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echoes-of-realities · 5 years

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

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

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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

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