose of Alyson's cell phone that cuts the three-way conversation short.

Brittany shuffles closer to them, but stays secluded behind the chain-link fence and the truck that is parked close to it. She can hear everything now, eavesdropping becoming something of a thing of hers. Yet another thing she's flawless at. Although it makes her feel like she's partaking in something sordid which is not so cool, because it makes her feel like she needs to take a shower.

She watches from her spot, as Santana surveys the area with an unreadable face. Her face the perfect mask it usually is, and her eyes hidden behind her sunglasses.

"She's, um, okay, right?" Santana stammers out and it makes Brittany's belly twist into knots as she watches Santana's face twist in something that looks like nerves.

Brittany watches the back of Tyler's head as it tilts and her breath catches in her throat.

"Why don't you speak to her?" Tyler asks quietly. It sounds almost defensive from where Brittany stands, as she watches Santana's face carefully from her hiding place. She only looks frustrated.

There are words of vacations and destinations Brittany has no care about when she watches Alyson tap Santana on the shoulder urging her to leave. When Tyler bids them farewell and something about legs breaking, only Alyson says anything back.

She watches the pair leave with a rapid heart and jelly for legs. They get on the golf cart that waits not far from where she stands. There's a loud clatter of scaffolding behind Brittany which startles not only startles her, but catches the attention of Santana perched on the back of the golf cart. When Santana looks back even with her unreadable shade covered eyes - Brittany only freezes.

Santana gives her a smile that looks small and wan, and a wave without the expectation of one back. When the golf cart leaves – Santana never looks back.

Brittany shakes her head for acting so pathetic, and walks back into the basketball courts.

"I thought craft services were to die for?" Brittany asks dubiously, as she places the large brown paper bag onto the bench.

Tyler smiles broadly and removes his sunglasses.

"It's nice to change it up once in a while, is it not?"

Brittany only shrugs as she takes the offered box of food and slumps on the bench next to him.

"I'm going to Cabo for my vacation." Tyler says suddenly.

Brittany watches him as he daintily sips on his banana milkshake, waiting for her reaction. She shrugs.

"Guess the frying pan broke." She mutters before she can stop herself.

His blue eyes widen before his breaks out into a grin, and it makes Brittany feel strange.

"A frying pan never just breaks, Brittany." He chastises with his tongue poking at his cheek, "You just buy a new one, and get more fatty products to clog your arteries with. Like, bacon."

It's the best Brittany's felt all day.

The last day comes, and it's eerily quiet on the set. There's few requests, even fewer people milling around. There were spurts of cheers and familiar crewmembers leaving the lot with tired smiles on their faces.

Brittany watches it go by passively, humming softly to songs on the radio and eager to catch the sun once again. She thought the last day would be frantic, full of shouts and rushing of scenes to get things done, but it's not. It's peaceful almost.

She hasn't seen Santana all day either.

She's left alone with her thoughts, but her mind is quiet. It's late afternoon now, and Brittany is on her phone, playing some game with fruits and swords, trying to beat her high score when she's interrupted by an elderly woman with purple dyed hair. Brittany thinks she looks on the cusp of retirement and slightly scary by the way her hair stands tall like her fingers found the socket far too many times. But she smiles warm and asks if she wishes to be part of their mini-wrap celebration in the wardrobe department. She accepts the invitation but not the champagne offered as she walks into the small office the six women on staff shared.

They're interested in her, so she happily talks about her life and who she is. It's not until she mentions she's a dancer does the elderly woman, Brittany now knows as Barbara, perks up delightedly in recognition.

"I've just realised who you are!" She says with enthusiasm Brittany finds infectious, "You're Santana's little friend!"

Brittany frowns at 'little' because she's taller than Santana and it's kind of insulting.

The other members in the room roll their eyes at the women before Alice, a younger girl who looks similar to Brittany's age - perks up in response.

"Barb seems to think Santana isn't a heinous bitch." She says far too snottily for Brittany's liking.

Brittany's frown deepens and she finds herself going to her angry place. Bitch.

She's about to explain to this Alice character that she is dead to her when she's interrupted,

"Please don't try to condescend, darlin'. I've been around long enough to know when a bark is worse than it's bite." Barbara replies with a pointed gaze to the actual little girl next to Brittany.

Alice shrinks visibly, and goes to finish the last of her champagne. Brittany feels slightly smug in response.

She finishes her orange juice and thanks Barbara for the invite. She happily gives the woman a business card when she asks for one (yey!) and leaves the department feeling almost normal.

She see a flash of colour dashing around the corner of the building, smelling so much of baby powder and costume make-up, and the tinge of that sent she loves so much. She shudders at the feeling it leaves her with and continues her small walk to the van.

She re-opens the sliding doors before jumping back into the passenger seat. When she does eventually get in, she turns the key in the ignition and moves to recline back in her seat.

When she reclines back, her eyes move to something on the windscreen of the car. She frowns at the unknown item. She decides to get out of the van and slowly walks around the car to inspect what exactly it is.

Brittany becomes anxious fleetingly, thinking it may be some kind of weapon of mass destruction, but when she sees the bright red ribbon atop a fluorescent yellow box, she calms. For some reason, it doesn't seem like a colour scheme a bomber would go for. Nor does a small note, folded delicately in the middle, seem all that explosion-y either.

She eyes the box for a short moment, before moving the item away from the screen-wiper it is snuggled under. It feels heavy in her hands, and her body almost twitches in nervous excitement.

She pulls the note attached to the top of the box and unfolds it.

Brittany,

Thanks for everything. You were the greatest chauffeur anyone could ever ask for. Consider this your wrap gift. Good luck with your future, you're going to be awesome.

S

She opens the yellow box to find another box inside. It's black, and leather and has words on it that Brittany has never heard of. She takes the box out of the casing, and places it on the bonnet of the van. Slowly, she pulls back the top.

There's a watch inside, and it looks super fancy. Its gold and platinum metal design has Brittany slightly nervous to take it out of the box. The diamond-encrusted sundial sparkles in the sun, and it has Brittany mesmerised. It's beautiful and she knows just by how it glimmers, it's expensive. She feels the threat of tears beginning to surface, over something as plain as a watch. A fancy watch, but still, a big gesture that Brittany's never experienced before.

She goes back to the note, reading it over and over. Her hand traces the almost childlike-printed writing, once again amazed at how amazing Santana Lopez can be.

The radio comes to life on the dashboard she left it one, and startles her out of her dreamy reverie. A shrieking voice barks out a question,

"Has anyone seen Lopez? She's gone AWOL!"

Brittany looks on in the direction she saw that flash and she knows. Santana was here, and that makes her feel warmer inside. She takes the note and places in her breast pocket with closed eyes. She stand there, breathing. In and out. Her eyes closed and her mind fills with thoughts that make her feel like she could stop the world.

"False Alarm, we found her! The bat is back in her cave, repeat, the bat is back in her cave! She was in the make-up trailer!"

She can't help the small smile trying to break free on her face, and for a short while she lets it.

She returns home from the studio tired eyes and a glowing reference just before ten PM.

The first thing she does (after stuffing her mouth with an onion bhaji, and a shish kebab Tina had set out for her on the kitchen counter) is show Tina the watch.

"Holy shit, Brittany!" Tina exclaims before prodding at the watch with a clean napkin. "Do you know what this is?"

"What?"

"Expensive is what it is!"

"It's just a wrap gift." Brittany shrugs not so nonchalantly.

"Bitch, please!" Tina cries incredulously, "I've gotten nothing higher than a bouquet of flowers; this is a gift from somebody who cares. And maybe a wrap gift."

Brittany thinks it's because Tina is only a backing singer that her wrap gifts have never been so awesome and as beautiful as hers.

She bites her nails and stares fearfully at the watch in it's casing on the coffee table.

Tina whistles lowly and slaps a hand on her shoulder.

"Just go, Britt."

So when Tina throws her a packet of spearmint gum - she does.

Brittany mourns the fact she didn't think to change out of her uniform as she rings the doorbell to Santana's house. She pulls at the collar of her shirt, as it suddenly feels tight against her neck.

A light turns on behind the door, and Brittany readies herself like she's about to be rushed in a game of football.

The door opens, and music lingers on from the living room. She knows she's heard the song before.

If I breathe in the future, breathe out the past, yeah…

She openly gawks at Santana, as she stands at the door with her head-titled curiously while Brittany shuffles on the spot looking anything but calm. Her face is free of make-up and her glasses that Brittany finds adorable hang low on the bridge of her nose, in a way that makes her wonder if she had been reading. Her dark hair is loose and wavy which makes Brittany run her run her hands through it. Her subtly surprised gaze makes her look younger than her years but the dark circles formed under her eyes, that show the tell tale sign of exhaustion, make her gaze look haunted. Broken. It takes Brittany back to High School seeing something now, she only wishes she could have seen earlier.

Savour this moment as long as it lasts...

She doesn't know what to say.

"Have a safe, um, trip." Brittany blurts out.

"Okay…" Santana trails of with wide eyes, sparking slight mirth in her slack expression.

Brittany begins to feels flushed.

"And, erm, well, thank you for the watch. It's probably the nicest thing I've ever been given."

Brittany wishes she hadn't left it at home.

"Oh, you're welcome. Just a parting gift, ya know?" Santana replies almost too casually, that it has Brittany narrowing her eyes, "Kind of courtesy in this town to give a gift for doing a good job. Which you did, by the way."

"Did what?" Brittany replies with her brow creased in confusion.

"A good job." Santana explains, "Ya know, being a chauffeur. I was just gunna send it to the garage but I had it delivered to set, and you were still working for the production so I thought 'what the hell'."

Brittany nods her head slowly.

"Right. Thank you."

The music that lingers stops, and a new and unfamiliar song begins to play.

She stands awkwardly on the porch, moving her weight from one foot to the other. She feels like maybe she should leave now, having nothing to say thanks to her mind going blank. She's about to turn around and leave in resignation when Santana opens the door wider.

"Do you wanna come in?" Santana asks carefully, and steps aside of the door. Her face is a mask of impassiveness and Brittany wonders if hers looks the same.

Brittany tries to smile but it feels like a grimace. She nods once, before stepping into the doorway and letting Santana guide her through the house that feels more and more familiar, but just as foreign with each step she takes.

The music is louder as they move closer to the living area. It makes Brittany feel comfortable as the unfamiliar beats filter through the house.

There's a lone candle sitting and a neat pile of scripts on the coffee table. A welcoming smell of vanilla enters her senses and she takes a settling breath. Her eyes move to the grey suitcase off to the side, looking packed and ready to be taken. It makes her chest hurt remembering that she's not going to be taking to Santana to the airport tomorrow, but instead, greasy men who let themselves go due to the stress of working twenty hour days on film sets.

Santana sits pressed into the corner of the couch, urging Brittany to sit instead of standing awkwardly waiting for something she's not entirely sure of.

She sits in a flounce, urging herself not to stare openly.

"I don't know what to say."

Santana's smile is small but encouraging.

"You don't have to say anything."

Brittany thinks that's not true, that she should say a lot of things and maybe even apologize but there's something blocking her airways when it comes to gasping out an apology. She wonders if it would ever help or if it would only manage to make her feel better about herself.

She runs a shaky hand through her hair. She doesn't feel so infallible anymore.

"I find it hard to do and say the right thing around you."

"So do I, Britt." She reassures and it makes Brittany feel heavier, "I said all the wrong things and didn't get to say the right ones. Sometimes it's just how things happen."

"I shouldn't have walked out."

Santana shrugs sheepishly and removes her glasses as begins to clean them on her shirt.

Brittany gapes openly at the other girl's movements, only stopping when Santana catches her with a slight frown.

There's a question she wants to ask, fearful but it's gnawing at her conscience. Brittany thinks, if she can ask this she can ask anything without falling apart. She needs to ask for her own sake.

"Those guys." She starts hesitating, "D-did they - I mean, did they, you know…?"

Santana cuts off her rambling with a short, "No."

Brittany breathes a slight sigh of relief but there's something about the vacant way Santana recounts it vaguely has her heart drumming like a drum N Bass song.

"They kicked the shit outta me, tied me up on the outskirts of town, did some torture shit, and then left me for dead. But they didn't…you know."

Her heart plummets. That doesn't really make her feel any better. She racks her brain trying to piece together questions that she wants to ask but she grow confuses and can't make sense of her thoughts to say them all.

"And we didn't share any classes together?" It comes out like a whimpering bang and Brittany scuffs her shoe on the fluffy rug on her floor.

"History." Santana replies simply.

There's a feeling embarrassing terror Brittany has that makes her wonder if Santana ever had the pleasure of seeing her stick her tongue down that guy's throat for gum. But when she looks back to Santana who's face is nothing but encouraging and kind she knows it doesn't really matter.

"Okay."

She begins to trace patterns on the material of her pants finding so many things to say but not finding the ways to say them. She feels her face growing hot with something that feels a lot like frustration as she digs her fingernails into her thighs and stares at the coffee table in front of her.

"Can I get you a drink or anything?" Santana inquires lightly, pulling Brittany out of her moping. She doesn't wait for a response and rises to make a move to the kitchen with a rattling breath. "I'm going to get you a drink."

She leaves Brittany on the couch, watching her leave the room helplessly. There's something about the tenseness of her shoulders that has Brittany standing on automatic, following silently some paces behind her.

She stands by the entry way, watching Santana as she moves to the fridge with ragged breaths. Her head is lowered as she runs a shaky hand through her dark hair.

Brittany watches as Santana press her head against the large door of the fridge, breathing so deeply. It makes her heart beat rise and the knot in her belly tighten.

It makes her realise all the questions she wish she had the eloquence to ask don't really matter, when there's this girl who loves her so completely without saying the words to her can be so sweet enough to let her into her life so freely. Brittany knows she doesn't really deserve it, on the outside it may even look like she's using the smaller girl for fame when really, all she's is doing is finally getting to see the most fantastic person there can be.

Her legs move on auto-pilot, gliding across the tiled floor with the ease and grace of her dance-like way and stands behind Santana as she still rests her head against the fridge door. She tentatively moves her hand and places it on the small shoulder in front of her, eliciting a gasp out of her.

She wraps her other hand around Santana's waist, finding delight in the way her breath hitches into gasps as Brittany pulls her tight against her front.

Brittany doesn't want anything but her.

It's then, when Brittany decides to turn her around in her arm, and push the beautiful girl with caramel skin good enough to lick, against the newly closed fridge door and kiss her; passionate and desperate and full of things she should really say aloud.

Santana pulls away, her breath heavy and her chest heaving.

"Come with me." She whispers breathlessly. And it sends waves of desire down Brittany's spine.

Santana takes her cool hand and pulls her quietly and gently through the house. Her mind feels foggy, and her body feels anything but her own, as she stumbles up the stairs looking at nothing but the white shirt of Santana's back.

"Can we just…" Brittany trails off. She's not exactly sure what she wants except for the press of Santana's body against her own so tenderly.

"Okay." Santana whispers in reply, "Okay."

They stand in the middle of Santana's large bedroom, their heavy breath filling the room with sound, and electricity filling the atmosphere. Brittany feels like she's standing atop a cliff-top, and below it are clouds of desire, and waves of lust and love crashing against the rock. It makes her feel heavy and like never before – unsure.

Santana slides her hands underneath her jacket, her eyes never leaving her own as she pushes the jacket away from her squared shoulders, flinching with the tender movements.

Her dark eyes dance in the low light with something that looks a lot like excitement and lust. As the jacket hits the floor, the dark eyes come to catch her own blue ones; half-lidded and sexy and fluttering eyelashes. It has her mind reeling and her arms unsure what to do.

Santana pulls her closer, the heat rising between and the atmosphere growing thicker. Brittany can hear the sound of music, rising from downstairs. Santana's nimble fingers move to trace lazy patterns on the skin of her neck. It's slow and meticulous and has Brittany almost begging. Her breath begins to break in gasps and Santana's eyes watch on curiously as she begins to make work of unbuttoning the white shirt.

The shirt, like the jacket before drops to the floor, leaving Brittany in her wife beater and slacks.

Santana slowly falls to her knees and looks up to Brittany though her dark lashes as she pulls on the laces of her boots and pulls them off along with her socks.

Brittany can honestly say, she's never been so turned on by somebody undressing her as heat begins to pool low and deep in her belly and only rises as Santana moves her hands, ever so slowly up her legs. They come to rest on the belt of her pants.

She unbuckles them with her eyes never leaving her own. Brittany watches as Santana pushes the pants down her legs, with her hands trailing the expanse of skin now on show, as she sends it sends shockwaves through her body. There's a look of unabashed admiration softening her caramel features and it makes Brittany feel special.

Santana's hand move across the expanse of her stomach, slowly moving further and further down to slid underneath her panties. Brittany feels Santana slide across her already embarrassingly aroused nub causing her to gasp and squirm and feel so tightly wound. Her eyes squeeze shut in delight.

"I never thought you'd ever get this wet for me." It's full of enough wonder to break Brittany's heart in two and sew it back together with each feathery touch.

Those talented fingers that seem so strong and stable against her quivering body, remove her blue polka-dot panties. She feels them fall to the floor and steps out of them, as Santana – and her perfectly placed hands – move along with her.

Brittany throws her head back and groans. There's this moment were she has visions of spinning Santana around in her arms and pushing her onto the bed to take her like all the ways she may, or may not have dreamed about. Yet all she can do is whimper and keen into the light touches against her most sensitive parts.

"God, you are so hot." She whimpers out as Santana begins to languidly kiss her neck.

Her movement's halt, and Santana leans back to look into Brittany's unfocused gaze with that curious look once more.

There's something about the way Santana presses into her, with her hips canted and her thigh resting so perfectly in-between her legs that has Brittany savouring the moment. With breaths mingling together, as Santana reaches up to place teasing kisses onto her lips while she links their hands together, drawing them tight to her chest, she knows this is something she'll never forget. Even if this never happens again, she'll remember the way Santana felt as they danced across the room to music that's barely there, to reach the lavish bed that seems too perfect to lie on.

And when she's pushed down on to the bed as Santana stares at her with dark, predatory eyes that never leave her own, something inside her ignites. There's a softness with those eyes that makes Brittany feel alive. They give her hope to right all her wrongs. There's a promise deep inside herself, and when it rises to the surface, bubbling in something that feels a lot like joy - she almost feels celestial.

I, erm, tried. I did some editing last minute in a fit of insecurity. Sorry.

Thanks for holding out guys and thanks for the messages wondering if I'm still alive, and kicking my small but perfectly formed derrière into gear.