You're sitting on the couch, flipping through a catalogue when she first comes in. You know right away that today was a bad day, because you don't actually notice she's here until aftershe's closed the door. Usually, after a shift, Santana is all relieved exasperation, slamming doors and sighing exaggeratedly like she has to prove just how tired she really is. You think it's kind of cute, not that you'd ever say so out loud.
It's the days when her movements are minimal, when she's quiet, that you've learned to worry over her.
It's assumed now, that she come over to yours at the end of day shifts. She'd never admit it even if it was true, but you think secretly she just wants the excuse to cuddle at night. Not that you would ever actually need an excuse to do anything with Santana Lopez, never mind cuddling, but still. It's sweet, really.
"Hey, Britt-Britt."
Her voice is gentle as she passes you by on the couch on her way to the kitchen, and you're pretty sure it wobbles a little. Okay, now you're really starting to get concerned.
When she comes back to settle on the cushion next to you, her entire body just seems to sag into your side. Her fingers clutch tightly at the neck of her beer bottle, but you think maybe she's forgotten that she even has it, because it's still capped.
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
Her shoulders tense for a moment, then relax again as she shakes her head. "Really bad day. Don't wanna think right now. Can we just sit for a while?"
You twist your neck to kiss her hair, smiling a little when she nuzzles further into you. You pry the unopened bottle from her and and set it on the coffee table. When you lean back into the couch, she reaches across you to cling to your waist. You're still worried, but you're glad she came here instead of going home alone like this. Santana doesn't really do touchy-feely unless she needs it, and it's pretty obvious to you that she does.
There's a loud bang that sounds like it came from right outside your door, and suddenly you're on your back, wedged between the couch and the coffee table, with Santana's hands on your shoulders and Santana's body weighing down your body and and Santana's hair filling your eyes, nose and mouth. You spit it out and and suck in a couple deep breaths, but otherwise lie completely still. The hands pressing you into the floor are vice-like in their grip, and the body covering yours is rippling with tiny little tremors all up and down its frame.
"Santana?"
"Don't fucking move, Brittany. Please." Her lips are right next to your ear and her voice is tight and high and angry, such a contrast from its usual loose, smokey tone. It's a little scary.
You keep yourself still as you try to figure out just what exactly is happening- when it clicks. The noise...
There's another loud bang, followed by cackling laughter. You try to sit up a little, the explanation already on the tip of your tongue. Strong hands shove you back to the floor, pinning your shoulder blades against the carpeting.
"What the fuck is that maniac- stay down, Brittany. I'm gonna call for backup." One hand leaves your shoulder, and you use the sudden freedom to twist your arm around and chase blindly after it.
"Wait, baby, hold on."
"Brittany, those were fucking gunshots. I'm not wai-"
"Santana, honey, it's okay. That was just Tommy next door."
She doesn't move, doesn't speak, maybe doesn't even breathe.
"He got a new video game last month, and anytime his mom isn't home he turns the volume up really loud. I should have warned you, I'm sorry, but it just slipped my mind."
