Clockwork | Brittana

Chapter 22

It took her a moment to settle down. Brittany sat on the edge of the bed, watching Santana sleep, and readjusting to this new image of Santana's... past life. For the first time, Brittany asked herself if she wished the dots weren't connected. If maybe, she would have preferred ignorance?

No.

A better part of her knew that it was never a good thing to take the easy way out. She had said so many things to Santana about how she wouldn't think less of her, how nothing could change what they had together, and she had meant them.

She had meant them.

Brittany placed her hand on Santana's shoulder, rubbing small circles into the warm fabric. Santana was on fire, her whole body was warm to the touch. Brittany noticed a mist of perspiration on her brow. It made a little sense, the room was a comfortable temperature, and wearing a thermal under the comforter, Santana was probably overheating.

She didn't blame her at all. If she had just been exposed like that, Brittany would want to wrap herself in as many layers possible. She couldn't even imagine what she would do in Santana's situation. How she would feel. She couldn't even imagine what would posses Artie to be so hurtful.

Brittany gently pulled the comforter a little further down Santana's side, letting it bunch at her waist. Her breath caught in her throat when Santana stirred, rolling onto her back and bumping into Brittany's thigh.

Santana's eyes opened, startled, and Brittany caught a flash of fear in them. She flinched away from the strange presence in her bed and Brittany tied to calm her down, "Santana, it's just me, it's Brittany."

"Wha—" Santana's breath was heavy from the fright. Her shoulder's fell back to the bed heavily, eyes blinking to clear the sleep and booze from her mind, "What are you doing here? How did you find my space?"

She was referring to her sanctuary, and Brittany would have thought her drunken rambling might have been cute on any other night. She was still a little out of it and it made this that much harder, because Brittany wasn't sure how to react to her like this. She didn't want to take advantage of her loose tongue and vulnerable state.

"You—you weren't answering your phone," Brittany's voice hitched, betraying how worried she had been. She wrung her hands together, her eyes glanced over to the desk with the photos. "Quinn told me how to get into the house. I just wanted to see if you were okay."

Santana's mind reeled, she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, suddenly the light was too bright, Brittany's voice too loud. The sudden shuffle had made her head spin.

"I'm fine," she repeated from memory. The words she had been telling herself all night. "I'm fine."

"Santana..."

She felt Brittany's weight shift on the bed. There was something in her voice, something she had never heard on Brittany's tongue before. She looked up, squinting against the throb of an oncoming headache. Her body felt heavy and she was vaguely aware that she had drank too much. She looked at Brittany and frowned at the tears forming in the woman's eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly, uncertainly.

Had she done something wrong? There was something itching in the back of her mind, a feeling of dread. Like she was forgetting something important. She couldn't quite string all the pieces together? Why was she so drunk? Why was Brittany about to cry?

"Are you okay?"

Brittany squeezed her eyes closed and the tears spilled over, it damn near broke Santana's heart. She wanted to reach out and hug the blonde, curl her up in her arms and tell her everything was going to be alright... but that same dreadful feeling made her stay where she was. It told her not to touch Brittany.