I.

October 31st, 2008

One of the only drawbacks to being fifteen years old is that on Halloween, there's pretty much nothing to do.

Brittany doesn't really miss the candy, but she does kind of miss trick-or-treating, mainly because she and Santana used to go together.

This year, they're too old to go trick-or-treating for themselves but too young to score invitations to the coolest parties with people from school. They can't drive, so it's not like they can attend the Lake Eerie Fearfest in Sandusky or go out joyriding or check out the all-night horror film marathon at the movie theater or anything, either.

Brittany's mom gave them a choice: they could either "chaperone" Brittany's little sister while she went trick-or-treating, or they could stay home and "man the door" while Brittany's mom and dad chaperoned Brittany's sister instead.

The promise of having the whole house to themselves was too much for Brittany and Santana to pass up, even on a night when the doorbell is bound to ring ten-bijillion times.

Brittany's parents left with Brittany's sister a hour-half ago, and Brittany and Santana have been alone at Brittany's house ever since. Neither one of them wears a costume, but both of them sneak mini-Snickers bars out of the candy bowl as they flit between the front foyer and the living room, answering the door and cozying themselves in for the evening.

Even though Brittany and Santana don't have plans beyond watching It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, Brittany still feels excited at the prospect of spending the whole night in Santana's company.

Lately, Brittany has wanted nothing more than to touch Santana and be close to her, not even just in a sexy way—though the sexy way is amazing—but just in general, like in every way, from linking pinkies with Santana while they walk down the hall to playing with Santana's hair as they lie down together at sleepovers to feeling Santana breathe against her when they cuddle on the couch.

Brittany can't get enough of it—can't get enough of Santana.

Sometimes, Santana refuses to talk about certain things, but Brittany can read them in her when she and Santana touch. She can feel them in Santana's motions and tics, in the way that Santana turns from soft to sharp and closed to open and every little in-between. Santana is a book Brittany always wants to read.

Brittany hopes that she'll get all sorts of Santana and as much as she wants tonight—that she can snuggle up and read Santana for hours. She also secretly hopes that maybe Santana might want to make out tonight, maybe during the movie and afterwards, too.

Almost nothing about Santana tells Brittany as much as when they kiss.

Brittany knows she shouldn't get her hopes up too high because Santana is pretty particular about when it's okay for them to touch and kiss and when it isn't, but Brittany can't help it.

Touching and kissing Santana is better than candy.

And she hasn't been able to stop sneaking Snickers bars yet tonight.

By the time Brittany and Santana gather up all the blankets and throw pillows that they want to lounge on during the movie, it's just starting to get dark outside.

All the little-little kids—like the ones who are too young to even realize why they're dressed up or what they're dressed up as—have already come through the neighborhood. Some of them couldn't even say the words "Trick or treat" yet, so they just looked up at Brittany and Santana with big, wet eyes and snotty noses, glitter paint smeared over their cheeks and their fairy wings and ladybug bobble headbands and cowboy hats askew. Their parents said the words for them, and Brittany and Santana set candy into their plastic pumpkins very gently, as if stacking wooden blocks in a tower.

Now the older kids will start to come along, some of them with chaperones and some of them without.

"That last little fireman was pretty adorable, sucking his thumb," Brittany says.

Santana just rolls her eyes in the way that means that she agrees but isn't going to say so. She smiles, so pretty that Brittany can hardly stand it, and rifles through a stack of Halloween DVDs, searching for Charlie Brown and hovering near the television set.

"What do you think Quinn's doing tonight?" she asks as if she doesn't care, even though she really does. "I mean, besides not putting out for Finn, obviously."

Brittany shrugs. "I dunno. Probably homework or praying or something. Like, doesn't her family believe that Halloween is Satan's birthday?"

Santana smirks, wicked. "We should call and invite her over for ritual blood-letting."

Brittany smirks, wickeder. "Or virgin sacrifice—that would totally freak her out."

Both Brittany and Santana laugh just as the doorbell rings. Santana sets down the DVDs on the coffee table and reaches for the candy bowl. "I dare you to yell 'Boo!' really loud when we open the door, Britt," she says, gesturing for Brittany to follow her as they go to greet the trick-or-treaters.

Brittany imitates her mom's best scolding voice. "Santana! I'm not gonna try to freak out a bunch of little kids," she reproves.

As they cram into the front foyer, Brittany stands just at Santana's shoulder, fully expecting a group of miniature Jack Sparrows, Harry Potter characters, and Shreks to greet her and Santana once they open the door. Brittany leans in just a bit, touching at Santana's elbow, absorbing Santana's warmth into her own skin, waiting for the chorus of happy shouting.

But it doesn't come.

Instead, the door swings open.

At once, Santana says, "Aren't you a little old for trick-or-treating? What the hell are you even supposed to be?" in a way that sounds more like sour Warheads than sweet chocolate.

At once, Noah Puckerman jibes back. "I'm supposed to be a serial killer, but clearly you're supposed to be a bitch."

Puck stands at the front of a group of boys from school, with Finn just behind him, a sophomore lineman to his right, and Matt Rutherford to his left. All four of the boys hold pillowcases, which already sag low with candy.

Puck wears a hockey mask pushed up on his forehead, his face totally exposed. He also wears a dun-colored detective trench coat over his regular clothes. Beyond that, he doesn't really look dressed up at all. Finn sports army fatigues and has shaded his face with marker to make it look like he has stubble. Matt Rutherford isn't even wearing a costume, just his letterman jacket and a sombrero. The sophomore lineman dons his football jersey and has face paint-blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth.

Brittany feels Santana's body tense, but Santana plays it cool. She makes a scoffing noise and starts to gesture Brittany away from the door so that she can shut it in Puck's face. "Whatever," she says, flippant. "We're not giving you any candy. You're old enough to buy it yourself."

Wearing her mean smile, she starts to glide the door shut, but Puck grabs hold of the door, blocking Santana from shutting it. Santana lets out a little gasp in surprise at his assertiveness.

"No way," Puck says. "It's Halloween, and we're trick-or-treaters. You're supposed to give us candy, woman."

He fixes Santana with a nasty smirk, and suddenly Brittany wishes that Santana had just slammed the door instead of shutting it slowly so that Puck couldn't have stopped her in the act.

Brittany fidgets, still stuck behind Santana and feeling increasingly uncomfortable with every passing moment that the boys stand on her stoop. She shifts her weight between her feet.

Brittany's family has a rule that she can't invite people over unless her parents are home, and somehow it feels like Puck and his friends are breaking that rule, even if they're just trick-or-treating and Brittany didn't invite them over to her house at all.

What if Brittany's parents show up and see the boys and think that Brittany and Santana called them over? Worse yet, what if Santana and Puck get into a fight without any adults around to stop it? Brittany can already feel the sharpness mounting in Santana, the tautening in her like a string.

Usually, Puck is harmless, but sometimes he gets to Santana and she loses it with him. Brittany doesn't like it when Santana gets really angry because when Santana gets really angry, she almost always gets really sad and closed-off afterwards, too.

Santana's cool is kind of like a balloon: the louder it is when it blows up, the less of it there is leftover afterwards.

Brittany doesn't want Santana to have little, stringy balloon-rubber feelings pretty much ever, but especially not on Halloween. She doesn't like the way that Santana seems to tighten and shrink down each time Puck says something rude. Tonight is supposed to be a fun night for just Brittany and Santana.

Why does Puck have to be such a brat?

"You didn't say 'Trick-or-treat,'" Brittany objects.

"Trick-or-fucking-treat," Puck says.

"Trick-or-treat," echo Matt Rutherford, Finn, and the sophomore lineman.

The boys hold out their pillowcases, expectant, and Santana looks like she still wants to shut the door, never mind it if she crushes Puck's fingers in the hinge, but Brittany feels something crumbling inside of herself.

For as wrong as it seems for the boys to be at her house, it seems even more wrong to turn them away without giving them any candy, like it's something that Brittany and Santana could get in trouble for doing.

After all, it is Halloween.

Plus, Brittany doesn't want the boys to egg her house later on in the night. She also doesn't want Puck to start a fight with Santana. Santana has a fight inside her right now, and it might spill out at any second if Puck says or does the wrong thing. Brittany ghosts her fingers over Santana's back, trying to soothe some of the edge out of her. She wants this to be a happy night, but that will only happen if she can get rid of Puck and his crew fast.

"One candy bar each," she says, reaching around Santana to take the bowl and start parceling out the Snickers.

"Only one each? Come on, Brittany! We weren't doing anything. It was Puck!" Finn complains.

Santana huffs. "We're saving them for the kids—you know, the ones who are actually supposed to be trick-or-treating because they're the right age for it?"

"Don't be pressed, Lopez," Puck shoots back.

And just like that, Brittany sees it—the change from bratty to mean in him, like the glint of metal when the light hits it just so. Puck lunges forward, snatching at the bowl, trying to take it away from Santana before Brittany can get it, but Santana reacts to Puck's movement by grabbing onto the bowl more tightly. Hands fumble, the boys shout, and Brittany closes her eyes for just an instant, jostling backwards as Santana moves in front of her. Brittany hears a clatter.

When she opens her eyes again, the candy bowl is on the ground and mini-Snickers litter the front stoop like a pile of gold coins in a bank in a cartoon. The boys let up whoops of excitement and scramble forward, starting to sweep the mini-Snickers from the stoop into their pillowcases, greedy like pecking hens.

Puck gets the bulk of it, and Matt Rutherford and the sophomore lineman clean up after him. Finn just sort of stands there, stunned. Santana yells and slaps at Puck, saying all sorts of bad words in Spanish. Puck deflects her blows with his elbows and shoulders. His hockey mask slips down from his forehead to half-conceal his face.

"Happy Halloween!" he smirks, turning to run away, as though Santana might chase him.

Matt Rutherford and the sophomore lineman start to run away, too. Finn trips over his army boots but recovers before he falls down.

"That was for little kids, Puckerman!" Santana shouts, but Puck just flips her the finger, sprinting down Brittany's front walk and onto Brittany's street. He laughs, pleased with himself, and the other boys laugh, too. He turns his back to Brittany's house, his trench coat flapping behind him as he hurries out from the glow of the streetlights and into the deepening twilight.

Brittany can still feel the sharpness in Santana, and she knows that she only has a few seconds to stop Santana's balloon from popping all at once. Quickly, Brittany says, "My mom left another candy bag. Lucky the bowl was plastic so it didn't break or anything. Those guys are so juvenile."

Santana returns to herself as if from a fog, shaking her head. Brittany sets a hand on her elbow, and she relaxes a bit. Santana makes a scoffing noise into the darkening night. The boys are gone from sight now, gone from sound. Santana stoops to pick up one of the last remaining Snickers bars from the stoop.

"Entirely," she says, agreeing with Brittany on delay. "We should, like... call Puck's mom and tell her that her son is being a delinquent again." She pauses for a second, biting her lip. When she talks again, she doesn't look at Brittany. Instead, she looks at the Snickers bar in her hands. "Quinn says Puck acts that way to me because he likes me."

Now it's Brittany's turn to make a scoffing noise and Brittany's turn to feel sharp inside—not at Santana but at Puck and kind of at Quinn, or at least at what Quinn said.

"If he likes you, he should be nice to you," Brittany says bluntly.

"Puck isn't nice to anyone," Santana mumbles, retrieving the bowl from the stoop.

Brittany holds the door open so that Santana can come back into the house. Once Santana steps inside, Brittany closes the door, ushering Santana towards the kitchen so that they can refill the bowl with more candy. "Even if he's mean to everyone else, he should be nice to you if he likes you. That's the way it works," she shrugs.

She doesn't mention how she knows what she knows, but she says it in a firm way, so that Santana can tell that she's serious—that her meaning is important.

Something shows through in Santana's look, a candy sweetness replacing all the sour that used to be there before.

"What would I do without you to look out for me, BrittBritt?" she says suddenly, turning around to pull Brittany into a hug, even with the empty bowl and the extra candy bar still in her hands.

She nuzzles against Brittany's neck, and Brittany lets her do it. Now neither one of them has any sharpness left inside. Now Puck and the boys seem a million miles away. Brittany breathes with Santana's body fitted against hers. They melt together.

"We should put the movie in before more trick-or-treaters come," she says into Santana's hair, giving Santana little squeeze and kissing the top of her head.

It's an intimate thing to do—more intimate than Santana will sometimes allow—but tonight Santana doesn't flinch or balk. In fact, Santana doesn't say anything of it as she and Brittany extricate themselves from each other. She just pinks in the cheeks in a way that tells Brittany that she felt it, that she felt the kiss.

It isn't the sort of kiss that Brittany expected to give Santana tonight, but somehow Brittany felt like she needed to do it—like it mattered beyond just the moment. When Santana brushes her fingers over Brittany's wrist, Brittany feels pretty sure that it did. She also starts to feel like maybe she should kiss Santana for real, for real.

But then she hears the dinosaur-squall of the garage door in the distance.

Santana winces and pulls away. "Your parents are home," she says quickly.

"They were only gone like two hours," Brittany pouts.

"I bet the munchkin ate too much candy already and made herself sick," Santana says.

For the few seconds before Brittany's parents come into the house, Brittany and Santana stare at each other, silent. Even though they're not touching, Brittany feels Santana as if they are—as if something connects them together.

Brittany doesn't miss trick-or-treating, but somehow she can miss Santana even when they're standing in the same room together, even when they're looking at each other, even with the print of a kiss to Santana still warm on her lips.

All at once, Santana says, "Thanks, Britt," quick and light like a bird chirp, and rocks up onto her tiptoes, pressing a kiss half onto Brittany's chin and half onto Brittany's mouth. It's a haphazard motion, totally spontaneous, but Brittany feels it everywhere.

Santana is usually so careful about when and where she and Brittany kiss and touch, but tonight Santana just allows it to happen however, like she can't get enough of it, either, like she and Brittany feel the same.

The back door creaks open, and the sounds of feet and motion announce themselves through the house.

Brittany's dad calls out from the kitchen, "Hey, girls, how'd it go?"

Brittany's sister's voice follows his, and Brittany and Santana hear her pad across the wooden floor, moving in a blur. "Did anybody from my school come trick-or-treating here?" she asks, as if Brittany and Santana would know her schoolmates, even if her schoolmates weren't in costume.

Brittany's mom says, "I hope you two weren't bored. Did you find something to do?"

There's nothing really to do on Halloween for fifteen year-olds who don't have their driver's licenses yet, but somehow Brittany thinks that she and Santana managed to do enough anyhow. Santana's kiss still pulses in Brittany's skin, and Brittany's smiles, dopey, sending Santana a warm look.

"We were gonna watch Charlie Brown."