No One Here Could Know

Part 1: Thursday

The one place she thinks to run is Ms. Holliday's old office, the one that doubles as a janitor's closet. She's not sure why her body directs her there. Her first thought was her car, but she left her keys in Sue's office. She runs fast, choking on her sobs, wiping her eyes as she goes.

The old makeshift office is blissfully unlocked. She slams the door behind her and collapses on the floor between a shelf and a desk. She falls to a prostrate position – as if in prayer – and sobs to the linoleum below her. She always forgets what it's like, this crying business. She forgets about the pressure in her nose, the taste of salt in her mouth; she forgets how her head hurts and her heart squeezes. She forgets how her voice stops sounding like it's hers.

There are no tissues in here – only rough paper towels and an old rag. She blows her nose into a paper towel and it scratches against her face. She draws a shaky breath and inhales the paper's slightly mildewed, slightly industrial scent.

Brittany.

She retrieves her cell phone from her bra and sends a text – "Need you. Please please. In Ms. H's old office. Need you" – and then lies back against the shelf, trying to steady her breathing, trying to sort through her feelings.

She's thinking about countless people all over Ohio when the door opens and Brittany's standing there.

"San?" she says, and Santana loses control again.

"Brittany," she sobs. She pulls her knees up to her chest and cries into them. "Brittany. It happened. Brittany."

Brittany closes the door and falls to her knees next to Santana, placing hands all over her face, her knees, her arms. "Santana," she says. "Santana. What happened? What's wrong?"

"I can't…" Santana chokes out. "I can't. It's h-h-happened and I-I-I can't."

Brittany pulls Santana away from the shelf and settles herself behind her. She wraps two long arms around Santana's body, trying to stifle her sobs, and says, "Santana. Santana, honey. Tell me what happened."

Santana wants to tell her but she physically can't. She can't stop crying, can't stop choking on all the poison coming out of her chest. Brittany holds her and says, "Shhh, shhh, San, it's okay," but it's not, and Santana can't stop crying.

"Tissues," Santana chokes out.

Brittany grabs the paper towels and hands them to her. Santana goes through four paper towels in a row, trying to clear her nasal passage, but the tears keep coming. Her crying is a steady stream that's interrupted every few seconds by her gasps for air. Brittany smoothes her hair back over and over and says, "I know, I know," the way her mom used to say to her baby sister to soothe her.

Brittany starts to rock her gently. Santana surrenders to her completely. She doesn't have control of her muscles, doesn't have control of her mind. She continues to cry, but at a softer, slower space.

"Breathe, baby," Brittany says. "Breathe."

Santana nods and takes a few deep breaths.

She eventually calms down.

"There we go," Brittany says. She kisses Santana's temple and rubs her upper left arm. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Santana nods. She takes a few more settling breaths, then she tells Brittany about the video and the smear campaign. She tells her about the conversation with Finn. She tells her about Sue, Mr. Hummel, and Mr. Schuester.

Brittany listens quietly and continues to rub Santana's arm, but Santana feels her muscles tense.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there," says Brittany.

Santana breathes. "It was humiliating. Not just—the video, but all of them t-t-talking to me like that. With all that—pity. Like I was a—pig about to be—speared and r-r-r-oasted."

"I'm so sorry, San," Brittany whispers.

Santana lies back in her arms. "None of this is real," she says. "It can't be real."

Brittany nuzzles her cheek. "It's going to be okay," she says.

Santana shakes her head. "No. No, it's not."

They stay there for an hour, just like that – Santana breathing and Brittany holding her.

When Mr. Kidney finds them and starts yelling at them, Brittany says, "I swear we weren't making out this time," and pulls Santana from the room.

Brittany tries to convince her that they should just go home – they can always do the Adele mash-up tomorrow – but Santana won't have it.

"No one's taking this from me," she says.

The other Troubletones notice that something's up, though. When Sugar asks what's wrong and Santana storms off the stage, yelling at Sugar to mind her own damn business, Brittany steps in and tells them that Miss Fluffy died.

"Who's Miss Fluffy?" Mercedes asks.

"Her pet tarantula," Brittany says in a flat tone. "They were very close."

They do a run-through of the first part of the song, but they have to stop at Santana's part. They can't practice it without her.

"Somebody needs to go get her!" Sugar says. "This is why I should have sung this part."

"Mercedes, maybe you should go look for her," Brittany says, thinking that Santana might want to share the truth with her. Mercedes catches her eye and takes a hint.

"Good idea, Britt," she says. "I'll be right back. You guys keep practicing that dance."

Brittany's not shocked when Santana jumps down from the stage after their performance. She watches, transfixed, her heart aching, as Santana screams at Finn. She doesn't anticipate the slap, but it doesn't jolt her the way it seems to jolt everyone else. Everybody's looking at Santana like she's crazy, but Santana just looks like a falling airplane that can't find a landing strip.

"Santana," Mr. Schue says, trying to claim her attention. "Santana."

Santana visibly shakes. Her eyes dart around from former teammate to former teammate, looking for a safe place. Brittany goes to her, takes her hand, and leads her toward the exit.

"Brittany, stop, come back!" Mr. Schue shouts. "We need to talk about this!"

"No, we don't," Brittany says over her shoulder.

She leads Santana across the parking lot to where their cars are parked side-by-side. "Wait here," she tells her. "I'll be right back."

She hustles back to the auditorium, sneaks in a back door, and grabs their backpacks and Cheerios uniforms. Her heart's beating fast – she's afraid to leave Santana alone, afraid that Santana might storm back in there or that the others might storm out to the parking lot.

Santana is leaning against her car when she gets back out to the parking lot. Her eyes are focused on something far away, something Brittany can't see.

"Get in, San," Brittany says gently. "We'll come back for your car tomorrow."

Santana doesn't speak at all during the ride to her house. She leans against the window with her eyes shut and her hand over her eyes, hiding from demons that she can't describe to anyone else.

Brittany takes her hand again and squeezes it tight. She laces their fingers together and rubs circles into Santana's thumb. Santana still leans against the window with her eyes shut. When Adele's "Someone Like You" comes on the radio, Brittany feels like someone is taunting them. She punches the power button.

Santana sits on her bed as Brittany unties her hair and combs her fingers through the dark tresses. She kneads the back of Santana's neck, right where her skull meets her spine, and stamps the skin with her lips. She unzips Santana's dress and slides the straps off her shoulders, tenderly kissing the skin that's revealed.

Santana sits quietly, numb to everything except Brittany's touches and kisses. She feels a quick stab of panic when Brittany gets off her bed, but relaxes when she sees Brittany rifling through her dresser, pulling out an old cotton tee-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

"Come here, baby," Brittany says.

Santana stands and walks over to her. In some distant part of her brain, she realizes how pathetic she's acting right now. But she's too numb to care. Too numb, too emotionally worn out.

"Arms up," Brittany says. Santana lifts her arms high and Brittany pulls the dress up over her head. Santana watches Brittany disappear for a fraction of a second as the black fabric of the dress overtakes her line of sight. But then Brittany reappears, gathering the dress and tossing it over the back of Santana's desk chair. She tugs the tee-shirt over Santana's head, smiling just a little bit when Santana's right arm gets stuck. She sweeps a lock of hair out of Santana's eyes and kisses her forehead.

"Legs in," Brittany says, holding open the sweatpants. Santana places a hand on Brittany's shoulder to balance herself as she steps into the legs of the sweatpants. Brittany pulls them up to her hips and settles her hands there for a moment. Then she places a cool hand against Santana's cheek and looks at her.

"You're exhausted," she says.

Santana doesn't agree or disagree; she waits to be told what to do.

"Bed," Brittany says quietly.

Santana secures the covers around herself as she lays her body down. She pulls the duvet up to her face, resting it just over her mouth, tucking herself as deeply as possible into her bed. Brittany lies down behind her and wraps a tight arm around her ribs. Santana thinks it's the only thing anchoring her right now.

"Everything's going to be better in the morning," Brittany tells her.

Santana feels tears burning her eyes again. "Please stay with me," she whispers. "Please. I'm so scared."

Brittany squeezes her and kisses her neck. "I love you," she whispers. "I love you. I love you."

Brittany breathes. Santana breathes.