A/N- This is set around about Born this Way, Santana has admitted her feelings to Brittany but is still unsure about coming out, Brittany's still with Artie and Kurt and Blaine are together.

Please rate and review! This is my first fic and also my first time writing in third person so any feedback is much appreciated, thanks!

Disclaimer- Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and his pals. not me. sigh. if only I owned Kurt...

Santana remained silent throughout the whole performance. She didn't even look at Karofsky. It was all so pathetic. Why should she have to parade around singing about herself, about how she was born, about how she shouldn't have to change?

Schuester had taken patronising to whole new level. She had every right to just get up and leave. But she didn't want to. What would Brittany think? Given she wasn't the brightest spark in all of glee club, but her thoughts- her feelings- they were still important.

Maybe she should have just put on the stupid T-shirt; people would just think she was part Lebanese anyway... No. Wearing that damn T-shirt would be even worse than just sitting here moping. What would people think? Kurt got it bad enough when he came out, if people knew she was a lesbian then her reputation would be gone forever. And if those losers couldn't work it out... was there a shame in just being who she was? Did she have to cover it up with a stupid spelling mistake?

She wasn't going to join in. She had every right not to.

"Oh well done everybody!" Mrs. Pillsbury's voice rang out, she clapped her hands and her eyes exploded in her face- accentuated by her smile, making her look even more like bush baby. Santana looked up, studying the panting glee club as they finished the number. At these moments she picked up on the things she hated about everybody, and not just because most of their annoying traits were plastered on their shirts.

Mr. Schuester was just as peppy, congratulating them, applauding them. Santana had to look away. She couldn't tell if it was Miss Sylvester's influence but he was making her nauseous.

"Are you coming?" Karofsky's voice was suddenly apparent, he was gesturing for them to leave. She narrowed her eyes and raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow "What do you think?" Karofsky nodded and gingerly left, unsure why he had even come in the first place.

Santana watched each person leave; everyone avoided her penetrating stare- simply walking past without acknowledging her. She preferred that, she didn't want to look at their disgustingly happy faces anyway.

Brittany, oblivious as always, found Santana's eyes following her. She smiled at her, tearing at Santana's, up until now, concrete exterior. She blinked long and hard and adverted her gaze to the floor, preferring its comforting nothingness. Nobody else asked if she was going to come with them, nobody really cared.

She sat alone for a moment, digesting her abandonment. Maybe if you'd just joined in...She hushed the thought. She'd been over this. She breathed out long and hard, her eyes burned with the threat of tears. She should have just joined in. What would Brittany be thinking now?

That she didn't love her. That she was too ashamed to tell everyone who or what she was.

Why couldn't Britt just dump that four-eyed nerd?

Santana dug her manicured nails fiercely into her palms. She scanned the area- the mindless chatter, the shuffling of uncoordinated dancing, the hum of the CD player... it was gone. She was alone. The silence was almost deafening.

It was safe, no one could see her.

Releasing her defences and resting her strained eyes, she permitted a single tear to leave them. Even if Britt dumped Artie, Santana was far too concerned with what others thought of her to even ask Brittany to prom, let alone take their relationship any further.

The pain in her palms was suddenly over-whelming. She released her nails. She needed to vent. She needed to let this emotion out; it was ripping away at her- making her, heaven forbid, weak.

Another scan of the area. The stage.

If there was one useful thing she had been taught in glee club is that she still had the stage, the moment, the song.

Hesitantly, carefully, she got up. Her heels clicked and echoed through the empty auditorium as she climbed the steps up onto the hard, cracked platform she was so familiar with. She could sing here. She could let it all out.

Suddenly, however, embarrassment swept over her. This was stupid. She turned quickly, flashing red- trying to find the nearest exit from the suffocating auditorium.

She shuffled backwards, disappearing behind the curtains. She breathed, feeling her face flush and her skin burn. It was suddenly stifling. But why? Why was performing on her own, where nobody could see her so embarrassing?

She had more self confidence than this, surely? She liked to make others believe that. But here, in only the company of herself, she was so vulnerable.

Damn it! She was acting like freaking Berry, or Quinn when she got knocked up. She was Santana. A stupid identity crisis wasn't going to change that. She clicked back on to the stage. Nobody was here. She needed a release, an escape...

Almost subconsciously, without realising, she was centre stage- ceasing the opportunity to breathe, to explain to herself all of these feelings without the clouded judgement of her own mind. She didn't need any music, she didn't need the entire AV club to romanticize this or ornament it like Rachel did. This was her. All her.

She didn't have a particular song in mind. Only the feeling, and from that the song found itself.

She opened her mouth and let the lyrics pour from it, like liquid, they filled the space around her- her own voice, painting her feelings aloud and releasing them from their tight binds. It became less painful to think of what she might actually say to Brittney or to herself; she felt a truth behind her words.

In your blue eyes I walked away, in your blue eyes I couldn't stay... In your blue eyes you'll watch her go...

Her voice quavered as it trickled through the empty space. She paused, swallowed, and carried on.

Then turn the record on and wonder what went wrong... what went wrong...

She found it then. The power in her singing, her self-belief. She closed her eyes and released it, instantly filling the auditorium with sound.

If everything was everything but everything is over- everything could be everything if only we were older. I guess it's just a silly song about you and how I lost you and your blue eyes...

Santana stopped. There, standing in the entrance to the auditorium, was damn Lady-lips. Kurt freaking Hummel. He stood frozen and the two shared a long, painful moment of silence. Her hard glance focussed around the glossy green-grey of Kurt's eyes, his porcelain skin. She could almost smell the organic hair products wafting through the space.

"What do you want?" She spat snidely, disregarding herself. Kurt seemed taken off guard.

"I-uh-I came back for my jacket," he began, his voice breaking to an even higher vocal range. Santana's eyes glanced to the jacket, strewn in front of her. She would have called it stylish, if a girl had been wearing it.

"It couldn't have waited until tomorrow?" The acid was thick behind her voice, defensive as usual. Kurt raised his eye brows.

"It's Alexander McQueen, like hell it's just going to 'wait until tomorrow'" He strutted towards it and straightened it out, putting it back on neatly. He was acting like his far too ambiguous self again, Santana thought. In a way that was worse. What the hell is he thinking about me? I don't just get up and sing!

Santana remained silent, swallowing hard. Her eyes tracked every nonchalant movement Hummel made. He was acting too normal. Maybe he hadn't heard? Maybe he had only arrived as she finished? She didn't say anything.

Kurt acknowledged her with his eyes, before taking his leave again- humming Born this Way as he did. As he reached the exit Santana breathed out hard, feeling her heart thud against her rib cage. Her mind raced with thoughts, possibilities of what could have just happened.

Just be thankful he didn't freaking hear you, I mean if Kurt knew-

Before completely disappearing Kurt stopped in the doorway, without turning around he muttered something- just loud enough for Santana to catch and make her boiling blood freeze over.

"Nice song by the way."