#anyway yeah here we are asymmetrical horns and all

[bocceclub]

Ariahd as a tielfing

[2manyfandoms2count]

I love you (not) - Chapter 11

I'm back! Almost a month late, but exams got in the way of @marichatmay (how inconsiderate of my uni to hold them at this time of the year, really) The updates should be more frequent again, especially since I've got at least a couple of chapters planned that combine two prompts! Hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

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Chapter 11: In which, to quote Taylor Swift, dancing is a dangerous game

Marinette hummed happily as she inspected the dress on her mannequin.

Without tooting her own horn, it really was some of her best work; she'd chosen an asymmetric cut for it, slightly shorter in front, so the silk fabric teased the top of her knees. It was light enough that it could expand like a corolla if she twirled, but the shape of the skirt prevented it from hitching too high (one had to remain classy).

She was so pleased with the result. She'd fallen in love with the velvet lining of the cherry blossom pattern fabric when she'd stumbled upon it at the Marché St Pierre over a year ago, and had bought it on a whim. It had been safely sitting at the back of her fabric case ever since, for lack of a worthy project. She’d looked at it longingly every time she opened the box, hoping inspiration would strike.

She didn’t know if it was the upcoming class party, her strangely giddy heart, or the lovely late spring weather, but something in the air had titillated her creativity, and here she was, the proud owner of a beautiful dress, perfect for any occasion.

And what an occasion the class party was turning out to be. What had started out as a lowkey plan to celebrate the approaching end of the school year and the end of the brevet, had developed into something much bigger when the class had started discussing where to hold it, and Chloé had ended up suggesting the Grand Paris restaurant with a seemingly exasperated sigh. Marinette had seen her small smile when everyone had thanked her, though, and had made a mental note to suggest that they found a small present for her before the party.

Alya had been shocked when she’d voiced the thought aloud, asking if Marinette was feeling feverish, but her friend had shrugged the comment off. She just felt very light and breezy for some reason, and nothing could knock her off her air path.

She sighed contentedly as she put her pins away and opened a window to let the warm spring breeze in. This would do nicely. Even if she wasn't going to directly pursue Adrien, she was sure he'd notice the quality of her garment. And then, if he asked her to dance like the last time they’d been to a party at Chloé’s...

Oh, but what if we do dance like last time , she froze at the thought. I haven't made any progress in dancing, and even though I managed to not faceplant in front of him last time, I'm not sure that my luck will withstand a second time - what if I step on his feet? What if I knock into him and break his nose? Then he will hate me, his whole modeling career will be ruined, and Gabriel Agreste will make sure I never become a designer, and Adrien and I will never get married, have our house, three kids and our hamster named-

The lack of oxygen from her hyperventilating made her lose her balance and she caught herself on her desk. She breathed out slowly, relaxing as her eyes met Chat’s on their picture from the Café des Chats. She needed to stop catastrophising. It wouldn’t be a good idea to dance with Adrien, not while her “relationship” with Chat Noir was still "going strong”. She caught herself wondering how out of place it would be to invite him along to the party (it would definitely give her an excuse not to dance with Adrien), but promptly waved the thought away.

She went up to her computer and pulled up a dance tutorial to get her mind off of things. Just to be on the safe side.

"One two three, one two three..." She tried following the waltz steps, pretending to hold someone in her arms.

She felt a little stupid, but quickly brushed the feeling away. It wasn’t like someone was going to see her. She closed her eyes and let herself be carried by the music, picturing the movements in her head. It was easier this way.

“I must say, Marinette, you have excellent taste in music. Oh! Whatcha doing?” Her eyes flew open at the sound of a familiar voice and she stumbled backwards, crashing into her mannequin. Had she somehow invoked Adrien? A quick glance at her window and the smiling, masked face dangling upside down from it answered her question. "It really drags a cat- woah there, careful Princess!”

Chat leaped inside as his smile melted into a concerned frown.

“Would you stop sneaking up on me like that?!” She cursed as he helped her up, not admitting that she was actually kind of glad to see him. It had been a while. She immediately straightened her mannequin and started dusting off the dress.

“But where’s the fun in that? You’re cute when you’re dancing.” He felt his cheeks pinken, on par with hers at the compliment.

“Yeah, well, um…” She stammered, occupying herself by frantically checking for any sign of damage. “You could have ruined my dress!” She huffed.

“Ooh, is that what you’ll be wearing at Chloé… Bourgeois’ party?” He caught himself before he could sound too chummy about Chloé, but his face lit up as he turned around the mannequin to inspect it.

“What do you know about that?” Marinette crossed her arms and squinted suspiciously at him.

“Oh, nothing much,” he gulped, remembering how attentive to detail Marinette was. “I just heard about it through the grapevine, you know? I kind of keep a tab on events involving the Bourgeois, they tend to be at high akumatisation risk.”

“Clever kitty,” Marinette whispered under her breath.

“What was that?” Chat smirked.

“I said, that’s fair.” She cleared her throat.

“Right.” He nudged her. “Anyway, this dress is gorgeous, you’ve done an ameowzing job on it, Marinette.”

“Thanks.” She bit back a giddy smile, and cleared her throat. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I…” Chat hesitated. He wasn’t sure, really. He’d been relaxing in his room, gazing at his ceiling, when he’d suddenly felt an irrepressible longing to see Marinette, and had promptly been on his way. He wondered if he could invoke his right to want to see his girlfriend, but decided it probably wasn’t for the best. They hadn’t seen each other since their encounter at the flower shop (well, of course they had, but she hadn’t been aware of it), and the part of him who was still hellbent on ending this absurd arrangement was convinced that a bit of progress towards a potential breakup had been made; blurting out defining relationship terms would definitely not help go down that road. “I was just in the neighbourhood, so I thought I’d pop in and say hi! I’ve missed you.” He felt the tip of his ears warm up at his words.

“I’ve missed you, too.” She looked at her feet bashfully and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Both remained silent for a moment while the waltz music kept playing in the background, unsure what to say next. The silence was interrupted by a loud ad for Tsurugi cars on Marinette’s computer.

She jumped and went to close the tab, but Chat Noir caught the name of the video before she could do so.

“A dance tutorial?” He tilted his head inquisitively, and she froze. “What’s this for?”

“Well, I know it sounds stupid, but… I’m a little worried about the dancing part of Chloé’s evening.” She admitted, knotting her hands together.

“But you’re a great dancer!” Chat’s exclamation came out like a cry from the heart. “I mean, I suppose. How could you not be? You’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng! You can do anything.”

“Thanks, Chat.” She flashed him a bright smile, making his heart skip a beat.

“I’m only speaking the truth.” He bowed, and decided it would be for the best for him to change the subject, before he went down the ‘Marinette is amazing’ rabbit hole. The rant could easily last for a long time. Thankfully, the video came to his rescue. “You know, though, I hear kids these days don’t really waltz anymore,” he said conspiratorially.

It was true; even though his father had been adamant about him taking ballroom dancing lessons, claiming every respectable young man knew how to dance, Nino had been almost uncharacteristically mocking about how he’d danced with Marinette at Chloé’s first party when they’d discussed it later (he’d had to gush about how great it had been to dance with his good friend), advising him to update his dancing style. Adrien had therefore looked it up, and had found out that Rock’n Roll dancing seemed fairly popular still, and his father had approved the suggestion to add it to the acceptable dance list. He wondered if Marinette also knew how to dance it.

“I know people who still waltz,” Marinette replied, defensively crossing her arms in front of her chest. “And so what if it’s a little old-fashioned? I don’t see what’s wrong with it.”

“It’s just not very twenty-first century, is all.” He shrugged, although he wanted to scream that he agreed with her. He was mildly afraid that she’d see that two of the people she knew who appreciated waltzing were blond guys with green eyes, about the same height and build, and absolutely fantastic, funny and well-dressed, and that she would connect the dots. He wasn’t sure Ladybug would be very pleased if his identity was leaked over a dance, no matter how trustworthy Marinette was.

“Oh yeah? And what would you suggest, then?” Marinette cocked an eyebrow.

“Ever heard of Rock’n Roll?” he asked.

“I don’t live under a rock, you know.” She rolled her eyes. “Pun unintended.”

“And do you know how to dance it?” He took a step forward.

“I know the basics.” She shrugged.

“Would you like to practise? Just in case it turns out to be useful at Chloé’s…” He trailed off, trying to hide how excited he was at the prospect of dancing with Marinette again.

She wrung her hands together and pondered her options. It would be pretty stupid not to seize the opportunity, plus, she’d always kind of wondered what it would be like to dance with Chat. She didn’t know where the idea came from, although maybe their late night patrols in the moonlight played a part in it. “Are you sure you don’t have more important things to attend to?” She looked up at him.

“I’m free as a bird.” He grinned.

“Okay, then.” She found a playlist and launched it. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Chat Noir extended his hand and she took it. He pulled her in a little closer, twirling her in and back out before swinging their hands in rhythm with the music.

“The real pros trace little hearts to the beat, because your heart rate actually changes to match the tempo of a song,” he confided, before taking her other hand.

They met chest to chest a couple of times, then lifted their arms over their heads, letting go of one hand. Chat’s gloved hand hovered over Marinette’s arm as they moved just out of reach of each other, giving her goosebumps. Her breath hitched slightly, and she was fairly sure her complexion was now a couple of shades redder. Chat didn’t notice, or pretended not to, twirling her again, then taking her other hand again to go through a series of passes.

Marinette was impressed by how smoothly he led her, how natural it seemed to be for him. He smiled casually as they danced and she relaxed, effortlessly falling into rhythm with him.

As the end of the song approached, Chat got more confident that she could take more complex moves and picked up the difficulty. Marinette was slightly dizzy from all the twists and turns and was thankful for the pause he gave her after a string of moves. They stepped to the rhythm, her back to his chest, for a couple of beats longer than was traditional. She wondered if he’d sensed that he’d reached her limit.

“Hey, Marinette?” Chat’s breath tickled her ear as he whispered in it.

“Yes?” She looked up at him. Their faces were mere inches away; his gaze had an intensity she’d rarely seen him sport. She couldn’t deny it was a good look on him.

“Do you trust me?” His voice was slightly hoarse from the exercise.

“With my life,” she breathed, her eyes mindlessly landing on his lips. “Why-aaaah!”

She yelped as his hands dropped to her waist and he picked her up, then flipped her in the air.

He caught her before she landed, but her surprise made her fall more heavily than she would have with more notice, a loud thud echoing with her pulse in her ears as the song finally came to an end.

“Hmm, you should really rehearse that last move before the dance, you weren’t very light on your feet…” Chat bit back his laughter.

Marinette was about to punch his shoulder and yell at him to never pull that kind of thing on her again, unless he wanted to become cat food, when Sabine’s voice sounded from below.

“Marinette? Is everything alright?”

“Ah, er, yes Maman! Everything’s fine, I just knocked over my mannequin again!” She called out, frantically starting to push Chat up her stairs, towards her skylight. “You need to go, she can’t know that you’re here,” she added in hushed tones. If Sabine found him there with her… Well, Marinette had managed to convince her after the very first lunch that Chat and her wouldn’t work out, and she knew her mother had taken her word for it; she wasn’t so sure how she would react if she discovered that things were serious enough that he came around and danced in her room with her. Not that it was romantic in any way, but she knew what it could look like from the outside.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, “no need to be so pushy.”

“Consider it your punishment for almost giving me a heart attack,” Marinette shook her head. Her next words reassured him that she held no grudge. “See you later?”

“I’ll definitely cat ch you around, Princess,” he winked as he quickly kissed her hand. She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “By the way, I’m sure you’ll do great, whoever you dance with.”

“Thanks, Kitty.”

As she returned inside, she reflected on their synchronicity, and wondered if it was all down to the couple of years of fighting side by side, or if something bigger was at stake, allowing herself, for the first time since it had happened, to think about her first kiss for a little more than a couple of seconds.

[anontrolls]

> Thistle: Break, don’t bend.

You find Thistle on the rocky path that winds around the side of his hivestem and leads to the small community garden he grows all his vegetables in.

You think, pretty much immediately, that you shouldn’t have come. This would have been a better thought to have had the last three times you showed up on his step, and he didn’t answer his bell, and - well, now you look sort of like a stalker, and he looks like an antlerbeast caught in headlights. He’s clutching a watering can, and you wonder if he’s been keeping out of the garden just to avoid you.

“Hey,” you mumble lamely, and drop your hand from where you’d raised it to waggle your fingers in a wave. “Uh, I know this isn’t... I mean, I just thought, we haven’t talked in ages.”

Thistle doesn’t say anything, and you watch the light breeze ruffle his hair. It’s long, bleached white, and pin-straight. The total opposite of yours, and you always liked winding it round your fingers and playing with it.

You swallow, and rock back on your heels. You know. You know he would’ve answered your texts, or his door at least, if he wanted to talk to you. It’s just...

“Not since - that night, I mean,” you say, and you are going to say ‘not since I got kicked out,’ but you’re not trying to make Thistle feel guilty, here. It’s not his fault. It’s never been his fault. You’re the one that got him in the papers - and, sure, maybe it wasn’t his face, but it was his clothes, his hair, his horns. His hair was gold last time you saw it, metallic and shimmering.

“And I was just wondering,” you go on, because that was the second long, awkward pause you’ve inflicted on this conversation. “About what... I mean, if we were still friends.”

Thistle finally moves, and it’s to lean down and set his watering can on the ground. He presses his hands to his face, shoulders shaking - and you think you’ve made him cry for a second, until he barks a laugh and you think you’ve made him go nutters, instead.

“What the fuck, Lee?” he half-yells into his hands, still blocking himself from looking at you. “Are we still friends? After - I was in that photo, too, you know, and Lionel fucking Prince isn’t stupid, he knows - yeah, Lee, sure, we can still be friends, because apparently why the hell not, long’s you say sorry nice enough - just get on your knees and kiss my boots, or something.”

His shoulders are still trembling, and he makes some sort of queer keening noise that dissolves into mildly hysterical laughter, and - you try to laugh, too, but you only manage to wrestle about half your face into some mangled attempt at a smile. Thistle shudders.

You lean over and get on your knees.

You can tell the exact moment Thistle finishes dragging his hands down his face, because he sputters loudly and then something yanks sharply up at your shoulders. You don't even have time to get the knees of your pants wet on the rocky pavement before he jerks you roughly to your feet.

"What," Thistle presses his thumbclaws into the insides of your wrists, "The hell are you doing, Lee?"

You sag in his hold, relieved he's back to his old self. He's always liked yanking you around - it feels good for a warmblood like him, you think, cold flesh and wrists thin enough for him to wrap his whole hand around. Exotic, maybe. You never pull away, really, and you like that he likes tugging you around. You like that you can be what he wants. It doesn't make you feel good this time. You can’t meet his eyes. You can’t even think, really, because you were about to - you were about to - Thistle stopped you, Thistle was clearly, indisputably, obviously not being serious, and you’re so fucking mortified that you think you might just die. You shake your head, mute, and run your tongue over where your lip's cracked. You haven't been drinking enough water. Or maybe just drinking too much alcohol. Regardless, you're too sober to figure out how to navigate the maze that is this conversation - everything you try results in you running into the proverbial thistles. Thistle's claws are hot pricks of pain at your wrists, and you desperately don't want him to let go. Thistle shoves you back anyways, and you knock into the decorative brick wall of his hivestem’s garden behind you. Your hand goes to wrap around your opposite wrist, but all your cold skin does is chase away the warmth of Thistle's. "This," he says, and you think he sounds angry. He flings his arms out to gesture at... all of you, really, and it looks more like he's slapping some invisible assailant. "This is why I can't do this, Lee. Just - just stop looking at me like that." "Like I'm upset you're dumping me?" you ask, because you can't help it, and you don't mean for it to bite. Whenever you bite at Thistle, it just comes back around to bite you. Case in point: "Like I'm the last troll on this planet," he blurts, "And I've left you at the altar, or something." He makes a small jerk of a motion towards you, barely a half-step, and he must see how you lean in at that, because the gesture stops short, aborted. "We're not handfasted, Lee," he says, more softly, and you must still be looking at him like he doesn't want you to, because the little bit of skin between his brows furrows, right where he has two asymmetrical freckles that he always rubs at when he's thinking. "We're not even really quadranted, are we? You just - I do love you, Lee, but I can't love you in a way that fits and I can't keep worrying about how - how messed up it is that you think licking someone's goddamn boots is okay if you just like them enough, if I'm also thinking about kissing you. I just can't." "You can kiss me all you like, darling - and do the other thing, too, if it strikes your fancy," you offer, instead of addressing the rest of the issue. You're already trying not to think about that. It does make your smile come out a little sickly, though. "No," Thistle murmurs, and the low lilt sends a shivery chill pricking its way down your spine. "I really can't. You're too much, Lee. I can't do it all myself. You let people get away with too much." This time, when he steps into your space, your back presses to cool brick and you squeeze your eyes shut. You press your palms to the red stone, and it's barely enough to ground you at all. Something dry and warm brushes against your bottom lip, and when you peer out from under your lashes, Thistle has his thumb up to your mouth. You kind of want to turn your face to kiss his palm, or maybe get cheeky and just nip his finger. Sucking it into your mouth is probably not tonally appropriate. You don’t do any of those things, though, because you’re just looking at his face and you can’t breathe. Last troll on the planet? He looks like he’s burying you.

“I don’t know how to be less,” you whisper against his hand, barely a breath, and - you want to bite your lip, to worry a fang at the little cut he’s got his thumb pressed against, but you’re too scared to move.

Thistle’s shoulders hunch even further. “I know,” he tells you, and all you can think is that it hardly seems fair, then. “Do you even remember where you got this?” It takes you a second to realize that referring to your lip, close as he is, because you sort of feel like he’s taken all your warmth and he’s this close to leaving and keeping it forever. Then it takes you another second to figure out how to answer without doing something upsetting. He’s still touching you.

“M’not drinking ‘nough water,” you mumble, shrugging carefully so as not to make him move. “S’just a split.”

Thistle shakes his head ‘no,’ and drops his hand. You immediately pull your bottom lip into your mouth, biting over it defensively as your arms cross over your stomach.

“No, Lee,” he says, and you hate how he’s saying your name. It’s not how you say his, not how you call him darling. He says your name the same way other people talk to their lusi after they’ve gone and shit on the carpet, but they know that dumb animals can’t help what they are and they just need to be patient.

“You were being a little shit because you thought it was cute, and I got properly annoyed and you let me bite you,” he says, “Like we’re pitch, even though we were kissing like we’re flush, even though-” And here your cheeks are flushing hot again, and you finally find where your warmth is and all you want is for it to go back, because it’s pooling in the corners of your eyes- “Even though,” he goes on, “We’re supposed to be pale.”

“You love me,” you tell him, and your voice cracks in your throat. “What’s it matter what color it all is?”

Thistle makes some inarticulate noise of frustration, and some sort of gesture. You don’t see it, on account of how blurry everything’s gotten through the tears, and you’ve gone and returned to staring at the ground. At his stupid boots.

“You think I don’t feel terrible?” he asks, and if he wasn’t so quiet it would practically be a wail. “For Empress’s sake, Lee, I’m not trying to make you cry, here, I just...”

“I can’t s-stop,” you inform him, and now that you’ve both acknowledged it, your shoulders start shaking in earnest. You press back into the wall, and shove the heels of your hands against your cheeks as if it’ll keep the tears in. “Would if I - if I could, da-da-arl-.”

You don’t bother trying to finish the word, and bend over in two, hiding your face in your hands. You can’t stop, you can’t, you wish you could just stop doing all of these things, stop running into red flags and conversational hedge walls or whatever metaphor you were trying to make earlier, stop being too much. You’re always too much, or not enough, and for as long as you remember you’ve been trying to be less and more and just get people to like you every once in a while. And now you’ve got someone that does like you, and he’s leaving you anyways, and of course you can’t stop yourself fucking crying about it.

Gravel crunches as Thistle steps forward, and he presses a hand to your back, rubbing slowly down your spine.

He stays there for as long as it takes for your tears to run out, and you don’t quite bring yourself to hug him back. You’re not sure you have the right to. When you finally manage to bring yourself to be still, his hand slides off your back, and you watch his boots as he leaves.

[g0dblessthefandom]

Since You’ve Been Gone – A Brittana Valentine’s Semi AU (Updated Daily Until Valentine’s Day) Pt. 2

I’m just going to let the title get longer and longer until it takes up the whole fic. 

February 1, 2017

“So…”

Santana was leaning over the console of Mercedes SUV, digging through her bag in the backseat furiously. Mercedes ignored her butt waving in the air and actually slapped it as she took a turn.

“Santana, if the police see your ass waving in the air, they’re definitely going to pull us over. Sit down!”

“Aha! I found it!” Santana finally turned and sat down, holding a small notebook. “If they pull us over, it’s only going to be to get my number, ‘Cedes. Don’t worry about it. My ass brings all the ladies to the yard.”

Mercedes laughed, shaking her head. “Not everybody immediately falls in love with you, San. Trust me.”

“You’re like the only one in the Western Hemisphere, trust.”

“Oh please.”

They both laughed.

“Well, welcome to the East Coast, Santana. New York has missed you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad to be off that flight. I was sitting in front of one of those screaming toddlers. It was a hot mess.”

“It’s been, what? Eight years? Ever since you moved to LA. And I sure as hell couldn’t get you out here.”

Santana sighed. “Yeah, it’s been a while. I forgot how busy everything is. I’m used to waking up to sunshine and waves, you know? Not car horns and the faint smell of the harbor.”

“It does take some getting used to. But, you’ll be back in the swing in no time.”

There was a moment of silence as the question Mercedes wanted to ask hung in the air.

“So…. Brittany, huh?” Mercedes offered.

Santana held up her notebook, and opened it, flipping through the pages. “Well, I’ve got a plan.”

“Do you need a plan, Santana? Just go and talk to her. Push her up against a wall, do what you two do, and call it a day.”

“It’s not really that simple. I, um, said some stuff, Mercedes. Stuff that you can’t unsay. I don’t know if we can pick up right where we left off.”

“You never told me how it went down then. I thought you’d want to talk about it, but you never did.”

Santana looked fitfully out the window. “It was…” She paused. “It was bad. I mean, I guess a part of me was scared, and a part of me was jealous, and I dunno. She’s better than I deserve, but I want to be worthy of her.”

“San, that’s no way to think. She loves you-”

“Mercedes, it was bad, okay? Really bad.” Santana cut her off sharply. “Anyway, I have a plan. That’s what this is for.”

She held up the notebook.

“A Moleskine?” Mercedes said skeptically.

“What? No, I mean, yes, but no. I am going to wow her. Every day I’ve planned a date that’s going to knock her off her feet. Every day until Valentine’s Day. I’m going to remind her what she loved about me. And I’m starting tonight.”

“Tonight? What if she has plans, Santana? You can’t just pop in unannounced. Does Britt even know you’re in town?”

Santana waved her off. “Details, friend-o. I’m the love of her life, she can make time for me.”

“I dunno. Seems like you’re putting a lot on the line for this.”

“Duh, that’s kinda the point.” Santana patted the notebook. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all planned out.”

“And all you’ve got now is to get her to put you on the schedule.”

“She’ll see me, Mercedes. She’ll see me.”

\

February 2, 2017

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but Dr. Pierce can’t see you now.”

Santana slammed a fist down on the desk, and cursed loudly. The young woman at the front desk was putting up a fight that she hadn’t expected. She just needed to talk to Brittany directly, and everything would be solved, but a hard headed secretary is not what she needed right now.

She took a deep breath. “Look.” She looked closely at the nameplate that was on the desk. “Jane. Look, Jane, I don’t want to be any trouble, okay?”

“It’s Ms. Hayward, and you’ve been nothing but trouble since you got in here.”

Santana ignored her. “I just happen to know for a fact that Britt- Dr. Pierce will be upset if she finds out that I came by and you didn’t let me in, okay? I happen to be a close personal friend of hers and-”

“Well, unfortunately Ms. Lopez, you’re a close personal friend without an appointment. Anyway, why not just call her and tell her you’re coming? She’s booked through the afternoon, and is not taking any drop ins. Thursday is her admin day.”

There was a finality in Jane’s voice, and Santana couldn’t help but panic a little. This was step one in her multi-step process, and it was vital that it went off without a hitch. Today was the first day of February. Fourteen days, fourteen dates. That’s how it was supposed to go down. And now this chick was ruining everything. She took another breath, and turned on her brightest smile.

“Hey, Jane- Ms. Hayward, sorry. We got off on the wrong foot. Can’t we start over?”

Jane looked at her squarely. “We can start over all we want, Ms. Lopez, but Dr. Pierce has no appointments open today. Now, if you want to come tomorrow, I think i can squeeze you in-”

“Sugar?!”

Santana had leaned far enough over the desk that a picture caught her eye. In the photo, her friend, Sugar Motta, was wrapped around Jane in an intimate embrace.

“How the hell do you know Sugar Motta?”

Jane’s eyes went wide for a moment before she regained her composure. “She’s my girlfriend, not that it’s any of your business. How do you know Sugar?”

“Uh, she’s only one of my best friends. Well, she was. It’s been a while since we talked. I kind of lost her when Brittany and I broke up-”

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re THE Ex?!”

There was an accusatory tone that Santana didn’t really appreciate, but she nodded sadly. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Holy hell. Sugar talks about you all the time. I figured she’d had a crush on you or something until you broke Brittany’s heart.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here to fix. That’s why it’s so important that she see me. Also, Sugar’s your girlfriend? I’d never even known she was into chicks. And she got a keeper, I tell you.”

Santana flashed another brilliant smile and could seen Jane’s defenses start to come down.

“Well, thanks, I guess.” Jane said, bashfully. “I mean, any friend of Sugar’s is a friend of mine, even if she sometimes seems a little obsessed with you. Anyway, I’d love to help you out, Santana, but I’m not even sure when Brittany is going to be back.”

“Well, just let me hang out. I promise I won’t be any trouble, okay? I’ll just sit here out of the way. And then when she gets back, I will take only a few minutes.”

“A few minutes? From what Sugar told me, Brittany hasn’t talked to you in months.”

“About a year, actually.”

“And you think you’re only going to need a few minutes?”

“Well, it’s only part one-”

“Santana?”

Sugar and Santana turned towards the door, and there was Brittany. Santana took a step back in shock. She was expecting to see Brittany, of course, that’s why she’d come there. But, seeing the woman that only a year ago, she’d thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with…

Santana swallowed hard, trying hard to fight the lump that had formed in her throat. She blinked a few times, chasing the tears ago, and cleared her throat.

“Hey, Britt.” She leaned slightly against Jane’s desk, and did her best to ignore the panicked looks the other woman was throwing in her direction.

There was a moment of softness in Brittany’s face. Santana had never seen anything that she welcomed so much in her life. If was like she had been lost in the desert for a year, and now water was touching her lips for the first time. She put on her smile again, but it fell when the softness fell from Brittany’s face and her jaw clenched.

Brittany turned to Jane. “It’s 12:30, Jane. I’m on lunch until 1:30 when I have Dr. Weber, correct?”

Jane scrambled a moment to regain her composure and then nodded. “Yep, 1:30. I believe he’s bringing his notes on the asymmetrical Universe problem, and I think he’s going to want to work through-”

“Show him in when he gets here.”

With that she turned and without another word went into her office, slamming the door behind her.

Jane and Santana exchanged a look.

“Well, she didn’t tell me to call security, so that’s good.” Jane explained, shrugging.

Santana straightened her dress, giving it a few tugs, and shaking out her hair. “How do I look? Do I have anything in my teeth?”

Jane gave her a thumbs up, and Santana approached the door, putting a hand on the knob. She took a deep breath and turned it.

“Yes, Mercedes.” Brittany stood, leaning against the front of her desk, and was speaking into her desk phone, and patently ignoring Santana.

Santana sat at one of the chairs nearest to Brittany, who moved away. She reached onto the desk, picking up a toy with switches and knobs, fiddling with it for a few moments before Brittany grabbed it from her, putting it carefully back on the desk. Santana shrugged and leaned back in the plush, leather chair.

“Yes, Mercedes, she’s now in my office. And I know good and well that she didn’t get all the way to New York and you didn’t know about it, and I want to know why this is the first I’m hearing about it.”

Santana had to smile. Even though Brittany was glaring at her for all she was worth, there was a comforting familiarity about the moment. When they had been together, Brittany had had Santana wrapped around her finger, but on the rare occasion they weren’t getting along, or there was something she couldn’t convince her to do, Brittany would always call Mercedes to set her straight. Which usually worked.

She looked around on the walls. There were the pictures of Brittany’s past accomplishments, some professional photos from events and conferences, and some personal ones. Most of the personal ones that Santana recognized, she’d taken herself. There were pictures of their friends in New York, some of Brittany giving speeches, or working with students, some of them performing, or with Mercedes and Sugar. One in particular caught her eye. She stood up and walked over. It was one that Santana had taken after their glee club in high school, the Troubletones, won Sectionals. The other girls were laughing and so happy that she’d taken her phone out and snapped a couple of pictures. Then she’d framed it and kept it on her desk at their place in New York. She thought she’d lost it in the move, but there it was. She felt like she should have been annoyed, but she was happy. Even with everything that happened, Brittany had something of hers after all.

Santana turned as Brittany got off the phone. “Hi Britt.”

Brittany crossed her arms and leaned against the desk. “What are you doing here?”

Her tone wasn't particularly sharp, but it was definitely flat in a way that Santana wasn’t used to. It was like it had no emotion at all. She took a few breaths against the discomfort in her chest and put both of her hands on the back of the chair.

“I’m moving to New York.”

Whatever reaction Santana was expecting, she certainly didn’t get it. Brittany continued to look at her like she’d said nothing at all.

Santana tried again. “Did you hear me, Britt? I’m coming to New York. I’m here. For good. I don’t really have a job yet or anything, but I’m here to stay.”

Brittany continued to stare. “What am I supposed to say to that, Santana? You’re allowed to move anywhere you want. You don’t need permission from me. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

Brittany was trying to keep her cool, but she was furious. First, Santana shows up unannounced, and then Mercedes won’t tell her anything. Mercedes had been her closest friend since she’d come to New York, and though she’d spent months trying to act as the intercessor between her and Santana, Brittany thought she was done with all that. Apparently her best friend was only beginning to play matchmaker.

“Oh, come on, Britt, this is what you wanted.” Santana tried her best puppy dog eyes, but Brittany wasn’t moved.

“Maybe that’s what I wanted nine months ago. Maybe. But you’ve made it clear, Santana, that I don’t have a say in what you do with your life. Look, I’m glad that you’ve finally made a decision, and I hope that it’s best for you, but I have a really busy day ahead of me, so, if you’ll excuse me.”

Santana saw her future slipping away from her quickly, so she tried another track.

“Have dinner with me!” She blurted out, before Brittany could make any more attempts to kick her out.

“What?”

“I just mean, I’m back in town, and I’ve missed you. And whether or not you want to admit it, Britt, I know you’ve missed me too. Just go out to dinner with me, please.”

She hadn’t wanted to add the please, but to be honest, the day was not really going the way that she planned and she was feeling more than a little desperate.

There was a pleading in her eyes that Brittany had always found hard to ignore. She remembered times when those same eyes had been used in all kinds of ways to convince her of all kinds of things. She shuddered inwardly, but kept her face impassive.

“Sorry, Santana, I can’t. I have plans. You’ll have to give me more notice-”

“C’mon, Britt. It’s just dinner. I promise it’ll be civil, even. We need to talk, we never did properly before.”

“Santana…”

There was a warning in Brittany’s voice. She wasn’t in the mood to entertain Santana’s flights of fancy. Sure, there was a part of her that was glad that Santana was in New York. There was a part of her that would always be glad to see Santana, no matter what happened. But she’d promised herself that she would stay strong. She had to. She had to start protecting herself.

“If I don’t have plans to look forward to tonight, I could very well just sit around your office all day. I already know that Jane likes me, and I’m sure I’d love to meet Dr. Weber and hear all about his research.”

Brittany shook her head slightly, and Santana made one last gambit. “Please, Britt. Thursday is date night. You can’t turn me down on date night.” She tried the puppy dog eyes again, and could see Brittany’s resolve finally crack.

Brittany pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Dinner. That’s it.” She reached for a pad and scribbled down a number. “This is my cell. Give me the details and I’ll meet you there.”

Santana waved the paper away. “No worries. Mercedes gave it to me months ago.”

“Of course she did.”

“Anyway, are you sure you don’t want me to come pick you up? I could rent a limo and-”

“No, Santana. I will drive there and meet you.”

“You’ve got a car? What kind of car is it?”

“I will meet you there.” Brittany continued tersely. “And don’t be late, Santana. I know how you get when there are a million dresses to try on.”

Santana got up and sauntered towards the door. “Fine, fine. I promise. Scout’s honor.” She saluted and walked out, but quickly stuck her head back in the office.

“It was nice seeing you, Britt.”

The frown between Brittany’s eyes deepened, and there was a touch of a scowl on her face. “See you  later, Santana.”

The remark didn’t dampen the other woman’s spirits and she practically skipped out of the office, stopping at Jane’s desk.

Jane held out the phone. “I’ve been updating Sugar on the situation, she wants to know why you and Mercedes didn’t tell her you’d be in town.”

“Tell her it’s because she can’t keep her mouth shut. In the meantime, I’ll see her tomorrow. Maybe we’ll all go out for drinks. Anyway, I’ve got a date to get ready for.”

With that Santana stepped out of the office, and into the hallway.

\

Santana had sent the text to Brittany right after lunch. She’d made the reservation almost two weeks before, and knew exactly what she was going to wear, so it was only a matter of going back to Mercedes’ house, changing clothes, and catching an Uber to the restaurant. Now, she sat nervously at the table, bouncing her leg up and down. She’d told Brittany 7:00 and even though it was 6:58, she could still feel her stomach tying itself up into knots. She alternated between twisting the napkin in her lap, and taking sips from the wine glass in front of her. She put the glass down. She didn’t want to get tipsy, or out of sorts before Brittany even got there.

What if Brittany didn’t show up? What if she showed up, but didn’t want to talk? What if she hated Santana after everything that had happened? The questions swirled around Santana like fruit flies and she swatted them away.

There was nothing to do now but wait. They would talk and either Brittany would accept her, or she wouldn’t. Santana didn’t want to think about what would happen if she didn’t. At this point, she had already put everything on the line. There was nothing waiting for her back in LA, and without Brittany, New York was just another town.

She took a deep breath. She hadn’t come here to put pressure on Brittany to take her back. She just wanted to show her how much she’d grown, and maybe, just maybe, that might make her change her mine. She twisted the linen napkin again, and footsteps behind her made her jump.

“Hey!” Her voice cracked, and she tried not to redden from embarrassment. Quickly, she was on her feet and pulling out the chair for Brittany.

“That’s not necessary, Santana.”

“No, no, please, I want to. When we were together, you always used to do it for me, so now I want to do it for you.”

“We’re not together.”

The words stung, but Santana tried not to let her smile falter.

“I know. I said when we were together. Anyway, I just thought it was a nice thing to do. You look lovely, Brittany.”

Santana wasn’t just going for flattery, Brittany actually did look amazing. Her smile became a little less forced as she took it all in. Brittany had put in a lot of effort. She looked smoking. She was wearing a tight black dress with a long slit up the side, and her hair was in a high bun, the loose tendrils draping over her neck. Santana had seen Brittany put in this much effort before, and it had usually been to impress her. Of course, she was always impressed with Brittany. The other woman could have been wearing a paper sack and she would have been impressed.

“Thanks.”

Santana cleared her throat a few more times. She gestured around the room. “Do you remember this place, Britt? We’re right around the corner from the apartment in Flatbush.”

Brittany nodded, and a small smile lit up her face. “Yeah. It was our first date in the city. After you’d asked me to live here with you. You were working so much to pay the rent, I didn’t think we’d ever be able to get out. And then you brought me here.” She sighed. “I remembered as soon as you told me the address.”

“Right? Remember we shared that tiramisu after dinner, and you drank too much wine and tried to give me a lap dance right at the table.”

“Well, if I remember correctly, we hadn’t had sex in weeks. You were too tired when you came home, I was too busy trying to find a job, and the rest of the time, Hummelberry were roaming around screeching every time they saw us kiss.”

They shared a laugh before Brittany’s face fell again. Santana noticed and scrambled to save the conversation. She waved the waiter over.

“We’ll start with a wine for the lady, and then maybe some soup. What’s the special today?”

“Well, ma’am-”

“I’ll just have the wine. Whatever she’s having.” Brittany broke in, gesturing towards Santana.

“Very good ma’am.”

He went off to fulfill get Brittany’s wine and Santana frowned. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Well, Santana, you showed up unannounced and I didn’t even know you were in town. I can’t stay, I have something at 8, and I can’t blow them off.”

“Britt, you just got here.”

“And I will stay for a drink. We can talk if you want to, Santana, but if you think I’m going to turn my whole life around just because you waltz into town like it’s no big deal, you thought wrong. I waited for you, Santana. I waited and watched while you broke my heart. I’m not in the mood to give you the benefit of the doubt anymore.”

Brittany hadn’t raised her voice, but she didn’t have to. Her voice was a harsh whisper, and it stung more than Santana could have thought possible. She tried to steady herself, but before she knew it, the world was swimming behind unshed tears.

“Brittany, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Her voice nearly broke with emotion.

“Well, you said it, right?”

“No. I mean, not like this. I just wanted-”

“What about what I want, Santana? A year ago I wanted you to be my wife, but apparently that wasn’t enough for you. And now it’s about what you want? I’m not playing that game with you. Not now.”

The waiter returned and placed a glass in front of Brittany. Even he could feel the tension and left without trying to inform them of the specials.

Suddenly, Brittany’s outfit and hair made sense. She hadn’t been dressing up for their date at all. Santana tried her best not to frown, but she could barely help the disdain that wanted to drip from her lips.

“So, you’ve got plans afterwards.”

Brittany looked her straight in the eye. “Yes.”

“A date?”

“Yes.”

Santana felt the world start to swim again, but she blinked quickly, ridding the tears. She wasn’t here to blackmail Brittany, she wasn’t here to guilt her. She had to remember that.

“Well, that’s good.”

Brittany wrinkled her brow. “Good?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m glad you’re, you know, doing things that make you happy.”

Brittany grunted and took another sip of wine.

“Anyway, thanks for coming, I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah.”

They sat for another moment in silence, sipping their wine before Brittany spoke up again.

“I’d better go.”

Santana stood up, and pulled her chair out before she could protest. “Sure, sure. I hope you enjoyed the wine.”

“It was nice. Vintage?”

“Hell if I know. You know I know nothing about wine.” Santana said, shrugging.

Brittany smiled at the memory. “Yeah, like that time you bought the bottle for a hundred bucks and it ended up tasting like prison wine.”

“I still say that you have no idea what prison wine tastes like, so how could you know?” Santana returned the smile. “Anyway, I’ll see you around, Britt.”

“See you later, Santana.”

This is a fic that will update everyday until Valentine’s Day 2017. To truly enjoy please put on (Sweet Sweet Baby) Since You’ve Been Gone by Aretha Franklin. :P

FF.net link and Ao3 link.