#story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe)

[echoes-of-realities]

I'll keep you warm (underneath the christmas lights)

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[ao3] // [Fanfiction]

be my fire in the cold (and I’ll be waiting by the mistletoe: [Tumblr] // [ao3] // [Fanfiction]

Summary: Santana hates being in the audience of anything because she wants to be backstage managing the show instead of just watching it. She hates it even more when it’s a show that she used to run.

One-shot in the be my fire in the cold (and I’ll be your mistletoe) universe.

Notes: The final editing of the last chapter of the leather jacket fic has been going uhhhhhh let’s say Slow read: impossible atm because of writer’s block for the final scene because I want it to be perfect lol so instead I thought I’d do a small Christmas thing instead.

Trying to cure writer’s block for one fic by writing another? In my writing process? It’s more likely than you think.

Title from “Keep You Warm” by Sam Tsui and Kina Grannis.

Santana decided that she hates sitting in the audience of anything—movies, shows, speeches, you name it—when she was really young. After falling in love with stage managing when she was eighteen, she quickly figured out it’s because she wants to be backstage managing the show herself.

Looking back on her childhood, a lot of things suddenly clicked for her—kind of like when she realized she was very definitely really, really gay and looked back on her pre-teen years and realized exactly how many crushes she had actually had on girls throughout middle school. Her mom used to take her to Columbus whenever they had a little extra cash, treating herself and her daughter to whatever musical or play or dance troupe happened to be touring through Ohio that year, and she used to love and hate those mother-daughter outings in equal measure. She loved spending time with her mom, but she hated the shows itself. She would never have told her mom it, because she hated upsetting her mom more than anything in the world, but she found it near impossible to actually sit through those shows, because she was always impatient and annoyed—realizing it was because she wanted to be the one in control of the show was so relieving because she could finally explain to her mom why she was always hyperactive as soon as the theatre went dark and the show lights went on.

Her mom, of course, had suspected that her daughter was just impatient and desperate to be a part of the show somehow, because mom’s are like that, and took her daughter squirming and sighing throughout the entirety of every single show they saw together in stride—it was good that Maribel Lopez had the patience of a saint and years of experience as a nurse exerting restraint, because whoever was unlucky enough to sit on Santana’s other side had difficulty containing their annoyance at the fidgeting teenager beside them.

She hates sitting in the audience even more when it’s a show that she used to run; especially because she spent nearly twelve hours every single day for a whole month last year running the show she’s currently watching. And she’s even more impatient and desperate to head backstage for this particular show then she is when it comes to a show she hasn’t stage managed before.

In other words, it’s basically torture for her to sit in the audience and forcefully resist the urge to jump up and sneak backstage to take over the show, but she doesn’t really think that Quinn would appreciate that, considering that this is her first run as the production stage manager and not just an assistant.

But Santana knows too much about the behind the scenes of George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker to be content just watching from the sidelines, and if her neighbours’ annoyed glares are anything to go by, her twitchiness is more than a little obvious and definitely more than a little annoying.

Thankfully, the show is well into the second act by now, which means there’s just the Waltz of Flowers, the re-entrance of the Sugar Plum Fairy and her cavalier, the Finale, and the bows left, and then Santana can stop jiggling her foot up and down in the audience and annoying her seat-mates. She’s always been the type of person who has to be doing something, and watching a show when she could be managing it instead is just frustrating in a million ways.

It feels like she blinks and the cast are coming out to take their bows, and then—finally—all the audience members start filing out of the theatre. Santana grabs the bouquet of flowers hidden under her seat and checks them to make sure they aren’t crushed too badly; it’s not like she has a very good reputation for having pristine flowers because something always ends up happening—whether a freak rainstorm or an uneven sidewalk or a drunk on the subway getting too close—but she’d like the bouquet to look like they hadn’t gone through a garburator for once in her life.

A couple of the stems are bent in a way that looks like one of her seat-mates stepped on them, but other than that, the flowers are actually in decent shape, which is a little surprising.

She weaves her way impatiently through the crowd of shuffling audience members still blinking blearily in the too bright house lights after over two hours spent in the dark. She knows this theatre like the back of her hand, so it doesn’t take her long before she finds her way to the back of the theatre. Even though it’s been a year since she ran this show, she’s still a familiar face around the theatre, and security barely gives her a second glance before waving her backstage.

She waves greetings to some of the cast members who were recast this year, avoids the sound guys like they have the plague, and stops to playfully make fun of how Quinn’s running the show, before she finds her way back to the principal hallway. She follows the familiar sound of banging to the end of the hallway, dodging around racks of costumes and props and half-dressed cast members, before she reaches the door she’s looking for.

The door is slightly ajar, so she pokes her head through the crack and almost laughs out loud at the sigh that greets her—the Sugar Plum Fair is half dressed in her bodysuit and a pair of old, ratty sweats that Santana is almost positive were buried in the bottom of the hamper this morning, and her blonde hair is still pinned up but her tiara is tossed haphazardly on the dresser beside a couple of dirty makeup wipes.

She’s smacking her ballet shoes against the wall with a candy cane sticking out of her mouth, and Santana takes a moment to smile at the nostalgia of it all, before she clears her throat.

The Sugar Plum Fairy glances up with a focused furrow to her brow, one that immediately clears into surprised delight. “Santana!” she gasps around the candy cane dangling from her lips, blue eyes sparkling above scrunched up cheeks, “What are you doing here?”

Santana grins, and her chest still spasms and flutters like it did the very first time she met those blue eyes. “You didn’t think I’d miss your last show of the year?” she teases as she steps halfway into the room, keeping her back in the doorway to try and keep the bouquet hidden.

Brittany rolls her eyes and carelessly tosses her ballet shoes on the coffee table that Santana’s ate countless lunches and suppers at, crossing the room to greet Santana with a quick peck around the candy cane in her mouth, leaving a sticky line of mint across Santana’s cheek. Santana wants to be annoyed, because she hates sticky candy, but Brittany’s smiling at her and her eyes are surprised and happy and she can’t bring herself to feel even the tiniest bit annoyed. “I know you didn’t want to,” Brittany says, “but you kind of have a show to run at the same time as this one, Ms. I-Made-My-Broadway-Debut-As-Production-Stage-Manager-At-Twenty-Seven.”

Santana just shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m sure they can survive one show with Zizes at the helm.”

Brittany narrows her eyes and puts her hands on her hips, which stretches her bodysuit distractingly tight across her torso, and it takes Brittany clearing her throat a couple of times before Santana’s eyes snap back up to hers—she’s a little self-satisfied, which kind of defeats her attempt at a reprimanding look. “Please tell me you didn’t waste a sick day on watching a show you’ve already seen a billion times before.”

Santana’s grin widens and she shrugs a little. “Who’s to say I didn’t book this day off months in advance because I knew it’d be your last show.”

“I wasn’t even cast months in advance,” Brittany scolds, but there’s a tiny, pleased smile playing at her lips that she can’t quite bite back.

“Maybe I just believe in my girlfriend a whole lot,” Santana shoots back, and before Brittany can even open her mouth to continue their bickering, Santana produces the bouquet of flowers from behind her back and offers them to Brittany.

Santana can actually see the way that Brittany practically melts, all retorts dying on her tongue as she slowly takes the bouquet from Santana with glowing eyes. “You can’t buy my love, you know,” she teases softly, and Santana doesn’t bother hiding the way she basically preens like a parrot seeing their reflection in a mirror at the smile on Brittany’s face and the love glowing in her eyes.

“They’re the best flowers I’ve ever gotten you,” Santana says proudly.

Brittany laughs a little in the middle of sniffing them, accidentally pressing a couple flowers into her lips at the motion. “Only three broken stems,” she acknowledges with a wide smile, “That’s a new record.”

Santana grins and rises up on her toes expectantly, grinning when Brittany playfully rolls her eyes as she takes the candy cane out of her mouth and ducks down to kiss her, soft and sweet and slow.

Brittany pulls back achingly slowly, and Santana kind of wishes this moment could last forever, even though she gets to kiss Brittany like this every single day. “I should get changed and then we can get out of here,” she says, her minty-sweet breath fanning across Santana’s slightly dazed face.

Santana blinks a couple times before blushing under Brittany’s knowing smirk. She closes the door with her hip and busies herself with her phone while Brittany quickly strips out of her bodysuit and into her comfy clothes—it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, but she knows that if she so much as glances at Brittany, her plans for the evening are going to fly right out of her head because Brittany is beautiful and distracting and basically impossible to resist.

Brittany appears beside her barely five minutes later, her candy cane back in her mouth and Santana’s favourite scarf wrapped around her neck, her blonde hair loose and flowing over her shoulders as she zips her jacket up. “Ready to go?”

Santana nods absently and steps out into the hallway, waiting for Brittany to grab the bouquet of flowers off the coffee table and lock her dressing room door before they head down the hallway. Brittany bites into her candy cane and crunches it loudly, and Santana can’t help the tiny smile on her face, because even though she usually finds it annoying when people chew hard candies, she finds everything Brittany does endearing and amusing.

They wave goodbyes and wish Merry Christmases to everyone they pass on their way to the back exit of the theatre, skipping the crowd of people probably still lingering at the front entrance. The cold wind sweeps right through them with a swirl of snowflakes as they step outside, causing them to both shiver and huddle together as they make the trek back to Santana’s apartment, where Brittany’s been spending so much time at, that Santana’s not sure if her girlfriend can even call the apartment she used to share with Mercedes hers anymore. It had gotten lonely, Brittany had admitted, once Mercedes moved in with Sam back in September, and Santana had hinted at the fact that her apartment—which was a little closer to the theatres they both worked at—had more than enough room for the two of them. They’d been quietly intending to move in together without actually saying anything aloud since then, but Brittany’s lease won’t be up until January, so Brittany’s mostly just been using her apartment as a storage space while all her clothes and toiletries and important things are slowly accumulating at Santana’s apartment over the course of the past couple months.

Brittany’s eyelashes are dusted with snowflakes and her lips and cheeks and ears are more red than usual against the freezing wind and Santana’s never been more in love in her entire life.

Brittany doesn’t say anything when Santana silently tugs her to a stop just to kiss her, but she looks a little bit windswept and a whole lot adoring when she pulls away and they continue on their way. And, when Santana pulls her into a chaotic grocery store, she still doesn’t say anything about it, even when she smiles wide and bright and happy when she recognizes the ingredients for cinnamon buns and World Famous Pierce Hot Chocolate and movie snacks.

They make it home around five thirty, the heat from Santana’s apartment nearly painful on their frozen thighs as they kick off their boots by the mat and hang their jackets on the coat rack. Santana disappears with the groceries and Brittany’s bouquet of flowers while Brittany is still struggling to escape from her scarf, and by the time she hangs up all of her winter gear, Santana is standing in the entrance to the rest of her apartment with a shy smile on her face. Brittany blinks in confusion before slowly stepping forward to take her girlfriend’s outstretched hand and allows her to pull them both through the kitchen and into the living room.

Brittany gasps at the sight before them, and some of the nerves in Santana’s stomach ease into proud delight at the wonder on Brittany’s face. She turns to admire her work, and can’t help smiling a little bit too, knowing that all her rushing around that morning after Brittany left for the theatre was worth it.

The living room is lit only by Christmas lights and the Home Alone title screen on the television and the fairy lights around the bookshelf and the quickly fading winter sun shining weakly in through the window, the kitchen and hall lights flicked off to give the apartment a soft glow. The tree in the corner was the result of Mercedes and Sam’s help; they left Manhattan yesterday to go spend time with family for Christmas, and they had offered their tree to Santana for the rest of the holidays, knowing that Santana was planning on surprising Brittany with a decorated apartment for Christmas Eve. It had been hiding in Santana’s spare closet until this morning after Brittany left for her show, and while Santana’s decorating skills leave something to be desired, it does its job of brightening the living room with a Christmasy glow. The tinsel and glittery trees on the windowsill are courtesy of Mike and Tina, who had answered Santana’s desperate plea for help sometime around eleven with fond eye rolls and no small amount of teasing. The rest of the living room—Christmas patterned blankets and the cookies on the coffee table and the small singing stuffies on the back of the couch and the small stack of presents under the tree—are all Santana though, and she surveys the living room with pride swirling in her stomach.

Brittany turns to Santana with eyes that sparkle in the dim glow of the Christmas decorations, and Santana’s stomach swoops a little at the love that sparkles in her favourite blue eyes.

“I know we’re still not all that into Christmas,” Santana explains, only a little bit bashful under Brittany’s adoring gaze, “and we’ve both been so busy with our shows lately that we haven’t really had time to do anything festive or anything. But I figured we should still get into the spirit at least a little bit, since we have new traditions and everything.”

Santana doesn’t even have time to give Brittany a smile before her girlfriend is cupping her jaw and kissing her fiercely, and Santana can do little more than wrap her arms around Brittany’s waist and kiss her back. Brittany’s mouth is warm and desperate on hers, but her hands are tender and still cold from outside against the sides of her neck, and it’s kind of a little perfect.

“So I take it you like it,” Santana gasps when Brittany finally relents in kissing her, just long enough that Santana can breathe again.

Brittany laughs and kisses Santana repeatedly, a series of quick pecks where she does that thing where she wants to talk and kiss at the same time and just ends up mumbling everything into Santana’s mouth. “Obviously, you giant dork.”

Santana giggles against Brittany and tightens her arms around her girlfriend, nuzzling their noses together and smiling when Brittany’s hands finally slide from her jaw to around her shoulders, tugging her into a tight embrace. “Good,” Santana sighs contently, “because I kind of really liked the new traditions we made last year.”

“That’s cause you got lucky at the end of them,” Brittany snorts against Santana’s hair, giggling and squirming away from Santana when she pinches her hips in retaliation.

“I wasn’t the only one who got lucky that night,” Santana sniffs haughtily, “And if you keep talking like that, you definitely won’t be this year.”

“Please—” Santana can’t see her girlfriend’s face, but she just knows that Brittany is rolling her eyes right now, “—as if you can resist me.”

Santana doesn’t argue that statement, because they both know Brittany’s one-hundred percent correct. “Come on,” she says instead, “we gotta get started on Home Alone so we have time to have supper and make hot chocolate and watch all the other movies and do other stuff like bakin—”

“Mmm,” Brittany interrupts with a hum as she finally pulls away from Santana and starts heading towards the living room, “Am I stuff?”

Santana’s been dating Brittany for a year by now, and it’s not like she’s a stranger to sex with her girlfriend, but she still can’t help the heat she feels rising in her cheeks. Brittany coos teasingly and playfully pokes at Santana’s dimples, even as she smirks and waggles her eyebrows in a suggestive leer. Santana swats at Brittany’s hand and ducks her head, but it does nothing to hide her blush.

Brittany just laughs at her girlfriend’s embarrassed grumbling as Santana throws herself grumpily down on the far end of the couch, shamelessly cuddling up to Santana under the blanket despite Santana’s protests—though, it’s not like Santana is putting up much of a fight considering she immediately sinks into Brittany’s embrace.

The snow continues to fall outside the window, but Santana’s apartment is warm and cozy and the lights from the Christmas tree and the television and the fairy lights on the bookshelf cast the living room in a soft glow. Santana’s pretty positive that she’s going to be doing this for every single Christmas Eve for the rest of her life and, even if she won the lottery or never had to work again or something else that most people dream of when regular life gets too damn depressing, she can’t imagine ever being happier than she is right now.

“Hey,” Brittany says suddenly as Kevin is in the middle of grocery shopping by himself for the first time, and Santana really should know that something’s up by the way her girlfriend tries to bite down on her smirk, “Are we watching Gremlins after this?”

Santana seriously considers suffocating Brittany with the blanket they’re cuddling under, but instead settles on beating her with a pillow, neither of them able to contain their bright laughter as they squirm around on the couch in a one-sided pillow fight.

When 11:11 comes around after supper and hot chocolate and even more movies (including—at least for Santana—the dreaded Gremlins), neither of them are even awake to make a wish like last year, the title screen song for How The Grinch Stole Christmas playing through it’s seventh repeat.

Honestly, it’s completely fine that they miss their new tradition of making a wish at 11:11 on Christmas Eve, because neither of them have anything else they could ever want for anymore, since they already have each other.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: I'll keep you warm (underneath the christmas lights) #but also #story: be my fire in the cold (and i'll be waiting by the mistletoe) #I'm procrastinating one fic by writing another to absolutely Nobody's surprise lol #also like........ the cheesiest ending imaginable? #obviously #it's me and it's christmas does anyone expect anything else? #also also #I Cannot believe it's been a whole ass year since I wrote be my fire lol #absolutely W I L D

[lovefaberry]

I just finished rereading this Christmas fic , cause it's that time of year, and I would highly recommend reading it. It’s a cheesy and romantic Brittana fic, like in the story Mercedes calls their relationship a hallmark movie, but sometimes you just need a feel good story and I believe that this delivers. It also heavily features a Tina and Santana friendship, and a Mercedes and Brittany friendship, so its not just focused on one kind of feel good relationship. Plus all the glee characters make an appearance and act fairly true to character. Santana still has a lot of the same backstory to her as she did in the show as do Mike and Tina which definitely is some of what leads it to the harder to read sad moments but that just makes it feel more realistic. AND I CAN NOT stress this enough it is SO FUCKING CUTE, like they go on adorable dates and have wrapping paper and soap bubble fights like the cutest couple on the planet. 

So anyway if you want a feel good, easy read Brittana fic I would highly recommend be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) and its sequel I'll keep you warm (underneath the christmas lights). I rate it Homemade Cinnamon Rolls out of ten

#<3 #.txt #glee #brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #fanfic #brittana fanfiction #fic

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 25/25

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[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Santana wakes up happier than she’s ever been; Brittany asks a very important question and learns how to make cinnamon buns in the process.

Notes: I?? Made?? It?? All the way?? Omg I’m exhausted but also !!!!! lmao

In a lot of ways this was the hardest chapter to write, because trying to craft an ending that was satisfying to me was a Long process but I eventually got there. This was the first time I ever did anything like this and I’m actually pretty proud of myself for doing it! Thank you to everyone who commented or reviewed or tagged because they all mean the world to me!! I didn’t have time to respond to them all because December and end of term is always Insane for me, but I definitely read all of them and appreciated them all so much!!

So Merry Christmas and thanks for reading!!!

Chapter 25: how have we missed out on all of these years?

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I wrote a note. Saying that when two people fall in love, they do so at the same speed. There’s no need to factor in the physics. Explanations are something we can make no use of. Einstein once wrote, “Gravity will not be held responsible for people falling in love.” I wrote a note saying “If I fall in love with you, no one will ever be able to explain it, and I think that’s beautiful.” — “Tomatoes” by Shane Koyczan

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Santana wakes up slowly, warm and comfortable with a beam of sunlight inches from her nose, turning blonde hair to gold. They haven’t moved much from last night, Brittany still sprawled on her back with both arms wrapped loosely but securely around Santana, and Santana nuzzled into the space between Brittany’s neck and shoulder, one arm curled beneath Brittany’s back and more than a little numb and her other thrown over Brittany’s waist, their legs hopelessly tangled under the blankets.

She has no clue what time it is other than that fact that it’s morning, the sunlight shining in through the cracks in the blinds and slanting across the bedding, brightening the pale yellow of Brittany’s sheets. Santana shifts around a little, pulling herself up onto the pillow, her skin buzzing where it presses to Brittany’s, until she can lay her head beside Brittany; she’s bed-warm and smiling a little in her sleep, her lips parted and blushed pink. Santana props herself up on her elbow—ignoring the faint sensation of pins and needles as her arm wakes up—and lifts her other hand to trail her fingers over Brittany’s face with a featherlight touch, barely enough to cause Brittany to even stir.

She draws constellations with the spattering of faint freckles on Brittany’s nose and tucked in the corners of her eyes, she admires how the amber-coloured roots of Brittany’s lashes turn almost honey in the sunbeam stretching across her face, she carefully brushes tangled blonde hair back behind Brittany’s ears and ghosts her fingers along the shell them, she runs her thumb over the peak of Brittany’s pale cheek just to watch her brows furrow; and then, when she can’t resist anymore, she leans down to kiss away the furrow. She trails butterfly kisses down the length of a nose, across a cheek, and then down the line of a jaw. She presses a kiss to that tiny freckle tucked at the corner of her mouth, the one that always hides in Brittany’s smiles during the day, before she shifts a little to the side to press her lips fully to Brittany’s.

Brittany doesn’t move for a moment, but she starts to stir as Santana’s lips move against hers, humming into the kiss until it buzzes against Santana’s lips. Fingers start to scratch lazily at the sensitive skin of Santana’s waist and she shivers as Brittany’s electric touch wracks her body.

She only pulls away when she realizes that she should probably breathe soon, and Brittany whines at the loss of contact. Santana giggles and presses a close-mouthed kiss to her lips to pacify her, lingering a little when Brittany sighs against her.

“Merry Christmas,” Santana whispers as she pulls back, propped up on her elbows so she can cup Brittany’s face in her palms, running her thumbs along Brittany’s cheeks and marvelling at how soft and smooth her skin is, delighting in how her eyelashes flutter at the sensation.

“Mur’ Chris’ma,” Brittany mumbles, blindly tilting her chin up and searching for Santana’s lips again, not even bothering to crack her eyes open. Santana giggles and watches Brittany search for long moments before finally leaning down and kissing her pout away; Brittany is about as much as a morning person as Santana herself is, but Santana’s constant grumpiness before her morning coffee dissipated as soon as she felt Brittany’s heartbeat against her cheek, steady puffs of breath tickling the top of her head, bare skin warm and soft against her own.

Santana leans her forehead against Brittany’s and smiles softly, waiting until her eyes flutter open, just soaking in the feeling of falling in love with Brittany all over again as blue eyes meet hers, sleepy and warm, the tiniest flecks of gold surrounding her pupils, cobalt streaking through cerulean like forks of lightning.

Santana’s never seen anything more beautiful in her life, and she can do little more than tilt her chin down to rain kisses on thin pink lips that curl up into a wide smile under her ministrations.

Santana sighs and nuzzles her nose into Brittany’s, just breathing her in for long moments; the air around them smells of honeysuckle and vanilla and citrus and jasmine and something sharp and heady and warm. Brittany’s lips purse to press a kiss against her cheek and Santana smiles, sliding her arms under Brittany until she can wrap even more tightly around her and sink into her embrace.

“I love you,” Brittany breathes against her cheek, and Santana’s heart thuds heavily as she cuddles closer, nuzzling her nose against Brittany’s and sighing into her mouth as their lips find each other.

Brittany kisses her, long and deep and open, not even giving her a chance to respond. Santana just sinks into the feeling, one of Brittany’s hands drawing slow patterns across her back and the other one cupping her jaw and guiding Santana’s mouth against hers until every thought in Santana’s mind has disappeared and she falls into Brittany.

Brittany keeps making these airy little sighs against Santana’s lips and her spine melts at the sound until she’s bonelessly draped over Brittany, molding their bodies together. Lips trail from her mouth across her chin and up her cheek to scatter butterfly pecks across her nose to her other cheek. “I love you too,” Santana finally manages to gasp in answer, now that Brittany’s stopped her welcome assault on her lips and she can string two thoughts together again.

Brittany pulls back a little and stares, wide-eyed and hopeful, up at Santana. “Really?” she asks breathlessly.

Santana giggles and shakes her head, kissing Brittany until she can’t breathe any more, drawing back to press lingering kisses along Brittany’s jaw instead until she locates her ear. “I love you,” she whispers before planting a sucking kiss behind Brittany’s earlobe, just to feel her shiver, her hands stuttering as they trail along Santana’s back.

Brittany sucks in an unsteady breath as Santana trails her lips down Brittany’s neck and across to her collarbone, dipping her tongue into the hollow and moving onto the other one, repeating her motions back up Brittany’s neck until she finds her other ear. “I love you,” she whispers again, trailing her kisses back to Brittany’s mouth.

Brittany’s breathing is unsteady and her hands tremble a little as they reach up to keep Santana’s lips pressed against hers until Santana’s own breathing come in little pants and she’s shivering in Brittany’s arms.

“I love you too,” Brittany breathes, and as good as it felt to say it, it feels even better to hear it.

She feels like everything good in the world is sprawled on the bed beneath her, like everything she’s ever wanted is right at her fingertips, and she doesn’t want to ever lose it, so she just kisses her love into Brittany’s mouth, knowing that Brittany’s doing the exact same thing.

Brittany hums against her lips and smiles into the kiss, her hands roaming Santana’s back with increasing intent and decreasing innocence, and they don’t bother with the outside world for a long time.

///

They eventually crawl out of bed and into some shirts Brittany finds, hers an old button up she’s repurposed as a sleep shirt for years and Santana in festively red plaid. They find clean underwear, Brittany from her dresser and Santana from her overnight bag, and when Santana sees that Brittany’s panties are bright red with little nutcrackers all over them she has no option but to push her up against the dresser and kiss her hard.

Eventually they make it to the bathroom to brush their teeth side by side, both of them smiling so wide at each other in the mirror that foam drips to their chin, and then they’re giggling too hard to do anything more than clumsily wipe toothpaste from the other’s chin.

They wander into the kitchen and Santana rifles through cupboards until she finds mugs for coffee while Brittany fiddles around with the bluetooth on her phone and the speaker on the kitchen island until whatever Spotify Christmas playlist that’s first in the results is crooning through the apartment.

Santana yawns as she waits for the coffee to finish, smiling and sinking back into Brittany’s embrace as two arms wrap around her waist and a pair of soft lips find the apple of her cheek, lingering there for a long moment while Santana quickly switches the mugs and starts the next coffee.

“So,” Brittany drawls once the next coffee is brewing, and Santana can tell she has a question on the tip of her tongue, so she just waits patiently and brings her hands to tangle with Brittany’s against her stomach. “I was wondering something.”

Santana just hums in acknowledgement, and in the silence she can feel Brittany’s heart pound quick and heavy against her back.

“I love you,” Brittany starts, and Santana doesn’t even bother to try and hide the wide grin that curls her lips at the words, and she earns a kiss directly on her right dimple for her trouble, “And you love me, so— Are we— You know?”

Santana thinks she might know what Brittany’s asking but she can’t help to smile and tease her a little bit. “In love with each other? Yep, that just about sums it up.”

“No,” Brittany whines, knowing she’s being teased but not really upset about it, which Santana knows because she giggles and feels a smile against her jaw. Brittany’s lips purse to kiss the skin before she drops her chin to Santana’s shoulder.

Santana gasps. “No?” she asks with mock incredulity.

“No,” Brittany pouts, and Santana finally grins and lets up on her teasing, turning to press a kiss to Brittany’s cheek until she feels it bunch with a smile under her lips. “I meant, are you my girlfriend now?”

Despite expecting the question, nothing prepares Santana for the wave of pure happiness and love that floods her at that question, that idea, that concept, the idea of being Brittany’s girlfriend is more than she could ever hope for. “I would be disappointed if I wasn’t,” she says, and the smile in her voice is obvious even to her.

“So we’re girlfriends then?” Brittany clarifies, unable to stop herself from bouncing in place a little, jolting their bodies.

Santana’s heart melts right out of her chest and she can do nothing more than sigh her “Yes.”

“Score!” Brittany cheers right before she spins Santana around and pins her against the counter to seal their lips together, Brittany’s tongue immediately slipping into Santana’s mouth.

Their coffee is cold by the time they break apart, but they just giggle and kiss again and again and—

///

Brittany microwaves both of their coffees while Santana hunts for the creamer in the fridge, passing it to Brittany before she starts pulling out all kinds of ingredients for breakfast—or more like brunch, she realizes after a quick glance at the clock on the stove—and setting them on the kitchen island while Brittany finishes off making their coffees.

They had decided to make cinnamon buns last night at the grocery store; the last time Santana made them was with her mom, but she remembers the recipe like the back of her hand. Baking had always been something just for her and her mom, something they could do together that no one could take away, and every Christmas morning Santana remembers her mom waking her up—carrying her down to the kitchen when she was really young and poking and prodding her out of bed when she was a teenager—so they could bake cinnamon buns together.

Brittany takes her usual position as an assistant chief and hands Santana bowls and ingredients, and if Santana closes her eyes it almost feels like her mom is standing on her other side and guiding her movements like she used. It aches sharply and deeply in her chest but Brittany’s warmth against her side replaces it with a soft nostalgia as she thinks of all the Christmas mornings she had with her mom instead of the ones she lost.

Brittany’s patient and tender and attentive while Santana narrates the recipe as they make the cinnamon buns, equally curious about what the yeast does as she is about the year Santana put a tablespoon of salt in to the bowl instead of a teaspoon. She treats each story about Santana’s mom like a gift, tucking every single one carefully away and kissing Santana’s cheek whenever Santana’s chest starts to ache with pain, somehow just knowing when Santana needs to feel Brittany’s comforting warmth against her.

Santana’s sadness starts to fade as they clean up, the dough rising on the counter and the filling already mixed together. They stand side by side at the sink, Santana washing and Brittany drying, and before long Santana has bubbles in her hair and Brittany has them trailing down her arm and into the sleeve of her shirt and they’re wrapped up in each other again, ignoring the bubbles and water on the floor from their impromptu bubble fight.

Santana knows that while she has so many Christmases ahead of her without her mom and that it will probably always ache a little, she also has so many Christmases ahead of her with the goofy, sweet, brilliant, snarky, loving blonde in her arms, and that makes her heart bloom with so much love and hope that she kisses Brittany just to release it before she combusts; instead it just makes the feeling bloom even more.

///

While the cinnamon buns rise, they cuddle on the couch with their coffees and watch awful and cheesy Hallmark movies with essentially all the same plot, giggling as they’re able to predict every single plot point before it happens. Brittany answers some texts from her mom—telling them to call her in a couple hours after they’ve managed to get her sister out of bed and opened their presents—and sending a couple Merry Christmases to Mercedes and Sam while Santana does the same to Tina and Mike.

It’s the Facebook messenger notification that catches Santana’s attention, and she frowns at her phone for a second before opening the app and gasping at the message there. Brittany startles a little and turns to look at Santana, her eyes dropping to Santana’s phone and her arm tightening around Santana’s shoulders, tugging her into her body.

Santana stares at the message preview before finally clicking on the message. There's more than one message, all sent within a couple minutes of each other and she smiles tearily at the thought of her abuela's slow, halting typing; her arthritic fingers never could work a keyboard too well.

She knows Brittany's reading over her shoulder but trying to be subtle about it, so Santana just adjusts herself a little and holds up her phone so they can both read, turning her head to press a soothing kiss to Brittany's bicep as she feels her hesitate again, waiting until Brittany finally tucks her head in against Santana's as they read her abuela's words.

Santana rereads the messages about four times before they finally start to sink in, before she realizes that this is why her abuela sent that friend request after all these years of silence. The first message reads Merry Christmas, followed a couple minutes later by I know I hurt you so long ago but by the time I realized my mistake it was far too late and your mother’s number no longer worked. Gabriel helped me find you on Facebook a couple months ago but I only worked up the nerve to send this today.

“Gabriel?” Brittany asks softly.

“My cousin— The one that was cool with me being gay,” Santana explains.

Brittany makes a small sound of acknowledgement and kisses Santana on the forehead before turning back to the phone. Family is the most important thing in the world, the next message reads, and I have not acted like one to you. I was wrong but I was scared and narrow-minded and I am sorry for how I treated you. Brittany nuzzles her nose against Santana’s temple as Santana takes a shaky breath. She smiles up at Brittany and kisses the underside of Brittany’s jaw; she’s okay, she thinks, because this is more than she could ever ask for, it’s just a lot to take in after so many years of bitterness and sadness and she’s a little overwhelmed, only calming as Brittany’s fingers trail over her arm. If you do not respond I understand but I love you Santana and I know I do not deserve it but I do not want to miss out on anything else in your life. I have missed you so much.

Santana sighs and sinks back into Brittany’s arms, reading the messages one last time before exiting out of the app. Brittany nuzzles against Santana’s ear and kisses her cheek. “So,” she says quietly, “What do you want to do?”

Santana smiles a little and opens her Facebook app, clicking on the friend request tab and only hesitating a moment before accepting her abuela’s request.

Brittany smiles and kisses Santana's cheek again and something in Santana's chest starts to heal, the double ache of her abuela's estrangement and her mom's death starting to ease. She smiles and turns in Brittany's arms so their stomachs are pressed together, propping her hands on Brittany's chest and resting her chin on top of them. "Hey," she says.

Brittany's smile widens and she reaches up to tuck dark hair behind Santana's ear. "Hi," she giggles.

“I love you,” Santana says, simple and honest. Apparently having said it once opened a floodgate and she finds that she’s addicted to the way the words feel in her mouth, to the way Brittany’s eyes soften and light up all at the same time whenever she says them, to the way she can’t stop smiling when Brittany says them in return.

“I love you too,” Brittany whispers, and Santana leans up to kiss her until they’re both breathless and warm and the timer on Santana’s phone is going off. They reluctantly untangle themselves and head back to the kitchen to shape cinnamon buns on baking sheets and shove them in the oven to bake, crouching down to watch them for a moment.

“I haven’t made these in a really long time,” Santana warns as they peer into the oven.

Brittany leans over, just a little wobbly from where she’s crouched, and kisses Santana on the cheek. “I’ll still eat them even if they’re burnt to a crisp,” she says earnestly.

Santana giggles and reaches up to tug on the collar of Brittany’s shirt until she falls forwards onto her knees and her lips end up on Santana’s mouth. She gasps at the move and Santana takes the opportunity to slip her tongue into Brittany’s mouth, humming as Brittany presses even closer. She ends up flat on her ass, Brittany hovering over her and smothering her giggles against Santana’s lips. Santana nips at Brittany’s bottom lip and slips her fingers under the collar of Brittany’s shirt and Brittany’s laughter turns into a muffled moan.

Santana smirks against Brittany’s lips and kisses her harder.

///

They’re just finishing off eating their cinnamon buns, Brittany leaning against the arm of the couch and Santana leaning against her, sharing one plate balanced on Santana’s knees, when Brittany’s phone rings. She quickly shoves the last bite in her mouth and snags her phone off the coffee table, hitting the speakerphone button as she answers and mumbling her “Hello?” around the mouthful of food she’s still chewing on.

“Sweetie! Merry Christmas!” Whitney Pierce cheers loudly, sounding a little bit like she’s actually in the living room with them, her husband and other daughter’s voices faintly chiming in too. One thing Santana learned about Brittany’s mom over the last week is that Whitney really does not understand the meaning of an inside voice.

Brittany mumbles her greeting back, but her incoherence due to her still chewing on her mouthful of cinnamon bun is lost to Whitney’s rambling. Brittany mumbles something in answer to one of her mom’s questions and Whitney finally clues in and asks Brittany what she’s eating.

Brittany responds with something that Santana only knows means cinnamon buns because she watched her shove it in her mouth.

“Sorry, we don’t speak mumbling dork,” Brittany’s sister teases. Santana smirks and quickly sits up to place the empty plate on the coffee table before she drops her head back to Brittany’s shoulder, shifting around until she can actually watch Brittany as she talks.

“Sorry,” Brittany says once she’s finally swallowed her food, “Cinnamon buns.”

“Ooh,” Whitney coos, “Treating yourself today?”

“Something like that,” Brittany agrees before winking at Santana, who rolls her eyes and acts like she’s not completely charmed by Brittany at any and all times. Brittany laughs quietly, absently agreeing to whatever her mom is saying and instead tucking her phone against her other shoulder so she can wrap both arms tightly around Santana.

They talk about the presents Brittany’s parents and sister got, exchanging thank yous and you’re welcomes. Brittany’s family had brought their presents for her to New York with them for her to open, but Brittany’s presents for them had been completely forgotten at the top of Whitney and Pierce’s closet, which they only realized after they boarded the plane. They’re just about to go help Brittany’s grandma with supper now that gifts are all opened, Brittany’s huge collection of aunts and uncles and cousins and whatever other strays they find means that cooking Christmas Supper is an endeavour that starts before seven in the morning and continues throughout the day as family members wander in and out of the kitchen, sources of assistance and hinderance in equal measure.

“I wish you were here, sweetheart,” Whitney says and Santana can hear the pout in her voice, “instead of all the way across the country all alone.”

“I wish I was there too,” Brittany says, and then takes a deep breath and tightens her arms around Santana, who is still reclining back against her chest, her hips tucked securely between Brittany’s thighs, “But I’m not actually alone.” Santana smiles softly and Brittany quickly presses a kiss to her nose, grinning and pressing another one there when it scrunches up at the feeling.

“Oh?” Whitney says, “Did Mercedes not go up to see her parents last night then?”

“Nope,” Brittany singsongs, smiling softly at Santana and Santana feels her heart swell at the open look of love and adoration on her face, “My girlfriend’s with me.”

There’s a long beat of silence, and then all Santana can hear over the phone is shrieking and laughing and I knew its! as the Pierces all talk at once and Brittany’s phone speaker briefly screeches at all the loud input.

Brittany and Santana just smile at each other and start answering questions.

///

They spend the rest of the day lounging around the house and cuddling, kissing to a backdrop of cheesy Christmas movies and Christmas tree lights, hands wandering and learning each other’s bodies—both innocently and not so innocently—on the couch and in Brittany’s bed and in the shower as the sun starts to sink back behind the tall buildings around the apartment and then, eventually, behind the horizon. They find a place still open for delivery and order supper, reluctantly getting dressed in more than sleep shirts and underwear just long enough to answer the door. They eat sitting on the floor of the living room, their backs against the couch, and watch another cheesy Hallmark movie and bet on who can best guess the next plot point, using kisses as bargaining chips, so they actually both end up winning anyways.

They cuddle on the couch until they fall asleep and wake up in the middle of a different movie with no idea how many hours have passed. Santana turns off the television while Brittany checks that the door is locked and turns lights off as they stumble back down the hallway to Brittany’s bedroom, only stopping on the way to brush their teeth.

Santana crawls into bed and Brittany closes her blinds and shuts off the lamp on her bedside table before crawling under the covers too. Santana immediately cuddles close, their arms draping over each other and their legs tangling together.

“Merry Christmas,” Brittany says and presses her lips softly to Santana’s, smiling into the kiss until she draws back a little, “I love you.”

Santana sighs and chases after Brittany’s lips, mumbling her “I love you too” and “Merry Christmas” into Brittany’s mouth.

They keep kissing until they’re relaxed and sleepy, and finally Brittany pulls back a little to yawn. “Do you have anywhere to be tomorrow?” she asks quietly.

“Nope,” Santana smiles and shakes her head, nuzzling herself further into Brittany’s embrace until there’s no space between them, their foreheads pressed against each other and their noses squashed together, Santana’s lips brushing against Brittany’s and their arms tightening around each other, “Just right here, with you.”

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) #we did it fam #we made it All the Way to the 25th of december and all the way to the 25th chapter #I'm so exhausted lmao

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 20/25

* * *

[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Brittany knows that something’s going on but no one will tell her anything; Santana’s really good at unpinning hair.

Notes: Tomorrow’s chapter might be a little late again too, but by Saturday I should be back to fairly consistent morning updates until the end of this fic!

Chapter 20: laughter with loved ones we hadn’t seen in a while

///

Santana leads their rehearsals this afternoon, her reflection stretching back infinitely as Brittany admires her from where she’s sprawled on the floor. Santana’s herding party girls around, trying to hold their attention despite the fact that there’s only five days until Christmas at boring rehearsal in street clothes is the last thing on their minds. Freddie sticks close to Santana, never farther than an arm length away, and Santana is mindful of her, smiling down and answering her questions with patience between ushering the other girls around.

It’s adorable, and even though Santana said that Freddie had a crush on the Sugar Plum Fairy, Brittany’s pretty sure she has one on the production stage manager as well.

They’re running the party scene, all of the party boys already herded into the other corner, to improvise some choreography and fill in a couple of kids who came down with the flu overnight, and while Brittany doesn’t technically need to be here yet because her rehearsal with Jake, Her Cavalier, isn’t for another half hour, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch Santana in her element.

She’s patient but firm, ordering children around with no hint of irritation or exasperation despite how much of a nightmare it must be to try and organize just under sixty children; but what Brittany’s really here to see is Santana’s mind in action. While she denies having any sense of artistry, and insists on stage production is more mechanical and repetitive than anything, it’s hard to hide that Santana has a rare sense of foresight and vision about how everything’s going to come together. It’s like she can sense the flow of the music in her bones, position each dancer in her mind before they even step on stage, spot all the problem areas and streamline the choreography, all within a split second.

Brittany loves watching Santana do what she loves, because it’s its own dance in of itself. Santana stands at the front of the room and counts out beats for the rehearsal pianist, Brad, and they’re completely in tune with each other as he takes over beat counting while Santana weaves gracefully among the dancers and quickly repositions them. She rearranges the blocking for dance with all of the party girls and boys to fill the empty spaces from the kids out sick, telling them to try and remember their new positions but promising that they won’t get in trouble if they forget.

It’s nice to watch Santana relaxed and not get caught up inside her head. She had been acting weird at breakfast, now that Brittany thinks about it. Not bad weird, like she was before she told Brittany about her mom’s death, just jittery weird, like someone had filled her shoes with ants. The really telling thing was how often she fidgeted with her fingers, so often that Brittany had reached across the table and teased Santana’s right hand away to hold it herself, causing that adorable breathless look Brittany so adores to flash across her face.

Santana’s jittery like she was on Tuesday as they were walking to her Christmas tree surprise. Brittany can’t imagine how she could have a better surprise than that hidden up her sleeve, but she definitely plans on plying her with pouts later today. She loves surprises, but she also loves knowing what the surprise is basically as soon as possible.

Santana continues to lead the rehearsal, and the only hint that she realizes Brittany is watching her is the soft smile she occasionally gives the mirror in front of her, a hundred versions of Santana reflecting back at Brittany behind her and making it pretty hard for Brittany to stop smiling at all while she watches the rehearsal.

Jake arrives shortly thereafter, and he plops down beside her to start stretching out, chatting comfortably as they wait for Santana to finish ushering the children out before she turns her attention to them. Her eyes are sparkling and she gives Brittany a quick smile before she crosses the room to reach the piano. She quickly gulps down some water from the bottle Brittany brought her, leaning down to talk to Brad and pointing out something on his sheet music. Her ponytail is a little bushy today, evidence that she let her hair air dry instead of blow drying it like usual, and it falls over her shoulder and obstructs Brittany’s view of her face, so she trails her gaze over the clever strength in her arms, the flex of her shoulders, the curve of her back—

“Brittany?”

Brittany jumps and gasps as she glances back at Jake, who’s studying her curiously. “Sorry, what?”

Jake smirks a little, his eyes drifting to Santana before settling back on hers with a look a little too knowing for Brittany’s taste. “I was just asking if you knew what part we were rehearsing.”

“Oh,” Brittany says easily, “Santana wants us to work on the Coda. We’ve been a little out of sync from our first grand-battement to our grand jeté on the last couple shows.”

Jake hums and bends to stretch out his back, crawling his fingers along the floor between his legs. “When’d she tell you?”

“At breakfast this morning,” Brittany answers automatically, only realizing what she’s admitted when Jake’s smirk deepens and burning heat prickles her cheeks. “Not like— Not like that,” she quickly corrects, but Jake just hums smugly, “We just went to a café and— Not because we—”

She groans and drops her head into her hands. She’s never been this inarticulate about this particular subject before. She’s never been shy about sex, not that she’d tell anyone or anything that would listen about her sex life, she’s just always been quietly open but still private about it, and especially with people she’s known for years, like Jake, who’s her dance bro. But even just the slightest teasing from him that just implies her and Santana slept together makes her blush like she’s a teenager listening to her friends gossip about sex at a sleepover for the first time.

A warm hand lands on her shoulder and she peaks out from behind her fingers to find Jake grinning at her. “I was just teasing you,” he says in amusement, “But I knew something was going on with you and Lopez.”

“Well—” Brittany hesitates because yes, but also not fully, “Kinda?”

Jake’s grin widens. “Kinda?” he asks incredulously, “I think you mean definitely, I’ve seen the way you two melt around each other like a bunch of lovestruck fools.”

“I mean,” Brittany says and then trails off because he’s not really wrong. And Santana just proves his point when she chooses that moment to stand up from where she’s been leaning beside Brad and turn to her next two dancers for rehearsal with that wide, uninhibited, dimpled smile directed straight at Brittany.

Brittany’s heart thuds heavily against her chest and she feels a little bit like a cartoon character with hearts in their eyes.

Judging by Jake’s smirk, she has a feeling she probably looks a little bit like one too.

///

At supper Brittany continues to try and force Santana to tell her what’s got her so antsy and jittery, but Santana is so smugly coy about the entire thing—even if Brittany can see the hint of nerves in her eyes—and it’s too adorable for Brittany try and get her to spill too much. If she’s this excited even before Brittany’s seen the surprise, she can’t imagine how adorable she will be once the time comes for her to reveal it.

She continues to teasingly pout and prod though because it’s the principle of the thing, but Santana just smiles and shoves fries in Brittany’s mouth to hush her, ducking her head down to smile shyly at her lap before smirking up at Brittany.

Santana has to run off before her supper break is done to deal with something that comes up and causes her to groan as she takes the phone call before apologizing and starting to stand up. Brittany pouts at her for abandoning her, but Santana leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Brittany’s cheek, jumpstarting Brittany’s heart before she flees out the door.

Brittany stares blankly at her doorway, her skin tingling where Santana’s lips had just been, aching for more even as Brittany giggles a little at Santana’s tactics of fleeing as soon as possible so she doesn’t break and admit to the surprise; she could see it in Santana’s eyes, the way she was almost bursting to tell her whatever it is that she’s hiding, and Brittany grins all through getting ready for thee show

She may be impatient to know, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to ruin whatever the surprise is for Santana since she’s so excited about it.

It also doesn’t mean that she’s ever going to stop thinking that Santana is the most adorable person ever.

Mercedes comes to help her get dressed, and it only takes one look at her smirk for Brittany to realize that Mercedes knows what’s going on too. She stares blankly at Mercedes while she holds open her costume to step into, long enough that Mercedes gives her a weird look and a confused “What?”

“You know,” Brittany says in awe.

“Huh? Know what?”

“About Santana’s— About Santana’s whatever she’s planning.”

“No?” Mercedes tries, and even if Brittany hasn’t lived with her for years and been her best friend for even longer, there’s no way she would have ever believed Mercedes’ obvious lie.

“You’re lying,” Brittany accuses, her stomach fluttering and something giddy filling her up, “You know about Santana’s surprise.”

“Not at all,” Mercedes continues to lie through her teeth.

Brittany stares at Mercedes for a long moment when the five minute call for intermission sounds and urges her to finally step into her costume, steadying herself on Mercedes’ shoulder. “You totally do,” Brittany says.

“Um, nope. Not at all.”

Brittany shakes her head and turns to let Mercedes zip up the back of her costume, her hands ice cold as they brush her back, causing Brittany to squirm. “Am I going to like it?”

Mercedes is silent as she finishes up, smoothing out wrinkles and pinning a loose curl of blonde hair back to Brittany’s head. “Not that I know anything—”

“Course,” Brittany interrupts impatiently, “But if you did?”

Mercedes walks around to face Brittany and quickly touches up her makeup, inspecting their combined work for a long minute before deciding that she’s satisfied. “You’ll love it,” she finally says.

Brittany bounces in place a little, clasping her hands together and trying to beat back the burst of happiness that surges through her. “Score,” is all she manages to say without spontaneously combusting from loving Santana so much.

Mercedes just laughs and shakes her head before ushering Brittany out of the dressing room.

///

Mercedes isn’t in her dressing room when the show’s done, so she just shrugs and struggles to unzip the back of her costume herself. It’s not the first time she’s had to wiggle her way out of her costume without Mercedes, but she still hasn’t quite figured out the best way to find the hidden zipper and tug it down without almost dislocating her shoulder.

Someone knocks at her door just as she’s almost picked the zipper away from its little hidden pocket and it startles her out of her concentration. She sighs and calls for whoever it is to come in, hoping that they’ll be able to help her.

“Hey, Britt,” Santana greets, and somehow she’s even more antsy and jittery than she was earlier.

Brittany grins, because Santana is so, so, so adorable. “Okay seriously,” Brittany chides teasingly, “Did you walk through an anthill this morning?”

Brittany can see as Santana struggles to reign in her excitement, but it only reveals the hint of nerves underneath. “No I’m just— I have a surprise for you.”

Brittany bounces up on her toes with a grin. “I knew it,” she cheers, “I knew you had a surprise. What is it?”

“I can’t—” Santana bites away her smile, playing with her fingers as she steps further into the room, “I mean, I have to take you to it.”

Brittany grins wider as she crosses the room to Santana. “Okay,” she says, “let’s go.” Santana’s giggles stop her and she belatedly realizes she’s still in costume. “Oh yeah,” she grins.

“Come on,” Santana says with a wide smile, “We gotta get out of your costume quickly.”

Brittany couldn’t bite back the smile and suggestive quirk to her brows even if she wanted to, especially not with the way Santana instantly flushes and flusters so much that, as rare as it is, Brittany can actually see the blush pink her cheeks.

“Not like— Not like that— I mean— I just, you— And they’re—” Santana stutters, sounding about the same way Brittany did earlier under Jake’s teasing. “Oh shut up,” she finally finishes lamely.

Brittany holds up her hands innocently, her smirk anything but, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Santana mumbles. When Brittany makes no move to get changed she rolls her eyes and shoves at Brittany’s arm. “You’re the worst,” she whines.

Brittany lets herself sway dramatically from Santana’s gentle shove before they both burst into giggles. “Fine, fine, fine,” she teases, turning and nodding at Santana over her shoulder, “Can you unzip me though? I dunno where Mercedes ran off to.”

Santana doesn’t answer, but her breath hitches audibly, which is answer enough. The backs of Santana’s fingers graze her bare back and familiar warmth curls low in her stomach as she concentrates on remembering how to breath, the seconds stretching longer and longer as Santana fumbles to pick the zipper away from the fabric it’s hidden behind, her knuckles continuing to bump against Brittany’s back with every movement. She finally manages to get a grip on the zipper and carefully tugs it down to the base of Brittany’s spine, her warm touch dampened by Brittany’s low-cut bodysuit but no less electric. Santana’s hand splays against the small of her back for a moment, separated from her bare skin only by the almost nylon-thin bodysuit, and Brittany holds her breath in the charged air around them before Santana jerks back, blushing and stuttering fiercely.

Brittany takes long moments to collect her thoughts and steady her breathing before she glances at Santana over her shoulder, whatever excuses or apologies that were on Santana’s lips dying instantly. “Thanks,” she whispers. Santana’s jaw snaps closed and she nods dumbly. “I still gotta ice my feet no matter how urgent your surprise is,” Brittany manages, “Do you think you could unpin my hair while I do that? After I change? It’ll go faster if you do it ‘cause I can’t see all the bobby pins.” Santana nods wordlessly and stares after Brittany as she heads to the corner of her dressing room where her costume usually hangs, jolting and spinning on her heel as soon as Brittany starts to slide her arms out of the sleeves.

Brittany changes quicker than she ever has before; the tension in the air is something she is kind of already addicted to, but this isn’t the time or the place so she beats back her arousal and slips into a loose hoodie and sweats. “Okay,” she calls to Santana, a little surprised at how raspy her voice is when it comes out. She clears her throat and tries again. “Okay, I’m decent.”

Santana’s shoulders rise as she takes a deep breath before she turns back around, and Brittany tries to control the heat buzzing throughout her body at the look in Santana’s eyes. Mercedes was in her room at some point before the end of the show, because the bucket of ice is already there and waiting as Brittany sinks down on the couch and draws her feet up to peel the tape off her toes. The couch dips beside her as Santana kneels down on the cushions, her knees pressing to Brittany’s thigh and hip as she sits back on her heels. Brittany shoots her a quick grin as she tosses the tape onto the coffee table and sinks her feet into the bucket of ice.

Santana giggles at the hiss Brittany lets out, the cold still a complete shock to her system no matter how many time’s she’s done this. Brittany pouts in mock hurt and Santana just grins at her, urging Brittany to duck forward a bit so she can reach her head easier.

Despite the cold coursing through her body, her insides warm and buzz at how nice Santana’s fingers feel probing gently at her scalp, easing bobby pins out of her hair with all the care in the world. Brittany sighs and softens under Santana’s ministrations, humming and shaking her head when Santana whispers to ask if she’s hurting her. She’s pretty sure Santana’s fingers couldn’t ever feel better than they do right now, but then then soften even more as strands of Brittany’s hair start to fall around her shoulders, curly from being pinned up so long, and Santana gets distracted from tugging out bobby pins by running her fingers through the freed strands and gently untangling knots as she comes across them.

“That feels so nice,” Brittany hums.

Santana giggles and it bumps the inside of her bicep against Brittany’s nose. Brittany purses her lips into a soft kiss against Santana’s skin, causing her hands to still in blonde hair for a moment before she seemingly regains her ability to function. Brittany grins smugly as Santana shakes her head, and Brittany doesn’t need to see her face to know Santana’s rolling her eyes, that lopsided smile that tries to be annoyed but is really just fond playing on her lips.

Once Brittany’s teeth start chattering she finally pulls her feet out and dries them off with the towel on the coffee table, tugging thick socks on as Santana runs her fingers through Brittany’s hair a couple more times to ensure all the bobby pins are out; probably a couple more times than necessary, but Brittany’s definitely not complaining.

As soon as Brittany stands up Santana seems to snap back into the jittery-antsy-nervous place she’s been all day as she quickly ushers Brittany into her sneakers and out the door. Brittany chuckles and tucks her phone and wallet and keys into the front pocket of her hoodie as she’s pushed down the hallway, only just realizing that she’s kind of missing something important, especially for this time of year.

“Wait, my jacket.”

“Mercedes has it,” Santana answers automatically, and Brittany frowns a little because that seems weird, but Santana just tugs on her arm from where their fingers are tangled. It all seems part of some greater thing Santana has planned, so Brittany just shrugs and lets herself be pulled along for the ride.

They wind their way through the theatre, dodging company and crew members alike, until Santana pulls her back to where all the offices and conference rooms are located. Brittany scans the hallway looking for some indication of what’s about to happen, but finds none other than Santana getting even more fidgety as they pass closed doors and dark windows.

“Hey,” Brittany calls softly as they slow outside of one of the rooms, “Don’t worry so much. I’m going to love whatever it is because it’s from you, and you’ve obviously put so much thought into this.”

Santana relaxes but the jittery energy doesn’t leave her. “I’m not really nervous,” she explains with a small smile, “Just really excited.” She takes a deep breath and steps across the hallway to a door, the only room with its lights on, peaking out through the window where the blinds don’t quite reach, Brittany’s fingers falling away from hers. She rests her hand on the doorknob and gives Brittany one more smile before opening the door. “Go on,” she urges softly, stepping back to allow Brittany into the room.

The first thing Brittany sees is the bouquet of flowers, a dozen roses in a bright shade of yellow, filling the room with their sweet scent

The second thing Brittany sees is that it’s her dad is holding the bouquet of flowers.

Brittany blinks and just stares at him for a long moment, everything around her turning hazy and surreal at the edges, like the best dream in the world. But then her dad is setting the flowers on his chair as he stands up and before she realizes it she’s across the room and in her family’s arms, sobbing as she buries herself in an embrace she hasn’t felt in far more years than she ever wants to count. Her sister catches her, and then her dad and mom fold around them. She can’t believe that they’re actually here because it seems so impossible and miraculous, so she just clutches them tighter. Her mom’s face is wet against the side of her neck and her dad is reaching up to stroke her hair back from her face and her sister’s arms are wound tight around her waist and she still feels like she’s dreaming, like all this might go away if she opens her eyes so she just tightens her arms around her family in case she wakes up in her bed all alone.

Her mom’s murmuring something against her temple and her dad is mumbling something against her shoulder and her sister is teasing them all for being so sappy even while she cries too and it��s too much and not enough all at once.

“How did you get here?” Brittany finally manages to mumble into her mom’s shoulder, once her sobbing has subsided into tiny whimpers.

She can feel her mom smile against her temple, the familiar quirk of lips shifting against her hair as her mom looks over her shoulder. “Well, your friend Santana had an idea yesterday,” her mom says softly, “To give our family the greatest gift of all.”

Brittany’s tears start up again as she raises her head from her mom’s comforting warmth and glances behind her to find Santana hovering awkward in the doorway. When she meets Brittany’s gaze her fidgeting stills and she waves her hand in a dorky wave, and Brittany didn’t even know it was possible to love one person so much. She glances at her family, but they nod and urge her to go on before the question can even form in her mind. She slowly untangles herself from their embrace—a gloup hug, her sister used to say back when she was about three feet shorter and still had a bit of an adorable toddler lisp—and crosses the room to Santana, who stills her fidgeting with every step Brittany takes.

As soon as Brittany reaches her, she wraps her arms around Santana and tugs them so close together that there’s barely room to breath, no space separating them even a fraction, Santana’s arms around her neck and her own arms tugging Santana into her body by the small of her back; Santana nuzzles into her neck and Brittany takes a deep breathe and whatever words were on her tongue fade away as their ribs lock together like the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

Every thought fades except for the simplest words, and the most true, as she turns her head to find Santana’s ear, her nose bending it forwards for a moment before it flops back. “Thank you,” she breathes, her breath tickling Santana’s hair against their cheeks.

Santana turns her head a little until her chin tucks itself into the hinge between Brittany’s shoulder and neck, where it settles into the space as if Brittany’s body was sculpted for her to fit right there. “You’re welcome,” she whispers, her lips brushing Brittany’s neck.

Brittany sighs into her embrace and feels so wonderfully full of love and happiness that she can’t imagine ever feeling better than she does right now, with her family behind her and her future right in front of her.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) #five chapters left I'm screaming??? #it's so close to the end and so close to christmas how do I Still have school stuff to do lmao #also who knows how to get rid of a stuffy nose because nothing that usually works is doing it and I'm dying here

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 1/25

* * *

[Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Next Chapter]

Summary: When the production stage manager for George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker, starring one Brittany S. Pierce, is fired seven shows into its run, Santana is hired and thrown into the production with barely any preparation.

Notes: So remember that little something for Christmas I mentioned back in November? Yeah, this is that. And by “little” I actually mean a 25 chapter fic I’ve been working on since October. This is why I haven’t posted anything for so long, because I’ve been working on this since then. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure that I’d be able to finish it, but here it is! I’ll be posting one chapter a day until Christmas, hopefully around the same time everyday but I can’t guarantee that for sure lol.

If you have any questions about the technical terms in the theatre just ask and I’ll try my best to answer! Obviously not everything will be perfect since most of my theatre experience is from the pit band and what I’ve learned from Broadway videos, but artistic liberties and all that. I’ll also be adding links to each chapter for the ones before and after once I post them too! So hopefully it will be easy to navigate on tumblr, and if not just go to ao3 or fanfiction lmao.

All chapter titles are from “Smile at Snow” by dodie.

Chapter 1: how were we to know

///

“Simpatico, it’s Italian for ‘sympathetic.’ Hearts beating to the same pulse. That’s what music does for one, you know—I mean, for two. For more. It trains hearts to lean in the same direction. Sympathetically.” ― Gregory Maguire, Hiddensee: A Tale of the Once and Future Nutcracker

///

When Santana accepted the job offer as production stage manager for The Nutcracker, a prestigious and professional production, she didn’t really think that she was going to be thrown right in the deep end; she assumed that the old production stage manager was taking a leave of absence and she would be able to shadow him for a couple days, not that he had been unexpectedly fired on Friday morning and that she would be shadowing the assistant stage manager for two shows on Saturday and running her first one by the Sunday matinee.

And yet, here she is, dodging half dressed dancers and props bigger than she is, only two hours before the matinee, trailing after two blonde women who are frantically talking on their phones, occasionally exchanging them before resuming their frantic conversations. Usually Santana thrives on the organized chaos of a production, but she can do little more than duck under stretching limbs and just try to keep track of the flashes of blonde ahead of her.

It’s not that she’s overwhelmed, per se, she’s done other ballets and she’s done Broadway, she’s done community theatre and she’s done a short stint for an opera, she’s done touring companies and she’s done Off-Broadway, she’s even done a couple other productions of The Nutcracker itself; she’s been working as a stage manager for years, and she’s damn good at her job. It’s just, usually she has weeks or months of rehearsals before a show begins; at the very least, she usually gets to meet the rest of the stage management team before she’s thrown in the deep-end for the first show.

Holly and Quinn, the director and the assistant stage manager, eventually make it to the call desk, a tiny little alcove just off stage right, with monitors on the front of the stage and the pit. There’s a man in a wheelchair already squished in the tiny space, his glasses slipping down his nose, staring intently at the screen and muttering into his headset.

“Artie,” Quinn greets, and the man offers her a half-hearted salute. “Artie,” Quinn repeats, waiting until the man finally glances up before she gestures to Santana, “This is Santana Lopez, the new production stage manager.”

Artie blinks and offers her a grin, reaching over to shake Santana’s hand, almost running over Holly’s foot in the tiny space. “Nice to meet you,” he says, “Your resume is a mile long.”

Santana shrugs as she shakes his hand; it’s a little clammy and she wipes her hand on her black jeans as subtly as she can as leans back. “It kinda has to be to land this job.”

Artie laughs and nods as Holly finally hangs up the phone. “I forgot how frantic this place is outside of rehearsals,” she groans. She rummages around on the tiny desk, much to Artie’s poorly-concealed annoyance as she displaces knickknacks and rearranges papers, until she produces Santana’s new prompt book. She passes it to Santana, who’s fingers are already itching to crack the spine of the binder and start writing her own notes in; Artie hands her a spare pen with a knowing grin. “Today’s show is going to be a little insane,” Holly explains, “But you’ll do fine, sweet cheeks. You have a steep learning curve.” Santana’s not really sure how Holly could possibly know that, seeing as the last time they worked together Santana was still in college and barely an assistant to the assistant stage manager, but she nods anyways. “I’m going to get Quinn to give you the tour while I get ready for the matinee, and then we’ll hole up in the stage manager’s office and go through the show from the screens in there. For the evening show—” Holly’s phone phone rings and cuts her off, and she groans as she answers it, waving Quinn and Santana off towards the vague direction of the rest of the theatre, and they take their cue to leave just as Holly starts getting heated with whatever poor soul is on the other end of the line.

Santana flips through the book as she trails after Quinn, half-listening to her explanations and introductions; it’s second nature to dodge props and racks of costumes and stretching dancers by this point, even in the dimmed lights of backstage, so she keeps most of her attention focused on reading through the calls even though she’s never actually seen the blocking. She inwardly groans, the next couple shows really are going to be absolutely insane.

When Quinn takes a breath in her explanation of the Christmas tree prop and the mechanical issues they’ve been having lately, Santana finally glances up from the prompt book. “So why didn’t they just promote you?” she asks, “Seems like it would have been easier that way.”

Quinn’s head whips around to glare at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she snaps. Santana glances up at Quinn and frowns at the look on her face. “Wow, cool the fires there, Beelzebub. I meant why would they hire someone new when you obviously know the show already.”

“Oh,” Quinn says, and she has the grace to look a little sheepish, “This is only the second production I’ve worked on, and it’s my first big one too. They offered, since I’ve been working with the show since the very beginning, but I’m nowhere near ready to run a production myself, especially something as big as this.”

Santana nods and returns to flipping through the prompt book while Quinn returns to narrate what seems to be the entire history of the theatre. It’s not like Santana’s uninterested in learning about how old this production is, or how they use the original props, or what famous person happened to sneeze right where they’re standing, it’s just priorities; Santana’s supposed to be running this production by tomorrow and she hasn’t even skimmed through the second act in the prompt book. Holly warned her that it would be crazy during her interview, because Holly had to be across the country for a mandated meeting tomorrow morning and would be leaving Santana, who only knew the names of about five people in the entire building, to fend for herself.

It’s not that she doesn’t love a good challenge, it’s just frustrating when her pay-check and reputation hinges on said challenge.

She ducks under a large candy cane swinging towards her head and groans at the thought.

//

Quinn leads her to the principal hallway, squeezing between stray dancers wandering the tiny hallway. The walls are lined with racks of costumes and wigs, and Santana takes a moment to admire the care put into the costumes; Quinn said that this production has been reusing their costumes from the very first performance, all the way back in 1954, and despite the slightly musty smell clinging to the fabric, they’ve obviously been well cared for. Quinn knocks on a door halfway down the hallway, and Santana quickly snaps out of her admiration to catch up to her. The name on the door reads The Nutcracker/The Prince, and a man Santana already knows well opens the door.

“Santana!” he exclaims, “I didn’t realize you were actually starting already!” Quinn blinks and glances between them, her face a picture of confusion, as Mike pulls Santana into a tight hug.

“You two know each other?” she asks slowly.

Santana rolls her eyes and halfheartedly struggles to escape from Mike’s embrace. “Unfortunately he’s been dating my best friend since college,” she complains as Mike finally releases her, but not before giving her an obnoxious kiss on the crown of her head. Santana swats at him a little but he just continues to grin at her; dating my best friend is an understatement of their relationship, because Santana counts him as one of two people she truly trusts with everything and anything, but it’s not like she’s going to acknowledge that when he’s being irritatingly affectionate just to annoy her.

Quinn’s hazel eyes glow with amusement. “Oh, so you’re the infamous Santana that Tina’s always talking about.”

“All bad things, I promise,” Tina calls from the couch.

“Oh, shut up,” Santana snipes as she turns a withering glare on her. Tina just rolls her eyes, as unfazed by Santana’s snark as she was their first day of college, and continues reading her magazine, her feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Alright,” Quinn says slowly, “Uh, I guess we should go meet Brittany then.”

“She’s not in yet,” Mike says. “She had that appointment, remember?”

“She said she’d be here in time for half hour,” Tina adds.

“Right,” Quinn shrugs and glances at Santana, “I guess you’ll meet her between shows then.”

“I mean, I still don’t know half the stage management team,” Santana says dryly, “One more person won’t make a difference.”

Tina chuckles. “Brittany’s just lucky that she doesn’t have to see your annoying face for a couple hours yet.”

“Get me out of here before we have to send the understudy on,” Santana comments mildly, Quinn grins and leads them out the door.

“Love you, Santana,” Tina and Mike chorus.

“Yeah, whatever,” she grumbles as she pulls the door shut firmly so they don’t see her begrudgingly fond smile; of course, being her best friends, they don’t need to see it to know it’s there.

//

Quinn weaves through the theatre and points out people that Santana’s sure she’s going to forget about in roughly three seconds. Usually by this point Santana has all the company and crew members memorized, but she’s starting to realize that this entire experience is going to be one stumbling improvisation after another for the first little bit. She meets the conductor, Will Schuester, who Quinn introduces as Schue; Kurt Hummel is the head of costumes and he talks rapid fire as he explains some important quick changes while Santana scribbles down notes in her prompt book; Finn Hudson and Noah “Puck” Puckerman, who leers at her and Quinn while Santana resists the urge to make fun of his nickname, work in props and are running the department while the head, Emma Pillsbury, is out sick; Quinn rolls her eyes when she introduces her to the sound crew and its head, Blaine Anderson, and the sound his voice already sets Santana’s teeth on edge; Unique Adams explains some of the more complicated lighting calls from her booth and Santana adds some more notes into her prompt book; Quinn points out the head of the automaton department, Dave Karofsky, who is busy wrestling with some of the ropes on a fly; Lauren Zizes is the fourth and final member of the stage management team, and she gives Santana a wide smirk and a good luck before turning back to talking to Artie over her headset.

Quinn also introduces her to some of the corps dancers and kids, but she doesn’t pay much attention because she has more important people to memorize before the show starts, like the name of every department head that she’s pretty sure she’s already forgotten.

Quinn hands her a headset with an apologetic glance. “I know it’s pretty overwhelming—”

“I’m not overwhelmed,” Santana protests automatically. Quinn just keeps staring at her blankly. “I’m a little bit whelmed at the most,” Santana finally concedes, and Quinn snorts in amusement.

“This is going to be interesting,” she says as the announcement booms throughout the theatre for half hour.

Santana settles the headset over her ears, and it eases her instantly; there’s a crackle of static as Quinn stands too close, but she quickly takes a couple steps away and then she grins at Santana, her teeth flashing eerie blue in the dim backstage lights. “I usually run stage right while Zizes does stage left, and Artie runs the call desk,” she explains. “I’m not sure where Holly is but—”

“In the stage manager’s office, sweet cheeks,” drawls through their headsets.

Quinn glances at Santana to point her in the right direction, but Santana is already heading that way.

//

Holly barely pauses in her near constant stream of phone calls to talk to her. It’s been years since Santana last worked with Holly as a director, back when Santana was just an overtired and overworked college student, but if she knows one thing about the older woman it’s that Holly’s practically a professional at improvising on the fly.

Which means she’s barely surprised when Holly explains that her flight got moved up and that Santana will have to learn the entire show from backstage with Quinn instead of from the comfort of the office where Holly could teach her the blocking over the screen pointed at centre stage. Santana’s done The Nutcracker three different times in three different cities, so she knows the show, which only marginally helps her out because every single production has its quirks, and she has absolutely no clue what to expect with this one.

But she tries not to think of that, and instead nods at Holly and adjusts her headset, clutching her prompt book like it’s a life preserver that’s going to keep her from drowning, which, she realizes, is actually fairly apt. She heads out of the hallway of theatre offices to find Quinn backstage, absently listening to her have an argument with that Blaine guy from sound over the headsets until Zizes interrupts with a particularly harsh quip regarding Blaine’s mother and where, exactly, he can stick it, and the argument dies pretty quickly after that. Quinn is pinching her nose when Santana arrives, only a couple minutes before the five minute call. She seems grateful that Santana’s there and pushes her headset off her ear for a brief moment, tugging the mic away from her mouth and waiting until Santana does the same. “The dance captain for the flower corps just called and she’s stuck on the subway in Brooklyn.”

Santana glances around. “Okay?” she says slowly.

“What do we do?”

Santana blinks at Quinn. “I barely know who the fuck any of these people are, what exactly do you expect me to do?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “This is a you problem, you’re the production stage manager.”

“For like a three minutes,” Santana mutters but flips through the prompt book anyways. “The flower corps don’t come in until the end of the second act,” Santana says slowly, “If she’s not here by intermission we’ll deal with it then.”

Quinn nods and pushes her headset back into place so she can relay the order to Zizes and Artie. Dancers have already started to gather in the wings, doing last minute stretches, and the team of stagehands Santana still hasn’t met yet dart between them for last minute checks. She spots the two lumbering guys from props heading towards the Christmas tree before they’re hidden behind the fly being lowered to the floor, and then the lights are dimming and the announcement to put cellphones away is booming, and the curtain rises as the first strains of the orchestra fill the theatre.

Santana’s thankful that she already has some experience with the show, because otherwise she would be making even less sense of the chaos backstage than she currently is. Santana mostly ignores Quinn, instead focusing on the blocking and comparing it to her prompt book in the dim, but somehow still harsh blue light backstage. Santana finds herself slipping easily into her position, and soon enough she’s adding her own voice to Quinn’s on the headset. Santana’s always had an instinct for stage management from her very first experience in a theatre, for the mechanical, repetitive, and yet still unpredictable nature of the job, and the instinct has served her well over the years, and before she knows it, intermission is starting and Quinn is clapping her on the shoulder with a grin.

Despite the chaos around them and the too warm weight of Quinn’s hand, Santana has a feeling she’s going to really like the challenge of this production; it will keep her busy and distracted, at the very least, which is something she always needs during the month of December.

//

Santana’s always found the second act of The Nutcracker to be a little boring without the frantic energy of the party and then the battle in the first act, and she feels almost lazy as Quinn helps herd children into place in the wings; they may be tiny professionals, but it’s only the eighth show so far, and the chaos of backstage can be a little overwhelming, especially for the younger dancers. It’s not until Quinn nudges her and points out the Sugar Plum Fairy, giggling and whispering with some kids, that Santana finally notices the presence of third principal. The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy is always the most interesting to Santana in the second act because the energy of the audience always changes and perks up as soon as that first pluck of the string section drifts through the theatre. Santana creeps closer to the front of the stage as the Sugar Plum Fairy, Brittany, leaves the safe darkness of backstage and emerges into the harsh onstage lights.

The strings pluck the first chord as Brittany enters the stage en pointe, her limbs long and poised with an easy grace, her stiff classic tutu moving easily with her waist as she makes her way to centre stage. On the first note of the celesta, Santana can see the exhilarated smile on Brittany’s face for a split second before she blinks and falls into character even before the second note is ringing out. She moves with the music as if the conductor is pulling on her puppet strings and Santana forgets to concentrate on the blocking and the musical cues in favour of just watching Brittany.

She looks like something off of a ballerina music box, beautiful and delicate, but as she spins across the stage Santana can see the strength and power in her legs, the certain grace and ease in her movements, the concentration and glow in her eyes. Santana’s seen a lot of dancers through her years of stage managing, enough to recognize that spark that differentiates people who dance for a living and for those who live to dance, and Santana can’t help the wide smile spreading across her face as Brittany draws to a stop and the crowd bursts into applause; having that spark in one of the principals is rare, and more than Santana could ever hope for in any production.

//

She manages to survive both shows with only a little bit of nausea at the thought that she’s supposed to be in charge of the entire production tomorrow; Holly left during intermission of the first show, but Quinn, Zizes, and Artie already work well together, and Santana just needs to find a way to fit herself among them without causing too much friction.

She wanders down the principal hallway, on her way to meet up with Tina before leaving the theatre, when she hears a persistent, loud banging against the wall right beside her. Santana jumps but manages to bite down on her shriek and glances wildly at the wall. The banging pauses for a second before resuming and Santana makes her way to the closest door, poking her head in without knocking; it’s not like anyone would hear her knock over the banging anyways.

She finds the Sugar Plum Fairy, her blonde hair still pinned up but dressed in loose sweats and a baggy sweater, smacking her ballet shoes against the wall with a focus Santana’s rarely seen in anyone, least of all in someone banging their shoe against a wall. Santana clears her throat and Brittany starts a little and quickly glances up.

“Hi,” she grins, giving the shoe one more firm smack against the wall, “You must be Santana.”

Santana swallows the retort on the tip of her tongue when the bluest eyes she’s ever seen land on hers, somehow sparkling even in the poor lighting of the dressing room. She manages a nod as Brittany bends her shoe a little before tossing it onto the coffee table where another shoe, a tiny sewing kit, a hot glue gun, an x-acto knife, and a small pile of resin are scattered. Santana glances at the wall, littered with tiny smudges of pink from Brittany’s banging, and laughs a little, finally realizing why Brittany’s beating the wall with her shoes so violently. “Who knew the Sugar Plum Fairy bangs her own shoes,” she says.

Brittany’s face creases in a smile, thin lips curling up a little lopsided on one side, her cheeks scrunching her blue eyes until they’re catlike and sparkling, and Santana’s chest does this weird spasming, fluttering thing that she tries to ignore. “Well, the Land of Sweets is pretty low on funds,” she says easily.

Santana laughs a little before she steps forward, holding out her hand. “Santana Lopez,” she formally introduces, “Mostly confused, new production stage manager.”

Brittany takes her hand, her fingers sure and strong as they wrap around Santana’s. “Brittany S. Pierce,” she says, “Sugar Plum Fairy and professional shoe banger.” Brittany’s nose wrinkles adorably as she realizes what she just said. “Ew, not like that.”

Santana giggles and only briefly wonders at how easily Brittany coaxed that sound out of her; usually it’s only Tina and Mike that make her comfortable enough to giggle instead of smirk, and that’s mostly because she’s known them for far too long, but there’s something easy about Brittany’s smile that already makes her drop her guard a little bit. “That wouldn’t even be the weirdest thing I’ve seen someone in the company bang,” Santana whispers.

Brittany’s eyes widen comically and she leans forwards eagerly. “Seen?” she exclaims.

Santana shudders, suddenly regretting that she brought it up when the image burned into her memory starts replaying for her. “Unfortunately.”

Brittany giggles and clasps her hands together, rocking backwards on her heels. “Like a train wreck, right?” she asks knowingly.

Santana blinks out of the memory, focusing on the much more pleasing image of Brittany’s sparkling eyes. “Definitely.”

Brittany laughs a little, relaxing again, and there’s a small lull that would normally make Santana fidget with her hands, but Brittany just smiles softly at her and Santana finds herself smiling in return. “So, are you ready for the shows tomorrow?” Brittany finally asks, her voice quiet and warm.

Santana shrugs. “They’re going to be,” she pauses and glances up at the ceiling as she thinks of the right word, “interesting, to say the least.”

The fingers of Brittany’s right hand twitch towards her arm, but freeze a moment later and drop back to her side. Santana wonders what it would feel like to have those clever fingers grazing over her skin, but manages to snap out of her daydreaming with only a little bit of heat in her checks when Brittany speaks again. “I’m sure you’ll do great,” she says easily, “I was talking to Quinn after the show and she was saying that you were a quick study.”

Santana blinks. “Really?” she wonders. It’s not that she thought Quinn would hate her or anything, but, in Santana’s experience, shoving a new person into the production this late always ends up having issues; when sometimes she covers for other stage managers there’s almost always a little bit of tension as everyone tries to adjust to each other.

Brittany nods easily, a small smile curling her lips. “She said that you fit in really well.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I was so worried that everyone would hate me or something,” Santana says, before blinking in surprise. She hadn’t meant to admit that, she’s barely talked about her reservations regarding this job with Tina or Mike, yet somehow Brittany is on the receiving end of Santana’s sudden lack of a filter. “Um, you were amazing tonight, by the way,” she redirects quickly.

Pink blooms in splotches across the peak of Brittany’s cheeks despite the fact that Santana knows that this can’t be the first compliment that Brittany’s ever got. “Thanks,” she mumbles bashfully, and something in Santana’s chest twists when she realizes she really wants to see that blush again, and she’s about to go about doing just that when a voice interrupts them from the door.

“Santana?”

Brittany and Santana both turn to the door, finding Tina smirking from the doorway. Santana feels her face heat up for absolutely no reason as Tina’s eyes dart between her and Brittany. “I thought I heard you in here,” she explains, “I see you’ve finally met Brittany.”

Brittany brightens a little. “Your battle scene was great today,” she greets, “Sam said you actually nailed him in the eye.”

Tina laughs, her face opening and brightening at the compliment. “I threw it weird and didn’t even think I would hit him, but he slipped on his turn and instead of missing him I got him right in the face.”

Brittany grins. “Mike said it was glorious.”

Tina chuckles before glancing at Santana. “You coming? Mike’s already impatiently opened a bottle of wine at home to celebrate your first day.”

Santana hesitates. “There’s two shows tomorrow,” she protests weakly, “And I’ve gotta go through the prompt book a couple more times.”

“The matinee’s not until one,” Tina says easily, more than used to having to drag Santana away from her work.

Brittany glances back and forth between the two friends before settling her eyes on Santana, and the warmth in Brittany’s gaze makes that thing spasm in her chest again. “You only have one first day,” she says wisely.

Santana sighs and glances between the two. “Fine,” she mutters. Tina cheers from the doorway, but Brittany just gives her a quiet smile.

“Have fun,” Brittany says.

Santana sucks in a sharp breath through her nose before offering Brittany a small smile in return. “Thanks,” she murmurs, “See you tomorrow.”

Brittany waves her goodbyes to them as Tina drags her out of the dressing room, marching Santana to the stage manager’s office so they can collect Santana’s jacket and prompt book before she can change her mind and insist on going back to her apartment without celebratory drinks. Tina’s lucky enough to have a good parking space in the building’s parkade, being a principal and all, and they head to the elevators that will take them to the parking level in comfortable silence.

“So what do you think?” Tina says as she starts her car and backs out of her parking space. “How do you think it will go?”

“It’s going to be challenging,” Santana admits, “But, interesting, I think.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Santana bites her lip but once she realizes Tina is sufficiently distracted by watching traffic for her chance to pull out of the parkade her reluctance fades, “I have a good feeling about this show.”

Tina apparently wasn’t distracted as Santana thought she was and glances at Santana out of the corner of her eyes, her eyes curious and intrigued in the brightness of the streetlights and taillights around them. “Really? I haven’t heard you say that about a show in years,” she says carefully.

Blue eyes and a soft smile come unbidden to her mind, and Santana’s thankful for the darkness because it hides the blush she can feel creeping along her cheeks and the back of her neck. “Yeah,” she finally says, “I have a really good feeling about it.”

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) #trying to keep this under wraps has been Hard because Christmas is like my favourite time of year and I've been really excited to write this #also I don't actually know how big of a production this version of the nutcracker is #so I took some artistic liberties with the backstage crew #like some big productions on broadway will have a production stage manager #and then assistant stage managers who run the stage wings and the call desk #and then a team of stage hands #but that's for Big productions so we're going to pretend george balanchine's the nutcracker is that Big #because actually finding that info is Hard #also some shows have a cast a and cast b but george balanchine's doesn't Seem to from what I found online so that's what I went with

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 24/25

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[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter]

Chapter Summary: The Nutcracker has its last show; Santana and Brittany spend Christmas Eve together. 

Notes: We’re Almost there fam! Also the actual George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker doesn’t stop after Christmas and goes up to December 30th at least, but just for simplicity’s sake I’m taking artistic liberties and in this universe the ballet’s last show is today.

Chapter 24: watching old movies while the fireplace fades

///

The last show of the production’s run is at two, but Brittany still gets up early to help Mercedes finish up the last of her packing. She’s leaving with Sam as soon as the show is over tonight to head back home until New Year’s, her and Sam heading to her parents’ place first and then his; usually the company and crew will have a wrap-up party as soon as the last show is done, but with it being Christmas Eve and all, this production of The Nutcracker usually skips that tradition so everyone has more time with their families and has it sometime between Christmas and New Year’s.

Mercedes is just zipping up her suitcase when Brittany wanders into her room, yawning and absently pulling her messy hair up into an even messier bun. “Nee’ ‘elp?” she mumbles.

Mercedes giggles and rolls her eyes. “You’re only wearing one sock,” she comments mildly.

Brittany looks down, too tired to feel surprised, and shrugs. “Lefty was too hot,” she says nonchalantly, and Mercedes bursts into giggles. “I’ll help you take your stuff out to the living room.”

Mercedes hefts her suitcase off of the bed and motions to the pile of wrapped gifts in the corner of her room, all neatly packed into couple of reusable grocery bags. “You can grab those.”

“What time is Sam picking us up?” Brittany asks as she trails after Mercedes.

“Like, nine thirty-ish?”

“Cool,” Brittany says, “I’ll have time to tidy up then.”

“Why?”

Brittany feels a blush creep into her cheeks before she can even think to try and hide it, which probably would have proved useless anyways, since Mercedes has, like, hawk eyes when it comes to Brittany’s embarrassment.

Mercedes, sure enough, looks back and instantly spots Brittany’s blush, her grin taking on a wicked edge. “Oooh, is your girlfriend coming over?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Brittany mumbles automatically, but even as she says the words it kind of feels like she’s lying.

“In all but name maybe,” Mercedes says, and Brittany has to concede her point.

“The name part of that is kind of important,” Brittany argues as she drops the presents beside Mercedes’ suitcase.

“Maybe,” Mercedes concedes, “But the feelings part is pretty important too, and that’s definitely there.”

Brittany smiles a little, almost involuntarily, as the thought of being in love with Santana still fills her with bright warmth, and hums in acknowledgement. “I invited her to spend Christmas Eve here since neither of us had any plans.”

“I’m happy for you, Brittany,” Mercedes says softly, and Brittany grins bashfully down at her toes, too distracted by the warmth blooming in her chest realize that Mercedes has started smirking at her. “Just don’t christen any public places please.”

“Mercedes!” Brittany squeals, patting at her cheeks as the blush burning there flares up into an inferno.

“And make sure you kids stay hydrated and well-fed, you don’t want to run out of energy.”

“No no no!” Brittany shrieks, fleeing backwards towards the bathroom, her skin burning bright red from forehead to collarbone, “I take back anything I ever said when you and Sam got together!”

Mercedes smirks because, considering the teasing she got back then, there's no way she's going to give Brittany a break now that she's in love. "Make sure you're safe!" she calls.

“Oh shut up!” Brittany calls back before slamming the bathroom door shut.

///

Even though it’s Christmas Eve, the theatre is surprisingly—or not so surprisingly—packed, people already starting to filter into the lobby even as the company and crew take their last lunch break of the show’s run an hour before half hour. Brittany’s always antsy for last shows, both excited for it to be over so she can finally rest (and, this year, spend the evening with Santana) but dreading it because it means that there will never be another show like this, with this particular group of dancers and kids and crew, ever again.

Santana brings her lunch from that sandwich shop she loves, the same place she bought lunch for them that very first time, kickstarting their almost daily lunch and supper dates. Santana doesn’t bother with any pretences, just sinks down to the floor right beside Brittany, taking her left arm and draping it over her shoulder so they can cuddle and eat. Mercedes, Sam, Tina, and Mike all show up about halfway through their break with an assortment of food between all of them, sprawling on the floor to complete the circle in an impromptu picnic and fondly teasing Brittany and Santana as soon as they all realize their spending Christmas together.

Every single time Mercedes catches Brittany’s eye she feels heat crawl up into her cheeks at the knowing glint there. Santana seems to notice something tense—not bad tense, just the knowing and teasing tension when you know your friend is laughing at you across the room—and quickly takes Brittany’s free hand, as soon as they’re both done eating, and pulls it into her lap to play with her fingers, tracing the webbing between each finger and pressing down on her knuckles like piano keys. It eases the blush from Brittany’s cheeks and softens the teasing glint in Mercedes eyes, and Brittany soaks in the feeling of being surrounded by so much love, from her friends and from Santana, before the chaos of the last show overtakes them.

///

The audience is electric during Brittany’s last performance, knowing it’s their last chance to see this show until next year, and Brittany dances better than she ever has before, knowing that Santana is hidden in the curtains watching. She dances for the audience and she dances for herself but, mostly, she dances for Santana, for the woman who brought laughter and love into her life, who brought her family to her, who brought her love of Christmas back.

Her bow goes on longer than normal as the audience cheers for her, and she’s breathing quickly as pride fills her limbs in place of heavy exhaustion. She exits the stage to continuing applause, waiting in the wings for Jake to go on and do the opening of the Coda before she joins him. She feels someone watching her, and a smile tugs at her lips before she even turns to catch Santana’s eye, and the smile on Santana’s face makes her stomach flutter with about a bajillion butterflies, her chest blooming with warmth and love.

Santana shakes her head a little, still smiling softly, as if she can’t quite believe that Brittany’s real, and Brittany gives a small wave, feeling her heartbeat everywhere, before she turns back to the stage and prepares to join Jake for the Coda, Santana’s gaze heavy and warm on her back as she steps back into the lights.

///

Mercedes helps her out of her costume and unpins her hair quickly so she can rush off to meet Sam and they can try and beat the rush out of the city back to her parents’ house tonight; since it’s the twenty-fourth already, nobody has to pack the show back up into storage until after Christmas.

Mercedes gives Brittany a tight hug before she leaves, still continuing her teasing and making Brittany blush all the way to the tips of her ears as she chases her best friend out the door and runs straight into Santana, who quickly gives Mercedes a brief hug goodbye before turning to Brittany with a wide smile.

“Hi!” Brittany greets brightly, pretending her skin isn’t splotched with pink despite Santana’s adoring gaze on the blush in her cheeks.

“Hey,” Santana says softly. She’s already dressed in her jacket and has a small bag of overnight stuff in one hand, wearing the scarf and hat that Brittany had lent her last week and tying Brittany’s stomach into knots at seeing her own clothes on Santana. “You ready to go?” she asks.

Brittany nods and they just smile at each other for long moments—Brittany taking in this moment, this feeling, this girl—before Brittany turns to shrug on her jacket and collect her things. Santana stands patiently by the door, waiting until Brittany’s locked her dressing room before she reaches out to take her hand, their fingers tangling together easily as they head down the hallway, Brittany quickly easing Santana’s bag from her other hand so she can carry it for her, not missing the smile Santana gives her or the way her stomach ties itself into warm knots at how couple-y it feels.

They wave goodbye and wish Merry Christmases to their friends as the pass them on their way out of the theatre, deciding to walk back to Brittany’s apartment since it’s still pretty nice out despite the snow that falls in gentle swirls of white as they step out onto the street, dusting Santana’s borrowed hat in a thin layer of white and sparkling in her dark lashes. Santana glances up at Brittany and smiles, bright and unabashed and dimples-deep, before looking forward again with that breathless, flustered look she gets when she blushes. Her cheeks are a little pinked, from the cold or her blush Brittany’s not sure, but it makes liquid warmth pool in her stomach, so happy and so in love that she doesn’t know how anything in the world could ever feel better than this.

Her attention is drawn across the street where two men hold the hands of a little boy, helping him take a couple stumbling steps before swinging him into a high arc, his giggles bright with childlike innocence even across the lanes of slow moving traffic.

“He’s cute,” Santana says beside her, drawing Brittany’s eyes back to hers.

“You’re cute,” Brittany says automatically but sincerely. Santana rolls her eyes a little but doesn’t even bother to bite back her smile. “We should stop on the store on the way past. We can get something for supper and maybe, like, baking stuff or something?”

“Baking?” Santana teases, and Brittany shrugs a little.

“What? I may be a disaster in the kitchen when it comes to baking but I know you aren’t,” Brittany says with a smirk, “Tina told me.”

Santana gasps over-dramatically. “What a traitor!”

Brittany just giggles and tugs a little on Santana’s hand in hers, pulling them even closer together and soaking up this feeling of unbridled joy.

///

The grocery store is insane, but they’re in no rush so they just wander the aisles leisurely, dodging over-excited kids and frantic parents and slow old couples, giggling at everyone rushing around despite the fact that they both just feel comfortable and relaxed.

Santana carries their two bags of groceries and snacks since Brittany still has her bag, and they tangle their fingers together again as soon as they step back out into the weak winter sun. It’s already past five, but they’re still in no rush as they head back to Brittany’s apartment, discussing their plans on which Christmas movies they have to watch and which ones they’ll skip.

Brittany takes the groceries from Santana and drops them off in the kitchen, directing Santana to turn the tree on and set up the living room for their movie marathon, before heading down the hall to drop Santana’s bag off too. She stands in the hallway for a long moment, fighting an internal debate before she finally pushes her door open and drops Santana’s bag by the dresser; she’s honestly not being presumptuous, because Mercedes offered her room if needed, she’s just being hopeful.

By the time she gets the groceries put away and a couple hot chocolates made, Santana is already snugged up on the couch, one blanket over her lap and the other around her shoulders, the lights turned off except for the Christmas tree and the television screen; she’s already figured out the DVD player and the empty case to Home Alone sits on the shelf of her and Mercedes’ combined collection.

Santana brightens as soon as Brittany comes into her view, shifting around until she can lift both blankets up for Brittany. It takes a little bit of maneuvering, but eventually they get settled against each other, curled under the blankets, without spilling a drop of hot chocolate. Santana quickly hits play on the DVD remote before tossing it onto the coffee table and taking her mug from Brittany.

“I used to watch Home Alone every single year,” Santana says quietly, a nostalgic smile on her face, “And I kind of want to restart that tradition.”

“But you’re not home alone,” Brittany teases.

Santana tries to give her a smug smirk but her eyes are as soft as her voice, “Maybe I want to make some new traditions.”

And, really, what can she say to that without shouting her love from the rooftops? So instead she just cuddles further into Santana and sips her hot chocolate.

Even though they start out sitting under the blankets, as soon as they finish their hot chocolate they end up laying out on the couch, Brittany flat on her back with Santana sprawled on top of her, repurposing Brittany’s breasts into her own personal pillow, and the blankets wrapped around them. Brittany ends up spending more time watching Santana and playing with her hair than she does watching Santana’s favourite Christmas movie, but watching Santana is her favourite thing so it’s a pretty fair tradeoff.

Her mom calls about three-quarters of the way through Home Alone and Santana lifts herself off of Brittany just enough to reach the remote and pause the movie before cuddling back into her while Brittany talks to her mom and curls a strand of Santana’s hair around her finger, and it feels so domestic that she can’t imagine doing anything else for the rest of her life.

After Home Alone they take a break to make supper, giggling the entire time as they weave around each other in the kitchen and end up spending more time laughing than they do eating.

Brittany runs to the bathroom while Brittany sets up another movie, laying back on the couch and waiting for Santana to see her choice.

Santana’s gasp is as satisfying as Brittany thought it would be as she grins up at the ceiling, waiting until Santana rounds the couch to stand in front of her, blocking out the dim lights from the Christmas tree and the title screen for Gremlins on the television.

“Brittany!” Santana whines.

“Santana!” Brittany teases.

“I swear to god, Brittany, if I get nightmares from this,” Santana threatens toothlessly.

Brittany just giggles and tugs Santana down to the couch with ease. She falls onto Brittany and instantly softens and sighs in contentment as Brittany wraps both her arms tightly around Santana and draws her further into her embrace, nuzzling into Santana’s hair until she can kiss her forehead.  “I’ll chase the nightmares away,” she promises. Santana’s breath hitches and she presses a kiss to Brittany’s collarbone, making Brittany’s skin burst into burning goosebumps at the feel of Santana’s soft lips on her skin.

“You better,” Santana mumbles into Brittany’s neck, waiting until Brittany reaches for the remote to play the movie before she nuzzles herself as close to Brittany as she can and still see the television.

Brittany thinks her heart might just burst from loving Santana so much.

///

They fall asleep sometime in the middle of Gremlins, waking up hours later to the twinkling Christmas lights against the night sky Brittany can see through the window, the television having automatically turned itself off after so long.

Brittany trails her fingers along Santana’s back and sides, drawing swirling patterns into the warm body above her with just enough pressure to gently wake Santana, who just cuddles further into Brittany instead of waking fully.

“We’re real party animals,” Brittany teases.

Santana grunts and nuzzles her nose into Brittany’s neck. “Saving it for New Year’s,” she grumbles.

Brittany laughs and feels a smile curl against her neck in response. They lay there for a couple more minutes until Santana finally emerges from Brittany’s neck, propping herself up on one elbow, the blanket falling from her shoulders, and glancing across the living room before gazing down at Brittany with the softest look on her face.

“Hi,” Brittany murmurs.

Santana’s eyes are liquid and dark and basically hold the secrets to the entire universe. “Hi,” she whispers, nodding her jaw towards the television with a small smile but not dropping her gaze from Brittany’s, “It’s eleven-eleven. Make a wish.”

Brittany glances to the side and sees the bright red time glowing on the television box thing that she never remembers the name of. She smiles and closes her eyes, wishing for the one thing she wants more than anything, the only thing she’s wanted all month.

“Did you make your wish?” Brittany asks after long moments of silence, her eyes still closed and her body feeling Santana along it even better with her lack of sight. Santana hums in acknowledgement and Brittany smiles blindly. “Good,” she whispers, “I hope it comes true.”

“Oh, I have a feeling it definitely will,” Santana murmurs, and the feeling of her thumb brushing along her cheek finally draws Brittany’s eyes open, fluttering at the sensation.

“Mine too,” Brittany whispers.

“Oh yeah?”

Brittany nods slowly, one hand stilling against the small of Santana’s back and the other one sliding along her shoulders under waves of dark hair, her fingers almost brushing the nape of Santana’s neck as Santana sighs and tilts her head down a little.

Santana’s face hovers a scant few inches above her own, the lights from the Christmas tree painting her skin in splotches of faint blue and red and green. One of Santana’s hands curls against the fabric of Brittany’s t-shirt, plucking and worrying the fabric between her fingers, her eyes caught on the peak of Brittany’s cheek but not actually meeting blue eyes.

“You’re nervous to kiss me,” Brittany realizes.

“I mean— Kinda?” Santana says sheepishly, “Not like nervous nervous but like— I mean we’ve literally been trying for forever and every time we do we get interrupted and now I’m worried that we’ll keep getting interrupted or it won’t be—”

And then—

Then Brittany slides her hand a little further up and guides Santana’s lips to her own, her rambling cut off by the gentle pressure of Brittany’s mouth moving slowly against hers. Santana’s lips part under Brittany’s and she lets out this breathy sigh into Brittany’s mouth and Brittany’s soul trembles with the weight of Santana’s lips against hers. Santana tastes faintly of chocolate, but something sweeter and deeper, and she tastes of summer nights on the west coast, bright and warm.

She tastes like home.

Santana’s fingers trail across her face as she presses closer, and Brittany feels both steady and like she’s about to float away, like everything over the past week, over the past mouth—probably over her entire life—has built towards this moment, like this is exactly what she was made to do. Santana’s lips move against hers with all the time in the world, like they’re stuck in a traffic jam with nowhere else to go, her lips soft and pliant against Brittany’s, eyelashes fluttering against the peak of her cheek, noses nudging together, and Brittany smiles into the kiss because this—

This is everything that Brittany’s been looking for her entire life.

She pulls back just far enough to press their foreheads together so she can try and breathe properly, but with Santana’s nose still nuzzling against hers that proves impossible. “Are you still nervous?” she whispers.

Santana doesn’t answer, she just uses the hand on Brittany’s jaw to guide their lips back together, and then they’re both smiling into the kiss, too wide for it to be anything more than all teeth and no finesse. Brittany lets her hand drift from the small of Santana’s back and start to wander her body under the blanket, the other playing with the baby fine hairs at the back of Santana’s neck.

Santana lets out a fluttery little sigh into Brittany’s mouth and Brittany can’t help but press up to kiss her harder again, and again, and again, and again—

///

When Brittany wakes up hours later in her bed, it’s to Santana drawing hearts on her bare stomach. Her fingers are light and soft against her skin and Brittany’s breath hitches; there’s no intent behind Santana’s touch, she doesn’t skate her fingers suggestively lower or higher, she just trails her fingers across Brittany’s skin with quiet marvel, and it jolts something in Brittany. No one’s ever touched her just for the sake of touching her and mapping her body before, just to connect the freckles and moles sprinkled across her torso into constellations, just to map each scar and imperfection that puckers her skin.

No one’s ever touched her just to learn every inch of her skin against their fingertips.

Santana realizes that Brittany is awake when the hand Brittany has curled over her waist starts lazily scratching at the soft skin there. She turns her head up towards Brittany and, even in the dim of the middle of the night, she can see the softness to Santana’s smile, the shadow of a dimple in her cheek, the love shining in her eyes, and something buzzing and warm tugs low in Brittany’s stomach as she falls in love with Santana all over again.

“Hi,” she whispers.

Santana’s smile widens a little. “Hi.”

“Merry Christmas,” Brittany says, reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of dark hair back behind Santana’s ear. She’s not sure exactly what time it is, but by the time they managed to untangle and stop kissing long enough to pull themselves up off the couch and stumble down the hall, the bright red time glowing on the television box thing had read 12:34.

Santana smiles and nuzzles into the hand that cups her jaw. “Merry Christmas,” she returns quietly.

Brittany leans up to press a soft, probing kiss to Santana’s lips, chaste and intimate all at once. “So did your wish come true?” she asks as she falls back to the pillow.

Santana nods and her smile loses its softness and takes on that playfully teasing look Brittany so adores. “Well, I wished that we would finally actually get to kiss without being interrupted, and, well,” she drags her hand down the bare skin of Brittany’s ribs to make her point and they both burst into laughter, Santana’s head dropping down to Brittany’s shoulder as they giggle. She presses a lingering kiss to the soft skin there and Brittany’s breath hitches as Santana props herself back up on her elbow, her other hand trailing circles on Brittany’s hip, and smiles softly at her. “What about you?” Santana whispers, “Did your wish come true?”

Brittany softens until she feels like she might melt right through her bed at the sweetness to Santana’s expression. She takes a moment to trace a heart on Santana’s hip before she smiles up at Santana. “Yeah, it did.”

Santana trails her hand up Brittany’s torso, skating her fingers against her breastbone and dipping into the hollow of her collarbone before she reaches Brittany’s face and cups her jaw, leaving a trail of buzzing heat in her wake. She leans down to press the softest of kisses to the corner of Brittany’s mouth and Brittany’s pretty sure her soul trembles at the contact. Santana draws back just barely enough to speak, her half-lidded eyes softening and the very tips of her lips brushing against Brittany’s chin as she speaks. “What was it?” she whispers.

Brittany just tilts her head up to press their lips together, both of them sighing at the contact.

“You,” she breathes, “Just you.”

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) #it's christmas eve?????? #I'm literally in Shock that we're actually here???? #this is the chapter that everyone (mostly me lmao) has been Impatiently Waiting for #me @ me: you should try writing a sort of slow burn fic to challenge yourself #also me @ me: OR you could just have them KISS right NOW #in other words this is the closest to a slow burn I'll ever get lmao

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 23/25

* * *

[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Brittany has a very important question; Santana starts to find a little bit of resolution.

Notes: Thanks for the patience yesterday! I think my assignment and my exam finally sent cause they haven’t bounced back yet? So I think I’m officially DONE the semester thank god lmao

Chapter 23: old excitement makes people happy

///

Brittany is the very first person to show up to the rehearsal, an hour before they’re going to start, which is weird because Brittany’s not scheduled for any rehearsals today.

The surprising sight of Brittany this early in the morning is far from unwelcome though, and Santana’s entire body starts buzzing just from her mere presence, still on high alert from how close Brittany’s lips were to hers. It seems every time they try to kiss they inch a little closer before being interrupted; if Santana were a more superstitious person than she is, she would be a little worried that the universe was trying to sabotage them. As it is, that’s only a thought she entertains when she wakes up with a start at three in the morning, and she tries harder to be the optimist she never was and instead keep her mind on the fact that third time’s the charm.

“Hey,” Santana greets with a wide smile, shuffling her papers all together on the top of the baby grand piano, trying to gather her heart as it leaps towards Brittany, “What are you doing here so early?”

“Well,” Brittany drawls as she steps fully through the door and crosses the rehearsal room, singsong the word all the way until she reaches the opposite side of the piano too, “I have a question.”

Santana smiles and makes a soft acknowledging sound. Brittany’s cheeks are splotched in pink and she’s chewing on her lip, blue eyes looking everywhere but straight at Santana, and can’t imagine what would even make Brittany so nervous.

Brittany runs her hand along the shallow inner curve of the piano edge for a long moment, collecting her thoughts, and Santana just patiently lets her. “I was wondering,” she starts and then trails off. There’s a beat of silence but then Brittany takes a deep breath and Santana can actually see that thread of steel that fills Brittany’s body like liquid courage as she finally meets Santana’s eyes; the playful and adoring sparkle in them takes Santana’s breath away just like it always does. “I was wondering if you had any plans for Christmas Eve tomorrow or maybe even possibly Christmas Day?”

Santana bites down on her smile so she doesn’t overwhelm Brittany by fainting or something, but it does nothing to stop the surge of love and adoration that shoots through her body. “You know I don’t,” Santana teases, because she can’t help making Brittany fluster just a tiny bit more.

“Well in that case,” Brittany says, and then takes another deep breath, “I was thinking that since I don’t have plans and you don’t have plans then maybe we could, like, have no plans together. Possibly at my apartment?” she adds like a question, and Santana’s speechless for a couple moments while she’s trying to convince her heart not to run away to Brittany; at this point she’s pretty sure it’d be too late anyways because Brittany seems to be the keeper of that particular organ.

“I’d love to,” Santana says with a soft smile, feeling everything that’s bright and warm and happy well up inside her body.

“Yeah?” Brittany breathes, bouncing on her toes a little bit, waiting until Santana nods to let her smile grow until her eyes are scrunched up by her cheeks. Santana can see the exact moment that Brittany gives up on keeping her happiness contained and instead rounds the piano to reach Santana and pull her into her arms, tucking her head against Santana’s neck and nuzzling her nose there.

Santana thinks about everything she could say, love declarations or a cool façade, a million promises or the only one that matters, but instead she just settles on the simplest words she knows, mumbling her Yeah against Brittany’s shoulder and she supposes it’s enough because she can feel Brittany’s smile against her neck and it’s kind of the best feeling in the world.

They remain caught up in each other until a knock on the door smooths reluctantly draws them apart, Brittany’s hands trailing down Santana’s arms until they can tangle their fingers together, her smile still wide and uninhibited.

“It’s probably Brad,” Santana finally says, “I should go let him in.”

Neither of them make try to move though, until the third knock and finally prompts Santana to reluctantly release Brittany’s hands and go to the door.

///

Just like when Santana was getting ready to go have supper with the Pierces, she’s a little nervous about spending Christmas with Brittany; not because of Brittany or anything, and it’s not even a bad nervous, it’s just about what it all means. She’s in love with Brittany, and she’s like ninety-nine percent sure that Brittany returns her feelings, but still, Santana worries about everything just by nature, especially the big important things.

And just like before, Mike, Tina, Quinn, and Mike all refuse to stop teasing her as soon as they find out, Mike and Tina unable to hide the fact that they’re secretly over the moon for Santana. She really couldn’t care less about any of their knowing looks or suggestive comments because joke’s on them, she gets to spend Christmas with the most amazing girl in the world and none of them are invited.

Her and Brittany eat supper together and then get recruited into being Mercedes’ Christmas elves by helping her wrap all her presents for her nieces and nephews; Brittany doesn’t mind wrapping even if she’s not very good, but Santana is meticulous and stubborn and, though she takes forever, her folds are perfect. When they’re nearing the end of the presents, Mercedes’ phone ringing startles all of them and she quickly steps out into the hallway, and all it takes is Brittany smacking Santana on the ass with a wrapping paper roll before they’re in an all out war.

Brittany has the height advantage over her, but Santana is nothing if not stubborn, and she just keeps going at Brittany without minding how much she gets beat on with the wrapping paper roll, both of them giggling too hard to smack each other with any amount of finesse.

Mercedes comes back to Brittany trapped in a corner of the dressing room and trying to ward of Santana’s blows, Brittany’s wrapping paper roll uncoiling and bent in half and Santana’s looking more limp noodle than not. At Mercedes’ teasing chiding, it takes little more than a look before Brittany and Santana turn and gang up on her, beating her back to the couch until they all collapse there, laughing and relaxed and Santana doesn’t feel lonely at all, just incredibly loved. For a moment everything is quiet and comfortable before Brittany loudly announces that she’s going to the bathroom and disappears before Mercedes and Santana can even acknowledge it.

Mercedes instantly turns to Santana and gives her a tiny smile. “Listen, about the other day when I went all protective best friend, I just wanted to say sorry for expecting the worst.”

“It’s fine,” Santana smiles little and shrugs off Mercedes’ apology, “I totally get why you want to protect her but I— I don’t think I could ever hurt her without hurting myself more.”

Mercedes smiles and quickly pulls Santana into a tight hug. “You know,” she says into Santana’s ear, “You’re not at all who I pictured Brittany would fall in love with, but somehow you’re everything I pictured for her too.”

“Love?” Santana whispers, trying to keep her her hope under control, but it flutters around in her stomach in the form of hundreds of bright butterflies.

Mercedes pulls back and grins, her hands warm and comforting on Santana’s shoulders. “What are you blind? That girl is so in love with you,” Mercedes promises, “I’ve been teasing her about how dreamy and blushy she gets whenever I even just mention you for weeks. I’d know, I am the protective best friend after all.”

Santana laughs and relaxes a little bit; Mercedes has basically just confirmed everything she suspected and it’s comforting to hear it from Brittany’s best friend, but she doesn’t think she’ll be able to completely believe it until she hears it from the source herself. Santana grins and shrugs a little. “I have protective best friends too,” she teases, “Mike’s given the third degree to every single girl I went on more than one date with.”

Mercedes grins, delighted. “I never would have guessed, but I can also totally see that. He plays the brother role so well.” She nudges Santana with her elbow. “How many girls has he scared off on you?”

Santana smirks and shrugs. “Oh he does a lot of questioning but he’s not who Brittany has to worry about. Tina’s so much more intimidating than him.”

Their laughter draws Brittany’s attention as she steps out of the bathroom, and when she softens as she looks at Santana every single doubt she has drains out of her from the adoration brimming in those blue eyes.

“See?” Mercedes whispers softly beside her, “I told you so.”

“Oh shut up you,” Santana says but there’s no bite to her tone. She has all the fierceness of a kitten revealing their soft underbelly and begging for scratches, and Mercedes can’t help smiling a little as Brittany and Santana make eyes at each other.

She was right all those weeks ago, they’re absolutely smitten with each other.

///

Mercedes disappears after they’re done, Sam showing up to help her haul the presents back to her car, their arms equally overflowing with presents. They still have a bunch of time left of their supper break, so Brittany and Santana end up sitting on the floor in front of the couch like aways, cuddling close together in comfortable silence or quiet teasing each other with an ease born of absolute adoration and friendship.

“You know,” Brittany says casually, rolling her head to look the side to look at Santana fully, her fingers trailing over Santana’s bicep where her arm is wrapped around Santana’s shoulders. “We’re not really friends,” she drawls teasingly, “You haven’t accepted my friend request from ages ago.”

Santana shoves at Brittany’s shoulder and giggles. “You goof, you only sent it when your mom was teasing you about the fact that me and her were Facebook friends but the two of us weren’t. I watched you do it.”

“And yet you still haven’t accepted it,” Brittany pouts, “You big meanie.”

Santana giggles again and rolls her eyes as she digs her phone out of her pocket. “Fine,” she teases, “I’ll do it right now.” She opens her Facebook app to a horrendous amount of notifications that she quickly opens for like the first time in ever, getting rid of the red from everywhere before she opens the friend request tab. Brittany grabs her own phone off the coffee table while Santana’s app loads, waiting for to watch her friend request to be accepted.

Brittany’s request is the second request at the top of the screen, right under her sister’s, but its the name that’s below Brittany’s that freezes every cell in Santana’s body as she stares blankly at the name, reading and rereading it over and over in an attempt to understand what it means and why it was sent and whether it’s real or not.

Brittany shifts beside her and leans over to look at Santana’s phone, wondering what the hold up is. “Who’s Alma Lopez?” she asks quietly, obviously realizing what’s caught Santana’s attention.

Santana clears her throat and shakes her head wordlessly for a moment. “My abuela,” she finally manages to mumble, and there’s a split second of confusion before Brittany’s face floods in sympathetic understanding.

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, tightening the arm she has around Santana and tugging her as close as she can, dragging Santana onto her lap.

Santana just shakes her head wordlessly again, disbelief warring with bitterness warring with dangerous hope in her chest as every old ache she’s ever had flares up and overwhelms her. She lets herself be held and soothed by Brittany’s arms around hers, warm and strong and safe. “I don’t— I don’t understand,” she mutters, and anger starts to win out over all the other emotions, “Why’d she send this? Why now? It’s been a fucking decade! Why didn’t she just fucking pick up a phone and call me? A Facebook friend request is the best she could do?”

Brittany’s quiet for a long while, letting Santana rant and release her anger but not loosening her hold on her. When she speaks, it’s only after Santana’s tired herself out with her tirade and slumped back into Brittany’s arms. “Maybe,” she starts hesitantly, “Maybe she didn’t know how to reach out.”

“Well she has a brain, surely she could have figured out something,” Santana mutters, less angry and more bitter now. “She might be in her eighties but she’s not stupid.”

Brittany hums in acknowledgement and the sound buzzes through Santana’s chest and calms her a little. “Maybe she couldn’t—”

“How hard is it to pick up a fucking phone?” Santana interrupts.

“Sorry,” Brittany says after a moment, “I meant, like, maybe she couldn’t find you.” Santana considers that for a moment, turning the over in her head before she gives a tiny shrug, and Brittany takes that as her cue to continue. “She’s your dad’s mom right?” Santana nods against Brittany’s chest, the move nuzzling her closer. “And I’m sure your dad doesn’t have your number.” Santana considers this and nods again, curling her hand around Brittany’s hip and drawing comfort from her warmth. “So maybe once she was ready to reach out to you again she just had no way of finding you. I mean, you said you got rid of your mom’s landline when she died, and that was probably the only number she had.”

Santana wonders, for a moment, if any of her family back in Ohio even know that her mom died; they were all her dad’s family, and once Santana and her moved to New York they never once tried to reach out again. She wonders if abuela knows that her mom died, if that’s when abuela pulled her head out of her ass and tried to reach out, if abuela is hurting as much as Santana is from the estrangement.

“I hate when you’re being all logical and genius-like,” Santana finally mutters.

Brittany presses a long kiss to the top of Santana’s head and she can feel the smile against her hair. “I could be wrong, and if I am I’m so sorry to get your hopes up. But I don’t want you to be sad at Christmas, not when we both just got happy again.”

“I can’t be sad around you, Britt,” Santana mumbles, hiding her blush in Brittany’s neck, “You make me too happy for the sad thoughts to stay around too long.”

“You make me so happy too. But I’m the happiest when I’m making you happy,” Brittany admits, her voice tight and watery, “And I’d really like to continue making you happy.”

Santana smiles and purses her lips to kiss the skin against her mouth, soft and lingering. “Then just be here,” she says, “That makes me happy. When you’re here with me.”

Brittany sighs and they sink further into the couch, Santana drawing comfort from Brittany before she works up the courage to open her phone and look at her abuela’s Facebook page. She’s more than a little shocked to find that the first picture on the page is a picture of her, young and surrounded by Christmas wrapping paper, beaming up at the camera with an easy bake oven her abuela had gotten her so she could bake just like abuela. There’s no caption, but it abuela shared it just a couple days ago, and it makes Santana’s heart ache to know that her abuela might not hate her anymore. A little further down there’s a shared link about George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker and the new production stage manager they suddenly hired, and then there’s another picture of a young Santana posted on her birthday, and a couple more from random days; what really catches Santana’s attention is the fact that her abuela never captions any of them, but Santana can feel the regret radiating off of them anyways.

It’s enough to bring tears to her eyes and she quickly turns away and buries her face into Brittany’s chest, blinking back tears and willing herself to breathe deeply.

“What do you want to do?” Brittany asks softly.

Santana thinks for a long moment, weighing her options and letting Brittany’s fingers trailing over her arms comfort her. “I think,” she starts slowly, “That I’m going to wait until after Christmas to make a decision.”

“Yeah?” Brittany murmurs against her hair.

“Yeah,” Santana confirms, and then she cuddles back into Brittany’s arms, dropping her phone on the floor beside Brittany’s hip, “I just want to spend the next couple days with you.”

Brittany’s breath catches and jerks Santana against her chest a little, Santana nuzzling closer until she can find Brittany’s heartbeat, everything about Brittany softening and comforting her until all of her anxiety and anger regarding her abuela is a distant thought compared to how right it feels to be wrapped up in Brittany’s arms.

“I’d like that too,” Brittany whispers, and Santana just hums and snuggles closer.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #mercedes jones #brittancedes #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe)

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 14/25

* * *

[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Santana invites Brittany to go with her today; Brittany learns a little bit more about Santana, and finds herself hard pressed to hide that she’s definitely falling in love with her.

Notes: This is for the people that have a hard time around the holidays because they’re missing people, or something fell apart for them, or went through something life changing, because as much as I absolutely love Christmastime, I’m missing lots of people in my life and it always gets hard around this time. This is the second Christmas without my grandma, and it’s hard to remember that she’s never going to kick my ass in a game of crib; it’s been thirteen Christmases since my dad left and even if it doesn’t hurt anymore it’s so weird to me; and the my sister is facing the possibility of another tumour. So believe me when I say that I know that this time of year can be Hard when your missing people or going through something difficult, but it’s also the only time of year all fourteen members of my family—and whatever other stragglers and dogs we drag in from the cold—are all in the same town long enough to spend time together eating too much food and trash talking each other during games of cards, so I still love it more than any other time of year.

So to those who are missing loved ones at the table this year, to those whose lives changed drastically, to those who suffered failure after failure, and to those who’ve faced so much pain that they didn’t think that they’d ever get through, but still did; this is to say that I know the holidays can be hard this time of year, but that you’re loved and you deserve to let yourself be happy.

It’ll get easier as the years go by, I promise.

Chapter 14: but somewhere in winter misery

///

It’s Brittany’s phone ringing that wakes her up, and she rolls over with a grunt and blindly gropes her bedside table until she locates the annoying loud and annoyingly bright object and squints at it. The sun’s up, but only technically, and her phone casts her dim room in too much light, but the picture of Santana laughing that Brittany had snuck last week greets her and every ounce of annoyance in her body melts away.

She quickly swipes her thumb across the screen, fumbling a couple times to get it to respond, before raising it to her ear. “Hi,” she mumbles, sinking back into her pillow, the dark wrapping around her like another heavy blanket.

“Hey,” Santana greets quietly, “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Brittany debates lying, but she’s pretty sure Santana would somehow know. “Yeah, but it’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Santana mumbles.

There’s a long moment of silence as they just breathe together, long enough that Brittany pulls her phone from her ear to make sure it’s still connected; as soon as she processes the date at the top of her screen her heart clenches and she’s suddenly wide awake. “You okay?” Brittany whispers.

Santana hesitates a little before she answers. “I’ve been better, obviously. But, uh, honestly? I think I might be. Getting there, at least.” She’s quiet for a moment, and when she continues speaking Brittany can hear the small smile in her voice. “Talking to you about her yesterday helped. A lot, actually.”

“I’m glad,” Brittany says earnestly. “It was really cool to hear you talk about her. She sounds like she was amazing.”

“Yeah,” Santana says simply, “She really was.”

Brittany hums and waits for Santana to continue. She knows Santana called her for a reason, and Brittany’s content just to patiently wait.

“Listen,” Santana says, and there’s movement on the other end as fabric shifts and scratches together, “I was wondering if you wanted to maybe come with me today? To, um— To visit her grave.” Before Brittany can even blink, Santana’s already rambling on, breathlessly and nervously; it sounds like she might be pacing. “I mean— I just— You don’t have to, you know, if you don’t want to. You just— You make me feel calmer and like— I dunno I just feel more settled or whatever but you— I mean I— Just forget I—”

“Santana,” Brittany interrupts and Brittany can hear the click of teeth as Santana snaps her mouth closed, “I’d love to go.”

Santana sucks in a sharp breath. “Really?” she asks shyly.

“Of course,” Brittany says softly, “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me too.”

“Cool,” Santana whispers, but Brittany can hear the small smile in her voice.

“What time? And where do you wanna meet?”

There’s more shifting of fabric, and it sounds like Santana’s sat down. She wonders if she’s on the couch or in her bed, if she slept well last night, if Brittany should have done more than give her a hug when they left the theatre yesterday. “Um. The show’s at eight tonight,” she deliberates aloud, “and we’ve gotta be there around two. And it’s a bit of a trip to the cemetery, and I uh— I always stop to get lunch at this café in the neighbourhood, if— If you want to, I mean.”

“I’d love to,” Brittany says quietly.

“Okay,” Santana continues on a breathy sigh of relief, and Brittany smiles a little because Santana’s so soft and bashful and adorable when you really get to know her, “So meet me at my apartment at ten then? That’ll give us plenty of time.”

“I’ll see you then,” Brittany promises.

“Bye, Britt,” Santana murmurs, “And— Thanks. For coming with me.”

“Of course. Bye,” Brittany says softly, waiting until Santana’s hung up before she sighs, high and dreamy.

Brittany allows herself a little bit to lay there and stare up at the ceiling before forcing herself to sit up, stumbling through her room until she makes it to the door. She can hear Mercedes in the kitchen making coffee and singing along to the speakers. She’s been listening to some Spotify playlist of Christmas songs for the last couple weeks now, and today is starting out with some Coldplay as Brittany emerges into the kitchen.

“Morning,” she calls softly, not wanting to startle Mercedes.

It doesn’t work, because Mercedes jumps and almost throws the spoon she’s using to stir her coffee across the kitchen as she spins around. “Brittany,” she shrieks, “You just about gave me a damn heart attack.”

Brittany scrunches her face up in apology. “Sorry, I was trying to avoid that. But you know what they say about heart attacks.”

“Jeez,” Mercedes says breathlessly, clutching her chest. “At this point if I loved you anymore I’d need a casket.”

Brittany winces a little. It’s not like Mercedes would ever know why that hits a little close to home today, so she just heads further into the kitchen. She figures she can have a cup of coffee and maybe a bowl of cereal before she gets ready.

“What are you doing up so early?” Mercedes asks once she’s finally regained her composure and Brittany’s already shoved a coffee cup under the Keurig.

“I’m meeting up with Santana,” Brittany explains, sniffing the milk before she starts pouring it into her cereal. She sets it up on the kitchen island in front of her usual stool with a spoon before exchanging the milk for the coffee creamer.

Mercedes’ face splits into a wide smirk and she nudges Brittany with her elbow. “Really?” she says suggestively. “You’re meeting with Santana?”

“Yeah,” Brittany says simply. She turns to grab her coffee from underneath the Keurig when Mercedes’ gentle hand on her arm stops her.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Is everything okay? You’re really quiet this morning. And usually you’re a blushing mess when I mention Santana.”

Brittany hesitates because, while this is her very best friend and she trusts her with everything and she knows Mercedes would never say a word, she doesn’t want to betray Santana’s trust. “Everything’s fine,” she says slowly, trying to keep her explanation really vague, “But it’s just— Santana asked me to go with her to do something really personal and she’s really sad about it.”

Mercedes is quiet for a long moment, searching Brittany’s eyes before she finally smiles softly. “I get why you aren’t telling me everything,” she says, “But can I offer some advice?”

Brittany nods quickly.

“Take some flowers,” Mercedes suggests.

Brittany blinks, wondering how in the world Mercedes could even know that she had been quietly debating whether or not it was appropriate to bring flowers for Santana’s mom. Instead, she just wraps Mercedes in a hug and murmurs her thanks into her hair.

Mercedes holds her tightly for a moment before releasing her with a playful poke in Brittany’s stomach. “Now hurry up and eat before your cereal gets soggy.”

Brittany gasps and glances over at her bowl, only to find that it’s definitely too late. “Damnit,” she mutters, and Mercedes just giggles beside her.

///

The air is freezing when she steps out of her apartment, the cold instantly taking her breath away and burning the inside of her nose. A thin layer of white covers the city and her breath mists in front of her face in tiny clouds, dissipating even before she can walk through it. She shoves her hands deep into her pocket and heads in the direction of Santana’s apartment, looking for the small florist shop that Mercedes found for her while she showered.

When she finds it, tucked between a hair salon and a thrift store, the shop is empty, but the bell above the door prompts someone to call “I’ll be with you in a moment!” from the back.

Brittany wanders the shop, more than a little overwhelmed by all the choices and colours, flowers she can barely recognize let alone name and every single combination of colours she could ever imagine. She scans rows and rows of flowers, each more beautiful than the last, until she spots a bouquet tucked away behind a bunch of others; it’s nowhere near as big as the others around it, in fact it’s kind of small, but that’s what catches her attention. There’s so many flowers she doesn’t recognize, but it’s the blue forget-me-nots spotting the white carnations and the gladioli that catches her eye. She carefully extracts it from the others and fingers the petals of a cluster of forget-me-nots. She already knows it’s perfect, but she carefully inspects the flowers to make sure, before heading to the cash register just as the florist exits the back.

“Sorry about that,” he says, dusting his hands on his apron. “I see you’ve already found something.”

Brittany just nods and hands the bouquet over, digging through her jacket pocket to find her wallet.

“Flowers for a special someone?” the florist says suggestively as he rings the bouquet up. “Twenty-nine ninety-nine.”

Brittany fumbles for a moment before shrugging. “For her mom, actually,” she clarifies as she holds up her debit card. The florist hits a button on the cash register and Brittany waits for the debit machine to respond.

“Ah,” he says knowingly, “Meeting the in-laws then.”

“Something like that,” Brittany agrees vaguely, punching in her pin and forcing herself not to take out her card too early as she is wont to do.

The florist must sense something in Brittany’s answer because he studies Brittany for a long moment before smiling a little. “Well, if you’re nervous I know this will make a good first impression,” he says, handing the bouquet, now slipped into protective plastic, and the receipt over, “But the only thing that really matters is that they know you’re making their little girl happy.”

Brittany flusters, and a part of her wants to explain everything; that her and Santana aren’t actually— That they’re not— At least not yet—

She wants to explain that she won’t be showing up to Santana’s mom’s house with a bottle of wine and a desperate hope that she’ll accept Brittany.

She wants to explain that they’re spending the morning out in the bitter cold instead, staring at cold grey when they should be laughing with warm brown eyes.

But instead Brittany just smiles gracefully and takes the bouquet with a murmur of thanks and quietly leaves the store, carefully tucking the bouquet against her jacket to protect the flowers from the winter wind and heading down the street.

///

Santana’s huddled in the lobby when Brittany arrives fifteen minutes early, and she spots Brittany out the window of the front door and quickly hurries to greet her. Brittany’s still on the steps when Santana opens the door, and Santana’s small smile of greeting falters at the sight of the flowers in Brittany’s arms, the door swinging shut behind her with a resolute thud. Brittany flusters and chews on her lip, her blush burning her cheeks even more fiercely than usual because her skin is so cold. “I—” she starts and then breaks off when Santana’s smile comes back, somehow softer and more tender than Brittany’s ever seen.

“Is that for my mom?” she whispers.

Brittany searches for her voice but finds it curled up somewhere deep in her chest so she just nods wordlessly.

Santana’s eyes catch on hers, melting and liquid and deep like molasses. She closes the distance between them, her hand landing on Brittany’s ice cold one where it cradles the stems of the flowers. She’s taller than Brittany for once, standing at the top of the stairs and Brittany still a couple steps down, and Brittany nearly stops breathing as Santana leans down, her face drawing impossibly closer to hers.

Brittany’s heart pounds so fast she thinks she might be having a heart attack.

Santana’s lips are achingly soft as they brush over Brittany’s numb cheek, burning Brittany’s skin with their warmth and waking up every single nerve ending until they’re all tuned to Santana, and Brittany gasps at the gentle pressure. When Santana draws back, she’s still smiling softly, her eyes melting and liquid and deep.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

Brittany’s voice, as well as most coherent thought, remains lost somewhere deep inside her, so she just nods dumbly. Santana’s smile widens a little and she steps down beside Brittany, nodding down the street. “If we hurry we can catch the next train,” she says.

Brittany trails after Santana and tries to gather her scattered thoughts, but when Santana shoots her a shy smile over her shoulder Brittany realizes she’s probably never going to collect them ever again, and she’s kind of okay with that.

///

The café is tiny and its doorway is tucked around the corner, but it’s warm and homey inside and Brittany’s legs immediately start prickling painfully as they’re exposed to the wave of warmth in the café.

Santana gasps beside her. “God that feels nice,” she says, turning her face up to the heater above the doorway.

Brittany stomps the snow off her boots and blows quick puffs of hot air into her one hand, her other arm occupied with cradling the flowers. “It hurts,” she whines.

Santana smiles at Brittany. “Let me buy you a coffee then,” she offers, “It’ll warm you up.”

Brittany tips her head to the side, squinting and scanning the menu hanging above the front counter. She bounces up on the balls of her feet, the burning in her thighs forgotten as she reads the options; she reaches over and grabs Santana’s arm with a wide grin. “Can I try the caramel hot chocolate instead?” she asks excitedly, “I haven’t had one in forever.”

Santana smiles and agrees. There’s a couple people scattered around the café, but no one in line so Santana steps right up to the counter. A college aged kid is dancing a little as he cleans the counter, his back to them and large headphones around his neck, singing quietly under his breath, his voice smooth with just a hint of a growl. Santana whistles to get his attention and he jolts at the sound, spinning around with an embarrassed and wide-eyed look. He relaxes as soon as he sees Santana and his face ripples as he tries to adopt a stern look around his grin. “You’ve gotta stop doing that,” he grumbles.

Santana just smirks at him, completely unapologetic. “Maybe you need to stop blasting that noise you call music through your headphones when you’re working, Mr. Full Ride Music Scholarship,” she teases.

The kid’s eyes roll before sliding to take in Brittany and the flowers and snapping back to Santana, his eyes close to bulging as his jaw slackens a little, parting full lips. “A caramel hot chocolate and a café con leche,” Santana says before the kid can even say anything, and as Brittany glances at Santana out of the corner of her eye she can see the slight flush to her cheeks.

The kid seems to notice this too and smirks but doesn’t push Santana further. “Names for the drinks?” he asks playfully.

“I Used to Hold Your Hand to Cross the Street and None of Your Business,” Santana snarks.

The kid’s smirk turns a little wicked and his eyes slide back to Brittany. “That’s a little long,” he says with barely contained seriousness, “Do you go by nicknames?”

“Watch it or I’ll—”

“Brittany and Santana,” Brittany interrupts. Santana looks at Brittany with exaggerated betrayal but Brittany just bumps her hip against Santana’s until her face creases into a dimpled smile.

“How much?” Santana asks as she turns back to the kid, digging her wallet out of her jacket pocket.

“On the house,” the kid says easily.

Santana seems to know better than to argue, so she just grins her thanks and ushers Brittany to the pick-up counter.

“So how do you know about this place?” Brittany asks.

“It was mami’s favourite café,” Santana explains, giving a warm smile as she glances around the café before meeting Brittany’s eyes, her voice lifting with rehearsed cheer, “Best café con leche in the whole damn city.” It sounds both quoted and comfortable, and Brittany wishes, not for the first time, that she got a chance to meet the woman who raised Santana.

“It’s cute,” Brittany says softly. Santana beams at her and shifts a little until their arms press together and doesn’t make any move to pull away.

“Roderick’s dad owns the café,” Santana explains, nodding at the kid as he starts making their drinks, “I’ve been coming here since we moved to the city and Roderick was still a dorky kid in elementary school. Now he’s just a dorky kid in his first year of college.”

“Hey!” Roderick protests, pointing an accusatory finger at Santana, the tea towel in his hand swinging lazily between them across the counter, “I resent that.” Santana sticks her tongue out at Roderick, who sticks his tongue out right back as his face twists in a mock sneer, much to the horror of the old woman who just stepped up to the cash register. Roderick flushes at being caught making fun of a customer, and abandons Santana and Brittany’s drinks to take the old woman’s order.

“I used to babysit him sometimes,” Santana continues. “When we first moved here my mom only worked a point eight, and we were kinda struggling to make ends meet. But she came in here one day for a coffee and her and Roderick’s father got to talking, and he ended up hiring her part-time while we got our footing in the city, so I spent a lot of time here doing homework or whatever. In exchange for free coffee I’d babysit Roderick a couple times a week.”

Brittany’s lips curl up in a smile as she glances at Roderick, who now dwarves Santana in stature. “That’s cute,” she says honestly.

Santana laughs. “He was a good kid. Just don’t tell him I said that.”

Brittany smirks. “You’re cute when you’re pretending you’re not, like, the biggest softie,” she observes.

Santana instantly flusters, ducking her head down to hide her dimples. “Oh, shut up you,” she mumbles.

Brittany just grins and resists the urge to wrap Santana, blushing face and all, into a tight hug; the flowers in her arms would make hugging her difficult and help her resist the urge, though not by much.

///

They end up having a second cup of coffee and hot chocolate together, sharing a pastry as they people watch. Santana talks about her mom a little more, and Brittany notices its with more nostalgia than pain, but mostly they just enjoy the other’s company outside of the theatre, complaining about the show and the company and making fun of people passing on the street and sitting a little too close to be entirely friendly.

They linger in the café for perhaps longer than they should, because they’ll probably end up being a little late to the theatre depending on how long they spend at the cemetery, but Brittany can’t find it in herself to regret it as they stand to leave. Before Santana can, Brittany quickly grabs her jacket off the back of her seat and helps her into it, feeling even more couple-y than she has all day doing couple-y things with her. Santana smiles, dimples deep and nose scrunched, up at Brittany as she slips her arms into her jacket before winding her own scarf around her neck while Brittany grabs the flowers off the table. Santana takes their dirty cups to the bucket of dirty dishes by the napkins and spices and lids while Brittany trails after her to the door.

Roderick stops them before they leave to pull Santana into a tight hug; Santana protests and rolls her eyes, but as soon as she’s wrapped in his embrace she softens. “My dad wishes he could have been here to see you today too but he’s got some business meeting he couldn’t get out of,” he whispers, and Brittany quickly averts her eyes, feeling a little bit like an intruder. “He’s missed you.”

Santana sighs into Roderick’s shoulder. “I missed him too, both of you. I just—”

“I know,” Roderick interrupts quickly. “We get it, but you should stop by more often.” Roderick’s eyes slide to Brittany over Santana’s shoulder and he gives her a shy smile. “I’m sure my dad would love to meet Brittany.”

Brittany doesn’t need to see Santana’s face to know it’s breathless and flushed and too bright, because she can feel a blush crawling hotly along her own cheeks and down into her neck. Roderick gives Santana one more squeeze before letting her go and Brittany and Santana’s eyes catch briefly before averting as they both laugh breathlessly, blushing furiously, and leave the café.

Santana turns left as soon as they’re on the sidewalk, the bitter cold stealing the air from their lungs and the gently falling snow dusting Santana’s hair like stars in a night sky, silent for half a block before they both start talking at once.

“I’m sorry about that—”

“It’s fine, really I—”

“They’ve just never met anyone I—”

“They seem really nice—”

“They’re going to be super embarrassing—”

“I’d really like to meet Roderick’s dad now too—”

They both pause in their rambling and meet each other’s eyes before bursting into giggles, both of their cheeks pink with more than the cold. “Really?” Santana says, unable to hide the pleased and hopeful gleam to her eyes.

“Totally,” Brittany promises, chewing on her lip for a moment. “I have a feeling they have all kinds of embarrassing teenage Santana stories,” she teases.

“Oh god,” Santana groans, burying her face in her hands, “I can’t believe that slipped my mind.”

Brittany nudges Santana with her elbow. “Hey,” she says softly, waiting until Santana’s peaking at her from behind her hands, “I don’t want to know those stories because they’re embarrassing, I want to know them because they’re what made you you, and I want to know everything about you.”

Santana’s hands drop from her face and she shakes her head softly at Brittany, her expression unbelieving, her smile soft and sweet enough that Brittany’s heart starts to ache with how beautiful Santana is and how much she really, really, really likes being around her. Neither of them look away until they almost run straight into another couple walking down the sidewalk, and they both laugh a little as they finally look away and focus on walking. They’re mostly quiet as Santana leads them through the neighbourhood, occasionally exchanging soft smiles or guiding the other out of the way of another pedestrian with a gentle hand on the small of their back.

They turn a corner and Santana’s sucks in a sharp breath. Brittany follows her gaze until she spots the sign above the cemetery, high above the neighbourhood and easily seen even from blocks away, and Brittany’s chest clenches.

“Sometimes I just can’t believe she’s gone,” Santana suddenly mumbles, “That I can’t just call her up and tell her about whatever dumb thing happened at the theatre, or that she won’t ever call me to complain about what drunk patient she had to deal with. That I haven’t heard her ringtone in four years. That I have to visit her at a cemetery now and I can’t just show up unannounced at our old apartment in Washington Heights because someone else has moved in— Has lived there for years,” Santana corrects. Santana’s silent for a long time, studying the ground as they walk. She finally sucks in a shuddering breath and glances up at Brittany, giving her a tiny smile, her eyes both warm and heartsick. “I just miss her,” she says simply.

Brittany doesn’t know what to say, so she just gives Santana a soft smile and makes a small acknowledging sound, which seems to be the right move because Santana just smiles back and presses closer to Brittany as they near the cemetery in silence.

Santana slips her hand into Brittany’s as soon as the iron wrought gate comes into view. Brittany sucks in a sharp breath before breathing it out in a puff of white, glancing down at Santana only to find Santana already staring up at her. Her brown eyes are a little pained, but mostly they’re soft and adoring as she looks up at Brittany. “She would have liked you, you know,” Santana says with a small smile.

Brittany’s pretty sure her heart stops beating; she definitely stops breathing, and her mind kind of goes a little haywire at the words. Santana’s told her all about what an amazing woman her mom was, and the idea that she— That Santana’s mom— That she would have—

“Really?” she manages on a gasp.

Santana nods and squeezes Brittany’s fingers where they’re tangled with her own. “You make me happy,” she says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, and Brittany supposes it kind of is.

She sighs and melts and smiles softly at Santana. “I wish I could have met her,” she admits quietly, “But I kind of feel like I already have, in the way you talk about her. And how you are, because she raised you.” They draw to a stop in front of the gate, the snowy grass crunching beneath their feet. She turns to Santana, tugging gently on their clasped hands until Santana is facing her. “But, I still would have loved to meet her. Because you make me happy too. And I think,” she pauses for a moment, gathering her thoughts because this is important and she wants to make sure she gets it right, “I think that she would have liked to know that. Not just that there’s someone that makes you happy, but that there’s someone who you make happy too. That— That you can share your happiness with someone.”

Santana’s smile widens a little as she ducks her head. “She definitely would have liked you,” she mumbles, glancing up at Brittany from beneath her eyelashes. “I’m glad you came with me today,” she admits, “This year feels less— Absolute, I guess, that she’s gone. I— This is the first year that I haven’t felt like there’s this empty, aching hole in my chest and I— I’m just really glad you’re here.”

Brittany tugs gently on Santana’s hand until she’s falling into Brittany’s body, their thick jackets scratching together as Brittany wraps her free arm around Santana and pulls her into the cradle of her body, the flowers falling somewhere by Santana’s shoulder blade. Santana sighs into the collar of Brittany’s jacket, tightening her own arm around her waist, the fingers of their other hands still hopelessly tangled. “I’m really glad I’m here too,” Brittany whispers into the dampness of Santana’s hair, the snow dusted waves cold against her chin even though her chest burns with a gentle warmth.

Santana sighs again as she finally draws back, tightening her grip on Brittany’s hand, as if Brittany would ever actually let go of her. “Come on,” she prompts gently as she leads them to the gate, “Let’s go see her.”

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #there's another character in here that I wanna tag but I don't want to spoil it lmao #I might go back and change the tag Later #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) #okay so I didn't know finding a cemetery--let alone a plot in a cemetery--in manhattan was so hard??? #so I took Artistic Liberties with that part lmao #also bonus points to anyone who knows what song I mentioned early on in the fic and catches the second reference to it #because that's what I listened to while writing the last couple chapters

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 13/25

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[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Brittany brings Santana a picnic brunch; Santana marvels at how exactly someone as amazing as Brittany even exists.

Chapter 13: but no one is leaving presents tonight

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Santana wakes up feeling exhausted and heavy.

Her apartment is empty and cold as she stumbles out of bed, wrapping the knitted afghan on her couch around her shoulders as she heads to the kitchen to fumble with the Keurig. The scent of coffee fills her tiny apartment, the Keurig gurgling as it chugs away. The time on the stove reads 7:17 and, despite the fact that usually she would never be awake this early unless absolutely necessary, she dreads the thought of trying to go back to sleep. While her coffee brews she heads to the bathroom and quickly brushes her teeth, staring at her reflection for a long moment after she spits the toothpaste out. Her hair is limp and tangled and the bags under her eyes have only grown darker from tossing and turning all night. She avoids looking in the mirror while she washes her face and brushes her hair out until she can pull it into a slightly lopsided bun.

Her coffee is finished by the time she makes it back to the kitchen, the cold tile freezing on her bare feet, and she mechanically stirs in some creamer and sugar before making her way to the living room and curling into her favourite corner of her couch. She aimlessly flips through television channels, resolutely avoiding anything that is only playing cheesy Christmas movies, too tired to get the other remote and turn on Netflix. She sips her coffee and only watches shows in two minute intervals before she gets bored, nothing able to hold her attention for too long.

It’s only barely eight when her phone buzzes against her thigh and sends a jolt through her whole body in shock.

It’s Brittany, because of course it’s Brittany, and despite everything, a smile tugs at her lips as she takes in the contact photo of Brittany making a goofy face at the camera, her blue eyes sparkling and her smile wide and her freckles in stark contrast to her creamy skin. Hi, the text reads.

Santana carefully balances her coffee mug on her stomach and thighs, her knees drawn up towards her chest, creating a small and precarious shelf for her drink. Hi, she responds, You’re up early.

Well Mercedes started her serenading of xmas songs early so, Brittany answers, and Santana can practically see her slightly sheepish shrug and grin in the words, How are you?

Santana stares blankly at her phone for a long moment, because that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?

Surprisingly, she doesn’t feel as lonely or empty as she usually does the day before the fourteenth, and she kind of has a feeling that it might be because of Brittany. Mike and Tina have always been there for her in whatever way she needed, but Santana has always struggled with actually letting them be there for her, and yet somehow Brittany had squeezed past walls Santana hadn’t even really realized were there, creeping into her heart until she was breaking down in Brittany’s arms without a hint of embarrassment.

Yesterday night after the show was surprisingly cathartic, and she hadn’t felt nearly as drained and forlorn and embarrassed and alone as she usually did after breaking down. She felt tired, sure, but something about Brittany’s arms around her and her steady heartbeat against her cheek made Santana feel so safe and protected that it had soothed her almost instantly; the fact that she stayed cuddled into Brittany, letting her rub comforting circles into the tension in her back, until the security guard was clearing the building later that night certainly didn’t hurt.

She should probably feel embarrassed, but she wasn’t lying when she told Tina that she likes who she is around Brittany. And she’s also kind of really grateful that she didn’t scare Brittany away or anything, that Brittany seems to want to be around her even when she’s at her worst, if the fact that Brittany refused to leave her side until they were in an Uber and Santana was insisting that she would be fine by herself for the night is anything to go by.

Her phone buzzes in her hands and startles her out of her thoughts. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, Brittany texts, I totally get that.

Sorry no it’s fine, Santana answers, just got distracted. I feel better than yesterday but I just want this week to be over.

That really sucks, but glad you’re feeling a little better. Santana watches Brittany type for long time, the three dots appearing and disappearing, until she finally asks, Do you wanna get breakfast somewhere?

Despite the fact that she’s had no appetite since Tuesday evening, her stomach gurgles a little at the thought of food; but the idea of showering and leaving the apartment before she has to go to the theatre is not appealing at all. I’d love to but I don’t really wanna go out in public tbh.

There’s another long stretch of Brittany typing, and Santana patiently waits, sipping on her long-cold coffee. Brunch picnic at your apartment? Brittany finally asks, I’ll bring the food and coffee if you manage to find a blanket? She adds a smiley face at the end and Santana finds one curling her lips in response.

That sounds fun, Santana answers.

Awesome! Brittany responds, and Santana so wishes she could see what is probably an adorably excited smile on her face, See you around 11?

Santana agrees and finishes the last sip of her coffee, wincing as the combination of the cold and the coffee grinds from her dying Keurig makes it taste weirdly sharp, almost alcoholic. She putters around her apartment for a while, tidying up even though there’s not much of a mess; she’s not necessarily a neat person, but being at the theatre for the majority of her waking hours leaves less time for her to make a mess at home. She finds an old throw blanket in the linen closet that smells stale and vaguely of moth balls despite the fact that she’s pretty she’s never had moth balls in this apartment before, and takes it to the living room. She turns the coffee table on a ninety degree angle from where it usually sits so it rests flush against the couch on its short end before she spreads the blanket over the carpet in front of the couch, flipping the corners back flat against the floor with her toe. It’s only nine thirty by the time she’s done, so she finally convinces herself to have a hot shower because, despite her lack of energy or desire to do so, she knows it will make her feel better.

She debates by her closet for a long while before shrugging and settling on some sweats and a hoodie from her college days; it’s not like she’s trying to impress Brittany right now, because not only has Brittany held her while she kinda fell apart, but also because Brittany usually sees her frazzled and dressed in old ratty jeans and a black t-shirt basically every day of the week, so this is barely even a step down from that.

It’s 10:42 when someone buzzes her apartment, and she quickly crosses her living room to answer it and let Brittany in. It feels like minutes rather than seconds until there’s a knock on her door, and she opens it to find Brittany with her hands full of food and drinks. She’s dressed in sweats too, her thicker winter jacket zipped up to her chin and her knitted hut tugged a little too low over her forehead like always, a soft smile playing on her lips.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“Hey,” Santana quickly reaches forwards to grab the tray of drinks from Brittany so she doesn’t look as off balanced, stepping back to let her in, “You’re early.”

Brittany flusters for a moment before she manages to recover and smirk at Santana. “And you’re ready anyways.”

Santana grins and shrugs, waiting a moment for Brittany to kick off her sneakers by the door before leading Brittany back through her apartment and into her living room. She sets the tray of warm drinks down on the coffee table before lowering herself with a small groan; there’s already napkins and cutlery on the table because she was too antsy to sit still earlier.

Brittany drops the bags on the coffee table before lowering herself down too. There’s far more than a couple feet of space on the blanket, but she elects to sit close enough to Santana that that their shoulders press together. Santana smiles at her lap for a moment before glancing at Brittany out of the corner of her eye, finding her smiling softly as pink splotches her cheeks a little. She’s so cute that it takes a moment for Santana to snap out of her daze enough to realize she’s kind of been staring at Brittany for a while, and so she quickly turns to the coffee table to distribute the drinks and napkins and cutlery and ignores the warm flush that starts in her stomach and curls up to her cheeks.

“Where’d you go?” she asks.

Brittany shrugs a little and ducks her head down, and when Santana glances at her, her cheeks are more pink than creamy and, this close, Santana can see how her blush almost completely obscures her freckles. “Just that place you and Mike and Tina always go to.”

Santana furrows her brow, but now that Brittany mentions it, she realizes that the scent filling her apartment is achingly familiar. “They don’t do takeout or delivery though,” she says in confusion.

Brittany bobs her head in a slight nod and smiles a little. “I may have sweet talked that waitress who always teases you guys, just a little bit,” she says, holding her hand up until her thumb and forefinger are barely a millimetre apart.

“Britt,” Santana sighs, and not for the first time she wonders how someone as amazing as Brittany even exists, “you didn’t have to.”

“I know but—” Brittany shrugs again and fidgets with a slightly unraveled string on the right knee of her sweats, “I wanted to.”

Santana just smiles at her for a long moment before she reaches out and takes Brittany’s free hand, gently squeezing it until Brittany’s blue eyes meet hers. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

Brittany’s face creases in a bright smile, her cheeks scrunching her eyes up until they’re catlike and sparkling and the most beautiful thing Santana’s ever seen. “You’re welcome,” she whispers. “I got the Sunshine Special for us, like usual, but I had to get coffee somewhere else since, you know, they don’t do takeout so they didn’t have any disposable coffee cups.”

Santana shakes her head a little and gives Brittany a slightly lopsided smile. “I know I’ve said it before but you’re something else, Britt.”

Brittany shrugs and twists her wrist just a little until her fingers catch around Santana’s and tangle. “I just like making you smile,” she says easily.

Santana sucks in a sharp breath and has to fight every nerve in her body from leaning forward and kissing the hell out of Brittany. It’s not that she doesn’t want to, it’s just bad timing; she doesn’t want to kiss Brittany with the anniversary of her mom’s death hanging over her head. She wants it to be something that’s just theirs, so instead she just squeezes Brittany’s hand in hers before moving to stand. “I should grab some plates too.”

Brittany lets out a slow breath and nods easily. Santana smiles at Brittany making herself at home, leaned against the couch and stuck in place by the spread of their picnic around her. She quickly escapes to the kitchen before she is completely frozen by how endearing Brittany is, and grabs a couple plates from her cupboard. She also grabs the peanut butter from the next cupboard, debating how well she can carry everything for a moment before relenting and grabbing the syrup and ketchup bottle from the fridge, since she’s noticed Brittany likes it on her hash browns and eggs. She hip-checks the fridge door closed and balances everything carefully before returning to the living room.

Brittany’s no longer trapped in her nest of food and napkins and cutlery, but standing with her back to Santana and the rest of the living room. Santana silently places everything down on the blanket before moving to see what Brittany’s looking at. She’s standing between the window and the television, where there’s a small shelving unit build into the wall. It’s where Santana keeps most of her framed pictures, her college diploma, a couple of old birthday cards from her mom and Mike and Tina, and her mom’s old knickknacks that she’d had for long before Santana was born.

Santana doesn’t have to see where exactly Brittany’s looking to know what’s caught her attention; the five framed picture, her favourite ones, sitting just below Brittany’s eye level and just above her own.

The first one is of her mom in the hospital mere moments after Santana was born; she’s exhausted and her hair sticks to her face in a dark sweaty mess, but it’s the picture that Santana’s always stared at the most over the past couple years, because as Santana’s gotten older she’s seen herself in her mom at the same age more and more, in their hair and in their smiles and, mostly, in their eyes.

The next picture is of her mom and herself a week before her first day of junior year in New York; her hair is in wild curls and a baseball cap is pulled low over her eyes, and she’s hanging off her mom, who’s a little older and whose laugh lines are a little deeper than they were sixteen years ago. They both look absolutely exhausted, but elated, as they stand in an empty apartment in Washington Heights, the apartment that would be home until her mom died, each holding a pair of keys up for the camera with proud smiles.

The middle picture is of a slightly younger Tina and Mike and her, Tina and Mike dressed in their costumes from whatever show they were doing and Santana in all black, a headset around her neck; Mike’s hair hangs messily into his eyes from before Tina and her convinced him to cut it at least a little bit shorter, Tina has streaks of electric blue peaking out from under the ridiculous hat her character wore, and Santana’s hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her favourite part of the picture is the smudge of tan in the bottom right corner that obscures all of Santana’s body and most of Tina’s from about the shoulders down, because she’ll never forget the look on her mom’s face when the pictures were developed and she realized that her thumb was featured in most of the pictures she took of their third year spring semester’s show.

The next one is Santana and her mom, her laugh lines even deeper as she kisses Santana firmly on the cheek, just a hint of the Stephen Sondheim Theatre behind them; Santana’s beaming at the camera because it was her first official assistant stage manager job at a real theatre, a show she worked on for its short three week run over summer break between her third and fourth year. Her mom’s expression is overflowing with adoration and pride even though only the hinge of her jaw, her pursed lips, her squished nose, and her dark eyelashes are visible to the camera.

The last picture is of Santana and her mom in her mom’s dining room, in the middle of summer at her apartment in Washington Heights, their cheeks pressed together over a small, slightly amateur cake that Santana had baked and decorated herself; her mom is older and thinner in this picture, her cheekbones a little more pronounced and the dark circles under her eyes darker than ever before. Santana has her arms looped around her mom’s neck from behind, both of them smiling widely at the camera, their hair blending together into a wild mass of dark waves.

“That was a couple months before she died,” Santana says suddenly.

Brittany jolts and gasps, glancing over her shoulder to find Santana standing there, watching her study the pictures. Brittany looks embarrassed to have been caught snooping, her eyes wide and her toes tapping together, but Santana just smiles reassuringly at her. Brittany seems to search for words for a moment before she gives Santana a soft smile. “You have her eyes. And her smile.”

Santana’s smile wavers a little but her eyes are bright and delighted. “That’s what everyone always says,” she says proudly.

“You were a really cute baby too,” Brittany says, her attention turning back to the pictures. “You have, like, the tiniest ears ever.”

Santana crosses the living room to peer over Brittany’s shoulder at the picture of her as a newborn. “Mami always told me I was born with hair on my ears like a monkey,” she says with a laugh, “but I think she was mostly just messing with me.”

“Well you’re the tiniest and cutest baby I’ve ever seen,” Brittany declares, and Santana ducks her head as heat rushes to her cheeks.

“I was about a month early,” Santana explains, “All developed, just pint sized.”

Brittany subtly straightens up to her full height and leans her elbow on Santana’s shoulder, grinning widely down at her. “You’re still pint sized,” she teases.

Santana laughs and swats at Brittany’s stomach with a small eye roll. “Oh, shut up,” she complains, “Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

Brittany grins and bounces over to the blanket, her limbs collapsing in that careless grace of hers as she sits. Santana sits beside her and passes her a plate as they quietly start dish up their food, Santana handing Brittany the ketchup and then the syrup. She’s surprised to find that the food is still hot and not at all soggy and her coffee is perfect, like it always is when Brittany gets it, and Santana wonders how exactly Brittany manages to be, like, incredibly perfect all the time.

“Can I ask you something?” Brittany says suddenly.

Santana swallows her mouthful of eggs and nods, taking a quick sip of her coffee. “Course.”

“Was your mom’s death— Was it sudden?”

Santana takes another sip of her coffee debating; it’s surprisingly not as hard as she thought it would be to talk about this with Brittany, who gives Santana her full attention, eyes wide and steady on her own. “For me it was. But it wasn’t for her. She knew for months before she told me and I was busy working on some dumb show and she was—” she lets out a shuddering breath. “She didn’t tell me until it was too late.”

Brittany nods and picks at her hash browns before glancing back up at Santana with a small smile. “Tell me about her,” she says.

Santana stares at Brittany for a long moment before she smiles softly, shifting a little until their knees brush. Mike and Tina already knew her mom really well all throughout their college years since she was always inviting them over to feed the three of them and make sure they didn’t starve while on a diet of ramen cups and microwaveable frozen meals, so she’s never had to tell them about her, and she’s never gotten close enough with anyone else to even want to tell them about her mom. But with Brittany’s soft blue eyes on hers, attentive and fond and understanding, she’s actually eager to tell Brittany about the woman who raised her. Even with Mike and Tina it gets too painful sometimes to talk about her mom, and they completely respect that and she kind of really loves them for it, but for possibly the first time in four years she actually really wants to gush about her mom. “She really liked to freak other parents out with crazy stories about emerg,” she starts, “I was the coolest kid in grade one because when she volunteered in our classroom she always told the scariest and most gruesome Halloween stories, and only her and I knew that they weren’t made up or anything. It was like we had our own little secret.”

///

Santana wakes up to fingers slowly trailing over her arm, actually feeling warm and well rested and relaxed for the first time since Tuesday when she realized how close it was to the anniversary of mom’s death.

It takes her a moment longer than it should to realize that she’s curled up into Brittany’s side, her head tucked against Brittany’s shoulder and neck and Brittany’s arm draped around her own shoulders, fingertips dancing across her arm with slowly increasing pressure. She mumbles something, still half-asleep and more comfortable than she’s ever been, and nuzzles closer to Brittany.

“Come on, sleepy head,” Brittany murmurs, and Santana can hear the smile in her voice, “You’ve gotta wake up soon.”

“Time is’t?” she croaks. Brittany’s warm and comfortable under her, and she feels no inclination to move, like, ever.

“Like one,” Brittany says, “I figured you probably wanna get ready before we have to be at the theatre. You’ve been sleeping for about an hour. And you’ve really gotta finish that story about your mom helping you win a snowball fight since you feel asleep right in the middle of it.”

Santana grunts in response, absentminded and content, her limbs still heavy with sleep and comfort. Brittany’s fingers trailing over her arm, even through the thick fabric of her hoodie, feels perfect and she’s dreading going to the theatre today because that means she’ll have to actually move from where she is right now.

“You’re cute when you sleep,” Brittany whispers.

Santana cracks one eye open and glances around her living room. Brittany’s legs are spread out in front of them, Santana’s knees curled over her thighs, and they’re sitting slung at an angle against the couch, Brittany’s head resting atop Santana’s head and the couch cushion. Santana has one hand tangled in Brittany’s sweater, her other one squished between them and painfully tingling as it starts wakes up. “Your butt must be numb,” Santana grumbles, only half of her filter actually working.

Brittany laughs, shaking both of them with the force of it, but not enough to dislodge Santana from her side. “A little,” she agrees, “But it was so worth it.”

Santana hums and lets her eyes close again and just rests there for a long moment, Brittany’s fingers still dancing and tapping all along her arm, Santana’s body moving gently with Brittany’s soft breathing. “We should do this more often,” Santana finally mumbles.

“What, picnics in your living room?”

“Cuddling,” Santana corrects, and she can feel the hitch in Brittany’s breathing jolt their bodies a little. Santana hesitates for a long moment before turning her head slightly and pressing a soft kiss to Brittany’s collarbone through the fabric of her shirt. Brittany’s fingers dig in a little at the move and Santana’s pretty sure Brittany stops breathing entirely for a moment. “Thanks, for this morning,” she murmurs.

“Yeah,” Brittany says distractedly, and Santana can hear the dreamy daze in her voice, “We totally should.”

Santana just grins and nuzzles closer, content to stay exactly where she is until they absolutely have to get moving lest they be late.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) #also we've Officially passed the halfway mark I'm screaming this is Wild lmao

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 21/25

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[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Brittany invites Santana over for Christmas supper; Santana should have known that the Pierce’s would all be as endearingly charming as Brittany.

Notes: Thanks for being so patient the past couple days! My school year started late so they pushed our end of term late too, so this week has been crazy busy but the chapter’s here now and it’s still on time in my timezone lmao.

Forgive any mistakes in this because I just did one last checkover while severely sleep deprived lmao. Tomorrow’s chapter will either be up early morning or late afternoon!

Chapter 21: hot chocolates and crackers and family smiles

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Santana’s drifting in and out of a dream filled with blonde hair and blue eyes when she registers that her phone is ringing. She groans and buries herself further under her blanket, desperate for even a couple more seconds of sleep. After all the excitement yesterday she had thought she would immediately crash after crawling into bed last night, but she ended up wide awake for most of the night, her mind continuing to replay the disbelieving and overjoyed look on Brittany’s face once she saw her family sitting there in that back room. Despite all that she’s overcome and done in her life, she’s pretty sure her proudest moment was last night, when Brittany turned back to her with that tender, adoring on expression on her face that made it impossible for Santana to doubt that Brittany returns her feelings.

She’s, like, almost one-hundred percent positive that Brittany is as in love with her as Santana is with Brittany, because the look on her face last night was so simple and honest that Santana can’t imagine what else it could be.

Her phone stops ringing and she sighs, still drifting between sleep and consciousness, but there’s barely a moment of silence before it starts ringing again, finally tipping her towards consciousness. Santana grumbles as she emerges from her pile of blankets and glares at her vibrating phone on the bedside table. It’s a two show day, which means she really should answer her phone in case there’s some emergency at the theatre that desperately needs to be addressed, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to be happy about it.

She finally grabs her phone and answers it with a grunt that could, generously, be interpreted as a hello.

The laughter that answers her is like the best alarm clock in the world.

“Brittany!” Santana says, and instantly she’s wide awake. She wonders if she could record Brittany’s laugh and use that as an alarm instead of whatever prerecorded sounds are on her phone because it does a much better job of waking her up than her real one.

“Took you long enough to answer grumpypants,” Brittany teases, and the smile in her voice brings one to Santana’s face in return.

“I thought you where the ghosts of the theatre trying to get me to come in early,” Santana yawns.

“Forget the ghosts of Christmas past, the ones with bowties and too big egos are much more terrifying,” Brittany agrees with a laugh.

Santana hums and lets her eyes close, pretending, just for a moment, that Brittany’s voice isn’t coming through her phone and is instead right beside her. She imagines how nice it would be to be wrapped around Brittany right now; Brittany’s always so warm and Santana’s always so cold, and she always sleeps the best when Brittany’s breathing is the soundtrack for her dreams, her heartbeat lulling her to sleep like—

“—so would you like to?”

Santana blinks her eyes open, startling back to the present. “I’m sorry, what?”

Brittany laughs, high and fluttery, and Santana can hear the hint of nerves radiating from the sound. “Did you fall back asleep?”

“No,” Santana protests immediately, and then, after Brittany’s little disbelieving noise, she adds sheepishly, “Maybe a little?”

Brittany giggles and there’s a moment of silence where they just listen to the other smile before Brittany restarts her question. “I was saying, before you so rudely fell asleep on me—”

“Hey!” Santana protests around a laugh. “It’s not my fault you called at,” she pulls her phone away from her head to check the time, “seven thirteen in the morning!”

“—that Holly gave me the day off since my family’s here,” Brittany continues as if Santana hadn’t interrupted her, “and it would give Jane some real experience on stage. So I was wondering if you wanted to have Christmas supper with my family tonight?” she asks and basically causes all of Santana’s body to shut down as all functions are redirected towards trying to stop her heart from leaping out of her chest.

“Really?” she whispers, “I don’t wanna, like, intrude or anything.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Brittany hurries to insist. “My mom suggested it, actually, and I’d—” Brittany’s voice drops to a whisper and for a moment Santana feels like they might be the only two people in the entire world, “I’d really love it if you came.”

Santana’s heart swells in her chest until it feels too big and too bright for her body to contain it, and then just as quickly a sudden, disappointing thought strikes her and her heart crumples and shrinks like a crumped up paper towel. “Britt, I’d love to,” she sighs, “but it’s a two show day. I won’t be out of the theatre until, like, after eleven.”

“Well,” Brittany drawls sheepishly, “I may have mentioned that to Holly and she may have offered to give you the second show off, since you were hired on such short notice with no complaint and Holly said she really appreciated it and you deserve a little break and also so Quinn can get some more experience running the show. Only if you want of course!” Brittany adds hurriedly. “No pressure or anything! I totally get it if you don’t want to because you don’t know my family and I know they can kinda be a bit much sometim—”

“I’d love to,” Santana interrupts quietly, and she can hear Brittany’s teeth click as her jaw snaps closed.

“Really?” she breathes.

Santana grins into the darkness and snuggles further into her blankets, the warmth surrounding her nothing compared to the warmth in Brittany’s voice. “Definitely,” she promises.

Santana just listens to Brittany smile for a long moment, before Brittany manages a “Cool” that barely contains her happiness it’s so bright and warm. “You can just come over after the matinee or whenever. Mercedes and Sam are coming after the evening show too, so.”

“Okay, see you then,” Santana murmurs.

“See you,” Brittany whispers and there’s a beat of silence, a farewell missing that is unspoken but not unfelt, before they both whisper bye and the same time and giggle as they hang up.

Santana clutches her phone tightly in her hand and turns to bury her face into her pillow, willing herself not to burst from the dizzying force of the love that courses through her body, before she finally gets out of bed to get ready for the show.

///

Santana spends the entirety of rehearsals and the matinee being mercilessly teased by, in turn, Quinn, Mercedes, Mike, and then Tina.

At least Tina is helpful about her teasing; Quinn just smirks at her the entire morning of rehearsals and then even more during show, somehow both amused and haughty, Mercedes and Mike won’t stop making kissy faces and cooing at her the entire lunch break when she eats with them, both of them ganging up on her completely unfairly, but Tina is the only one who is actually useful while she’s teasing. She helps Santana redo her makeup after the matinee so its less I’m an exhausted production stage manager don’t talk to me or I’ll snap and more I’m confidently meeting my not-yet-a-girlfriend girlfriend’s parents despite not being confident, like, at all, and then helping Santana pick out an outfit without either of them even being near her closet because Tina just knows her so well.

“I can’t believe you’re actually worried about making a good impression,” Tina mumbles as she concentrates on getting Santana’s eyeliner just right, “You’ve already made such a good impression that I don’t think there’s any left for the rest of us.”

“That’s not how it works, twinkle toes,” Santana snarks.

“I know that you doofus,” Tina says with a dramatic eye roll, “I’m just showing you how absolutely ridiculous you sound for thinking even for a second that her family won’t like you.”

“I know it’s just—” Santana cuts herself off and looks away quickly. She looks so fretful that Tina doesn’t even scold her for almost causing Tina to draw a black line across her temple with the eyeliner. “If— If Brittany and I start dating,” Tina snorts a little because please they’ve basically been dating since the moment they met, “She’s never going to meet my family, unless they all pull their heads out of their homophobic asses, which will probably happen about the same time I marry a man, so never.” Tina quiets and gently strokes her hand over Santana’s shoulder until Santana finally glances back up with a slightly watery smile. “That’s why this is so important,” she continues quietly, “Because they’re— I don’t have anyone to introduce her to and— I mean—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tina coos before Santana’s tears can even fully form, “I get it. I know why this means so much to you— You’re getting the chance to have a family again.” Santana just nods, not trusting herself to speak, and Tina lets her wallow for a moment before she smiles a little. “But you don’t gotta worry about that. After yesterday I already know her parents adore you, and I only meet them in passing.”

Santana sighs and murmurs her thanks, tilting her head back up and allowing Tina to return to carefully applying Santana’s makeup.

“Tina?” Santana says quietly, and Tina hums a little in acknowledgement as she carefully taps the mascara brush to Santana’s eyelashes. “I already have a family,” she admits quietly.

There’s really nothing Tina could say to that statement than what Santana’s already said, so instead she just folds Santana into her arms and holds her tightly. “You know Mike and I have arguments all the time about which of us gets you for our future wedding party,” she jokes, as if this hasn’t been a real concern whenever Mike and Tina discuss their hypothetical future wedding, “Mike insists on claiming you as his best woman because you two are bros but I always call dips on you as my maid of honour because I knew you first and finders keepers, losers weepers, Michael.”

Santana’s laughter is muffled against her shoulder. “I should totally exploit this and make you duel each other for my affections.”

“Oooh that’s a good idea,” Tina says mock-seriously, and then, completely serious, “I’d crush Mike though.”

Santana giggles and settles again, her insecurity fading under Tina’s comforting embrace.

///

Santana hasn’t had Christmas with anyone besides her mom, and sometimes her mom’s chill younger sister when she’s in the country, since her abuela disowned her all the way back in high school. It’s stung deeply every year no matter how hard her mom would work to keep her mind from dwelling on the thought, but now, surrounded by the laughter and playful teasing of the Pierces, it feels like a distant memory of another life.

She’s spent the last four Christmases alone, but watching Brittany and her sister gang up on their dad with two rolls of wrapping paper while she helps Whitney cut up vegetables in the kitchen reminds her why she used to love the holiday so much when she was younger; back when her abuela would hold her hand at midnight mass and sneak her chocolates from her pocket when the minister wasn’t looking, when her and her cousins would terrorize the neighbourhood with their Crazy Carpets and sleds, when her mom would always wake her up in the morning so they could make homemade cinnamon buns, just the two of them, for breakfast before opening their presents, Santana’s presents always wrapped with care after her mom picked up so many overtime shifts to afford whatever Santana wanted for Christmas that year, her mom’s presents always sloppily handmade or cheaply bought with the money she got for walking Mrs. Sandia’s dog from down the street.

She forgot what it’s like to be surrounded by the joyful chaos of a family who loves so loud.

A hand on her arm startles her out of her thoughts and she jolts a little, turning to find Whitney smiling softly at her. “Penny for your celery,” she says quietly.

Santana glances down in surprise; she hadn’t even realized she was finished slicing the celery. She should probably pay more attention and not zone out when she has a knife so close to precious fingertips. She quickly sets the knife down and allows Whitney to reach across her and take the cutting board so she can dump the celery into the stuffing. “I just—” Santana starts, and then quiets for a long moment. “I just forgot how much I missed this,” she finally admits, quiet and honest. “My extended family didn’t really like that I’m— Well I haven’t seen them since I was in high school, and for so long it was just me and my mom which was perfectly fine with me. But then after—  After everything, it was just me after.”

Whitney sets the cutting board down and turns to pull Santana into a tight hug, her arms strong and warm just like Brittany’s always are and the thought makes Santana smile. “Blood doesn’t always create love,” she says wisely, and Santana’s eyes wander to the living room and catch on Brittany and her dad, giggling as they hang garland from the window.

They look nothing alike; Brittany’s about a foot taller and all California girl beauty, blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes and summer sun freckles where her dad is straight hair and coffee dark eyes and clear skin, but they have the same smile, one that quirks their lips up and spreads them thin, scrunching their cheeks up to their eyes until they’re actually glowing from within, a smile that Santana can’t help but return whenever she sees it no matter what’s going on around her.

How some people don’t think that Pierce is her dad because of something as dumb as biology is beyond her; she knows better than anyone that blood doesn’t mean anything unless you choose to make it mean something.

“Thank you,” she mumbles into Whitney’s shoulder, “For letting me crash your family-time today.”

Whitney shakes her head, pressing a motherly kiss to Santana’s temple as she pulls away, releasing Santana to brush dark hair back from her face. “Of course,” she says, her lips quirking up into a small smile as she playfully pinches Santana’s cheeks before growing serious again. “You make my little girl happier than I’ve ever seen her,” she continues, and heat prickles Santana’s cheeks, “and you made today possible, so, really, thank you.”

Santana’s still blushing when Brittany wanders into the kitchen a couple minutes later, her uninhibited smile growing wider as she watches Santana and her mom work side by side in the kitchen.

“What?” Santana says self-consciously, but Brittany just shakes her head wordlessly, refusing to say anything. She doesn’t have to, because between Brittany’s bashful-hopeful look and Whitney’s knowing smile, Santana knows exactly what Brittany’s thinking, and there’s nothing she wants more than for Brittany’s thoughts to come true, for her to be doing this with the Pierces for years to come.

///

After supper Whitney and Brittany disappear to her room to hunt for a deck of cards in her closet, one that Santana promises she one-hundred percent saw when her and Brittany were looking for Christmas tree ornaments the other day. Pierce is as goofy and sweet as his daughter, and Brittany’s sister is as snarky and teasing as her sister, and Santana takes great joy in watching the Pierces and matching their characteristics and mannerisms to Brittany’s, finding that she fits in with them as easily as she fits with Brittany.

After a couple minutes of being recruited into helping Brittany’s sister hunt through the kitchen drawers to see if there’s a deck of cards there, she heads down the hallway to see if Whitney and Brittany had any luck; she’s pretty sure the deck was in the crumbling cardboard box with half its lid missing that her and Brittany shoved to the very back of the closet shelf.

The sound of her name catches her attention as she nears Brittany’s room, and she slows to a stop and pauses outside the doorway. The light from Brittany’s lamp—the lightbulb in the ceiling light went out yesterday morning and Brittany hadn’t had time to replace it yet—spills out into the hallway and casts Brittany and Whitney’s shadows long and looming on the opposite wall as she concentrates on the conversation in Brittany’s room.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that you have a girlfriend?” Whitney asks incredulously and Santana’s heart relocates to her throat, somehow pounding in her ears all the way down to her toes. “You’ve already told me so much about Santana this past month, you could have told me she was your girlfriend not just your friend, you know I don’t care who you date as long as they treat you right, and Santana so obviously does that.”

“No, it’s not— It’s not that— It’s just—” Brittany stutters, but her mom just continues to talk over her.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, sweetie,” Whitney promises, “your dad and I think she’s wonderful. And not just for flying us out here. I’d don’t think I’ve ever, in your whole life, seen you as happy and settled as you are around her, and she absolutely lights up whenever you walk in the room. You don’t have to be scared that we won’t approve or something. I mean how could we disapprove, we adore her already.”

“I didn’t tell you because she’s not—” Brittany stutters, and Santana can easily picture the soft flush to her cheeks, “We’re not— I mean, we are but we aren’t, you know?”

She can see Whitney shake her head in the shadow on the hallway wall. “I— I don’t think I follow.”

Brittany laughs a little, her shadow dancing a little with the motion. “It’s okay, I don’t think I was following either.”

Whitney’s shadow shifts closer to Brittany’s until they’re indistinguishable from each other. “Why don’t you try again?” she offers.

Brittany takes a deep, steadying breath, and when she speaks Santana can hear the smile in her voice. “We only went on our first official date on Monday,” she explains softly, “But we’ve kinda been unofficially dating, like, every single day since we meet, more or less.”

“So then,” Whitney’s voice trails off and Santana wonders if her brows quirk in the same way her daughter’s does.

Brittany laughs a little and it looks like her shoulders shrug by the way the shadows twitch near their combined heads. “I mean, you know me, I’m usually pretty content to just let whatever happens happen.”

“But you already know what you want,” Whitney says knowingly.

Brittany laughs again, her voice bright and happy. “Of course I do, I want to be her girlfriend for, like, a really, really, really long time.”

Santana’s pretty sure she stops breathing entirely. She had known, of course, or at least suspected, but hearing it said aloud kind of makes Santana want to run up to the rooftop and shout that Brittany S. Pierce, the most amazing and brilliant and snarky and sweet girl in the entire world, wants to be her girlfriend; no one else’s, just her girlfriend.

She takes a moment to compose herself before she sneaks back to the kitchen, finding Pierce and Brittany’s sister engaged in hot chocolate making.

“Did they find it?” Brittany’s sister asks as soon as she spots Santana.

Santana panics for a moment shrugs, opting for honesty. “I dunno, it sounded like they were having a serious conversation so I didn’t interrupt.”

Brittany’s sister eyes her for a moment—and Santana is suddenly thankful her blush is never too obvious to people who don’t know her really well—before she shrugs and turns back to the fridge to locate the whipped cream.

Pierce glances up from putting the kettle on and grins at Santana, who’s hovering awkwardly at the end of the kitchen counter. “Has Brittany ever taught you how to make our World Famous Pierce Hot Chocolate?” Pierce asks. Brittany’s sister catches Santana’s gaze over her dad’s head and rolls her eyes, circling her finger around her temple as she shakes her head, causing Santana to bite back a grin. When Santana shakes her head Pierce gasps, apparently scandalized and insulted by the fact. “Well we gotta fix that right away,” he insists, urging Santana closer, “Now it’s a secret family recipe but you seem to have a friendly face so I’ll trust you with it.”

Brittany’s sister snorts from across the kitchen at her dad’s antics. “It’s not a secret family recipe if you keep sharing it with people not named Pierce, dad,” she chides teasingly.

“Nonsense,” Pierce says with a wink in Santana’s direction, “Everyone in this household today is an honorary Pierce.”

Santana blushes at Pierce’s words—at the thought of being a Pierce—and listens avidly to the family recipe, feeling more Christmasy than she has in years.

///

By the time Santana—for the seventh time, not that anyone’s counting—gets her ass whooped by all the Pierces at every card game they know, the evening show at the theatre should just be calling half hour, which means there’s a half hour before the live action How the Grinch Stole Christmas is going to start. While Whitney and Pierce decline the next hand of Blackout and disappear into the kitchen to make popcorn and pull out all sorts of snacks, Brittany’s sister takes it upon herself to teach Santana the best way to beat Brittany. For someone who’s being ganged up on, Santana doesn’t think she’s ever seen Brittany look happier; though she would be lying if this whole day, being so easily accepted into the Pierce family, hasn’t made Santana happier than ever either.

Pierce and Whitney emerge with snacks just as Santana successfully wins her first hand for the very first time all night, and Brittany’s pout at losing is completely useless because she has to hide her smile behind her cards; Santana can still see it in her sparkling blue eyes though.

Whitney and Pierce distribute snack bowls before sinking down in the couch, Brittany’s sister quickly claiming the third cushion, glancing between the only seat left, the armchair perpendicular to the couch, and Brittany with a challenging smirk.

Santana’s a little behind on the uptake, because before she knows it she’s being dragged off the living room floor and tugged down onto Brittany’s lap in the armchair. Brittany’s soft and warm and blushing under her, and Santana’s thankful for the darkened living room because it hides her own blush as she sinks into Brittany’s arms, Brittany’s admission to her mom earlier at the forefront of her mind.

“Hi,” Brittany whispers as Pierce searches through the channels to find whatever one is playing the movie.

Santana sucks in a deep breath; from where she’s perched she can feel every breath Brittany takes, every tiny movement of her thighs, every stroke of her hands over her own legs, burning her fingerprints into Santana’s skin with her touch. “Hi,” she manages.

The armchair is tucked into the corner, not private but a little bit removed from the other occupants in the room. Brittany adjusts them a little more, wiggling around underneath Santana until she can grab the bowls of snacks beside the armchair and pass them to Santana as she manhandles Santana until they’re both more comfortable, Santana’s butt tucked between the arm of the chair and Brittany’s thighs, her legs draped over Brittany’s so she’s curled completely into Brittany’s lap.

There’s still ten minutes before the movie so Whitney offers to get drinks for everyone, disappearing to the kitchen while Pierce and Brittany’s sister get into a discussion about the best Christmas movies of all time.

Brittany’s fingers tracing small hearts on her legs draws Santana’s attention away from an argument about the merits of Elf versus The Santa Clause, both of which are obviously inferior to Home Alone, the best Christmas movie ever, in Santana’s humble and obviously correct opinion.

When Santana meets blue eyes through the dim of the living room she’s suddenly struck by the realization of how much she wants to be doing this for the rest of forever.

“I’m really glad you came today,” Brittany whispers, her breath warm and sweet from chocolate and honey roasted peanuts, “I just— Having you here was just— It was—”

“I know,” Santana says quietly, her smile making her cheeks ache from how wide it is, “I know what you mean.”

Brittany hums and her hands relocate to loop around Santana’s waist and hug her tightly. Santana sighs and leaves the bowl of snacks in her lap to balance against gravity on its own as she wraps her arms around Brittany and nuzzles into her. “Yeah, that’s,” Brittany starts and then seems to lose her thoughts as Santana’s lips press fleetingly to the sensitive skin of her neck. “That’s,” she tries again, but then gives up and just cuddles Santana to her instead of trying to form a coherent thought.

Their snacks are long forgotten—as are their drinks once Whitney returns with them—as they just cuddle in the darkness and watch the movie, Brittany’s fingers trailing along Santana’s legs and Santana’s playing with Brittany’s hair, occasionally grabbing Brittany’s fingers to play with to throughout the movie.

Just as the Grinch is in the middle of stealing Christmas from the Whos, Brittany’s lips find her ear in the dark, pressing briefly to the peak of her cheekbone before they locate their target. “There’s nothing I want more than to do this next year too,” she breathes, like she’s standing at a wishing well with her eyes shut tight and a penny clutched in her hand, like she’s making her greatest wish in the world before flicking her penny into the darkness, like she’s hoping more than anything that it will come true.

Santana turns her head a little so she can look into Brittany’s eyes, her lips hitting Brittany’s nose on the way past. “Me too,” she promises quietly.

Brittany’s eyes soften and melt and Santana falls straight into the adoration and love sparkling there and she knows—she knows—more than she’s ever known anything else in her entire life, that she’s going to be falling in love with those blue eyes every single day for as long as Brittany will have her.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #mercedes jones #whitney pierce #pierce pierce #the munchkin™ #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe)

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 8/25

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[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Brittany kind of thinks stuff like this might be a date, but she doesn’t want to assume anything because God, what if they’re not?; Tina and Mercedes like to burst into dressing rooms unannounced.

Chapter 8: the slight sparkle of tinsel, covered in mud

///

Brittany wakes up Saturday morning with a text from Santana asking her if she wants a sandwich from the same place yesterday for supper between shows today. She grins goofily as she unplugs her phone and snuggles back down into her pillow, tucking her arms under the comforter again and holding her phone perhaps a little too close to her face, as she quickly responds that she would love one.

The little bubbles indicating Santana’s typing appear and disappear for almost a full minute, but she ends up just sending a Cool, and Brittany can’t help the wide smile that spreads across her face or the giddy-happy flutter of butterflies in her stomach; Santana pretending to be tough or cool is actually just adorable.

She can hear the faint hint of Christmas music drifting through the apartment and Mercedes puttering around the kitchen, so she sends a Thanks! to Santana before sighing and rolling out of bed. She shivers as soon as the comforter falls from her body, leaving her bare arms and legs exposed to the cold air blowing in from her open window. The temperature must have really dropped last night, Brittany figures, if her ice cold nose is anything to go by, and she quickly crosses her room to shut her window. She finds her oldest, most comfortable hoodie and tugs it on, tucking her phone into her pocket, as she stumbles down the hall to the bathroom. She keeps texting Santana as she runs through her morning routine, deciding that she’ll shower later when it’s closer to the time they’ll have to leave for the theatre, finding it hard to brush her teeth around her smile but not caring in the least.

She emerges from the bathroom to the smell of coffee, and she follows her nose to find Mercedes singing along to the speakers on the counter as she washes up some dishes at the sink, a frying pan of eggs sizzling behind her and a coffee cup, the novelty Grumpy Cat one Mercedes got Brittany for their first Christmas in the apartment together, sits under a stream of coffee from the Keurig. Mercedes has always been a morning person, and so she’s always been in charge of breakfast, and the cooking in the apartment just in general, which works out well since Brittany doesn’t hate cleaning like Mercedes does.

“Morning,” Brittany yawns.

Mercedes glances up and offers Brittany a smile. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

Brittany shrugs. “It’s not even that late,” she says easily, “And the matinee isn’t until two.”

Mercedes just rolls her eyes, drying her hands on the tea towel draped over her shoulder as the Keurig sputters to an end. Brittany slides onto her stool at the kitchen island and folds her arms to make a cradle for her head. Mercedes stirs in cream and sugar, the clink of the spoon against the side of the mug in beat with Mariah Carey’s voice crooning around the kitchen. 

Brittany’s phone chimes and she slips it out of her pocket and can’t help the soft smile she gets as she unlocks it, quickly answering Santana before setting it on the counter.

“I know that smile,” Mercedes teases as she sets the cup of coffee in front of Brittany; Brittany bites down on her smile as she sits up properly, but she’s pretty sure it doesn’t actually do anything to hide it.

“What smile?” she deadpans. 

Mercedes swats the tea towel at her, flicking the tip of it right on Brittany’s nose with impeccable aim. “Don’t play coy,” she smirks, “That’s your Santana smile.”

Brittany scoffs, batting away the tea towel as it makes another pass at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says haughtily.

“Girl, please,” Mercedes laughs, “You two couldn’t be more obvious if you wore flashing neon signs around the theatre.”

Brittany takes a sip of her coffee before tilting her head to the side. “That seems inconvenient, but there would probably be fewer face plants and collisions backstage,” she contemplates.

“Oh for sure,” Mercedes agrees, “But don’t think you’re getting away with this.”

“Getting away with what?” Brittany asks, far too innocently.

Mercedes snorts. “You know I’m going to just keep bugging you until you break, you might as well give up now and save us both the trouble.” 

Brittany sucks in a soft breath and meets Mercedes gaze for just a moment before her eyes drop away. “She’s bringing me supper today,” Brittany admits shyly, and though she ducks her head to hide her too soft smile, Mercedes easily recognizes it and reaches across the kitchen counter to clasp Brittany’s hands in hers around the coffee mug.

“Again?” Mercedes gasps excitedly. Brittany nods, bashful and glowing. “Really?” Mercedes coos, “Like a date?”

Brittany shrugs and bites down on her lip. “I dunno. We didn’t really talk about it, but— I’d like it to be.”

“You two are so smitten with each other,” Mercedes sighs.

“Smitten? Really? What are you, ninety?”

“Oh,” Mercedes retorts, “would you prefer infatuated? Maybe besotted? Enamoured, perhaps? Head over heels? Taken with? Enchanted? Bowled over? Bewitched? Twitterpated?”

“Okay,” Brittany laughs, “That last one you just made up, Ms. Walking-Thesaurus.”

Mercedes just rolls her eyes. “Look it up. It’s a real word.”

Brittany’s doubtful, but just as she’s about to google it her phone chimes. Mercedes glances up in time to catch Brittany’s blushing smile, her blue eyes lit up with something Mercedes has never seen in them before, and she laughs a little at how obvious Brittany is even when she’s trying to deny it. “And you say you aren’t smitten,” she teases just as the toast pops, turning to pull plates out of the cupboard and butter the slices she eases out of the toaster. 

Brittany sticks her tongue out at Mercedes, but with her back turned it’s kind of pointless. She pouts at her phone as she unlocks it. Mercedes is making fun of me, she complains to Santana.

Santana’s response is immediate, Rude! Tell her I won’t bring her a coffee today.

“Santana’s threatening to revoke your coffee privileges if you don’t stop making fun of me,” Brittany relays.

Mercedes gasps, glancing over her shoulder with an overdramatic horrified expression. “No! Not the coffee privileges!”

Brittany tuts at her. “You better lay off me then,” she singsongs.

Mercedes bursts into laughter, and it only takes a beat before Brittany’s own laughter joins in. “I’ll be good,” she finally promises.

Brittany smirks and turns back to her phone. It worked! she texts, and then, She promised to be good.

Hmm, Santana responds instantly, and Brittany can almost see the amused sparkle in those beautiful brown eyes, I suppose that’s acceptable. But one more teasing remark and I’ll kick her ass! I can’t have anyone making fun of my Britts. Brittany bites down on her smile so it doesn’t overwhelm her, and she so wishes that Santana was here right now so she could see the furious blush she’s sure is blooming across Santana’s cheeks, giving her that adorable too bright, breathless look. 

My hero! Brittany answers quickly, only hesitating for a split second before she adds a couple heart emojis to it, feeling heat prickle under her own skin; Santana’s blush may be adorable, but Brittany doesn’t want her to actually burst into flames from it, and she figures Santana deserves a little bit of payoff for the chance she just took, even if said payoff does make Brittany blush furiously in return.

“So what’s the verdict?” Mercedes asks as she sets Brittany’s plate down in front of her, eyeing the pink splotching Brittany’s cheeks with amused delight, “Did I earn my way back onto Santana Clause’s nice list?”

Brittany glances up from her phone with a grin. “Latte or cappuccino?”

///

Before Brittany knows it, the matinee is over and she’s plunging her feet into a bucket of ice for the first time that night. Saturdays aren’t as busy as Sundays, where there’s a matinee at one and an evening show at five and they barely have time to breathe after the matinee before warmups for the evening show are starting, let alone eat or rest, but with Saturday matinees at two and the evening shows at eight, it still makes for a busy day.

Brittany’s only just pulling on her favourite pair of fuzzy socks, hopping around by her vanity, when there’s a knock at the door. She quickly tugs the sock the rest of the way up her calf, snapping the elastic as she calls a greeting. Santana nudges the door open with her toe, struggling with two big bags of food and a tray of coffees, her notebook tucked under her arm, almost flush with her armpit. “Hey,” she says, her voice almost as soft as her smile; it makes Brittany feel a little bit like she’s melting.

“Hi,” Brittany greets, hovering by the vanity as Santana slips further into the room. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Santana says nervously, “but Mike had something come up today and Tina doesn’t have any supper, so I invited her to join us once she’s done talking to Kurt, and because Mercedes was walking to costumes with Tina I invited her too. They’re going to be here at like five-thirty-ish.”

Brittany feels a flash of disappointment arc through her, but she pushes it aside, both because she genuinely doesn’t actually mind Tina and Mercedes eating with them, and because Santana looks just as disappointed as she feels that they’ll have extra company for supper. “That’s fine!” she says brightly, and she does really mean it, “But you owe me supper with just the two of us now.”

Santana’s eyes widen before they soften into something hopeful. “It’s a deal,” she says quietly as she steps all the way into the room, and Brittany’s pretty sure she’s going to hear that promise echoing around her head for days. “Do you want me to?” Santana trails off, gesturing towards the coffee table with the bag of food.

“Nope,” Brittany says happily. Santana frowns and her face grows tight and worried for a moment until Brittany points at her sneakers. “This is a no shoe zone while eating, remember?”

Santana relaxes and Brittany can hear her sigh of relief, even as she rolls her eyes, across the dressing room, and she would feel a little bad about scaring Santana like that if that furrow between her brows weren’t so damn cute. Brittany giggles and crosses the dressing room to take the tray of coffee from Santana, easing the notebook from under Santana’s arm as well. She sets the coffee down on the table and tosses the notebook onto the couch, sinking onto the floor with only a small groan as her muscles protest; she’s really going to have to stretch them out again before the evening show.

Santana kicks off her sneakers and struggles to shrug off her jacket, transferring the bags of food between her hands as she wiggles her arm around until her jacket drops off of her wrist and onto the chair by the door, leaving her in her black t-shirt and black skinny jeans. She drops the bags on the coffee table as she rounds it to sit beside Brittany, and Brittany’s eyes fall to her navy blue socks decorated with radishes and carrots and turnips. “Cute,” Brittany says, tickling her fingertips across the top of Santana’s foot. Santana rolls her eyes again, but her cheeks still dimple anyways, even as she fights off her smile.

Santana doesn’t just settle close enough that their knees are pressed together like yesterday, instead, since Brittany’s legs are stretched out under the coffee table, Santana settles close enough that their thighs press together. It makes every single nerve ending in Brittany’s body come alive, as if she had just been shocked awake, and she covers her reaction by dragging the coffee table towards them so they can still lean comfortably back against the couch. They silently divide up the food and coffee, leaving two piles for Tina and Mercedes once they show up, and once again Brittany marvels at their opposite handed dominance, because it means that not only do their thighs and hips remain pressed together, their calves brushing occasionally, but their arms from shoulder to elbow remain pressed together the entire time they’re eating as well. Brittany feels warm all over despite the goosebumps prickling her skin, and she’s so thankful she decided not to pull her sweater on after the show, because it means that her bare arm presses to Santana’s bare arm, and Brittany’s pretty sure Santana must have the softest and warmest skin ever.

They eat in comfortable silence for a while, and Brittany doesn’t find the need to fill the quiet like she usually does, instead they just pass their sandwiches back and forth so the other can try both kinds, sharing a small container of gravy, and smiling shyly every time their fingers brush.

Once Brittany feels like she’s satisfied the aching hole in her stomach—she’s always starving after a performance—she lets her head fall back on the couch and lazily lolls it towards Santana, pointing her toes to stretch out her legs a little more, shifting subtly so her calf presses to Santana all the way to their ankles. “So how’d the show go on your end?” she asks.

Santana finishes chewing on her bite of sandwich and swallows with an eye roll, her head shaking a little with the motion. “Fine, but that little gremlin in sound is getting on my last fucking nerve.”

Brittany studies Santana’s profile for a second before turning her head to stare up at the ceiling. “It’s ‘cause Sandy used to feed him after midnight,” Brittany says seriously.

Santana’s silent for a beat before she turns to Brittany with glowing eyes and playfully smacks her in the arm. “That movie gave me fucking nightmares as a kid!” she squeals. 

Brittany twists her face and drops her voice down to her raspiest, deepest octave, the kind that makes it feel like her vocal cords are scratching together and the urge to cough is almost overwhelming. “Gizmo, caca!” she croaks. 

“Stop it!” Santana squawks, smacking her again, but her brown eyes are bright and amused.

“Uh oh.”

“Seriously!” Santana laughs, “If I have nightmares tonight I’m blaming you!”

Brittany bursts into laughter as well, warmth ballooning in her chest until she feels like she might melt. “I haven’t seen that movie in forever.”

Santana shakes her head, obviously charmed but pretending she’s not. “You’re a goofball, you know that?”

Brittany nudges her with her shoulder. “You love it,” she teases.

Santana’s eyes go soft and liquid. “Yeah,” she breathes, and there’s a charged moment as Brittany sucks in a sharp breath, preparing for something without knowing what, before Santana flusters and quickly glances away, grabbing a couple fries to pop in her mouth.

“Have you seen him without hair gel?” Brittany asks.

Santana shakes her head, laughing as she swallows her mouthful, “No, I haven’t, but Mike said he looks like a Chia Pet.” 

Brittany glances slyly at Santana. “Who do you think came up with that?”

Santana bursts into giggles and shoves playfully at Brittany’s shoulder, sending her careening dramatically off balance, though Brittany only really lets herself fall back so far so has an excuse to compensate and lean further into Santana’s space when she sits back up. 

They talk about the show some more as they finish off their suppers, exchanging their sandwiches and fries for their cooling coffees. As the time creeps towards five-thirty, Santana grows nervous and almost twitchy, and Brittany can’t figure out why. She subtly shifts her legs until she can run her ankle along Santana’s for a brief moment, but that only makes Santana jump a little. Despite her earlier nerves, she doesn’t seem to still be anxious about Mercedes and Tina crashing their supper, but Brittany can’t quite figure out what’s bothering her now. She keeps glancing at Brittany and opening her mouth before snapping it closed and looking away before Brittany can see her, or before she realizes Brittany can see her, at least. Once she does this for about the seventh time, Brittany takes a steadying breath and studies Santana’s profile for a long while before she nudges her gently with her elbow. “Hey,” she says softly, “Are you okay? You seem a little off.”

Santana glances at Brittany sharply, for barely a second, almost before Brittany can register the tension there, before she softens. “I— Uh, yeah. I just— I overheard you last night,” she admits, “In the snow corps dressing room. What you said about bullying and, um, knowing other dancers to replace them if they kept being mean or, uh, whatever.”

Brittany tenses, and draws back from Santana a little. Santana was never meant to find out about that, let alone hear it. Heat crawls under the skin on the back of Brittany’s neck but the rest of her body breaks out in chills, a little bit like when she’s sicker than a dog and fighting a fever. “I— Um—” she stutters, her stomach knotting at the realization that Santana probably thinks that she was completely inappropriate for stepping out of line like that. “You weren’t supposed to— I mean I didn’t mean to— I know it was probably not my place at all or whatever but I— I just,” she finally trails off lamely when she realizes that Santana isn’t getting angry or annoyed, she’s just staring at Brittany with something unreadable in her eyes. 

Santana just looks at Brittany for a long time, long enough that Brittany starts to fidget under her dark gaze, her eyes darting between Brittany’s before settling into the deepest groove of them. “Thank you,” she whispers, and Brittany feels the knot just below her sternum ease even as goosebumps break out all across her body, “I— I can’t even say how much it means to me.” Santana opens her mouth, but then closes it, her lips pressed together as she shakes her head a little bit, almost like she can’t believe that Brittany is actually sitting there in front of her. Santana’s eyes dart down for a split second before catching back on Brittany’s, just a little bit wet and adoring. “My hero,” she breathes, and though she tries to imbue a slightly teasing tone to the words to mask how much they mean, her voice only comes out soft and warm and fond.

For a split second Brittany thinks that Santana might take her hand, or hug her, or even lean in and kiss her cheek, which, of course, means that this is the exact moment that someone knocks on the door and only gives it a split second before easing it open. They both jump a little, and despite straightening their spines and leaning back a little, neither of them realizing their faces had drifted so close together, they don’t move far enough to break the contact of their legs and arms.

Mercedes and Tina greet them as the step into the room, and Brittany feels her cheeks heat up even though she didn’t do anything wrong; Santana grows breathless and warm beside her, and they both resolutely pretend that their faces weren’t only a couple inches apart just a couple seconds ago.

Their two supper crashers sit down across from them, and Brittany and Santana reluctantly draw their legs up to make room for their friends. They still remain pressed close to each other, but Brittany instantly misses the electrifying warmth of the entire length of Santana’s leg pressed against hers. 

Mercedes and Tina dig into their suppers, and they all easily start chatting about the matinee, everything Santana still has to do before the evening show, the latest gossip around the theatre, which Mercedes and Tina relay to an eager Santana, who is both interested and horrified in equal parts, and then what they’re planning on doing after the show tonight. Santana is going straight home to collapse into bed; Brittany’s planning on Skyping with her parents and sister for a while; Tina’s going to drop Santana off and then meet up with Mike for drinks; Mercedes is driving Sam home and then collapsing into bed as well. 

“So what are you guys planning to do on your day off?” Mercedes asks as she drags a fry through the ketchup she squirted onto the styrofoam lid of her sandwich container. 

Brittany wiggles her toes a little, brushing them against Santana’s thigh and barely catching the shiver it elicits. “I’m not planning on doing anything,” Brittany says, her attention mostly on Santana. 

Mercedes laughs. “You’re planning on doing laundry.”

Brittany pouts but knows that she’s right. “Only if you make me your famous cookies again as a reward.”

“Girl it’s your own laundry! You don’t deserve a reward for doing your own laundry!” Mercedes protests, but they both know that Brittany’s going to get her cookies anyways.

Brittany grins and nudges Santana with her elbow. “What about you?”

Santana turns her head towards Brittany a little, but her eyes never leave Tina’s, and Brittany watches in fascination as they seem to be having an entire conversation without saying a single word. “Well it’s tradition for me and Tina and Mike to go out for brunch whenever we’re free, which is actually easy now since we’re all working on the same production for the first time since college.”

“The same place as Monday?” Brittany asks curiously.

Tina groans from across the coffee table. “For eight damn years,” she whines.

Santana sticks her tongue out at Tina and Brittany’s stomach flutters; she really is too cute for her own good. “You love it,” Santana teases. She finally turns her full attention to Brittany and gives her a small, dimpled smile. “And then we were planning on hanging out at the mall and knocking off some Christmas shopping.”

“That sounds fun,” Brittany says earnestly.

“Jeez,” Mercedes says from across the table, her voice bright with realization, “Christmas shopping is going to be damn near impossible with this production’s schedule.”

Tina glances at Santana, and Santana gives her a tiny nod. Brittany watches Santana curiously out of the corner of her eye even as she turns her face towards Tina and Mercedes. “Why don’t you guys come with us?” Tina suggests, and a tiny thrill of giddy warmth curls in Brittany’s stomach. “You could bring Sam and we can all meet up for brunch at the same place at like ten? I think the mall opens at nine, but I know none of us will want to get up earlier than we have to,” Tina laughs. “We could go out for supper afterwards too. It’ll be fun!” 

Mercedes turns to Brittany with a questioning look, her eye brow slightly raised as her eyes slide to Santana before pinning Brittany with that knowing look of hers; Brittany blushes despite herself. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Brittany says slowly, glancing around the coffee table before her eyes land and linger on Santana, “That sounds much better than laundry.”

Tina cheers and Mercedes gives Brittany a coy smile, but Brittany’s attention is caught completely by Santana’s bright, hopeful expression. “Cool,” she manages, and Brittany finally gets to see that adorably tough façade of hers, the exact same one Brittany imagined this morning, but so much better in person.

Mercedes and Tina start working out the details, huddling together to peer over Tina’s phone as they look for what stores are in the mall and what time it opens at and what the best idea for transportation is, but Brittany is suddenly struck by the realization that her and Santana will be spending the day with two other couples, two couples who are definitely, one-hundred percent dating. Brittany doesn’t mind playing the third wheel, she’s done it for the last month or so that Mercedes and Sam have been dating, and even longer if you count how long they just pined after each other, and she’s pretty sure that Santana has been playing the third wheel since college; but the thing is, is that Brittany doesn’t want to be the third wheel tomorrow. She doesn’t want to just be the other half of a third wheel to a Mike-and-Tina and Mercedes-and-Sam double date; she wants to be the third part of a triple date. But she only wants that if Santana wants that, and she can’t know that unless she asks Santana, and she has to take a long drink from her cold coffee to steel her nerves.

She glances at Mercedes and Tina to double check that they’re sufficiently distracted, before she leans even closer to Santana, close enough that she actually sees Santana’s breath hitch. Santana turns her head towards Brittany and suddenly her warm breath is fanning across the sensitive skin of Brittany’s face, and it’s as if every single nerve ending just woke up form a long sleep. “What?” Santana whispers.

“Is, uh, I mean—” Brittany breathes, “Mercedes and Sam are dating, and Mike and Tina are dating, so is this, um, you know? I mean, no pressure! Or anything. I don’t want it to be if you don’t. And uh— Yeah,” she finishes lamely. She knows she’s rambling and barely making any sense, but she can’t manage to stop herself or make herself coherent. When Santana’s eyes lock on hers something jolts up her spine; it feels a little bit like that time she got a little bit electrocuted by the tea urn that summer she worked in the kitchen of her neighbour’s family restaurant, like a thick current of pure energy just coursed through her veins and jerked her limbs, leaving her shaking and with a heavily pounding heart.

Santana’s expression is breathless and bright, her dark eyes wide and impossibly deep as she stares at Brittany. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be, if you don’t want it to be,” she mumbles.

Brittany swallows thickly, glancing quickly at Mercedes and Tina and finding them still distracted by Tina’s phone. “And if I want it to be?” she whispers.

Brittany can hear Santana suck in a sharp breath, and her eyes soften and liquify, like melting chocolate. “Then yeah,” Santana breathes, “It definitely could be.”

Brittany kind of can’t help it when she feels her softest smile spread across her face, and as Santana’s softest smile spreads in return, Brittany can feel that bright, lifting warmth in her chest again, and she’s suddenly desperate for Monday to arrive.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #mercedes jones #brittcedes #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) #the start of week two!!

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 10/25

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[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Brittany’s pretty sure she just might be the luckiest person in the world because she gets to have Santana’s dimple-cheeked, scrunched-nose smile directed at her for most of the day; Santana might be really sneaky, but she’s also really sweet.

Chapter 10: bad jokes and brandy and music and games

///

For the first time in possibly months, Brittany jumps right out of bed as soon as her alarm goes off, even before Mercedes is awake, humming as she brushes her teeth and hops into the shower. After staying up gushing with Mercedes about the fact that Santana also wants today to be a date, even if neither of them had actually said the word date, she had thought she would be too giddy and excited to actually sleep, but after eight shows in six days, Brittany’s body was more exhausted than her mind was excited, and she ended up falling asleep quickly.

When she gets out of the shower she quickly dries her hair and rubs moisturizer into her skin before she grabs her phone, smiling widely as she responds to Santana’s morning text. Her and Mercedes are lucky enough to have two bathrooms in their apartment and still not pay a ridiculous amount in rent, but Mercedes has the double luck of having the room with the ensuite while Brittany commandeers the main bathroom. Brittany’s never minded having to wander down the hallway for the bathroom because she generally keeps her stuff pretty neat, so there’s no cleanliness problems. The only issue they’ve ever had about it is the fact that the main bathroom is right at the beginning of the hall to their bedrooms and the storage closet, which means that as soon as Brittany steps out of the bathroom she’s practically in the living room and kitchen. The set up of their apartment has led to many embarrassing introductions as Brittany stumbled backwards to her bedroom, tugging her towel further down her legs, while Mercedes’ friends sat, wide-eyed, on the couch and Mercedes hovered between the two with an awkward And this is my roommate, Brittany. Thankfully that hasn’t happened since the first year they lived together, and nowadays Mercedes is always careful to warn Brittany when she’s inviting people over.

Brittany quickly runs a brush through her hair before she heads out of the bathroom to go get dressed, planning on drying her hair after. Mercedes is already in the kitchen, and she blinks in surprise as Brittany emerges from the bathroom in a swirl of steam, checking the clock and then glancing at Brittany a couple times in shock; Brittany barely notices her, hovering in front of the bathroom door and texting Santana. Mercedes remains dumbstruck until she finally registers something even stranger than Brittany being up and showered by this time. “Is that—” she gasps, “Are you humming Christmas music?”

Brittany rolls her eyes, caught, and shrugs. “So what if I am?”

“Are you kidding?” Mercedes laughs, “Ms. I-refuse-to-let-you-decorate-since-you’re-going-away-for-Christmas-and-I’ll-be-stuck-looking-at-it-Humbug voluntarily humming Christmas music? And Mariah Carey no less? Hallelujah, it’s a Christmas miracle!”

“You got it stuck in my head the other day,” Brittany accuses, pointing threateningly at Mercedes.

Mercedes’ smirk widens. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain production stage manager, would it?”

Brittany rolls her eyes again and tightens her grip on the hem of her towel where it’s tucked neatly against her breast, tapping her phone against her thigh. “She doesn’t really like Christmas either,” Brittany says.

“Hmm,” Mercedes says in a tone that implies she has a lot more to say, especially if her sparkling eyes are anything to go by.

“What? What’s hmm?”

Mercedes shrugs and drums her fingers on the counter, waiting until Brittany is shifting impatiently and about to leave before she continues. “Well, it does seem like something right out of a Hallmark Christmas movie.”

Brittany’s about to retort when she pauses, tipping her head to the side as Mercedes’ words fully process. “How so?”

Mercedes’ grin widens as she straightens. “Are you kidding? This could be a plot straight-out of a movie airing at nine p.m. on the twenty-second: Two Christmas humbugs learning to love the holiday again with each other?”

Brittany sighs and shifts a little, studying her toes for a long moment. “Hallmark Christmas movies always have a happy ending, right?” she asks shyly.

Mercedes melts as she rounds the counter and crosses the apartment until she can grab one of Brittany’s hands, soothingly working the tension out of the soft parts of her palm. “It’s not a Hallmark movie if the two leads don’t smooch their way to a Christmas miracle,” she whispers.

Brittany takes a deep breath before she meets Mercedes’ eyes, one side of her mouth quirked up in a dreamy, lopsided smile. “Then I’m okay with being the lead in a cheesy, mediocre Christmas movie that people only watch because it’s the season and there’s nothing else on,” she says cheekily, and Mercedes grins at how soft and warm and adoring Brittany’s eyes go, “as long as Santana’s the other lead.”

Mercedes laughs and tugs Brittany into a quick hug, damp towel and clammy skin and all. “I don’t think you have to worry about that,” she says easily, “I don’t think you have to worry about that at all.”

///

Tina, Mike, and Santana are already sitting in the corner booth by the time Mercedes, Sam, and Brittany arrive; they look the exact same as when Brittany spotted them last week, with Mike’s arm stretched across the back of the booth and Tina curled into his side, Santana sitting across from them as they all fondly tease each other. Mike catches sight of them first and waves, and everything is the exact same as last week except Santana looks less like she’s got thrown in the river and more like an actual goddess.

Her hair’s down again, like it was at the grocery store on Tuesday, and it falls in soft waves around her shoulders, and when her dark eyes meet Brittany’s across the restaurant as she cranes her neck over the booth to wave at her, Brittany almost swallows her tongue. She’s almost certain that Santana holds the position of the prettiest person in the entire world, and when she directs that dimple-cheeked, scrunched-nose smile at Brittany, Brittany pretty much feels like the luckiest person in the entire world.

Mercedes nudges Brittany and Brittany manages to blink out of her dimple-induced daze in time to wave back at Santana before the long pause gets too awkward. Mercedes chuckles knowingly at Brittany as they head across the restaurant, and Brittany just sticks her tongue out at Mercedes in response.

As soon as they reach the booth and greet everyone, shrugging out of their jackets and hanging them on the coatracks attached to the walls dividing booths, Sam looks expectantly at Mercedes, waiting for her to slide into the booth beside Santana so they can sit together. Before she sits, Mercedes makes the mistake of glancing at Brittany, who has that pleading kicked puppy-dog pout of hers, and instead Mercedes just rolls her eyes fondly and ushers Brittany into the booth to sit right beside Santana, nodding at the open space beside Tina for Sam to slide into. He looks a little confused, but just shrugs and complies; Brittany wants to hug Mercedes, but instead she just squeezes her hand in thanks as she slides in beside Santana, their thighs and arms pressing together. There’s a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee already on the table for Brittany, and she looks at Santana in question.

Santana gives a one armed shrug and smiles at Brittany, soft and breathless, and Brittany’s pretty sure if she lifted a hand to touch Santana’s cheeks they would be blush-warm. “Thanks,” Brittany whispers.

Santana just shrugs again, her eyes darting down to the table for a moment before catching on Brittany’s again. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs.

Their attention is drawn across the table as their waitress, the same one from last week, appears with three menus, handing them out to Sam, Mercedes, and Brittany. “Wow, these guys managed to keep you around for a full week,” she teases, “The holiday season really is full of miracles.”

Mike and Santana both stick their tongues out at the waitress in perfect sync, while Tina just rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her hot chocolate. Brittany giggles at the exchange; she loves watching how worn into each other Santana and Tina and Mike are, because they have this teasing easiness between them that makes her feel completely comfortable with them. The waitress winks at them before taking Sam and Mercedes’ drink orders, eyeing the orange juice and coffee in front of Brittany before casting a sly glance at Santana, who instantly flushes, before disappearing back to the kitchen. The restaurant isn’t that busy, there’s a couple of exhausted looking college students nursing coffees and their heads, a couple of nicely dressed businesspeople with their laptops and notebooks shoved to the side of the table so they can eat, a group of seniors taking advantage of their breakfast discount, and a mom out with her two kids, all three of them colouring on the placemats as the older girl narrates her coming day and the younger girl quietly sings along to the Christmas music crooning from speakers hidden around the restaurant. Sam starts wondering whether to get an omelet or pancakes again, while Mercedes quietly reads the menu, pretending she doesn’t know her boyfriend or Mike, who have gotten into a friendly argument about the best item on the menu over Tina’s head.

Brittany just grins at them, exchanging an amused glance with Santana at their bickering friends. She feels warm and full, the garland along the back of the booth tickling her neck a little as she sighs and leans back into her seat, taking in the warm scent of breakfast food and coffee, Christmas spices and sweets, citrus and vanilla. Santana casts a small smile at her as she reaches for her coffee, and the warmth in Brittany’s chest blooms a little bit. It’s been years since she let herself actually enjoy Christmas, what with her family on the other side of the country every year and Mercedes always back home for the week before Christmas, it’s usually just another day for her, and aside from a couple gifts for a couple people, she doesn’t even do holiday shopping past October.

But there’s something new about this year, a spark she hasn’t felt since the last Christmas she spent with her family in her first year of college, and she finds herself actually starting to look forward to the coming weeks as the joyful chaos of the approaching holiday descends on the city.

She’s so lost in thought, that she doesn’t even realize that so much time has passed until the waitress is teasing the regulars at the table again, and she glances up with a start. Mike, Tina, and Santana have already placed their orders, and Mercedes and Sam are still looking over the menus, so the waitress turns to Brittany. “What can I get for you, hon?”

Brittany grins and hands the menu back to the waitress without ever having opened it. “The Sunshine Special, please.” The waitress nods and tucks the menu back under her arm before turning to the other two.

Santana’s hand falls briefly on her thigh, the pressure feather light and ticklish and tingling, retreating as soon as Brittany turns her attention to her. “You don’t want to try something else?” she asks quietly.

Brittany shrugs and ducks her head down before she manages to meet Santana’s eyes. “You said it was your favourite,” she admits, “So now it’s my favourite too.”

Santana sucks in a sharp breath as she stares at Brittany, and Brittany gets that falling feeling she sometimes gets when she catches Santana’s eyes, tingling at the base of her spine and spreading throughout her body, like she’s free falling without a parachute and her nerves are all alive and electric. Santana opens her mouth to say something, but snaps it closed a moment later, shaking her head and offering Brittany that smile that scrunches her nose and reveals those adorable dimples. “You’re something else, you know that, Britt?”

Brittany grins and pretends to buff her nails on her shirt, ignoring how her face flames. “Well, I do so try,” she teases.

Santana just pokes playfully at her shoulder, her grin so wide and happy Brittany’s pretty sure she’s going to see it in her dreams.

///

By the time they get to the mall it’s almost ten thirty, and despite it being a Monday the stores and corridors are packed and more than a little chaotic. Santana presses close against Brittany as a woman with a stroller narrowly avoids running over Santana’s toes, earning a glare from the blonde as she tracks her movement through the crowd over Santana’s head. Santana grumbles something under her breath that sounds more like cursing than anything, and it brings a tugging smile to Brittany’s lips as Santana straightens and draws half a step away from Brittany, still close enough that their jackets scratch together where they’re draped over their arms. Their group of six huddles together, deciding on a meet up place and time. Mike and Sam want to go check out Radio Shack (Brittany’s pretty sure Sam is looking to get Mercedes a nice pair of headphones, otherwise she would be pushing for them to all go together), Tina needs a new pair of shoes and wants to look for a purse for her mom, and Mercedes wants to look into getting some skin care stuff for her brother, who’s been suffering a flare up of eczema with the cold weather; when the group turns to Brittany and Santana to find what they’re looking for, they both just shrug and respond with nothing in particular. They all decide to meet back at the food court in a couple hours to grab a snack and figure out whether they need to reconfigure the group divisions for certain stores, and certain gifts, and what else to do for the day.

Mike and Sam take off in one direction, while Mercedes and Tina discuss the best way to hit the stores they need, before they’re taking off in another.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask before,” Brittany says, and Santana has to press close to her again to hear her over the crowd as they trail behind Mercedes and Tina. Brittany tips her head down so she can speak almost directly into Santana’s ear, but she nearly goes careening into an old man as she takes her eyes off the crowd around her; Santana solves this by placing her hand on the small of Brittany’s back to guide her through the crowd. Brittany might be biased, but she’s pretty sure Santana’s warm palm pressing to her back through her thin knit sweater is, like, the best feeling in the entire world.

“What did you wanna ask, Britt?” Santana prompts.

Brittany manages to shake out of her daze, which is more than a little difficult when Santana’s fingers dig gently into her skin to guide her out of the way of a large family with kids no taller than their knees running around and carelessly tripping up strangers. “Oh!” she says, leaning a little closer until she’s practically breathing her words right into Santana’s ear so she can actually hear them, “Just, uh, are you buying gifts for anyone?”

Santana shivers, and Brittany pouts a little because she knows how easily Santana gets cold; the urge to wrap her into her own warm embrace is nearly overpowering. “Not really,” she says, her eyes on the crowd around them as they dodge an adorable old couple who must be collectively about a hundred and seventy years old. “Just Tina and Mike,” she says. “What about you?”

Brittany blinks at the change in subject. “Just my sister and Mercedes and Sam. My parents don’t let my sister and I get them presents, so. But I already got all their stuff months ago since I have to ship my sister’s to California, and it’s just easier to get Mercedes and Sam’s gifts at the same time. What about your family?”

“Um,” Santana hesitates for a long moment before she draws her attention away from the crowd to glance up at Brittany. “Most of my family didn’t take it very well when they found out I was gay.”

Brittany just stares at Santana, searching for something, anything, to say, before landing on what feels like a completely inadequate, “I’m so sorry.” Santana shrugs but before Brittany can question her further, Mercedes and Tina are calling for them, urging them into some nearby department store. Santana gives Brittany a warm smile and guides them through the rushing crowd, safely navigating them to the other side before gesturing for Brittany to enter the store first with an overdramatic bow.

“My hero,” Brittany giggles, and Santana flushes but gives Brittany that dimpled smile that makes Brittany’s stomach swoop like she’s falling as they follow Mercedes and Tina into the store.

They trail after the other girls, making a game of pointing out the most ridiculous items they see, trying their hardest to make Mercedes and Tina break and start laughing, while Mercedes and Tina try their hardest to pretend they don’t know them.

They pass the toy aisle on their way to the men’s clothing department for Mercedes to pick out a tie for her dad, when Santana spots a toy nutcracker at the end of the aisle. She gives Brittany a wide smirk as she grabs it and quickly starts to reenact one of the scenes they all know by heart; Mercedes and Tina stare, horrified, for a beat, before their loud laughter joins Brittany’s and Santana’s. Brittany spots a stuffed mouse just a couple steps down the aisle and swipes it, quickly taking on the role of the Mouse King to Santana’s nutcracker. Tina even does her part for the reenacted scene and dings Brittany in the head with her shoe, except said shoe is actually a package of Kleenex, for which Brittany is grateful for because Tina’s actually wearing boots that would probably really hurt if she got hit in the head with them.

A middle aged women gives them all looks of disapproval as she passes them, sharply turning the corner and sticking her nose up in the air, and Tina and Santana both stick their tongues out at her, much to Mercedes and Brittany’s amusement. Mercedes and Tina wander off towards the men’s clothing department, while Santana backtracks a couple aisles to put the nutcracker back with the others, leaving Brittany in the deserted stuffed animal aisle as she tosses the mouse back with its stuffed brothers and sisters.

She’s just heading back up the aisle when a small box of animal keychains catch her eyes; there’s dolphins and dogs and lions and wolves, but what really stops her in her tracks and makes her heart ache is the plump brown tabby that sits on top of all the others. Brittany pauses and glances around, finding this section of the store still deserted, before she grabs the charm and holds it up to the light. It looks just like Tubbs, right down to his pale green eyes and seemingly permanently curled tail. She can’t stop the smile or the tears she feels prickling her eyes as she fingers the charm, tracing over the swirling patterns of dark stripes against the dusky brown.

She doesn’t hear Santana come up behind her until her voice is right in her ear. “You should get it,” Santana says, and Brittany only barely contains her jump. “Sorry,” Santana mumbles, but the soft, amused look in her dark eyes means she’s anything but, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Brittany shakes her head a little. “You didn’t scare me,” she lies.

Santana snorts a little. “Sure.”

“You startled me, at most.”

“Right,” Santana drawls, drawing out the word until Brittany giggles.

“Fine, fine,” she concedes around a wide smile, “You scared me, a little.”

Santana smirks at her, but it softens as soon as she meets Brittany’s eyes. “I meant what I said,” she says, her body swinging a little bit closer until their jackets scratch against each other as she nods at the charm, “You should get it.”

Brittany fingers the cat’s tail with a small smile. “It looks just like him,” she agrees, “But I dunno. It’s kind of childish, isn’t it?”

Santana’s eyes are steady on hers, and Brittany fights the clenching in her chest. “I don’t think it is,” she says honestly.

Brittany shrugs, and is about to respond when Mercedes voice calls her attention away. She puts the charm back on top of the pile on auto pilot and trudges over to her best friend, exiting the toy aisle and walking the short distance to the men’s clothing department to help Mercedes pick between two ties for her father, Santana trailing behind her. Mercedes ends up deciding against both of ties, and they all wander to the front of the store empty handed. She gets caught up in texting her sister for a moment as she distractedly trails behind the other girls, slipping her phone back into her pocket as they emerge back into the rushing crowd, and only then does she notice that they’re missing half of their group.

“Where’s Santana and Tina?” she says aloud.

Mercedes shrugs. “Tina wanted to buy something and she dragged Santana along with her, something about needing Santana’s opinion, I dunno. They said they’ll meet us in the next store.”

Brittany cranes her neck to glance back in the store, but she can’t see the cash registers at this angle so she just shrugs and follows Mercedes into the next store. Barely two minutes later, Santana and Tina are wandering in the front of the store, Tina’s eyes quickly alighting on a purse in the display case as Santana’s eyes alight on Brittany, both of them brightening as they cross the store to the respective object and person who has caught their attention.

“What did Tina get?” Brittany asks as Santana steps up beside her.

“Huh?” Santana says blankly.

“At the last store,” Brittany clarifies, “Mercedes said Tina needed your opinion on something.”

“Oh!” Santana says as they slowly move to the next shelf of shoes, “Uh, she got—”

“Just a lipgloss colour,” Tina chimes in from behind them. Santana and Brittany glance over their shoulders as Tina reaches them. “Santana’s always making fun of whatever colour I choose,” she explains to Brittany, “So I forced her to help me so she can’t complain anymore.”

“Oh, I’ll still complain,” Santana promises. Tina goes to shove her but Santana dances out of the way, right into Brittany, who quickly reaches out to steady her. There’s many things about today that Brittany’s really enjoying, but she thinks perhaps the best is the blush-hot shy smile that Santana gives her every time she falls into her personal space.

When the leave this store, again empty handed, Brittany decides its her turn to guide Santana through the crowd, and catches Santana’s full-body shiver against her palm as she rests it over the small of Santana’s back. Santana glances at her with a soft smile, falling in perfect step beside Brittany until their hips brush together with every step.

Brittany’s pretty sure she could get used to this.

///

They emerge from the mall a couple hours later, everyone with at least one bag aside from Santana and Brittany, who had been too busy huddling together and giggling to actually pay attention to anything in the stores. They trail behind the others, only half listening as Sam starts to excitedly talk about some arcade they should all go to. Mike and Tina glance at each other and shrug in agreement, and Sam launches into a long and over-informative explanation of the arcade, including how the prize system works, most of the menu of the attached restaurant, a list of all the games, and even their physical layout.

“Nerd,” Santana calls teasingly.

Sam turns so he’s walking backwards and gives Santana a broad grin, his arms spread so wide he almost takes out a couple of unsuspecting pedestrians. “You know it. You in?”

Santana shrugs and glances up at Brittany, and it takes Brittany a couple moments to realize that Santana’s asking for her answer first. She smiles widely and nods, a thrill arcing through her at the thought of her and Santana being a package deal.

“Sure,” Santana says as she turns back to Sam, “Why not?”

Sam cheers and finally turns back around to lead them down the sidewalk. They make it about a block and a half when Brittany realizes that Santana’s shivering, her shoulders up by her ears and her jaw trembling a little. Brittany grins and gently touches Santana on the back of her hand to get her attention; her nose is red and her cheeks are pinked and raw from the cold wind. Brittany holds one arm up in invitation and Santana doesn’t hesitate before she tucks herself into Brittany’s side, her arm snaking around Brittany’s hip as she cuddles closer, Brittany’s own arm settling comfortably over her shoulder. Brittany’s always ran more hot than most people, which always makes her the best cuddle buddy in winter, something both Mercedes and Sam have told her many times during their movie nights. Though she’s only wearing a light jacket, like Santana, she’s still comfortably warm, unlike Santana. And honestly, having Santana tucked into her side is kind of a dream come true, because she can feel every single breath Santana takes and every giggle she lets out, and it makes Brittany feel even warmer than she was before.

Mike holds the door open for everyone once they get to the arcade, and though Brittany is reluctant to let Santana out of her embrace, she’s actually pretty excited for the arcade. The last time she went to one she was in elementary school and her dad was treating her for doing so well at one of her dance competition; usually they would have gone camping in celebration, but her mom was eight months pregnant with Brittany’s little sister at the time and too far along, and much too uncomfortable, to do any camping.

Sam bounces to the front counter and deals with all the logistics while the rest of them crowd off to the side of the door so they aren’t in the way. Sam returns barely five minutes later with everything they need, passing out Power Cards for everyone and giving a brief rundown on how they work before leading them into the actual arcade. There’s an entrance to the restaurant attached off of the first room they enter, but the rest of the arcade is huge, so much bigger than the small town one Brittany’s dad had taken her to all those years ago. There’s barely anyone else here, on account of it being a Monday afternoon before school lets out, so they just wander through the arcade first, pointing out games to each other and reminiscing on old memories of playing them what feels like forever ago. There’s old retro games like Pac-Man and Skee-Ball and Super Shot mixed in with some newer games like Candy Crush and Angry Birds and Mario & Sonic at the Rio 2016 Olympic Games; Brittany even spots a Dance Dance Revolution, and she already knows that as soon as their group spots it that it’ll be where they spend most of the afternoon.

Sam and Mike spot some old game that they both used to play when they were kids, and they drag the rest of the group over to crowd around and watch them. They crush the game, despite it probably being over a decade since they last played it, and manage to edge out the last two players who were in tenth place, their names proudly displayed on the scoreboard. They urge Mercedes and Tina to go next, and they barely make it through the third level, much to everyone’s amusement, and before Brittany knows it, her and Santana are being pushed to the console next.

Their names flash as Britt-Britt and Snix, and Santana’s nose crinkles up. “Snix,” she says, directing her glare at Tina.

Tina just shrugs. “You gave yourself that name, not me,” she teases.

“Yeah, when I was drunk and crying.”

“Not my fault you’re an emo drunk.”

“Emotional drunk! Not emo! You’re the one who had a goth phase, not me!”

“Santana!” Sam shouts, “The game’s starting.”

Santana’s attention snaps back to the game, and Brittany is a little distracted by how adorable Santana is when she’s flustered from being teased and determined to win the game, her cheeks flushed and tongue poking out between her teeth just a little bit. Brittany’s so distracted that she loses a life before she manages to refocus on the game, and then Brittany and Santana are breezing through the first couple levels.

They don’t place or anything, they don’t even make it to the final level, but Brittany’s stomach flips over when she sees their names, even if it’s just some dumb nicknames their friends put in, flash together on the screen.

Santana shoots another glare at Tina when Snix shows up, but she glances at Brittany with a curious smile. “Britt-Britt?”

Brittany laughs and nods. “Yeah, it’s what my sister used to call me when she was really young and it kinda stuck,” she explains, “Mercedes overheard her use it once and now she uses it too.”

Santana casts that bright, dimples-deep grin at Brittany and her stomach flips over again. “That’s cute,” she says, and then they’re being pulled away to the next game by their friends.

They work their way through the games, heading back to the front to add credit to their cards and redeem a couple prizes, before everyone finally spots the Dance Dance Revolution machine and, just as Brittany predicted, they spend the next hour or so there, working through every possible combination. Santana whines that Brittany and Mike and Tina and Sam all have an unfair advantage, but Mike and Tina both roll their eyes and brush her off, and Brittany soon finds out why, because Santana can definitely hold her own. Even Mercedes, despite having told Brittany for years that she doesn’t do that dance stuff, is nimble and precise and gives Tina a run for her money. Santana laughs and tells Mercedes that it’s no wonder she’s so good at the game since she is a Park and Bark after all, and though Brittany doesn’t really know what Santana means by that, she laughs along with everyone because Mercedes looks affronted for all of three seconds before she’s bursting into bright, stomach clutching laughter.

It’s not until Sam gloats Tina into a battle, Mercedes and Mike distracted and attempting the worst and most amusing trash talk that Brittany’s ever heard, that she has a moment to think. She glances down at Santana, who’s grinning and laughing, and she realizes that this is her chance to ask Santana about what she said earlier, about her family. She leans closer to Santana and nudges her with her elbow. “Can I ask you a question?” she whispers.

Santana glances up at her, her face glowing blue in the arcade lights and her dimpled smile still wide as she nods. “Course you can, Britt-Britt,” she teases.

Brittany glances around them before spotting a secluded corner. She points in its direction and Santana’s face clears, her smile fading a little, as she realizes that Brittany’s grown serious. She nods a little, and lets Brittany draw her away by her wrist, the others too caught up in the game to notice their absence. It’s a little quieter, and the music doesn’t pound as loudly, but Santana still has to step into Brittany’s space so they can talk without yelling. Santana stares at Brittany expectantly, but the words catch in Brittany’s throat for a long moment as she tries to sort out her thoughts.

“Brittany?” Santana murmurs, “You can ask me anything.”

Brittany blinks, catching brown eyes with her own and sighs a little bit. “I— You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, like, at all. I’ll completely understand and I won’t bring it up ever again, I promise,” Brittany trails off, only now realizing that her fingers are still wrapped around Santana’s wrist when she feels the steady thrum of Santana’s heartbeat pulse a little quicker against her fingertips.

“Britt, you’re making me a little nervous,” Santana says slowly.

“I—” Brittany pauses and swallows. “That first day you brought me lunch you said that everything at the theatre with Finn and the snow corps leader was nothing you hadn’t dealt with before?”

Santana nods slowly.

“And then earlier, when I was asking about Christmas presents?” Santana nods, her brow furrowed in confusion and, standing this close to her, Brittany desperately fights the urge to kiss it away. “You said that your family didn’t take it very well when they found out you were gay?”

“Yeah?”

Brittany takes a deep breath and steels herself. “Not came out. Found out.”

Santana’s face clears and she glances away, biting down on her lip as she nods. “Um, yeah. I was outed my sophomore year of high school,” she explains, and Brittany feels the sharp sting of anger punch low in her stomach. “I grew up in a pretty small, conservative town, and I wasn’t the nicest person in high school and I guess I made enemies with the wrong people, because when they found out that I liked girls the way they thought I should have liked guys, they outed me in front of most of the school. I knew that I didn’t have much time before it got back to my family, so I decided to tell them myself.”

When Santana’s silence stretches on longer than a couple rotations of the theme song playing on the machine closest to them, Brittany gently squeezes her fingers still wrapped around around Santana’s wrist, and Santana starts at the feeling, her eyes drawing back to Brittany’s from wherever in the past they just were. “A couple people took it well, most people didn’t,” Santana shrugs nonchalantly, though Brittany can tell she’s anything but, “I had a cousin about my age who was really cool about it, but his parents weren’t. And before I could control it, the entire thing had snowballed out of control. I’m sure my entire family and half the town knew before I managed to even see my mom that day, let alone tell her.”

Santana shrugs a little again, and this time her smile turns nostalgic and fond and genuine. “My parents split when I was pretty young and I think I’ve only seen my dad, like, twice since then, so my mom raised me and honestly I am so much happier that it was just us two. And so when she came home that night and I told her, ‘cause somehow she hadn’t heard, she was amazing about it. She knew I was gay long before I did and was just waiting on me to come out. She was way more upset and angry by how everything had been taken out of my control. I had one really cool auntie too, my mom’s favourite sister, who’d also known I was gay long before I did.” Santana laughs a little and shrugs, and Brittany can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips in response. She really likes how Santana says auntie with a little bit of a drawl, as if she’s saying haunt without the h. “I mean, my life and my mom’s life got pretty bad for a while there, between the harassment at school for me and at work for her, but there was only a couple weeks left of the school year, and as soon as I was free my mom packed up our lives and emptied her savings and moved us to New York so that I would have a better life far away from everyone in our small town. My mom tried to get my family to come around, but once my abuela officially disowned me the following Christmas she never forgave them and never let them hurt me again, even once some of them started to come around years later.”

“Your mom sounds amazing,” Brittany murmurs, her own heart swelling at the obvious admiration and open love in Santana’s voice as she talks about her mom.

Brittany thinks it must be a trick of the flashing arcade lights, because Santana’s eyes seem to glisten wetly in the flickers of blue and red and green as she nods. “Yeah,” she says thickly.

“So then,” Brittany says slowly, “you sound really close to your mom. Why aren’t you looking for a gift for her?”

“Oh,” Santana shrugs and her eyes drop away, her voice dropping to a whisper that forces Brittany to lean even closer, “I already have something for her, actually.”

“Oh that’s cool,” Brittany says, even though she can tell that Santana’s not telling her the whole truth based on the way she tugs on the hem of her shirt because she can’t play nervously with her hands, as she is wont to do, since as her other hand is still caught in Brittany’s. She’s about to say more when Sam’s voice draws their attention away. His expression is genuinely innocent as he asks what they’re doing squeezed into the corner, Mercedes’ and Tina’s and Mike’s suggestive looks are anything but; he declares that it’s time for Mike to finally take on Brittany in the Dance Dance Revolution battle of the century, and Santana laughs and quickly drags Brittany over.

Mike pouts when Santana tells him haughtily that she’s cheering for Brittany, and Brittany’s stomach flips over as the music starts, casting Santana a quick grin that has her ducking her head breathlessly before she gathers herself and starts to cheer Brittany on.

Mike and Brittany attract a small crowd as kids and teenagers and adults alike look on and cheer as their combos start to hit triple digits; Brittany only really hears one voice cheering for her though.

///

They end up just eating at the restaurant attached to the arcade once it starts to get busier in the arcade itself; the restaurant is busy too but not completely packed, and none of them have anywhere else to be so they don’t mind the wait. Brittany really doesn’t want the day to end, especially as Santana beats Tina to sitting and squeezes into the booth beside Brittany, their sides pressed together again, Santana shooting Tina a small smile that’s somehow both smug and apologetic for forcing Tina and Mike to sit across from each other instead of beside each other.

Brittany’s not the only one who doesn’t want the day to end, because before she knows it Tina and her are huddled over Santana’s phone, looking up movies playing at a nearby theatre while Mike, Sam, and Mercedes do the same on the other side of the table.

Their food arrives just as they decide on a movie, and everyone quickly digs in; they had only grabbed a quick bite at the food court earlier, and with all the games, especially Dance Dance Revolution, their stomaches were all growling by the time they entered the restaurant and caught the scent of food. Sam asks about Christmas traditions as they slow in their eating, and they quickly go around the table with nostalgic smiles.

Sam starts, explaining that since his little brother and sister are so much younger than he is that he’s spent most of his life believing in Santa for his siblings’ sake, writing letters with them and setting out cookies and carrots and staying up with them while they waited for Santa, even if they always fell asleep before it was eleven. Brittany nods and before she can stop it she’s chiming in that she believed in Santa until she was like fourteen for her sister’s sake too. She bites down on her lip as embarrassment flushes hotly through her, but unlike all her friends in high school, no one makes fun of her; Tina tells her that it’s cute, and Santana’s fingers brush hers under the table, hooking her pinky over Brittany’s with a small smile, and the conversation devolves into how long everyone believed in Santa. Mercedes’ older cousin told her that Santa wasn’t real when she was nine; Mike’s family never really celebrated Christmas, both because his parents immigrated from small towns in China and because his father has always been really distant to both his wife and his son; Santana learned that Santa wasn’t real when she was six after her parents split a couple weeks before Christmas; Tina’s parents told her that they were actually Santa once she turned ten.

They turn back to Christmas traditions shortly after. Despite not really celebrating Christmas, Mike’s mom always took him out for a nice supper the day before Christmas Eve, just the two of them, and then took him ice skating afterwards, before warming up with some hot chocolate and giving him a couple gifts. Since Santana’s mom was a nurse and often worked the holidays, Santana would always watch Home Alone when she was home alone, and she would always go to midnight mass with her abuela and mess of extended family before spending Christmas Day with them, but when her mom wasn’t working they would always make homemade cinnamon buns in the morning, just the two of them; Brittany notices that Santana grows small as she explains this and Tina catches Santana’s other hand and squeezes it comfortingly, and Brittany wonders if it’s because of what Santana told her about her family earlier. Mercedes interrupts her thoughts when she starts talking about staying up too late with her older brother and cousins, playing card games with their family, all of the cousins having been taught with no mercy by their grandma, messily passing around nuts and little cakes and getting overexcited whenever the games tipped in their favour. Brittany explains that her and her sister always watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas, the live action 2000 one with Jim Carrey, and she always had to hold her sister’s hand when she was really little because she always got scared, and how they would always go out an have a snowman making contest with their cousins on Christmas Day, after supper when the sun was just starting to set and turn the world orange. Tina’s parents adopted her a little bit before Christmas, and she says it’s always been extra special for her family because of that, and she would always get to spend Christmas at her grandparents house with her aunt and uncle and two cousins, allowed to open one present each on Christmas Eve and baking cookies for Santa that day.

Before they know it, all their plates are being taken by the waiter and they’re rushing to pay their bills so they aren’t late for the movie; Brittany pays Santana’s bill when she’s not paying attention, too busy playfully arguing with Mike, and she refuses to take the money Santana tries to shove at her. Brittany does finally accept Santana’s mint as payment, even if she slips it back into Santana’s pocket with a wink at Tina, who just beams at them while Mike pays their own bill. Mercedes takes the machine last, and then they’re all sliding out of the booth and distributing jackets from the coatrack on the booth wall before rushing out the door and down the sidewalk into the cool night air.

///

When they get to the movie theatre, they find that they actually still have plenty of time given that they’re seeing a movie that came out a couple weeks ago and it’s a Monday, so the theatre really isn’t that busy at all. Santana manages to squeeze her way in front of Brittany to pay for their tickets, playfully shoving Brittany away when she tries to protest.

Brittany and Santana offer to go save them all seats while the others sort out snacks, collecting everyone’s jackets until they’re weighed down by them and struggling to hand their tickets to the bored worker, who directs them to Theatre Three.

They pick the first row after the large walkway, right behind the designated places for people in wheelchairs, and Brittany claims the farthest left seat that they’ve thrown jackets on, one in front of the short railings so she’ll be able to prop her feet up on them and stretch her legs out. The theatre is deserted aside from a small family with excited teenagers and a couple of college aged students tucked into the farthest back corner of the theatre, and as Santana falls into the seat beside Brittany, Mike’s jacket on her other side, she nods in their direction and makes kissy faces at Brittany until Brittany’s gasping for breath around her laughter.

Brittany’s laughter fades as she realizes that Santana is staring at her, and she feels heat flame in her cheeks at the soft look on Santana’s face. “What?” she whispers.

Santana shrugs a little, her eyes dropping away from Brittany’s face. “You’re cute, is all,” she mumbles.

Brittany’s breath catches and she smiles as she nudges Santana gently. “So are you.”

Santana’s cheeks dimple and she finally lifts her head to catch Brittany’s eyes again. “I, um, have something for you.”

“Really?” Brittany excitedly sits up further in her seat so she’s not slouched anymore.

Santana nods and fumbles with her jacket, draped over the back of her chair, for a moment until she finds the pocket. “I just,” she says, pulling her fisted hand out of the pocket, “you seemed to really like it and I thought it would be a good, I dunno, memento, I guess.”

Brittany glances down at Santana’s hand as her fingers uncurl and reveal the small cat charm that reminds her so much of Tubbs. Something deep in Brittany’s chest spasms and eases itself as tears spring unbidden to her eyes; she reaches out, slowly and haltingly taking the charm. She gasps as her fingers close around it, realizing she hasn’t actually taken a breath since Santana presented the charm. She looks up at Santana with a soft smile tugging at her lips even as tears threaten to spill down her cheeks, not quite able to believe that someone like Santana could even exist, and that she was even lucky enough to meet her. “Thank you,” she rasps.

Santana gives Brittany a slightly lopsided smile. “I thought you could use it on your keys or something,” she mumbles, “That way he’d always be with you.”

Brittany curls her fingers around the charm and throws her arms around Santana, barely noticing the arm rest digging into her stomach as she pulls Santana into the cradle of her body. Santana sighs and melts into Brittany’s embrace, nuzzling her nose against Brittany’s neck. “Thank you,” Brittany repeats.

Santana just sighs against her again. “You’re welcome.”

They remain locked in the other’s warm embrace until they can hear their noisy friends opening the door to the theatre and heading down the short hallway that opens into the rest of Theatre Three, and they reluctantly pull away from each other. Brittany clutches the charm before she smiles and digs her keys out of her jacket pocket, quickly hooking the string into place so the charm rests against the key to her apartment. Santana gives Brittany a wide smile even as she distractedly takes the drinks and popcorn and napkins from Mike as he passes them to her. They bought a couple bottled waters, a small bag of candy, and a medium popcorn for Santana and Brittany to share, and as Brittany tries to offer money for the snacks Mike waves her off, telling her that Santana had already given him money for it as he finally sits down on the other side of Santana.

“Sneaky,” Brittany mutters in Santana’s ear as the lights start to dim.

Santana gets that breathless, bright look even as she smirks at Brittany. “You know it,” she whispers.

Santana and Brittany make it about halfway through their popcorn as the previews end and the actual movie starts, and by that point they’re both too full, so Santana neatly rolls the top of the bag and tucks it under her seat before settling back into her seat. Between the long day and the even longer week and the darkened theatre and the plush seats, it doesn’t take long before Brittany’s eyes are drooping and she’s snapping herself awake every couple scenes. She’s drifting off for about the sixth time when she feels something land on her shoulder and she snaps her eyes open again.

She shifts a little as hair starts tickling her chin, and it takes her a couple moments to realize that Santana’s head has fallen to her shoulder, her breathing deep and even as she sleeps. Brittany glances down the row of their friends to find everyone’s attention captivated by the screen, and Brittany turns her head to breathe in Santana’s shampoo before she eases further back into her seat, her feet propped up on the railing, to get more comfortable. Santana shifts and sighs a little, but follows Brittany’s movement, and it feels like Brittany’s eyes are even heavier than before as she drops her head to rest atop of Santana’s, surrounded by a soft scent of citrus and vanilla as she drifts to sleep.

///

It’s the clicking of a camera that wakes Brittany what feels like seconds later, and she blinks awake into the bright light of the theatre, the house lights on and the screen playing the ending credits. There’s another click and she blinks as she manages to focus on what’s going on around her; Mercedes stands on the other side of the railings, her phone held in front of her as she aims the camera at Brittany, Tina grinning beside her, Mike and Sam discussing the movie to the side even as they eye Brittany fondly. She’s still a little disorientated, but as she becomes more aware of her surroundings, she’s delighted to realize that the prettiest girl in the world happens to be drooling on her shoulder.

Santana mumbles as she wakes, nuzzling closer to Brittany for a moment until the click of Mercedes’ camera startles her fully awake. She sits up quickly, wiping at her chin and glaring fiercely at Tina and Mercedes, who just grin smugly back up at her. “What’s with the paparazzi routine, Wheezy?” she snaps, and Brittany doesn’t need to feel Santana’s cheek to know it must be blush-hot.

“Trying to gather evidence that Satan herself has a soft side,” Mercedes shoots back with an easy grin.

They continue to bicker, and Brittany just smiles at Santana, delighted to find out that Santana’s even grumpier than Brittany is after waking up; it’s a piece of information she tucks away and desperately hopes will come in handy, eventually.

Santana finally glances at Brittany and softens instantly, the retort on her lips fading mid-sentence. Mercedes and Tina seem to take that as their cue and fade away. “Hi,” Santana says breathlessly.

“Hi,” Brittany giggles.

Santana glances down before catching Brittany’s eyes again, the brown still sleepy and softer than Brittany’s ever seen them. “Sorry about falling asleep on you,” she mumbles, flustered and bashful.

Brittany just smiles. “Anytime,” she says, ignoring her own blush prickling heat in her cheeks. Brittany tactfully doesn’t mention the drool on her shoulder because she has a feeling that it might make Santana’s blush burst into flames. They gather their jackets and shrug them on, collecting their half-eaten bag of popcorn and drinks before filing out of the aisle, wondering about what they missed on the movie; Brittany thinks there was probably some major plot twist that was overly predictable, Santana thinks that it was probably boring the entire time, which is why they continued to sleep instead of waking to explosions or something.

They catch up with the rest of the group just as Sam and Mike are leaving the bathroom and Mercedes and Tina are discussing Uber arrangements; Mercedes and Brittany are obviously sharing one, and Santana’s close enough to them that it makes sense for her to join them, Mike and Tina share one too, while Sam just grins and says he likes chatting with Uber drivers.

They’re all piling into Ubers what feels like seconds later, which probably has more to do with Brittany’s still half asleep brain than it does with the actual amount of time that has passed; that and the fact that if Brittany turns her head to the right she can catch a whiff of Santana’s citrus and vanilla shampoo lingering on the shoulder of her sweater, and it’s more than a little distracting. Brittany ends up in the backseat with Santana on her right again and Mercedes up in the passenger seat. They direct the Uber to Santana’s apartment first, and Mercedes gives them a quick rundown of everything they missed in the movie. Brittany just sinks back into the seat as Santana gives her opinion on a movie she slept through and Mercedes just laughs at her. She’s pretty sure this entire day has been one of the best days ever, because the entire day has just felt easy and comfortable and everything she never really thought friends could be back in high school, or even college, really, and the girl she kind of really, really likes seems to really, really like her in return, and all of it makes Brittany feel like she could fly.

They’re pulling up in front of Santana’s apartment far too soon, and Santana quickly un-clicks her seatbelt and leans forward to say goodbye to Mercedes and press money into her hands before Brittany can try to protest and pay her fare. She turns to Brittany and the air seems to thicken as brown catches on blue, but with the meter running she doesn’t have time to linger, and they both know it. She smiles at Brittany, her dimples creasing her cheeks and her nose scrunching up just a little bit. “See you tomorrow, Britt,” she murmurs.

Brittany smiles softly in return. “Bye,” she whispers, and Santana lingers for a moment more, before her smile softens and she quickly slips out of the car; they both feel that they’re missing a part of their farewells, but Brittany really doesn’t want to give Santana a goodnight kiss, their first kiss, when her best friend and roommate is engrossed with watching them and a bored Uber driver is watching them in the rearview mirror. Brittany ducks down a little so she can watch Santana walk up the stairs and fumble through her pockets until she finds her keys. Mercedes coughs something in front of her that sounds suspiciously like smitten, but Brittany ignores it even as her cheeks flame.

As soon as they see Santana make it safely into her apartment complex Brittany turns to Mercedes. “Can you send me those pictures?” she asks.

Mercedes grins and holds up her phone to display her messages app, Brittany’s name at the top of the screen and pictures currently being sent. “Way ahead of you,” she says.

And if Brittany gives what is definitely a completely smitten sigh as she gets the picture—her and Santana curled together and sleeping peacefully with the tiniest of smiles playing on their faces, and makes it her lock screen—well, only Mercedes and the taxi driver are there to witness it.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #brittcedes #mercedes jones #tina cohen chang #mike chang #sam evans #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) #by FAR the Longest chapter so far lmao #also if I say 'dainties' does anyone know what I mean? #in Canada people in Manitoba use it but I haven't met any native Albertans who know what they are lmao #whenever me or my sister say it around our friends here we always get ?????? #when I said Mercedes' family ate little cakes I had to Remember not to put dainties since like no one knows what they are lmao

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 7/25

* * *

[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Santana pretends that bringing supper to Brittany is just her hiding from the rumours and not, you know, a date or anything because that would be presumptuous; Santana finds out that Brittany is protective of the people she cares about.

Notes: More minor homophobia in this one.

Chapter 7: ten christmases ago

///

By the time Santana gets halfway through the afternoon rehearsal, she realizes that everyone in the theatre knows she’s a lesbian. It’s not like it’s something she’s actively hiding, especially not after all the pain she went through of coming out when she was younger; but it’s also not something she likes to shout from the rooftops, especially because for every couple people in the company who couldn’t care less, there’s always someone who cares too much about her personal life. It makes her want to scream and it makes her want to punch something and it makes her want to breakdown and cry, but most of all it makes her want to hide in Tina’s dressing room until it all blows over. It makes her remember her sophomore year of high school, after she was outed, after her so-called friends sneered at her in the hallway, after most of her family disowned her, after her abuela threw her out; it makes her remember the time before her mom packed up their lives and moved them to New York in the hopes that the city would offer a better life for her daughter.

She makes it through rehearsal with the kids and preteens; Quinn is running through a couple scenes with the principals and the adults and teenagers in the biggest dressing room, and Santana’s thankful for it. She’s never really been fully comfortable around kids, but there’s something easy about them and the harmlessness in their questions that’s exactly what she needs right now. She can handle these kids asking her why the leaves change colour in autumn, huddling around her with their bright, wondering eyes as she googles it; she’s not quite sure if she could handle the sneering looks from people like that bitchy snowflake yesterday right now or, even worse, the gross knowing look that people like Puck sometimes give her.

So she embraces leading the rehearsal for these kids, who are too busy arguing over which Super Mario Party character they’re going to be on their Switches during the supper break to ask questions about her sexuality. For the first time in a long time, she longs for the evening when she can collapse on the couch in her too quiet apartment and just forget about the theatre and the show for a while.

She dismisses the kids for supper a couple minutes before she knows Quinn will dismiss her group of dancers, partially because the kids worked hard and deserve the few extra minutes of relaxation, but mostly because she wants to get out of the theatre before anyone can catch her eye. She heads to the stage manager’s office and quickly shrugs on her coat and scarf before hurrying out of the theatre, heading straight for her favourite sandwich shop a couple blocks away.

She plans to just hide out in the stage manager’s office for supper since Tina and Mike are both at appointments over in Brooklyn and out of the theatre until warmups, so Santana has no idea how she ends up hovering outside of Brittany’s dressing room about half an hour later, holding a bag of sandwiches and a couple drinks and trying to convince herself its not weird if she asks if Brittany wants to have supper with her, and that it’s not presumptuous to have already bought supper for her too. She shakes her head and takes two forceful steps to the door, desperately trying not to think of how much this feels a little bit like a date, and knocks on it before she can change her mind and hide out in Tina’s dressing room until she gets back.

She forcefully pushes the thought to the side when Brittany’s muffled Come in! sounds barely a moment later, and Santana sucks in a steadying breath before fumbling with the doorknob and pushing into the dressing room.

Brittany’s sitting on the floor in some insanely flexible stretch that makes Santana’s joints ache just looking at her. “Santana!” she says, and her limbs flail in a careless kind of grace as she falls out of her stretch and stands up to greet her.

“Hey,” Santana says, shaking her head a little at how Brittany seems a little bit like her bones are actually made of elastic. “I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to have supper,” she says quickly, shaking the bag in her hand.

Brittany’s lips curl into a wide smile even as her eyes soften, turning as liquid as her movements as she crosses her dressing room, stepping close enough that Santana can smell the coconut of her shampoo. Santana’s breath hitches louder than normal, and Brittany’s eyes land briefly on her parted lips as she leans further into Santana’s space to shove the door shut behind Santana, blue eyes sparkling in amusement as she steps back. “I’d love to,” she finally says with a tiny smirk that has no business making Santana’s heart race as much as it does. She takes the bags from a still slightly dazed Santana and drops them on the coffee table, rounding it to collapse languidly on the floor and patting the spot beside her.

Santana quickly unwraps her scarf from around her neck, belatedly realizing how overeager she probably looks to have not stopped at the stage manager’s office to take her winter clothing off. She resolutely ignores the heat she can feel under her cheeks as she tosses her scarf, and then her jacket, onto the chair by the door before turning to join Brittany.

“Uh, uh, uh,” Brittany stops her before she can even take a step. Santana narrows her eyes at her in question, but Brittany just grins and points at Santana’s boots. “This dressing room is a no shoe zone at all eating times,” she explains, wiggling her own socked feet to prove her point.

Santana rolls her eyes but can’t quite bite down on her smile as she kicks off her shoes. “Happy?” she teases, finally rounding the coffee table to sit down beside Brittany.

Brittany’s eyes land on her feet and she smirks. “Knowing that your socks have cacti on them? Definitely.”

“Oh shut up,” Santana grumbles, folding her legs until she’s sitting cross-legged under the coffee table. Brittany’s already dug through the bag and emerged with two sandwiches, two small containers of house-made fries, a bottle of orange juice for Brittany, and a half finished bottle of water for Santana.

“I love orange juice,” Brittany says with a tiny smile as she cracks the lid of the bottle, “How’d you know?”

Santana shrugs, picking at nothing on her jeans, embarrassed without really knowing why. “It’s what you ordered at brunch on Monday,” she admits, “So I figured it would be a safe bet.”

When she finally chances a glance up at Brittany, there’s something incredibly soft in those blue eyes and it makes Santana’s stomach flip over. “Thanks,” Brittany murmurs, before blinking and glancing back at the coffee table, the pale skin of her cheeks pinking in splotches. “So, what kind of sandwiches did you get?” Brittany quickly asks.

Santana manages to tear her eyes away from Brittany’s profile and draw the sandwiches towards her. “Uh, the house sandwich, which is just like a BLT, more or less. And then one that’s basically just a chicken club.”

“Which one’s mine?”

Santana shrugs. “Whichever one you want, I like them both.”

Brittany doesn’t look at her, but Santana can see how her smile turns sweet and soft. “Well in that case, I’ll just take whichever one’s closer to me.”

Santana smiles and grabs the other sandwich, pushing one of the containers of fries at Brittany. They eat in comfortable silence, occasionally talking about whatever comes to mind or, in Brittany’s case, throwing fries at Santana when she says something particularly snarky; it’s not that Brittany’s not snarky either, it’s just that Santana loves these fries far too much to waste them as ammo. Santana quietly asks Brittany how she’s doing about Lord Tubbington, and she shrugs and says it’s still hard but she’s less sad than she was the night she found out; Brittany quietly asks Santana about how she’s doing about being outed, and she shrugs and says it’s hard but nothing she hasn’t dealt with before.

Santana briefly worries that she’s made the conversation sad and awkward, but before she knows it they’re laughing about Emma’s minor breakdown over the broken props this morning, now that she’s finally healthy and non-contagious enough to come in for work again. Talking with Brittany reminds Santana of hanging out with Mike and Tina, except she quickly finds that she blushes a lot more around Brittany than she does around her two oldest friends; it’s something she tries not to think too much about, but it’s also something she kind of desperately wants to explore more.

“Oh yeah, I was going to ask,” Santana says, pointing a fry at Brittany, “Do you know what happened to the last production stage manager?”

“Who Sandy?”

Santana shrugs, popping the fry into her mouth and quickly chewing it. “I guess? Holly just told me that they fired the old one and needed a new one immediately when she offered me the job, but she never went into any details. And Quinn had no clue either when I asked her.”

“Yeah, he got, um,” Brittany frowns as she searches for the word, chewing thoughtfully on her sandwich. There’s a tiny smudge of sauce on the corner of her mouth and Santana inwardly groans when a pink tongue darts out to lick it away; Brittany is far too adorable for her own good, or for Santana’s own heart rate, at the very least. “Accused,” she finally decides on, “I guess, of being creepy to some of the toy soldiers.”

“Accused, you guess?”

Brittany tilts her head back and forth for a moment, her ponytail swinging lazily with the movement. “There’s rumours that Rachel falsely accused him to get him fired so a new production stage manager would be hired who could, and I quote,” Brittany says with an eye roll, her voice dripping with obviously mocking sweetness, “Finally recognize my talent for what it is and truly appreciate my brilliance in all aspects.”

“You really don’t like her,” Santana marvels with a smirk.

“No, I don’t really like raw onions but I’ll still eat them,” Brittany clarifies, “I would have shoved Rachel into the pit during rehearsals a long time ago if I could guarantee that the band wouldn’t be completely crushed under the weight of her ego.”

Santana’s laughter surprises her, and she glances up at Brittany, whose blue eyes are sparkling brightly, her lips curled up in a smirk. “Jeez, Britt,” Santana laughs, “I’ll make sure to put ‘protective gear for the pit band’ on my list of things to get done so we can get started on that plan.”

Brittany grins around a large bite of her sandwich. “Good,” she mumbles, “It’s what we all deserve.”

Santana shakes her head at Brittany’s absolutely adorable evil plans and they eat in comfortable silence for a while. “So that’s why he got fired?” she finally asks.

Brittany grins widely. “Nope!” she says easily, “it didn’t even matter if Rachel had accused him of that, he was arrested for dealing drugs outside the theatre.”

Santana laughs, her eyes wide and delighted. “No!” she gasps.

Brittany nods quickly, her blue eyes sparkling brightly. “Oh yeah, apparently he had a pretty impressive amount of pot on him.”

“Fuck,” Santana gasps around her laugh, “No wonder Holly was so desperate for a new stage manager on such short notice.”

Brittany nods. “It was actually pretty funny. I was running late that day so I ended up just going in the front doors of the theatre, and here’s this little middle aged man who wears his sweaters around his shoulders like some rich schoolboy that walked straight out of an eighties movie, in handcuffs and shoved up against a cop car, and Holly standing there, speechless for the first time I’ve ever seen, staring up at the sky like God, why me?”

Santana shakes her head, giggling at the image Brittany paints. “I wish I could have seen that.”

Brittany’s face lights up and she reaches across the coffee table for her phone. “Oh, you can,” she grins, “I took a picture.”

Santana grins and quickly leans into Brittany’s space to see over her shoulder, her hand landing close enough to Brittany’s hip that she can feel the warmth she emanates. She tries not to be too obvious about the fact that she might be memorizing Brittany’s smell as she leans her weight on her hand, looking over Brittany’s shoulder as she scrolls through her photos, but Brittany smells like coconut and honeysuckle and jasmine and something salty and probably pure sunlight and happiness or something, and Santana can’t be held responsible for how dizzy the scent makes her.

“Here!” Brittany says, tilting the phone towards Santana, and it’s exactly how Brittany described it. Santana giggles and shakes her head, glancing up at Brittany with a wide grin. She suddenly realizes how close they are, and she draws back a little bit, her laughter trailing off as she struggles to remember how to breathe.

Brittany stares at Santana for a long moment, her bottom lip pouted out a little bit and her smile a little lopsided; her blue eyes are brighter than Santana’s ever seen them, beautiful and glowing and shy. “I’m glad he got fired,” she says quietly.

Santana sucks in a deep breath, her heart beating fast and heavy until it feels like it’s pounding against her sternum and her ribs are echoing its beat. “Me too,” she whispers.

//

Santana finds that she kind of hates Finn for opening his dumb mouth and telling everyone what he overhead; Brittany explained to her earlier what Puck said, and every time she sees Finn lumbering around backstage she has the urge to go over and sock him in the jaw, even if she would have to literally scale his dumb skyscraper body to reach it. Even if he was just shocked about what he overheard and didn’t think before opening his mouth, he still had no right to tell everyone about her sexuality, and Santana pointedly avoids him and Puck the entire show. Quinn doesn’t question her when she redirects Finn and Puck and the other people from props to her and Zizes, just offers her a tiny, sympathetic smile.  

Brittany’s on the phone when she pops her head in after the show, but she says a quick “One second, mom,” before pressing the phone to her shoulder. “Hey,” she says brightly. “Are you here for notes?”

Mercedes is sprawled on the couch, flipping her car keys back and forth over her fingers, idly scrolling through her phone; she glances up and waves a quick greeting to Santana, her keys jangling softly.

Santana returns the wave before smiling at Brittany, nodding at the phone in her hand. “You look busy, I’ll just do them tomorrow.”

“It’s fine,” Brittany says quickly, “I can call her back. It’s still early there.”

Santana shakes her head softly. “It’s okay, Britt, I don’t have many notes for you, like usual,” she says easily, and Brittany’s eyes dart down as a faint blush creeps over her cheeks, “so it won’t take long anyways. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” Brittany says, and her soft smile makes Santana’s stomach flip over. It’s still flipping over even as she waves her farewell to Brittany and heads down the hall for Tina’s room.

The door’s cracked open, so she doesn’t bother knocking as she slips inside. Tina’s at the vanity, carefully wiping her makeup off, and she meets Santana’s eyes in the mirror as soon as Santana appears in the doorway. Santana shuts the door behind her and leans back on it with a deep sigh that she feels all the way down to the very bottom of her soul.

“Hey,” Tina says, turning around to lean back against the vanity, her eyes tight with concern. “How are you doing?”

Santana shakes her head, pushing herself off the door with some difficulty; now that she’s in the safe haven of Tina’s dressing room, she can feel the entirety of the day weighing heavily on her limbs for the first time all day. “It’s been a long day,” she mutters, collapsing face first into Tina’s couch.

Tina makes a sound of acknowledgement. Santana listens to her putter around the dressing room for a couple minutes, paying little mind to her best friend until the couch dips by her hip. Tina’s hand is warm where she presses it comfortingly over her shoulder, and Santana manages to turn her head to the side to catch Tina’s eye. “This day has mostly sucked,” she grumbles.

“Mostly?”

Santana shrugs with some difficulty considering one arm is sinking between the back of the couch and the cushions and the other is squished against between her own body and Tina’s butt. “Supper with Britt was good,” she mumbles.

Tina smirks above her but doesn’t say anything, instead she just reveals Santana’s favourite chocolate bar. Santana grins and struggles to pull herself upright, awkwardly rolling over and drawing her legs up to her and trying not to kick Tina in the back until she finally manages to sit. “You’re a lifesaver,” Santana breathes.

Tina grins and passes her the chocolate. “Someone’s gotta keep you functioning properly.”

Santana nods, offering Tina a row of chocolate as soon as she’s shoved some in her own mouth. “Thanks,” she mumbles.

Tina shrugs. “It’s the least I could do, especially after the day you’ve had.” Santana shakes her head and glares blankly into the space just beyond Tina’s head.

“It’s so fucking dumb,” Santana snarls suddenly, “I mean this shouldn’t matter anymore.”

Tina sighs and wraps an arm around Santana; Santana struggles against her for a moment, wanting to be strong and brave and all the things she doesn’t feel half the time, until Tina tucks her head against Santana’s and whispers, “I know.”

Santana deflates, dropping her hands to her lap and fiddling with the chocolate bar wrapper, letting Tina bear Santana’s weight on her own shoulders for a while. “But it does,” she rasps. Tina holds Santana upright until she’s steady enough to do it herself, and Santana straightens up with a sigh, furiously scrubbing at her eyes until Tina’s hands gently stop her.

She takes the chocolate bar from Santana and drops it on the table, quickly standing and crossing the room for her makeup bag before returning. She tugs on Santana’s legs until they’re both sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the couch, their knees knocking slightly as they shift to get more comfortable, like how they used to what feels like ages ago. Santana just focuses on breathing while Tina wipes away smeared mascara and tears with a disposable makeup cloth. She lets her eyes flutter closed while Tina redoes her makeup, a sigh fluttering past her lips. “It just— It reminds me of the first time, you know?” Santana finally says. Tina makes a small sound of acknowledgement, tilting Santana’s chin into the light to admire her work, carefully touching the eyeshadow up until she’s satisfied with her work. “It just brings me back again to high school again,” she sighs.

Tina pauses in her ministrations, and when Santana blinks her eyes open in question, she finds dark eyes flaring with bright, protective anger. Santana offers her a tiny smile and waits until the anger dies before letting Tina continue to fix her makeup, touching a mascara brush carefully to dark eyelashes until all evidence of Santana’s tears are erased.

“Thanks,” she mumbles. “Course,” Tina says easily, the skin under her eyes still tight.

Santana sighs a little, sensing the question on her best friend’s tongue. “Go ahead, ask it.”

“Have you talked to her at all?” Tina asks hesitantly. “Your abuela, I mean.”

Santana breathes deeply for long moments before focusing back on Tina, preparing to face the world again. “Not since my mom suggested us going back to Ohio for that first Christmas,” she admits quietly. Her eyes drift to the calendar hanging on Tina’s wall. “It’s been ten years since I was told I wasn’t welcome in her house or her life anymore,” she whispers.

Tina sighs and pulls Santana into an almost too tight hug, and Santana blinks rapidly, trying not to ruin Tina’s work on her makeup. “Do you want company tonight?” Tina finally mumbles.

Santana shrugs and nuzzles her chin further into Tina’s shoulder for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. A ride home would be nice though.”

Tina snorts. “I know you’re just friends with me for my car,” she teases.

“You’ve got me,” Santana mutters, and they both pretend that the fact that they’re currently clinging to each other doesn’t completely render this conversation moot, “I’ve kept you around for, like, eight years just on the off chance you would eventually get a car, despite not having one for about six and a half of those years.”

“Sounds devious enough for you,” Tina agrees idly.

Santana laughs, pulling back and dabbing carefully at the skin under her eyes again. “I gotta grab my stuff from the stage manager’s office first.”

Tina nods, finally letting Santana completely out of her embrace as Santana goes to stand. “I’ll meet you at the elevators to the parkade?” she suggests.

Santana agrees, grabbing her chocolate bar off of the coffee table before waving at Tina as she leaves her dressing room and heads back through the theatre. All the other principals have already left, their doors shut tight and their lights off; Mike had to head back to the apartment he shared with Tina as soon as the show ended to meet up with his mom for something, but he managed to catch Santana on his way out and tug her into a shadowy corner to give her a big hug.

Santana slowly eats the rest of her chocolate bar on her way, savouring the sweetness after such a long day. She’s passing through the hallway of the corps dancers’ dressing rooms and barely notices that there’s still a door cracked open and a light on until she’s practically walking right past it. There’s voices chorusing inside and Santana pauses right outside the door, frowning. It’s the snow corps dressing room, and usually they’re one of the first groups to clear out after the show.

“Hey! Shut up, all of you.”

Santana freezes for a split second, every nerve ending in her body locking up before feeling like they’re suddenly to vibrating. She knows that voice voice; it’s sharper and icier than Santana’s every heard it, but that cadence and deadpan unmistakably belongs to one Brittany S. Pierce.

There’s a voice of protest, low and bitchy and Santana would bet money on it being that snowflake bitch from yesterday. “This isn’t your place, Sugar Plump,” she sneers, “Fuck off.”

“No, it’s not my corps,” Brittany agrees coolly, “But it is yours, and this production expects better of it’s dancers.”

“Who cares if there’s rumours going around about that new bitch,” the snowflake spits, “It’s not like I started them. Besides, she deserves it for being a lesbian.”

Santana slinks even closer to the door, and the overwhelming smell of sweat and too much body spray tickles her nose. She breathes out shakily through her mouth and hopes she doesn’t start sneezing.

“You may not have started them, but I’m ending them,” Brittany continues icily. “All of them, right now. It’s bullying and unprofessional and I won’t accept it. This is an arts theatre and you’re all being homophobic? Who do you think sews all of your costumes? You’re all okay with having your stereotypically gay best friend but as soon as it’s a woman you all get gross about it?”

Santana can hear an uncomfortable shuffling of fabric and the heavy tense silence as she presses herself completely against the wall, her heart pounding all the way down to her fingertips.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t want to hear anything else about this or I’ll go straight to Sylvester, understand?” Brittany waits for their mumbled assent. “I said, understand?” There’s a louder confirmation this time and Brittany’s voice grows even stronger, a thread of steel lining it. “Good,” she says briskly, “Because if you have a problem with Santana being gay then you have a problem with me being bi, and that’s hilarious to me considering how willing you all are to suck up to me in the hopes that I’ll put in a good word for you. Besides,” Brittany adds flippantly, her voice growing clearer, “I know a whole lineup of non-homophobic dancers who are just dying to have a spot in this production. It won’t be hard to replace you.”

Santana stares blankly at the wall in front of her, her eyes wide and her heart pounding sharply. She feels like she wasn’t supposed to hear this conversation, Brittany gave absolutely no indication she was going to put a stop to the rumours earlier, but she’s so glad that she did stumble upon it; she can’t even begin to comprehend how light and thankful and, weirdly enough, protected she feels after overhearing that. Footsteps sound in the room and Santana’s body suddenly unfreezes. She doesn’t want Brittany to know she just overheard her standing up for her; not yet, anyways, she needs time to process it, so she flees as silently as she can down the hallway, ducking around the corner before half-jogging, half-speed-walking the rest of the way to the stage manager’s office.

She quickly unlocks the door and slips inside, leaning back against the closed door and catching her breath and trying to process the last couple minutes before she finds herself laughing, partially a product of the adrenaline coursing through her veins, and partially a product of how giddy she feels at Brittany being so amazing.

Sure, it’s been a mostly long and uncomfortable day, but she can’t help the butterflies fluttering in her stomach as her mind drifts back to the fierce protectiveness in Brittany’s voice. She can’t really help the fact that she’s smiling like a complete goof the entire walk back through the theatre and to the parkade elevators.

She thinks back to brunch, when Tina caught her eye across the table with that knowing glint in her eyes, and she knows for sure what she suspected then: She’s definitely screwed, but she thinks she doesn’t care that all that much if it involves sparkling blue eyes and that glowing smile.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #tina cohen chang #santina #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe)

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 9/25

* * *

[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Santana learns that Brittany’s not just a ballerina; more than one person kind of has a crush on the Sugar Plum Fairy, but luckily for Santana there’s only one person the Sugar Plum Fairy kind of has a crush on in return.

Notes: The song mentioned is “Dance” by DNCE, and this choreography is honestly just so fun and I watch it a lot tbh. ALSO we’re going to pretend that a mostly filler chapter didn’t end up being almost 4000 words.

Chapter 9: it wasn’t much but it would do

///

Santana arrives at the theatre long before anyone has any right to be awake. There’s many things she loves about her job, arriving at the theatre before the sun has even peaked above the horizon and without coffee is definitely not one of them. She kind of wishes she had ignored her phone going off before six this morning, but when Karofsky’s name flashed across the top of the screen Santana knew there was a serious problem.

Karofsky greets her at the front door with a coffee, and Santana manages to mumble a greeting at him as she wraps her ice cold fingers around the warmth of the cup. It’s a far more bitter than she prefers, but just the scent of coffee as she raises it to her lips starts to ease the over-tired prickling behind her eyes. They make it almost backstage before Santana feels like she’s functioning enough for human interaction, and she finally turns to Karofsky with a yawn. “So remind me again why you called me in at the ass crack of dawn?”

Karofsky gives Santana a small smirk but is wise enough not to comment on Santana’s grumpiness; he may find her early morning grumbling amusing, but he doesn’t have a death wish. “Maintenance called me about an hour ago,” he explains, “Power outage reset the fly system and they need me to reconnect them because they don’t know how, and I need you because you have the show bible.”

Santana grunts and takes another sip of her coffee. “This is going to be a long day, isn’t it?”

///

It’s after eleven by the time Santana and Karofsky emerge from the dusty recesses of the farthest backstage crawlspaces, sneezing and sniffling from all the dust they’ve disturbed and inhaled over the past four hours. Santana’s coffee is long gone and the strands of her hair that have escaped her ponytail stick uncomfortably to her neck. “Ew,” she says as she grabs the back of her shirt and peels it from her skin, shaking it a little to let the cool air of the theatre dry the sweat at the small of her back. She retrieves her jacket and sweater from the chair her and Karofsky had been using to collect layers of clothes and their empty coffee cups.

Karofsky pulls his baseball cap off to run his hand through his short hair, quickly shoving his cap back onto his head to take his jacket and the empty coffee cups as Santana passes them to him. “Jesus,” he mutters, “That took way longer than it should have.”

“Your department is incompetent,” Santana comments mildly. 

Karofsky sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“Brody should never have been hired as head of maintenance.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Azimio is a fucking dumbass.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m going to go and scream for a while before the show starts.”

Karofsky laughs and gives Santana an awkward little wave as she trudges through the theatre and he heads towards the front. Santana digs her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, frustrated and in desperate need of a shower to wash the dust and sweat from her body. There’s a text from Brittany asking her if she wants a ride to the theatre this morning, and with a small pang of regret, she quickly unlocks her phone to send an apologetic text. She scrolls down to Tina next and quickly asks her if she can use the bathroom in her dressing room. She’ll have to change back into her sweaty, dusty clothes after, but she needs to feel at least a little human again before the matinee at one, and she just knows that the hot water will wash away the irritation she can feel bubbling beneath her skin. 

Tina doesn’t answer her message, she just calls her instead. Santana brings her phone to her ear as she dodges a couple people from the props department, eyeing them with disdain as their gazes linger on her and make her skin crawl. Puck and Finn have about three braincells to share between the two of them, and she’s already resolved to make their lives a living hell for outing her like the fucking dumbasses they are. 

“Why do you need my bathroom?” Tina greets.

“Because I’ve been crawling around since before seven and trying to get maintenance and the automaton department to cooperate long enough for the show to actually have backdrops and not completely suck today.”

“Yikes,” Tina laughs, “Yeah, go ahead and commandeer my bathroom then. I don’t need Ms. Grumpy-Pants Santana snapping at me all day.”

Santana rolls her eyes and digs around in her front pocket for her set of master keys. “I would say thank you, but this is really me doing you a favour,” she says. Tina snorts and Santana mumbles a curse under her breath once she confirms that her keys are not in any of her jean pockets; and, she soon finds, they’re not in her jacket pocket either. “Fuck,” she mutters again, Tina’s muffled giggles filling her ears. “Can I borrow your keys?” Santana whines, allowing herself to feel petulant because this morning has just been one awful thing after another. “I think I left mine at home and I won’t have time to get them before the show.”

Tina doesn’t say anything about the whine in Santana’s voice, but Santana can hear the amused smirk in her response anyways. “I’m just in the smaller rehearsal room warming up, you can grab them on your way past.”

Santana will actually have to backtrack through the theatre to get to the rehearsal rooms, but she doesn’t complain as she spins on her heel and heads in the direction she just came from; the comfort of a hot shower on her aching shoulders is too tempting to even risk Tina revoking her offer. “I’ll be there in, like, three minutes,” she says, barely waiting for Tina to respond before she hangs up and shoves her phone back in her pocket. 

She makes it to the hallway of rehearsal rooms in a minute and a half, heading for the farthest, and smallest, one. All the doors are still closed, but she can hear the pounding of a steady, energetic beat echoing towards her, the words of the song indecipherable until she’s almost at the door. 

“—with me. Go to France with me. Beating heart, racing in my chest.”

She slows a little as she approaches the room, peeking in the door and instantly grinning at the sight that greets her. Tina, Jane, Mason, and Jake are standing in a loose semicircle, cheering on Brittany and Mike as they effortlessly spin to the beat; everyone dressed in loose sweats and sneakers. Brittany and Mike both have the snap of a softened rubber band, liquid and strong as they jerk their limbs together as if they were actually programmed to move in perfect sync. Brittany grabs Mike’s hand and quickly spins him into an improvised waltz, falling slightly out of rhythm as they start giggling. They quickly drop back into the beat as if it’s nothing and Santana’s smile widens, leaning against the doorway as her stress from the morning fades away at the pure joy on Brittany and Mike’s faces, their grins bright and carefree and happy. Of course everyone in the company is an amazing dancer, but there’s something about Brittany and Mike that is unparalleled, whether they’re doing choreographed ballet on stage or dancing freestyle in a tiny rehearsal room, they both move like they were born with music in their bones.

“‘Cause I can’t stop thinking about you. No I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Blue eyes meet hers across the room, and Brittany misses half a beat to smile widely at Santana, her hand lifting in an enthusiastic wave, before she falls back in step with Mike as if she hadn’t paused at all, her movements somehow even sharper and smoother than they were just a few seconds ago.

“You should close your mouth,” Tina says idly from right beside her, and Santana jumps and snaps her eyes to her best friend who has, apparently, materialized out of thin air, “You’ll catch flies.”

“She can dance,” Santana says dumbly, her eyes drifting back to watch Brittany. Her crop top reveals pale, freckled skin as she moves with a slow ripple of her entire body, and it makes Santana more than a little dizzy.

Tina smirks and taps Santana’s chin, urging her mouth closed. “Duh,” she smirks. “Try not to drool too much.”

Santana turns distressed eyes on her best friend. “No, I mean she can dance,” she repeats. Tina just smiles knowingly. “She’s perfect and amazing and hilarious and sweet and snarky and smart,” Santana whines, “I’m literally so screwed.”

Tina presses the keys to her dressing room into Santana’s hands with a smirk. “For cold water, use the tap on the right,” she teases.

“Tina,” Santana groans, “How am I going to survive tomorrow, let alone this whole month?”

“Try a date,” Tina suggests easily, shoving Santana out the door. “Now go, you smell like old books and gym class.”

“Be my only one, and only for me. I’ll be your amor, be my Mon Chéri.”

Santana groans as she trudges back down the hallway, the lyrics fading to incoherence long before the beat fades; Santana’s pretty sure she feels it in her chest all the way back to Tina’s dressing room anyways.

///

Santana is pretty sure two two-show days in a row should be illegal, and she’s more than a little exhausted as she trudges around backstage, occasionally mumbling into her headset to direct Zizes or Quinn. Despite her earlier shower, she still feels gross and sweaty, and all she wants is to go home and collapse into her bed and sleep for about seven days, the evening show today be damned.

Zizes and Quinn finally finish up their stuff, and Santana turns her headset off, revelling in the blessed silence for about two seconds before someone calls her name, and Santana would feel irritated if said someone wasn’t about four feet tall and calling her Ms. Lopez.

Backstage is pretty deserted already, everyone running off to shove lunch down their throats before warmup for the evening show starts, so Santana easily spots the party girl trying to get her attention, a thick winter jacket making her look like a tiny purple Michelin Man, the tightly coiled curls of her dark hair in wildly bouncing pigtails as she chases Santana down. Santana crouches down with only slight protests from her knees, until she’s eye level with the girl. Quinn mostly manages the children, so she doesn’t really know any of them all that well, but she finds them pretty cute—that is, when they aren’t being little brats and siccing their dance moms on her. 

“Ms. Lopez,” the girl says breathlessly as she reaches Santana, a shy smile on her face, her hands tucked behind her back as she leans back on her heels.

Santana’s heart clenches a little at the name; her mom was always Ms. Lopez to all of Santana’s friends when she was little, and it makes Santana more than a little nostalgic. “You can call me Santana,” she says quietly.

The girl bites her lip for a moment before offering Santana another shy smile. “Okay, Santana,” she says, eyes wide and nervous like she’ll get in trouble for calling an adult by their first name even though Santana told her to, “I’m Freddie.”

“Nice to meet you Freddie,” Santana smiles. Freddie nods but doesn’t say anything else, just sways back and forth nervously. “What’s up?” Santana finally says when Freddie just continues to stare wide eyed at Santana.

She sucks in a sharp breath and glances away, breathless and glowing as she nervously pulls one hand from behind her back and shoves it under Santana’s nose. Santana goes a little cross-eyed and pulls back so she can actually see, feeling her heart melt when she realizes that it’s a small daisy under her nose. 

“Is this for me?” Santana asks softly.

Freddie won’t meet her eyes but nods, almost violently, and shoves the flower a little further.

Santana takes the flower and traces the petals delicately before smiling at Freddie, who still refuses to look at her. “What’s it for?” Santana prompts gently.

Freddie shrugs and finally meets Santana’s eyes for about a millisecond before she looks down and studies her shoes, tapping the toes of her winter boots together. “I heard the snow corps leader talking about you,” she mumbles into the collar of her Michelin Man jacket, and Santana clenches her notebook in her hand, purposefully focusing her anger there so she doesn’t crush the flower. She’s pretty sure she’s going to actually kill that snowflake bitch before the end of the show’s run. “And I didn’t know what she meant,” Freddie continues, “so I asked my moms last night and they said she was just being a bully and then they told me why everyone’s been talking about you like how they talk about my moms and it made them sad, and I always give my moms flowers when they’re feeling sad until they’re happy again, and then I was worried that you would feel sad too so I asked if I could bring you a flower and give to you too and make you happy again.” 

Santana sucks in a deep breath and shakes her head a little, her chest bursting with warmth. “That’s very sweet of you, Freddie,” Santana says, and the little girl grows flustered and ducks her head even further down, “Thank you.”

Freddie shrugs one shoulder a little, more twitch than actual shrug. “You’re welcome,” she mumbles. 

Santana’s smile widens as she thumbs the stem of the flower. “I’d love to stay, but I’ve still got to work while the rest of you eat,” she says, “You make sure your moms buy you something as sweet as you are.” Freddie giggles and blushes a little, looking up at Santana with bright eyes. Santana stands and pokes Freddie in the shoulder. “If they don’t you come straight to me and I’ll make sure you get your dessert fix,” she promises, and Freddie giggles again and nods quickly as Santana turns to leave. 

She only makes it about three steps before Freddie’s voice stops her again. “Wait, Santana!” she calls, tugging at Santana’s hand before Santana had even heard her move.

Santana glances down at the girl attached to her arm and smiles a little, humming in question.

“I was also wondering, I mean, if you could, would you?” Freddie stutters. 

Santana smiles and crouches back down. Freddie reminds her of her little cousins, back when she was still welcome at her abuela’s house, and even if it brings a pang to her chest to remember that, she can’t help the smile she manages to give Freddie because Freddie is too sweet and adorable not to. “You can tell me,” she says, “I won’t laugh, I promise.” 

Freddie takes a deep breath and looks up at Santana, blushing furiously if her breathless, flustered expression is anything to go by. “You’re friends with the Sugar Plum Fairy, right?” she whispers. 

Santana can’t help it when she feels her smile soften into something she knows is entirely too fond. “Yeah, I am.” 

Freddie’s eyes widen and she leans forward a little. “Really?” she gasps as if she can’t quite believe it. 

Santana grins. “Really, really,” she promises. 

“She’s really pretty,” Freddie whispers shyly, and Santana finds her smile widening easily. 

“She is, isn’t she?” 

“Like— Like— Like fairy pretty!” 

Blue eyes and blonde hair and fading freckles and soft pink lips fill Santana’s mind and she slowly twirls the daisy between her thumb and forefinger. “Yeah,” she agrees with a soft smile, “But she’s prettier than any fairy I know.” 

Freddie agrees with a serious nod, before pulling out a second daisy and offering it to Santana. “Would you give this to her for me?” she whispers, her eyes wide and guileless and pleading. 

Santana takes the flower from the girl with gentle seriousness. “Of course I would,” she says. 

Freddie’s face breaks into an awed smile and she throws herself at Santana for a fumbling hug before taking off, throwing an excited wave over her shoulder. Santana smiles as she carefully presses the two daisies together, their stems twining and curling against each other, before she tucks them carefully into her pocket.

Santana shakes her head, standing with a small groan as she makes her way to the principal hallway, practically begging the universe to give her at least a couple minutes of peace. She makes it safely to Brittany’s dressing room, only having to duck into the shadows to avoid Blaine once on her way; he looks like she’s looking for her, but she can’t bring herself to care because if she doesn’t get some peace she’s going to end up shoving that bowtie down his throat. She pulls the daisies out of her pocket before knocking on Brittany’s door, only waiting a moment for Brittany’s invitation in before she pushes the door open.

Brittany’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back against the couch and her legs tucked under the coffee table and a spread of food in front of her. 

Santana pauses in the doorway, her eyes darting all over the coffee table, taking in the cups of coffee and containers of food, before landing on Brittany’s face; her pale skin is splotched with pink on the peak of her cheeks, her blue eyes bright and glowing, and a tiny, almost sheepish, smile tugging at her lips. “What’s all this?” Santana manages.

Brittany shrugs one shoulder, her eyes falling away for a moment before darting back up to meet Santana’s eyes, the pretty blush on her cheeks darkening. “Tina said you had a rough day,” she explains, gesturing at the coffee table, “And I still owe you supper, so.” 

Santana feels a little bit like she might just melt right into the floor, something deep in her chest spasming at the nervously hopeful look on Brittany’s face. “Britt,” she sighs, unable to keep the soft smile off her face.

“I just—” Brittany shrugs again. “Wanted to see you smile,” she mumbles.

Santana’s breath catches in her chest, and she realizes that it’s getting more and more impossible to ignore that she’s definitely falling hard for Brittany. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“You’re welcome,” Brittany whispers, just as soft, her eyes caught on Santana’s for a long moment before she clears her throat and glances away. “I, uh, I got— What’s that?”

Santana blinks and glances at where Brittany’s pointing, her eyes landing on the daisies in her hand. She smiles and finally steps fully into the room, closing the door behind her and kicking off her shoes before Brittany can even say anything. She tosses her notebook and phone on the couch behind them and sinks down beside Brittany, misjudging the distance a little bit and ending up with her knee pressed against Brittany’s; Brittany doesn’t move away, so Santana lets their knees remain pressed together, warmth radiating from the spot. She turns to Brittany, holding up the daisies for her inspection. 

“Do you know Freddie? One of the party girls?”

Brittany nods with a small smile. “Yeah! She’s so sweet. And her moms are really chill and so unlike every other dance mom I’ve ever met.”

Santana giggles, knowing exactly what Brittany means. “Well, she caught me on my way here. She heard about, you know, everything, and wanted to give me a flower to make me feel better.”

“Aww,” Brittany coos, “That’s so cute.”

Santana smiles, carefully untangling the stems of the daisies and setting her own on the coffee table before angling herself towards Brittany. “What’s even cuter is the massive crush she has on the Sugar Plum Fairy,” she says, handing the remaining daisy to Brittany. 

“Really?” Brittany brightens as she takes the daisy, her fingers brushing Santana’s and sending goosebumps racing along Santana’s arm. “That is even cuter,” she agrees, twirling the stem between her fingers. 

“So, Sugar Plum Fairy,” Santana teases, nudging Brittany with her elbow, “Does she have a chance?”

Brittany smirks, but it fades into something much softer when she meets Santana’s eyes, so soft that Santana suddenly becomes aware of how loud her heartbeat pounds throughout her body; Santana falls into the clearest pool of blue she’s ever seen, and the moment suddenly feels so much bigger and brighter than it did a second ago.

“I don’t think so,” Brittany finally whispers, her blue eyes glowing with nerves and something brighter, almost hopeful, “The Sugar Plum Fairy kinda already likes someone else.”

Santana’s breath catches sharply; she can’t quite squash the hope blooming and fluttering in every nerve ending of her body. “Oh yeah?”

Brittany nods slowly, her eyes never leaving Santana’s. “Yeah,” she breathes. 

Santana feels like she’s barely breathing as Brittany’s eyes remain locked on hers, everything Santana’s ever hoped for flickering across her face, and she’s about to answer when her phone rings right beside her head and makes both of them jump. 

They glance away sheepishly, both blushing and bashful, as Santana reaches around to grab her phone. Brittany places her daisy beside Santana’s and starts digging into the food, dividing it up and pushing different containers towards each of them, while Santana fumbles with her phone until she manages to swipe her thumb across the bottom and answer it. Santana sighs once she realizes she should have checked the caller ID first, because the only acceptable reason for interrupting her time with Brittany is a major emergency, and whatever Blaine is whining about in her ear is not anywhere near important enough to warrant cutting into her Brittany time.

Brittany’s waiting patiently, but Santana waves her towards the food with an eye roll. She covers the speaker and tucks it against the hinge of her jaw. “Go ahead and eat,” she whispers, “It’s just the Chia Pet with that poor butterfly stitched to his neck, not important at all.”

Brittany giggles too loud and Santana quickly hushes her around her own smile. She turns back and cracks open a container and starts eating while Santana half-listens to Blaine complain in her ear; admiring exactly how adorable Brittany is takes up most of her attention, and she really can’t bring herself to care at all. She reaches forwards and grabs the coffee Brittany had placed in front of her, and when she takes a sip she’s pleasantly surprised to find that it tastes perfect, exactly the way she prefers it. She glances at Brittany, who’s currently chewing on a couple fries and smiles a little, warmth ballooning up in her chest. Brittany catches her staring and flushes a little, motioning towards the coffee cup with a fry, one brow quirked in question. 

Santana feels her smile soften, and Brittany’s softens in turn, like the faint streams of sunbeams through the curtains on a Sunday morning, as she nods. “It’s perfect,” she breathes, answering Brittany’s unspoken question but meaning something much more important.

Brittany bites down on her lip, white teeth sinking into perfect pink, and flushes, laughing lightly as she turns back to her lunch. Blaine shrieks something in Santana’s ear, but her all of her attention remains focused on Brittany’s pretty blush as she absently responds to Blaine. 

Santana kind of can’t wait for the show to end tonight, because once the show ends she can go home and go to bed, and that means she’s that much closer to tomorrow; she doesn’t think she’s ever been this excited to wake up before nine on a Monday morning in her entire life.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #tina cohen chang #santina #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe)

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 2/25

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[Fanfiction] // [ao3]

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Chapter Summary: Rachel still doesn’t quite understand what an understudy is despite the fact that she is one; Brittany gets caught blushing far more often than she’s used to.

Chapter 2: there were sweeties and chocolates and toys and lights

//

The matinee goes far more smoothly than most people thought it would, but it’s not that it went well that surprises Brittany, it’s that people thought it wouldn’t. She doesn’t really make it a habit to listen when the company gossips, partly because there’s always a lot of mean gossip surrounding her and Mike and Tina since they’re all principals and Brittany just prefers to ignore it all, and partly because Mercedes always keeps her well informed anyways, usually when she’s changing Brittany into her costume or helping with her hair and makeup and Brittany has no choice but to listen. She when she hears people marvelling at how well Santana’s handled the show, despite the fact that she was literally only hired two days ago, she’s more than a little surprised that people are surprised.

She’s comfortably close with Quinn and Artie, not enough that they seek each other’s company outside of the show, but enough that she doesn’t mind having lunch with them between shows. And it’s because she doesn’t mind having lunch with them that she knows Santana Lopez is more than qualified to run the show, maybe too qualified if the copy of her resume Artie snuck them was anything to go by; and beyond that, she knows that Tina and Mike trust her completely, so she was never too worried about the change in production stage manager. Based on the complete and utter surprise of most people as they file into one of the larger rehearsal room for a quick meeting, Brittany realizes that she’s in a minority.

She spots Mercedes and Sam giggling together and blushing, so she heads over to them and collapses onto the floor beside them. None of the children are at the meeting, they’re all getting lunch with their parents and friends before the show at five, and though the meeting isn’t mandatory for the teenagers, there’s a couple of them gossiping in a corner. The entire rest of the company and all of the department heads, along with most of their departments too, are squished into the room. The mirrors lining the walls make it look like there are even more people than there actually are, and Brittany knows how nerve-racking it can be to stand in front of so many people with the mirrors multiplying them tenfold, but Santana looks calm and collected as her and Quinn break away from the small team of stage managers and stagehands in the corner to address the room.

It’s a typical meeting, and they go over some minor changes that Santana’s suggested to make backstage less congested during a couple scene changes, and despite the slight grumbling throughout the company, who like their routines perhaps too much, Brittany finds herself nodding along. They’re all changes that Brittany can easily see making the flow backstage so much smoother, and she briefly wonders why they haven’t always been doing it, but then she remembers their old production stage manager and how absentminded Holly can sometimes be and she’s not all that surprised. Their old production stage manager was a little all over the place, to say the least, and while Holly is an amazing director, but she doesn’t quite have the focused, meticulous, mechanical brain needed for stage managing. It’s refreshing to have a production stage manager that, despite having stepped foot in the theatre for the very first time about forty-eight hours ago, obviously seems to know what she’s doing.

The topic changes as Santana and Quinn address some of the dance corps, and Brittany finds herself tuning out of the conversation in favour of staring at Santana. She should probably be paying attention, but Santana does this cute little furrowed brow thing when someone interrupts her and Brittany kind of wants to smooth it out. She also talks with her hands a lot, and Brittany finds her eyes drawn to the movement of her arms as she gestures around or fiddles with her notebook. She’s completely lost to admiring Santana’s quiet grace in her movements when dark eyes catch on hers suddenly and something jolts up her spine, starting near her tailbone and tingling up towards the base of her skull as she sits up a little taller. She thinks maybe Santana’s just scanning the crowd and Brittany happened to see her when she glanced in Brittany’s general direction, but Santana’s eyes linger unmistakably on hers and it makes heat crawl, hot and prickling, under her skin until she’s pretty sure she’s blushing all the way down to her bellybutton. It’s been a very long time since Brittany got caught staring at a pretty girl, and she desperately pretends that her complexion doesn’t allow everyone to see exactly how fiercely she’s blushing.

Mercedes nudges her with her arm, smirking deeply as she glances between Santana and her, and Brittany curses herself for getting caught staring not just by Santana, but by her best friend as well. She’s pretty sure that she hasn’t felt this embarrassed to be caught staring at a girl since she was only questioning her sexuality in high school, and it doesn’t help that she knows that Mercedes is going to give her the third degree and relentlessly tease her as soon as they’re alone in her dressing room before the evening show. Mercedes continues to smirk at her even as Brittany resolutely refuses to acknowledge her; the worst thing about this is that she won’t even be able to escape from her best friend’s teasing after she leaves the theatre considering that Mercedes’ bedroom is about fifteen feet from her own.

She refocuses on the conversation as soon as she feels like she’s not about to burst into flames and Santana is asking if there’s any questions. Quinn winces beside her, as does half the company, while the only person who ever has ‘questions’ shoots her hand into the air, almost before Santana finishes talking. A wave of stifled groans goes through the company as Santana points at Rachel, whose arm is ramrod straight; Brittany’s been in ballet for almost as long as she’s been walking, and even her posture isn’t as straight as Rachel’s arm when she has a question.

“Yes, I was wondering if you have given any thought to changing the cast lineups to include more of the under-appreciated talent in this room. I would be willing to offer—”

“I’m sorry,” Santana interrupts, looking politely annoyed, “You are?”

Rachel draws herself up with an affronted air, and this time the company doesn’t try even hide their collective groan. “Rachel Berry, Marie’s understudy. I’m sure you’ve heard of me already.”

Santana glances at Quinn in barely concealed confusion, but Quinn just widens her eyes and subtly shakes her head.

“My talents, and I am sure you must be well aware of them, are wasted unless I am on stage in the spotlight,” Rachel continues without prompting. “My star shines too bright and it is a misuse of my talents to keep them hidden away in a lowly understudy roll—”

“Do you— Do you know what an understudy is?” Santana asks, her bewildered tone completely betraying her polite expression.

“Of course I know what an understudy is,” Rachel says haughtily, “As I’m sure everyone here knows, I was on Broadway in the prestigious revival of Funny Girl.”

“Yeah, for like a second,” Brittany mutters. Beside her, Mercedes and Sam snort and choke back their laughter.

Rachel continues to ramble, and Santana continues to look adorably baffled before she finally blinks out of her daze. “Look,” she interrupts loudly, waiting until Rachel awkwardly trails off, “I didn’t do the casting, I have no clue how well you dance, but I trust that Holly casted the correct people for the job, and I’m more than certain Tina’s earned her spot. And besides that, I have nothing to do with Tina’s ability to perform on any given day, and unless she calls in sick or injured, you will not be going on as Marie. As is standard of any understudy.”

“Yes, but—” Rachel starts. Brittany meets Tina’s eyes across the heads of people, and the pure, unfiltered annoyance in them as she rolls them at Brittany makes her bite down, almost painfully, on her lip so she doesn’t giggle too loud.

“No buts,” Santana says, her voice slowly growing more curt and clipped, “this is how shows are run. You are the understudy, you only go on if the principal cannot. Shows have done this for like, literally, a century. And I don’t know why you don’t know this, or why you seem to think I don’t understand how theatre works and will just put you on whenever you feel like it. But I have a feeling you aren’t going on unless Tina comes down with the bubonic plague.”

Rachel continues to argue, starting to criticize Santana’s running of the show and her experience, and as Rachel starts to move on to Santana’s personal character, Brittany can tell Santana is starting to lose the calm, collected exterior she’s had all meeting. Brittany leans back in her chair and surveys the room, sensing the rest of the company starting to shift around and glance at each other, and waiting for her opening. Sure, she hates Rachel as much as the next sane person, and she’s usually really good at just zoning her out, but she forces herself to pay attention to whatever is coming out of Rachel’s mouth because Santana’s far too cute to lose her temper in front of the entire company on just her second day.

The next time Rachel takes a breath to continue her rambling, Brittany tilts her head and dons her practiced look of confusion. “Does anyone else hear that? It sound like a cat getting its temperature taken,” she calls, just loud enough to be heard by the company, “All I can hear is screaming.”

There’s a small wave of chuckles that go throughout the room, and a small wave of oh it’s just Brittany being Brittany eye rolls too, but it shocks Rachel enough that she stops talking, her mouth freezing half open. Quinn takes the moment to quickly clap her hands together and dismiss everyone, and Rachel’s complaints are lost to a crowd of people quickly standing and trying to escape the room.

Brittany barely notices, because Santana’s amused and relieved dark eyes have landed on hers, and Brittany’s stomach flips over as Santana offers her a small smile, mouthing thank you across the room.

Santana has dimples and her nose scrunches up when she smiles, and Brittany’s pretty sure she’s already a goner.

//

The evening show goes even better than the matinee, and though there’s some slight confusion at the top of the first act, by the time intermission rolls around the backstage traffic is far less congested than usual thanks to Santana’s suggestions. Brittany can’t help the touch of smugness that colours her smile as she heads back to her dressing room while she listens to the gossip, which has changed from how surprised everyone is with Santana not completely failing to how impressed they are with her improvements. Sure, it’s not like the changes were Brittany’s own ideas or anything, but she feels like one of the only people who never doubted Santana for a second, and she’s proud that Santana’s proved them all wrong in less than twelve hours.

As soon as she reaches her dressing room, Mercedes is already there waiting for her. She helps Brittany out of her costume and tiara, before carefully unpinning her hair even though she doesn’t have to, while Brittany fights to peel her bodysuit and tights off, tossing them in the general direction of her tiny closet before carelessly peeling off the tape around her toes and dunking her feet in the bucket of ice by her couch. She hisses at the instant relief, and Mercedes just laughs and shakes her head.

“I gotta drop Sam off at his apartment a little early today,” Mercedes says, “Do you want me to swing around and pick you up after?” Brittany nods quickly; she ices her feet after almost every show, but the cold never fails to shock her body and steal her ability to speak. Mercedes tosses her the sweater she wore to the theatre, and Brittany quickly pulls it over her head, shivering as the cold seems to creep along her veins. Mercedes starts to head for the door, but suddenly stops and glances back at Brittany with a wicked smile. “Don’t think you’re getting out of talking about what happened at the meeting today, Britt-Britt,” she teases. Brittany groans and, despite the cold, she feels heat crawl under her skin again. Mercedes chuckles at her and waves her goodbyes as leaves, leaving the door cracked open. As soon as she’s gone, Brittany leans forward for her phone, quickly lighting it up to check her messages. There’s a couple promotional emails and a notification from instagram, but nothing from her mom, and she has to remind herself that no news is good news.

Movement from the hallway catches her eye and Brittany glances at the door, only spotting a flash of black as someone walks past. She briefly hopes it’s Santana, partially because she wants to talk to her and congratulate on the shows today, and partially because she wants to feel that same bright lifting feeling she did last night when she showed up in her dressing room doorway, but mostly because she has something to give her.

As soon as her teeth start chattering she realizes that the ache of cold has been replaced by the numb feeling that means she probably left her feet in the ice too long, and she quickly draws them out to dry them and pull on her warmest pair of socks. She takes her time wiping her makeup off and slipping into her comfiest and most worn pair of sweats just as she hears a knock at the door. She calls her invitation and hears the door creak open as she turns to greet her visitor, fighting down the flash of hope that curls beneath her sternum, which proves fruitless when she sees that it is Santana standing there just like she hoped. She’s wearing a cute leather jacket, a red scarf looped loosely around her neck, looking ready to head home for the evening, but what really catches Brittany’s attention is the small smiling playing on Santana’s lips.

“No banging shoes tonight?” Santana asks in lieu of greeting.

Brittany grins. “Wasn’t on the schedule,” she replies with a teasing shrug, “I didn’t work them too hard tonight.” Santana grins and hovers in the doorway, and it’s only then that Brittany notices the notebook in her hands. “You doing notes tonight?” she asks.

Santana starts a little and blinks away her surprise, seeming a little surprised by the notebook in her hands for a moment before she recovers. “Oh, god no, I just came down to see Tina quickly,” she laughs, “I barely had time to breathe during the show, let alone focus on doing any notes.” She holds up the notebook with a small smile. “Tina just gave me this in celebration of my first official show. It’s kind of a tradition.”

Brittany grins. “That’s cute,” she says. “It must be nice having people at the theatre you already know.”

Santana nods and her smile turns fond and a little nostalgic. “Tina and I were roommates all throughout college,” she explains, “And then she started dating Mike in our third year, and they’ve been nauseating adorable and loved up ever since.”

“They’ve been dating for that long?”

Santana laughs, leaning against the doorframe. “Oh yeah. If you think they’re bad now, you should have seen them when they just had crushes on each other through our second year. Adorable? Absolutely. Annoying oblivious? Definitely.” Brittany giggles. Tina and Mike are the most stable couple she knows, inside the company and out, but now she kind of wishes she could have known them before they got together. “They’ve been my best friends ever since,” Santana says, and though she rolls her eyes a little Brittany can see the fondness crinkling her eyes and tugging at her lips.

“That’s sweet,” Brittany says.

Santana shrugs a little and brushes it off with an embarrassed, “Yeah, well,” before straightening up a little. “Are you heading out soon?” Brittany barely has time to blink before Santana gets this bright, breathless, wide-eyed look and she starts talking again. “I mean— Because I’m on my way and Tina’s already gone so. I figured I’d check with you and— You know, see if you needed company,” she finishes lamely.

Brittany’s not quite sure if there’s a more adorable person on the planet, and she quickly assures Santana that, yes, she was just leaving too. She gathers her coat and shrugs it on, tugging a hat over her ears and sliding into her sneakers before heading to the door, collecting her wallet and phone from the coffee table on her way. Santana takes a step backwards down the hall to let Brittany out and she dig her keys out of her jacket pocket so she can lock the door.

She’s just about to turn the key when she remembers the whole reason she was hoping Santana would stop by in the first place. “Wait!” she says suddenly, shoving the door back open with a little more enthusiasm than strictly necessary, the sound of the doorjamb protesting the harsh movement echoing throughout the dressing room. “I have something for you!”

Santana watches her curiously from the doorway as she rummages around on the vanity in the dark until her fingers close around what she was looking for. She quickly crosses the room again, and Santana steps out into the light of the hallway while Brittany hides her tiny gift behind her back. “I, uh, saw this today and I got it so, um, so you have something to remember your first official show by,” she rambles, quickly biting onto her lip so more words don’t escape her as she hands the gift to Santana. It’s a tiny plastic figurine she saw through a toy shop window that morning on her way to the theatre, a flat circle of painted snow with the Sugar Plum Fairy dancing in the middle, surrounded by Marie in her white nightgown and the Prince in his soldier uniform. She’s pretty sure it’s supposed to be an ornament, but she cut the ribbon off so now it’s just a simple figurine.

Santana takes it carefully from Brittany, as if it’s made of fragile glass and not toylike plastic. Her fingers trace delicately over the dancing fairy and Brittany suddenly feels heat crawl and creep under her skin. Usually she’s not this prone to blushing, if anything she prides herself on making others blush, but Santana must have some innate connection to the blood vessels in her cheeks because they always seem to be super aware of her presence.

“I know it’s— Kind of dumb or childish or whatever,” she mumbles. She’s always been told by that too many people that, even if she is a principal dancer with one of the most prestigious dance companies in North America, but she understands how important it is to rediscover how to have fun; life’s far too hard and messy and cruel to take yourself too seriously, and Brittany’s found that sometimes the only thing you can do is have fun and laugh. But people have made her feel insecure about it for so long, all the way back in middle school when having sleepovers and playing pretend with her little sister suddenly wasn’t cool anymore, that it makes her nervous to drop her caution around people other than her sister or Mercedes or Sam because they almost always disappoint her.

“No,” Santana says quickly, shaking her head sharply, and when she glances up at Brittany her eyes are shining and bright with something Brittany can’t name. “It’s perfect,” she whispers, “Thank you.”

The heat in Brittany’s cheeks continues to prickle her skin, but as she kicks one foot behind her other she already knows it has less to do with nervous embarrassment now and more to do with how bashful-giddy she feels when Santana directs that smile at her. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs, “You deserve to remember today. You did amazing.”

Santana’s eyes never leave hers even as her smile widens and she whispers her thanks again. Brittany feels too much all at once and fumbles with her keys before quickly turning to lock her door, finding Santana’s eyes still on her when she turns back around. “Shall we?” Brittany asks, gesturing down the hallway.

Santana nods quickly, finally glancing away to look at the figurine in her hand before tucking it carefully in her jacket pocket.

Brittany finds it really easy to talk to Santana as they head out of the theatre, and the earlier heat creeping under her skin starts to fade as they navigate the halls. Santana can make Brittany laugh really easily and Brittany kind of really, really likes that, but Brittany quickly finds that what she likes even more is making Santana smile, because Brittany’s never felt more accomplished than when her deadpan makes Santana’s dimples crease her cheeks, and even better than that is saying something that makes Santana toss her head back as bright carefree giggles spill forth from her.

The make it to the front lobby far sooner than Brittany wants to, and as soon as they step out into the chilly air, her phone buzzes with a text from Mercedes telling her that she’s here just as a dark SUV pulls up. “That’s my ride,” Brittany says. They both pause, still smiling at each other, until Brittany shakes herself out of her daze and whispers a quick bye as she heads for Mercedes’ SUV.

“Hey,” Santana calls just as Brittany’s hand lands on the handle of the passenger door, “Thanks, for today. You know, at the meeting.”

Brittany feels something warm and bright and fond curl in her stomach. The feeling isn’t something she’s ever really felt before, but it reminds her of camping with her parents to celebrate the first time she ever won gold a competition, when she would huddle closer to the fire until it would feel like its warmth was blooming from within her cheeks and and chest instead of from the fire itself. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs, and despite the rush of the city around them Brittany feels a little bit like it’s just them on the sidewalk for a moment. “Goodnight, Santana,” she says softly.

Those dimples crease Santana’s cheeks and makes Brittany’s breath hitch just a little. “Goodnight, Brittany.”

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) #for anyone who's been following me you Know that this understudy thing gets me Heated lol

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 16/25

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[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Santana and Brittany make an ornament together; Brittany asks Santana out on their first date, or at least, their first official one.

Chapter 16: that the cold would be freezing, the world would be white

///

Winter has settled deeply into New York and Brittany spends the morning freezing in her apartment despite the fact that, with Mercedes spending last night at Sam’s, she can crank the heat up as high as she wants without Mercedes complaining about their heating bill. Though it’s so cold that she thinks even Mercedes wouldn’t argue with her. The light snow that had dusted the city the past two days had turned into pouring rain overnight, and the streets are filled with brown slush and grumbling pedestrians as they fight against the weight of the gross dampness that clings to the city. Sam had picked Mercedes up from the theatre last night, and Mercedes had left her keys in Brittany’s care with a playful warning to not crash her car—as if she would, she’s a more careful driver than even Mercedes is and they both know it—or, much more likely, spill coffee something in it.

She’s grateful for Mercedes’ car on days like these and, never far from her thoughts, she wonders how Santana’s planning on getting to the theatre; she doesn’t have a car, Brittany knows, and Tina and Mike live pretty far away from her neighbourhood. She only debates it for half a second before she’s texting Santana and asking if she wants to meet for breakfast, partly because it’s another two-show day and she doesn’t want Santana to go without eating again, but mostly because she just wants to spend as much time as possible with Santana.

Santana answers instantly, accepting the offer for breakfast and asking where she wants to meet.

It’s a surprise, Brittany says with a smiley emoji, Pick you up in 15?

Is Mercedes coming? Santana asks, and even through the text she can sense Santana’s slight disappointment. Her and Mercedes get along better than Brittany could ever hope for, but she can’t blame Santana for wanting to have time to themselves.

Her car is, Brittany answers cryptically, I’m leaving now. See you soon!

She quickly collects everything that she needs for the day, knowing that she won’t have time to swing back around and pick it up after breakfast, before heading out of her apartment, thankful that the complex has an underground parkade. It doesn’t take long for her to get to Santana’s and, surprisingly, there’s a parking spot almost right in front of the entrance, so she quickly pulls in to it. She grabs her stuff off the passenger seat and takes a deep breath to prepare herself for the rain before slipping out into the cold and darting across the sidewalk.

She spots Santana in the lobby again, only wearing a thin jacket that doesn’t look very waterproof, and taps on the glass. Santana glances up from her phone and her face blooms in that dimpled smile that makes the butterflies in Brittany’s stomach swoop and flutter all the way down to her toes. Santana quickly crosses the lobby and opens the door, her smile only widening when she sees what’s in Brittany’s hands.

“You know me too well,” she greets.

Brittany grins and shrugs a little. “You’re too stubborn,” she says easily, tossing the scarf over her shoulder so she has both hands available. “You never dress for the weather,” she teases, tenderly reaching up to brush Santana’s hair back behind her ears before tugging the extra hat from the back of her closet over Santana’s head, making sure those adorable tiny ears of hers are fully covered. Santana sighs softly and nuzzles into Brittany’s touch like a cat looking for more scratches, and something deep in Brittany’s chest spasms and trembles. She carefully winds the scarf around Santana’s neck, her hands curling tighter into the ends as she realizes how easily it would be to tug on the scarf and have Santana’s lips upon hers. A strong gust of wind snaps her out of her thoughts as Santana shivers and cold rain sprinkles against Brittany’s back.

“Where are we going?” Santana asks innocently, completely oblivious to where Brittany’s thoughts just were but curiously studying the blush that Brittany can feel in her cheeks. This woman seriously makes Brittany blush far too easily; Brittany usually delights in making everyone else blush, but Santana seems to have the innate ability to make heat crawl in Brittany’s cheeks just by glancing at her.

“It’s a surprise,” Brittany singsongs.

“Britt,” Santana whines.

Brittany just grins and finally releases the ends of the scarf to wind Santana’s left arm through hers. “Santana,” she teases.

Santana huffs out a breath. “Ugh, fine, don’t tell me,” she says petulantly.

Brittany beams at her and tugs a little on her captured arm, drawing Santana closer to her. “I won’t!” she chirps, and then, “Let’s go!”

Santana shrieks a laugh as Brittany rushes them out into the pelting rain, hurrying to Mercedes’ car and again chivalrously opening Santana’s door like the gentlewoman she is, making sure all limbs are safely tucking inside before shutting the door and hurrying around to her own side. As soon as she’s in, she quickly starts the car and blasts the heat, feeling a little damp but not soaked.

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” Santana asks suspiciously.

Brittany grins as she shoulder checks and pulls out of her parking spot. “Nope,” she answers brightly, popping the p.

Santana playfully groans and falls back against the seat. “You’re the worst,” she complains.

Brittany just grins wider.

///

The small café Brittany takes Santana to looks like Christmas threw up all over it, blindingly red and green and gold with mismatched decorations scattered around, messily hung homemade ornaments at knee level and delicately draped garland at eye level.

“Wow,” Santana says as they step through the door, “It looks like a Christmas elf did a hit and run on this place.”

Brittany grins and nods at the decorations. “The costumers decorate it,” she explains, “You can either bring your own ornaments and decorate or they have stuff to make your own and hang them here.”

Santana considers the café, a smile tugging on her lips. “That’s cool,” she says with such a transparent tough façade that Brittany giggles.

“C’mon,” she says, tugging on Santana’s jacket near her elbow, “we can’t waste time or we’ll be late.”

There’s a short line before they place their order and Brittany gently elbows Santana out of the way before she can offer to pay. “My treat,” she says with a wink, and Santana flusters, her hands fumbling clumsily together for a moment before she relents. As easily as Santana can make her blush, it’s just as easy for Brittany to fluster Santana in return.

Brittany takes Santana to one of the taller tables, tucked near the back of the café where it’s a little quieter. There’s a pile of craft materials on the table and some instruction sheets that they completely ignore as they paw through the papers and pipe cleaners and googly eyes and popsicle sticks as they wait for their food and drinks.

“How’d you ever find this place?” Santana marvels as her gaze darts around, absently fiddling with a pipe cleaner, curling it into abstract shapes and completely distracting Brittany with the movement of her fingers.

Brittany starts when a waitress appears with their order and quickly blinks out of her daze, hoping Santana hasn’t noticed her distraction, but the smirk Santana wears is far too knowing for her own good. She clears her throat a little and thanks the waitress before turning back to Santana and ignoring the burning in her cheeks.

“My parents and sister flew out here for Christmas my first year of college as like a half family vacation and half family Christmas,” she explains. “My sister was, like, ten at the time and I found this place and I thought she’d like it.”

“That’s cute,” Santana says, a smile tugging softly on her lips.

Brittany laughs a little as she remembers the look on her sister’s face when they first walked into the café all those years ago, awed and lit up with the childish excitement for Christmas, the excitement that most adults seem to lose far too soon, a lose Brittany knows all too well. “We spent hours here, and as soon as we left she wanted to know when we were coming back.”

Santana grins. “Aww that’s so nice.”

Brittany bobs her head in agreement as the conversation turns to some of the more impressive—and some of the more amateur—ornaments. Brittany finishes first because Santana’s kind of a slow eater when she’s distracted, and she starts picking out materials for an ornament. Santana watches her with a small smile as she quickly finishes up her food and stacks her plate on Brittany’s before scooting her chair even closer to Brittany’s, the ugly scraping sound it makes against the floor causing both of them to wince and laugh.

“So what are you making?” Santana asks as she reaches for a pipe cleaner, playfully poking Brittany in the cheek with it.

Brittany giggles and swats at the offending material before shyly glancing at Santana. “I thought we could make one together,” she suggests, and the only way to describe Santana’s reaction is that she absolutely melts into Brittany’s side, their shoulders pressed together as she ducks her head forward to meet Brittany’s eyes.

“I’d love to,” she whispers.

Brittany smiles, her nose scrunching a little as they get lost in each other for a moment, only looking away when their waitress appears out of seemingly nowhere to take their plates. They laugh sheepishly and glance back down to the craft materials as they start to work together on their ornament.

It ends up being both expertly constructed and amateur, Brittany’s crafting expertise from having a sister much younger unable to completely cancel out Santana’s inexperience, but it just makes Brittany love it even more because they made it together. The face of the ornament has a crude drawing of a nutcracker soldier and a carefully scripted 2018 in the brim of his hat, and a Merry Christmas above that.

Santana bursts out laughing as soon as Brittany holds it up for her inspection. “It looks like a two year old drew it,” she manages around her giggles.

Brittany bites down on her own laughter as she studies it. “I love it,” she declares, only succeeding in making Santana laugh harder, “your poor artistic skills and all.”

Santana rolls her eyes, her head bobbing back and forth a little as she grins, dimples deep and glowing. “Come on, you should hang it up high so that atrocity is out of everyone’s sight.”

Brittany grins, having no intention to hide it from anyone’s view as they find an empty spot on a strand of garland. It ends up closer to Santana’s eye level than to Brittany’s and Santana groans playfully as she realizes that Brittany isn’t going to hide her awful artistic skills from the general public. Brittany takes a step back right into Santana’s space, forcing Santana to curl around Brittany’s shoulder a little to admire the ornament. For basically the first time since she brought her sister here all those years ago, Brittany feels liquid warmth curl through her at the thought that Christmas is less than ten days, and she marvels at the feeling for a moment, having a sneaking suspicion that, despite Santana’s own indifference to the holiday season, she has Santana to thank for that.

“It’s perfect,” Brittany says quietly, “because it’s ours.” Santana’s so close that Brittany can feel the heat of her blush, hot and bright, against her cheek and she tips her face slightly to the side so she’s almost brushing Santana’s skin with her lips as she speaks, “Your poor nutcracker and all.”

Santana sighs a little, her breath sweet and minty from the gum she produced from her pocket after they finished their coffees. “You know,” she says, her voice quiet and warm with soft marvel, “this is my favourite show I’ve ever worked on.”

“I’ve been in this production of The Nutcracker for three years, and I’ve done a bunch of smaller productions for it too,” Brittany whispers, meeting Santana’s gaze, deep and dark and liquid, “But this year is my absolute favourite too.” Santana’s smile could probably power the entire electricity grid of New York City, and again Brittany has to beat down the urge to tug Santana closer and kiss the hell out of her. Instead she sighs and shakes her head a little. “Speaking of the show,” she says, “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

Santana sighs too and they slowly move back to their table to shrug on their jackets, Santana smiling down at her feet as she tugs her borrowed hat on and winds the scarf around her neck.

Brittany doesn’t even get a chance to offer Santana her arm as they head towards the front of the café, because Santana’s cool hand has already slipped into hers, tangling their fingers tightly together and guiding them to the door.

///

They barely have a break on Sundays because of how close together the two shows are, so Brittany only really has time to shove the sandwich Mercedes brings her into her mouth as she leaves the costume department and heads back to her dressing room, hopefully so she can sit for the last thirty minutes of her only break.

She trudges through the theatre, thankful that her mouthfuls of sandwich mean she can just wave her greetings at people instead of being forced to stop and chat for a couple minutes, saving her so much time. All she really wants out of life at this moment is a catnap and a good stretch before she has to do it all over again.

She finishes off her last bite of sandwich just as she reaches her dressing room, tiredly pushing open the door and pausing in the doorway, the light from the hallway and her dressing room bathroom illuminating the sight the greets her.

Santana is curled up on the couch, her hair cascading in a dark wave over the arm where her head is awkwardly resting on, her back steadily rising and falling as she sleeps. Brittany melts as she watches her, the way her nose twitches little, the slight clenching of her fingers where they’re curled on the edge of the couch cushion, her tiny little snuffling breaths as she sighs in her sleep. She’s pretty sure Santana’s sleeping form is far more captivating than it has any right to be, and Brittany could probably spend all day just hovering in the doorway and watching her, but a yawn prompts her further into the room. She kicks off her sneakers by Santana’s and shuts the door behind her, digging her phone out of her hoodie pocket and setting an alarm for twenty minutes from now before dropping it on the coffee table.

She contemplates her options for a moment before shrugging and carefully crawling over Santana, draping herself partially over Santana like a blanket. Santana shifts and sniffles a little as Brittany gently manhandles her until her neck isn’t so strained against the arm of the couch, offering up her own arm as Santana’s pillow and not caring the least bit about how numb it will probably be when she wakes up.

Santana sighs and curls back into Brittany, her breathing evening back out as she sinks further into sleep. Brittany nuzzles into her sweet smelling hair and curls her other arm over low over Santana’s waist, falling asleep almost instantly with the scent of citrus and vanilla surrounding her and the sound of Santana’s soft and steady breathing soothing her.

///

It’s Santana’s shifting in her arms, not the blaring alarm, that brings Brittany back into consciousness. She mumbles at the movement, soothing as soon as the alarm has stopped screaming and Santana has shifted back and turned into her embrace.

“Britt-Britt,” Santana says softly, her breath and stray strands of her hair tickling at Brittany’s face and causing her nose to wrinkle up. Santana giggles softly and then there’s a warm hand cupping her jaw and a thumb stroking softly across her cheek, causing Brittany’s eyes to flutter open. Santana’s eyes are still sleepy and languid from their nap, and the only thing that Brittany can think of is melting chocolate, warm and gooey and sweet. “Your warmups are starting in ten minutes,” Santana murmurs, “And you should probably stretch again.”

Brittany hums in acknowledgement, content to stay right where she is for the next ten minutes but knowing she probably can’t. “Did you sleep well?” she mumbles.

Santana’s cheeks crease up in a smile that’s all in her eyes and only a little on her lips. “Better than ever,” she answers.

“Me too,” Brittany yawns. Santana shifts a little in her arms, bringing them closer together and Brittany hums until a sudden tingling pain is shooting up her arm and she hisses out a curse. Santana’s eyes grow wide and worried, her hand curving a light tighter around her jaw in question, and Brittany grits her teeth and shakes her head a little before Santana can give voice to her concern. “I’m fine,” she gasps out, “Just pins and needles.”

Santana’s eyes clear but worry still furrows her brow. “Do you want me to move?”

Brittany can’t really think of anything, let alone whether or not that would help, but thankfully Santana seems to realize this and slowly moves her head off Brittany’s arm, propping herself up on her elbow before helping Brittany stretch her arm out until the pins and needles are less painful prickling and more soft tingling.

Once Brittany can move her fingers again without wanting to scream, Santana manoeuvres herself into a sitting position before helping Brittany up too.

“Sorry,” Brittany mumbles, cursing herself for ruining her plan to convince Santana to cuddle with her for their remaining ten minutes.

Santana shakes her head with a small smile. “I mean, it was kinda my fault, repurposing your arm as a pillow and all.”

Brittany pouts at Santana. “You big meanie,” she whines, causing Santana to just giggle until Brittany’s lips tug up into a lopsided grin.

Santana boops her playfully on the nose with a wide grin before sighing and standing. “I really gotta get back. Who knows what’s fallen apart during about my only break all day. And thanks for not kicking me out,” she adds, ducking her head down as she flusters a little, “I needed a place for a nap and Tina and Mike were both having supper with their understudies so, you know, thanks for letting me sleep here unannounced, and for being my pillow and blanket and all.”

“Any time,” Brittany promises, because there’s pretty much nothing Brittany wants more than to continue to be Santana’s pillow and blanket sometime in the near future.

Santana smiles down at her toes, more to herself than anything. “Anyways,” she says, and her voice is breathless and dreamy and basically Brittany’s favourite sound in the entire world, “I’m doing notes tonight so I’ll see you then?”

Brittany nods and smiles as Santana backs towards the door. “See you.”

“Cool,” Santana pauses at the door and slips her sneakers on, pulling her hair back into a ponytail with the band on her wrist before giving Brittany another smile. “Good luck tonight, not that you need it,” she says as she opens the door, casting the room a little brighter with the hallway light adding to the thin rectangle of gold falling across the carpet from the dressing room bathroom.

“Hey,” Brittany calls suddenly and Santana pauses in the doorway. Curious brown eyes meet hers and Brittany takes a steadying breath as she gathers every last ounce of courage hidden away in her body. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

Santana’s lips twitch in a small smile as she slowly shakes her head.

Brittany takes another deep breath and smiles at Santana, unable to control the fluttering of nerves coursing through her body even though she thinks she already knows the answer to her coming question. “Would you like to go out on a date with me then?” she blurts all in a rush, her words squishing together and reflecting the jittery feeling fluttering in her stomach.

Santana’s smile grows until Brittany thinks it might never fade ever again. “A date date?” she clarifies.

Brittany swallows and manages a nod.

Santana’s smile never wavers, and her eyes almost sparkle in the dim light. “Just you and me?”

Brittany manages another nod and a small smile.

“Well, in that case,” she drawls, giving an overdramatic pause before her smile and her eyes and her expression and her everything completely softens. “I would love to, Britt,” she murmurs, her voice easily carrying across the dressing room despite its volume.

Brittany sucks in a large breath of relief and beams at Santana, belatedly wondering why she was even nervous in the first place. “Awesome,” she says breathlessly, “I’ll pick you up around four?”

Santana nods eagerly, her cheeks dimpled and plump and Brittany kind of wants to race across the dressing room and kiss them. “It’s a date,” she says, and she sounds almost as giddy as Brittany feels.

They just keep staring at each other until Santana manages to snap herself out of their daze and gesture vaguely over her shoulder. “I’ve— Uh, gotta, you know— Work and stuff,” she manages. Brittany nods and waves a little as Santana shoots her one more heart-melting smile before tugging the door closed behind her.

Brittany flops back on the couch and grins unabashedly up at the ceiling, barely able to contain her excitement. “Score,” she whispers to herself.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) #filler chapters still remain Hard to write lmao