Glee 1. The New Day Dawns

"_Welcome back to NBC's coverage of the 2014 United States Figure Skating Championships here in the lovely TD Garden building in Boston. I'm Rod Remington, your sports correspondent for tonight and with me is former Nationals silver medalist, Cassandra July. Thank you for joining me, Cassandra."_

"_Of course, Rod."_

"_Now, for you folks at home who are just tuning in, we're in the first day of competition here in Boston and the ice is hot tonight. Up now, we have the remainder of the Pairs' short program. For those who don't know, can you explain a little about pairs, Cassandra?"_

"_Sure, Rod. Well, like the name suggests, it's a pair of skaters, a man and a woman, who skate together. In a pair."_

"_Excellent, thank you, Cassandra. And we've already seen many excellent teams skate tonight, you can see the leader board there on the screen as the last round of skaters finish their warm up. There are some fierce competitors in this group, including last year's title winners, Scott Cooper and Missy Gunderson, who have been leading the US pairs team for two years. If they win tonight, it will be their third. This season-"_

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><p>Brittany Pierce rocked up on her toe picks, sending any nervous thoughts out through the motion of her blades on the rubber mat below. To her right, she could see her partner, Mike Chang, stretching out his arms. He didn't need to. They were warmed up, stretched out, and had run a few jumps and a lift. Brittany had even already been through the short stretch routine she did every time before she stepped on to the ice and been given her final reassurance from her best friend. Everything was ready. They were ready. After a long year of training and a whole lot of hard work, they were ready to win this. Or, at least, place well.<p>

Still, this was a big competition and, though they had done well last year, coming in above half of the other competitors, Brittany wanted to show everyone how much they had grown as skaters this year. She wanted to have a good performance and feel the electricity of the crowd. They had put in hours upon hours of training and conditioning and lifting and running and practicing all the time... Of course, she couldn't help but consider what winning this competition would really mean. Every year, the United States Figure Skating Association held a series of events leading up to the final championship, determining the best skaters in the country and the international team for the year.

And with the Olympics only a month or so away, it was a very good time to qualify for the international team.

Brittany turned to look at some of the spectators. She knew that the seats this far down, the people that she could see, they were expensive seats that sold out in hours. When Brittany had first moved to Boston at thirteen, she had begged her mother for tickets to sit that close, to be able to see every facial expression, every mark on the ice, to be able to live and breathe the sport she had devoted her life to. By chance, nationals that year had been in Boston, in the exact stadium she was in now, where one of Boston's biggest teams played regularly. Competitive spirit was alive in the building. Her mother had been able to get tickets, but only a few rows from the top. Brittany understood now why, considering the several thousand dollars that her mom would have had to spend, months before they had even moved, just to be able to sit in the seats she was looking at now.

It had been an amazing experience, all the same, even after Brittany's small disappointment to be so far away. Her mom had pointed out how they could see the layouts of the routine from their height, a bonus to sitting so far up in the stands. Brittany almost could still feel the way that she had squeezed her mom's hand tightly as she had watched the incredible lifts, jumps, and steps that she hoped someday to accomplish, feeling the grace and power as if it were her own.

Her very best friend, Santana Lopez, had sat beside her the whole time. It was almost an unspoken understanding between the two families that taking one meant taking the other. They'd had a medium popcorn wedged between their legs and followed the salty popcorn with sips from the red slurpies in their hands, shivering in their matching skate jackets. Brittany definitely could still remembered how Santana's bright red lips had made her smile look so sparkling and how they had stayed up half the night, whispering in their sleeping bags on Brittany's floor about their favorite routines and costumes they wanted to wear when they grew up.

And now, six years later, she was one of those people, one of those skaters doing daring feats and making them look easy so that hundreds of little kids in the audience and even at home watching on the big tv in the living room with their families would go to the rink the next day and beg their coach to learn how to do an axel, right now. Her skinny, too long legs had filled out, and she was the one with the grace and the power, for real.

That's what made it easy to send the nerves out of her toe picks for Brittany, just knowing that if Mike threw her up into the air, looking like it caused them no effort at all, and she landed cleanly, her back that perfect arch, her arms out, her smile on bright as her blade made a pleasant whisper on the ice, that she would inspire a kid like her. She would be able to tell them all about the joy that skating was.

A cheer broke her thoughts, bringing her back to the ice in time to watch the last few seconds of the previous program. It never really bothered Brittany to watch. It didn't matter how good or bad the other skaters did; it just mattered how well she did.

As the music came to a close and the announcer repeated the names of Blaine Anderson and Tina Cohen-Chang from Chicago, Brittany turned to look at Mike. He stuck his tongue out and scrunched up his eyes, causing her to laugh and cross her eyes back.

It was easy to skate with Mike. They always did their best, fought for a high score, but never let it get to them. If she stumbled or he missed a step, then they had a goal for the next time they worked. That was why they were still such a strong team, even after so many years as a pair. Skating well together, doing the absolute best that they could and improving when they couldn't, that was always more important than the final score. As the team before them left the ice, Mike took her hand and Brittany stepped out onto the ice.

It was always amazing, that first step onto the ice, feeling the friction and physics of every day life fall away, leaving nothing but her partner, herself, and a stretch of perfect ice. To some, the frozen surface might be unforgiving. To Brittany, it was freeing. It was peace. It was almost like home. They quickly fell into rhythm skating around the ice together, motions in synch like two cogs in a machine, waiting to hear their name so they could take their place in the center and begin.

A smooth voice came over the announcements, "Competing next and representing the Skating Club of Boston, please welcome Brittany Pierce and Mike Chang." Brittany gripped Mike's hand as they glided toward the center of the ice, arms out to the judges and huge smiles on their faces. Brittany felt her nerves rise for a moment, her stomach tight and her knees weak.

But then she took the opening pose, her back pressing into Mike's, one foot cocked up, her head tilted back, and she felt the energy of the crowd. Like a friend, waiting to see her do her best. Brittany's smile grew.

* * *

><p>"<em>Next up are Mike Chang and Brittany Pierce from the Skating Club of Boston. This is their second year at the senior level. Last year, they came in tenth place, didn't they?"<em>

"_That's right, Rod. They've been a team for the last six years and were able to scoop up both the novice and intermediate national titles. Two years ago, they won the silver medal at the junior level. These guys are definitely ones to watch though. They've been working hard all year and they've really got some enormous jumps and throws. I think they definitely are going to be big contenders for one of those top three spots."_

"_Absolutely, Cassandra, and you know, they're still fairly young. Brittany is nineteen, Mike is twenty-two, these are good competitive ages for pairs skaters, are they not?"_

"_Of course, yes. And the short is their strong routine, where they can shine with their technical strength. I saw pieces of this during practice earlier today and it's very exciting. Their struggle, though, is that emotionality, really selling the music, and I'm not totally sure they've learned how to do that."_

"_Well, we'll see how they do today, as they go ahead with their first big skill, a triple twist lift. Wow! I can see what you mean about that technical skill! Did you see the height on that?"_

"_Yes, they'll score a lot of points for that. His balance was good when he threw her up, she definitely made three clean revolutions in the air. It'll be up to the judges to determine, but I think they'll also get points for the way that he got his hands down before he caught her. It was really effortless."_

"_Wow, Cassandra, really, if they can keep that up for the rest of this competition, we might be looking at new champions."_

* * *

><p>There was no fighting the grin on Brittany's face, no matter if she and Mike were supposed to be fierce to match their pirate themed music. It didn't seem to matter how many times Shelby made them drill the emotions of the piece, how many times she had to explain about how Brittany and Mike were fighting to the death, trying to outmaneuver and outwit each other. When it came time for the competition, Brittany felt too much joy at the feeling of the ice to hide anything. And right now, she could feel them nailing every single move, their steps in between clean and together, nothing inviting loss of points. Mike was doing a slightly better job at glaring than Brittany was, probably because he enjoyed the part of pirate so much, but she wasn't sure that he would be able to keep the smile off his face as they moved into the next part.<p>

It was easily their favorite sequence of the routine and they had practiced it until it was perfect and then practiced it some more, until even their coach had nothing to say. And when Shelby Cochran couldn't find a criticism, it was usually a good sign. As the music swelled and shifted, becoming heavier and more dire, they moved smoothly down from the lift. Brittany could feel Mike's hands changing position on her waist, waiting for the right beat, the right feeling before she tumbled forward out of the air, landing smoothly to the cheers of the crowd. She loved when a routine felt like this, like a perfect game of tetris, every piece falling precisely into place.

Brittany grinned at Mike, bringing up an imaginary sword and pointing it at him. He responded with the same movement, bowing at the waist before they took off, skating around each other, completing the same set of steps on opposite feet. It looked easy, Brittany knew, but the exact edges of their blades, the crossovers, the quickness and the closeness of their steps made it anything but. There were very few people in the world, much less the country, who could perfect a sequence like that. Halfway across the ice, passing over the logo in the middle, they "lost" their swords. Brittany's smile grew as she heard the audience clapping along to the beat of the music. She swung her arm towards Mike, who blocked it and returned the blow, moving together now.

She had been right about Mike. Once they got going, he was just as bad as she was. The grin on Mike's face matched hers as they fought, performing the complicated steps that were part of their trademark. After so much dancing outside of skating, it was no wonder they took the joy in those elements back to the ice with them.

Brittany could feel the energy of the audience, of Mike, of the judges, and knew they were going to really nail the rest of this routine, too. She could just feel it. Mike caught her fist, aimed for his face, spinning her around and falling perfectly into the correct hold, both skating backwards, their hands ready and gripping each other's. They completed their crossovers, each movement of their blades in perfect synch as they brought their left skates over, each stroke strong.

It was almost like time stood still for a moment, the crowd disappeared, as Brittany crossed her foot over once more, holding the position for a second before, perfectly timed with the music, she and Mike both uncoiled, extending and lifting.

Brittany soared off the ice, completing all three rotations with ease, before landing. Her blade made almost no noise, coming down on the ice exactly right. Brittany shot out her arms and her free leg, controlling her rotation easily with the perfection of the landing. If she hadn't been smiling before, she wouldn't have been able to stop herself now. The roar of the crowd told her everything she needed to know.

* * *

><p>"<em>Wow, what amazing height on that one. You know, Rod, Team USA might be looking at a great contender for Sochi in a month. The other pairs are really going to have to step up their game if they want to win out one of the spots over this team. They are absolutely on tonight."<em>

"_You're right, Cassandra. And- Oh, did you see who was just there on the screen, watching from the barrier? It looks like Santana Lopez is here."_

"_She definitely is. Lopez is a ladies single skater, but she never misses one of Pierce and Changs's routines. She and Pierce started at the same rink, didn't they?"_

"_Yes, Brittany originally came from a small club in Ohio, where Santana also started out. The two have been best friends and training together since they were four. Brittany has told us before that Santana is her good luck charm. If that's true, she's certainly working for them tonight! Did you see the togetherness on that jump?"_

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><p>There wasn't much left now. Brittany had seen Mike out of the corner of her eye, pulling out of the jump at the exact same time as her, holding the landing for the same amount of beats, before they grabbed hands again, performing more crossovers to build power for their final spin. They were going to get big points for that jump. She hadn't seen Mike's take off, but she could tell from his landing that they had both managed three rotations. The spin they had left was pretty unique, but it was a partner spin, both of them together, and that meant that they didn't have to worry about keeping in synch with each other, because they were spinning as one.<p>

Brittany could feel the energy of the crowd as the routine came to a close and it gave her the burst of energy that she needed to add a little extra speed to the spin. She felt Mike fit his hips behind hers, both of them spinning together, a leg stretched back and their bodies parallel to the ice. If this was the speed they were going for their camel spin, she couldn't wait to pull herself in and see how fast they began to spin when they were in a tighter position.

At the squeeze of his fingers, Brittany stood and brought her foot up, kicking over Mike's head as he moved down to a sitting position, low on the ice, his hands around her knee as she held her leg up straight. The change in position made them spin even faster, and Brittany's grin grew as the audience became a blur, only their applause and cheers to let her know they were still there.

She kicked down again as Mike rose, narrowly missing his head. That had always been her least favorite part of the routine, as she was so afraid of somehow kicking her partner and great friend right across the face with what was essentially a knife. However, when she had brought it up, Shelby had talked for a long time about how important it was to carry the theme throughout the routine and then had Brittany and Mike practice the spin twenty-five times in a row, until it was absolute muscle memory. It was still dangerous and Brittany was still careful when she did it, but she grew comfortable enough with it after so many times that she could be okay with it.

Brittany caught her foot behind her, bending back slightly as Mike's hands wrapped around her waist. They spun, quick and centered, until a few beats before the last, gliding out of the spin at the center of the rink. Mike dropped to one knee, and Brittany mimed kneeing him in the back, the final blow of the fight that had been their routine. Mike sprawled on the ice and Brittany struck her triumphant pose.

The cheers were deafening.

With a laugh, Brittany reached for Mike and helped pull him up, instantly wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. As much as she had felt the crowd while they were in the routine, felt how involved and excited they were, it wasn't until the very end, the cheers that they got that made her realize how connected they had felt. This was their hometown crowd, after all, and they clearly loved the routine.

Her heart singing with pride, Brittany took Mike's hand and bowed to each side of the rink, the gesture gaining an extra sweeping flair with her joy. She knew that was their best, no matter what the scores said. They couldn't have done the routine any better and they managed to do it in front of people who really cared about them and how well they did. They skated off to the side, Mike pausing to scoop a rose off the ice as several little girls in matching dresses darted out to collect the things being thrown on the ice.

As they stepped off, Brittany's grin grew as she finally caught sight of her very best friend, Santana, standing there, holding Brittany's sparkly blue and purple skate guards in her hands, her pretty, million dollar smile across her face. Brittany immediately darted forward, hopping onto the mat just on the other side of the opening and bending down a bit to pull Santana into a tight hug, necessary since Santana was wearing boots and Brittany, skates. "You were so great!" Santana said in her ear. "Amazing, Brittany. Really."

Brittany gave Santana an extra tight squeeze as thanks and straightened back up, accepting her guards from Santana. She pulled them on and hugged Santana one more time, before going to sit in the kiss and cry booth, a bench in front of a backdrop with the media cameras pointing towards it, where they waited for their scores. Brittany sat in the middle. Mike followed her, settling down on one side, and Shelby took the other.

Brittany was still looking back at Santana, who was smiling more of the shy, sweet smile that Brittany had loved from the first time she had caught sight of it, years and years ago. It took Mike nudging her in the ribs for her to remember to thank the people that she wanted to, shouting out to the skating club, her parents, and Ashley, before sending a smile at Santana again. She had asked once, a long time ago, if Santana would be allowed to sit with them, but Shelby had said no.

"The scores, please, for Brittany Pierce and Mike Chang." Brittany sat up a little straighter, eyes glued to the board where her scores would appear. The crowd quieted, the entire arena seeming to pause for a moment. "For the short program, Pierce and Chang have scored a total of 62.51 points, putting them in first place." Brittany stood up as soon as she heard the score, her fist pumping into the air. That was their best score ever. Maybe there was something to the idea of a home court advantage after all. Or maybe it was all the hours she had put in with Mike. Either way, they were in a great place going into the free skate. Already up, Brittany headed off the small platform to give her best friend another hug.

"I knew you could do it!" Santana said in her ear, letting herself be pulled onto her toes.

"I know you did." Brittany replied, having a harder time hiding her smile than when she had been skating a few minutes ago. She was trying not to get too excited. It was only the short program after all. The free skate was longer and required more emotionality from her and Mike. The score was larger meaning it counted for more of their overall score. Still, more than 61 points was definitely a good headstart for the free skate tomorrow. "Thank you for believing in us."

"Of course, Britt. Always." Santana said. Brittany looked back and forth between Santana's brown eyes, sparkling beautiful and not just because of the glittery grey make up on her eyes. Santana had obviously started getting ready for her own routine which wouldn't be for another few hours, though she was still wearing her big, puffy coat and boots lined with faux sheep skin. Brittany curled her hands around Santana's arms, just above her elbows. She believed every word that Santana said with her whole heart.

They had been friends since the first day of skating lessons, fifteen years ago in Ohio. And now they were both rising to the top of their fields. It might not have turned out exactly how they imagined all those years ago, but it was a pretty awesome place to be. Brittany opened her mouth to say something to Santana, but was interrupted by Mike calling, "Hey, Pierce! Press," he said, nodding towards the reporters waiting for them.

Brittany gave him a thumbs up and then held out one finger, letting him know that she'd make it over in a moment. "I guess I've got to go be a fox," she said with a shrug, the fingers of her left hand squeezing into the plush of Santana's thick jacket for a moment. She watched the quirk of Santana's eyebrow as her forehead contracted slightly, the look that she got when she trying to work out exactly what Brittany meant. Brittany smiled softly. She could always count on Santana to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"Okay, Britt," Santana said after a moment, the pinch in her forehead letting Brittany know that she still hadn't quite figured it out yet but that she wasn't done trying. "I'll be in the back room. I still need to stretch and change."

Brittany nodded. "I'll come find you." She gave Santana's arm one more squeeze and jogged off to meet up with Mike at the entrance to the press area, her guards making a loud smacking sound against the tile and mats. Press wasn't particularly fun, but they were part of the whole package of getting to do what she loved. She just wished they would ask questions that were more interesting. There were only so many ways to talk about how she and Mike obviously wanted to win, but would be happy with doing their best before she had to start slipping in something to entertain herself.

Just before she and Mike walked through the doorway, she heard her name behind her. Brittany turned to see Santana, calling from where she had walked to. "Newshounds?" She asked. Brittany realized that Santana had figured out her reference and laughed, raising a thumbs up over her head. Santana flashed her one of her big, honest smiles and headed off towards the back rooms with a spring in her step.

Brittany turned to Mike and laughed at the half-amused, half-bemused expression on his face. Mike was a good guy and never questioned her silly jokes with Santana. "Come on, Chang-a-lang. Let's get this over," she said, threading her arm around his waist and stepping forward.

* * *

><p>By the third reporter, a lot of the shine had already come off of their big score. It was tedious trying to answer these questions over and over again. Most of the time, the few actual press around after competitions were for diehard skating magazines and they usually had more interesting questions. Brittany loved to talk about the training that they had done to finally land their side-by-side jumps in synch. That was sharing her joy and her victory with the people who loved it, from the reporters at the scene to the readers who would be logging on tonight or flipping through the magazine in a couple of days, wanting to know more about the skaters they had just watched.<p>

With the Olympics coming up, though, those small reporters seemed to have gotten drowned out by people who were willing to pay more to get a spot, just because skating was one of the best known events to consumers in the United States. So by the third time Brittany was given the same question by a reporter who clearly had been assigned this and done nothing more than the very basic research, she wasn't in the mood for giving good sound byte clips, no matter how many lectures and workout drills it was going to earn her.

"What were you feeling when you finished the routine?" the reporter asked, looking lost without a page of stats and an in depth knowledge of things like scoring stats, rulebooks, and exciting plays.

Brittany just restrained herself from actually rolling her eyes and decided to give him the most honest answer she could think of. Leaning into towards his recorder, she met his eyes and said very carefully, "Sweaty."

Mike tried not to laugh and shifted his hip subtly into Brittany's as he took over. "Yeah, I mean, we put a lot of hard work into performing our absolute best and I think that was it. We're just glad that the judges agreed," Mike broke in, delivering something more along the lines of the answer that the reporter would actually be able to print.

The reporter nodded and looked down at the scribbled notes that he had made. Brittany could practically see in his eyes the question that was coming next and it made her want to sigh. "So, a lot of people seem to think that the two of you are a couple. Can you comment on that?"

It was one of Brittany's least favorite questions. She loved Mike. A lot. But there wasn't a drop of romantic or sexual love in her whole lake of love for Michael R. Chang Jr., which was an actual quote that she had given to a reporter once after they had won their intermediate national title a few years ago, though she had refrained from launching into a full explanation about dilution in large volumes and how not even a drop really meant something because she could dump thousands of gallons of romantic love into her bro-love lake for Mike Chang and it would still be just a bro-love lake.

Brittany got that it was a good story, them being paired together and falling in love and raising little ice skating babies by the broodful while winning medals left and right. She didn't even mind fans who hoped that they'd get together as long as they didn't get mad at them when it didn't happen. It just wasn't and wouldn't be true, and it was lazy reporting when there were probably easily ten quotes on the first page of "Brittany Pierce Mike Chang dating" results from their mouths which would let him know that they weren't together.

Well, lazy reporting deserved a lazy answer. "No, that would be illegal. Except maybe in Rhode Island. But this Massachusetts." Brittany's face was completely neutral, and it was totally worth the five hundred sit ups she was going to do if Shelby found out that she had been responding to questions this way. The reporter blinked slowly a couple of times and slowly turned to look at Mike.

Mike looked at Brittany, a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. "We're not a couple. Just friends." He answered.

The reporter nodded, forgoing any follow up, perhaps wisely sensing that Brittany's answers would only get more opaque as he continued down that line, and looked at his list of questions. "What are you feeling about your chances at the Olympics now?" he asked.

Brittany sighed.

* * *

><p>Brittany found the room that Santana was in and pushed the door open, her guards still clacking loudly against her blades as she walked. Santana was on the floor, her legs stretched out to either side as she rested against the ground in between them. Brittany watched as Santana's expression went from adorably startled to even-cuter smiling. "Hey Britt," she said, propping herself up on her elbows a little bit, but not fully sitting up yet. She gestured to Brittany's bag sitting beside the bench and stretched herself back out flat.<p>

"How are you so great?" Brittany asked, clacking over to the bench and throwing herself down so she could start untying her skates. She wrestled them off her feet, sighing as she wiggled her toes inside of her tights. She was pretty much used to wearing skates for long periods of time, but for some reason, wearing them to walk around always made her toes feel cramped and sweaty.

Brittany reached for her skates, pulling the hard plastic guards off the blades and tapping them against the edge of the bench to knock any dirt out of them, as well as whatever water was left over from melting off their skates. It wasn't strictly necessary, just something that she had started doing when she was seven or eight and started taking care of her skates on her own. She found the pale blue cloth in her bag and ran it over the blades a couple of times, wondering as she did what exactly made microcloth so much more absorbent than regular cloth and if it had anything to do with marketing hype and if really small creatures like fairies or archaea might use micro cloth too.

As she reached for the soft terry cloth guards - one purple, one pink - Brittany caught sight of Santana's amused expression from where she had propped up her head to watch. "What?" Brittany asked, glancing around, wondering if she'd maybe been using the wrong bag or something. But no, there was her name embroidered on the front, Brittany S. Pierce, all in a neat, script font.

"Nothing." Santana said, shaking her head and sitting up to draw her knees up to her chest. "I've just never seen anyone else manage to look so serious and so-" Santana tilted her head, "So funny all once while doing something as ordinary as drying skates." The way that she said it made it seem like maybe funny hadn't been the word on the tip of her tongue after all. Brittany studied Santana's expression for a moment, taking in the soft hints of pink in her cheeks and the way that her mouth was parted just a sliver. Her eyes were still sparkling. Briefly, Brittany tried to think of the last time that she hadn't see a spark in Santana's eyes, but she never figured it out because Santana let out a soft laugh and pushed herself standing.

"You're a dork," Brittany said, shaking her head as she fitted the cloth guards onto her blades and slipped them into the open pockets of her bag. The cloth and hard guards went back in as well, before Brittany located her sneakers and fleece jacket, which she pulled on over her costume.

"I learned it from you," Santana said, sticking her tongue out at Brittany, before setting herself up for a jump. Brittany realized that she had toed off her boots at some point, leaving her in bare feet on the mat spread on the floor. Santana stretched her arm out and tapped back with her left leg, jumping up and spinning twice in tight succession before landing back down. If she had been on the ice, it would have been an easy triple toe loop. There was no way that her toe pick wouldn't have stuck perfectly and she wouldn't have come down with that perfect easy, quiet landing.

Brittany, of course, clapped. Santana shook her head, but there was a grin hiding in the dimple at the corner of her mouth and an extra spring to the next jump. Brittany, making no attempt to hide her smile, clapped again. "Britt, you're going to make me fall," Santana said again, though the smile was still there.

"How am I going to make you fall?" Brittany protested. "They're going to clap for you out there."

"They don't make me laugh, though," Santana pointed out, swinging her arms. "Fine, if you're going to be in here, make yourself useful." She said shaking her head and walking over to the hook where her costume was hanging. "Help me into this."

"The confusing red one?" Brittany asked coming up behind Santana and looking as she unzipped the protective bag. Brittany nodded, seeing that it was. It wasn't so much that it was confusing, but that the three straps had a tendency of getting tangled as Santana tried to pull her arm in, and it always took Brittany a minute or two to get them all laying perfectly again.

Santana pulled the dress out and handed it to Brittany before pulling off her comfy jacket with a soft shiver. Brittany still wondered how exactly Santana had gotten so into skating if she got cold so easily, but she thought it was pretty cute so she never really asked. Brittany caught her lip gently between her teeth as Santana pulled her t-shirt off, the black cotton revealing bare skin, wonderfully tan, strong abs, and higher...

Brittany focused on making sure the perfectly aligned straps were straight on the hanger one more time. When she saw Santana's pants pushed down, revealing her tights, Brittany pulled the dress, shimmering softly in the light of the room they were in, off the hanger and into her hands, stooping to allow Santana to step into it properly. She brought it up Santana's legs, stepping behind her to keep the straps straight as Santana pulled the dress up. Brittany carefully smoothed the straps over Santana's bare shoulder and back, her fingers gliding over the skin underneath each of the three straps, making sure they were straight. Santana's skin was so smooth.

"Are they set?"

Santana's voice startled Brittany out of her trance. "Yeah, they're all set," she said, stepping back and letting Santana turn to face the room again. "Sometimes I wonder if it's more fun to have the pretty costumes or the fun costumes."

"Fun," Santana said with a decisive head shake. "Fun but classy, at least. Will wanted me to wear this purple one with this cut out like-" She traced a shape onto her side that would have bared much of her stomach.

Brittany shook her head. "I like this one, though," she said, reaching out to let her fingers trail up to Santana's shoulder, following the dark red material.

"Do you?" Santana asked with a shy smile, fingering the edge of her skirt as she looked up at Brittany.

"I do. It makes you look... even prettier," Brittany said, focusing on the center of Santana's eyes, marveling at how the brown there could be so deep and rich and alive with so many shades of colors at the same time. She watched with a breathless curve to the corner of her lips as a shade of red close to Santana's dress was echoed in her cheeks.

"I thought... it was the best choice. Even if it... it's... confusing," Santana murmured, slowly leaning closer to Brittany, her eyes flicking back and forth from Brittany's eyes to her lips. Brittany couldn't help but lick her lips and lean in as well.

The sound of the door handle turning was like a gunshot.

Brittany took a step to the side, narrowly avoiding crashing into Santana who apparently had the same idea as her. She hung the hanger back on the wall and tried to wipe the guilty and annoyed expression off her face as Santana straightened her own face.

"So, I thought we could go over the last few-" Will broke off, looking up from his clipboard, seeing that his skater wasn't alone. "Oh. Hi Brittany," he said with a nod.

"Britt just helped me get my costume on," Santana explained, tugging on the skirt once more, before clasping her hands behind her back. Brittany could see her left thumb and forefinger massaging the right one and she nodded dumbly.

"Oh, well, we're going to go over a few things now," Will said, pointing to his clip board, a dismissive tone in his voice.

"Aye, I'll just go change me togs," Brittany deadpanned, grabbing her back as she walked past Will, throwing a wink back at Santana, who smiled for a moment before settling back down on the bench, her shoulders tense, as Will sat beside her. The door closed and Brittany went to find a place to put on her regular clothes until it was closer to the time for Santana to skate.

* * *

><p>"<em>Welcome back to NBC's coverage of the 2014 United States Figure Skating Championships in Boston's own TD Garden building. I'm Rod Remington."<em>

"_And I'm Cassandra July."_

"_Weren't those opening ceremonies a few hours ago lovely? We're now deep into the fierce field of ladies' short programs. We've seen a lot of great performances today, as well as many that will be trying to make up these point losses in the long. Coming up, though, we have several competitors who are favored to come out of tonight as winners and move on to the Olympics in just a few weeks."_

"_Yes, there is a lot of pressure on these skaters. Now is not the time to choke."_

* * *

><p>Santana's knee shook, a little too fast for the rhythm of the song playing through her earbuds. In reality, she wasn't listening to the song, though its familiar tune was soothing in her ears. She had listened to the same song, probably hundreds or thousands of times. Sometimes, while she was spread out on a pale blue comforter covered in tiny pink roses. Occasionally, in a car, blaring over the stereo. Even sometimes with only one earbud in her ear as she rode the T or sat on an airplane. However, most of the times that she had listened to this song and the others on the playlist were situations just like this. Standing in a rink full of people, her coat draped over her shoulders, stretched out and warmed up and trying to keep anything from getting into her head and messing her up, be that the crowd or something said to her five months ago in practice or anything else.<p>

A hand on her shoulder made Santana jump and whirl around. She instantly relaxed when she saw Brittany standing there, and pulled the earbuds out of her ears. "Hi," she said with a soft grin. A moment ago, her heart had been thumping heavily in her chest. Now, it was fluttering.

"Hi," Brittany said back with a soft smile. She wrapped her hands gently around Santana's arms, just below her elbows and gave her a gentle squeeze. "How are you doing?" She asked, looking back and forth between Santana's eyes.

For a moment, Santana felt like she forgot to breathe. Though Brittany was now wearing sweatpants, sneakers, and her jacket, her eye makeup was still on and it made her eyes stand out even more. Santana had already lost herself many times, just by catching sight of that startlingly blue color, and when the effect was enhanced, well... After a moment, she realized that she was just staring and jolted a little. "Fine." She answered automatically. "I'm doing fine."

"You-" Brittany said, leaning in a little closer. Santana couldn't help but notice the way that the corner of her mouth was quirked, like she was holding back a smile. The angle of her lips gave it away and Santana wondered if anyone else would know, looking at it, "-are a shitty liar."

Brittany's unexpected swear pulled a laugh out of Santana. The answering grin, pink lips parting to show white teeth, made it clear that Brittany had been hoping for that result. "I'm a little nervous," Santana admitted, reaching out to tuck her hands into the front pockets of Brittany's jacket. "Will gave me a whole list of things to remember about this routine."

The look on Brittany's face made it quite clear that she was less than impressed with anything that Will might have told Santana before. "Why does he do that to you?" she asked quietly, with a soft shake of her head.

Santana's heart skipped a beat. She loved that Brittany knew her so well. Brittany knew that Santana wanted to do her best and that she spent all this time stuffing her head with corrections about every little thing - that was the reason why she choked. She knew that Santana's knowledge that she choked when she over thought things also made her choke. And she conveyed it all with just a little sentence. It made things so foggy for Santana, who never could be sure what she was with Brittany. Best friends knew each other really well. But sometimes...

"I've seen you practice. You're going to be amazing," Brittany assured her softly. Her thumbs moved in circles in the crook of Santana's elbows, and Santana felt the last of the tension slip out of her limbs.

For a long moment, she just looked up at Brittany. She had seen this face change a hundred thousand times over the years. Gone were the sweet chubby cheeks of four year old Brittany, replaced by lean, gorgeous cheekbones. The too big front teeth from middle school were now a flawless, radiant smile. Brittany had even become leaner since they had started high school. Still, she was still the same Brittany. Same eyes, full of spirit and life. Same joyful smile. Same little freckle just above her lip. Santana let out a shaky breath and leaned into Brittany, putting her arms around Brittany's waist. "You're my best friend," she mumbled into the collar of Brittany's jacket.

"Yeah." Brittany murmured back, crossing her arms over Santana's back, holding her tightly. "Me too."

For a moment, the noise of the crowd and music dimmed and Santana just inhaled the sweet smell of Brittany. She never had any words to describe it, but she had noticed it more and more the older that she got. They spent a lot of their time in a cold rink and it was kind of interesting how things that would usually have a strong smell seemed to be dulled or covered by the smell of the rink or the chill in the air. However, Santana could always catch that hint of Brittany that lingered wherever she was. Santana had breathed it in off pillows and jackets and the crook of Brittany's neck. It radiated from Brittany's hair and lingered in her t-shirts. It calmed Santana down.

Eventually, they pulled away and Brittany cupped Santana's chin gently. "Kick some ass," she told her, grinning for real. Santana couldn't help but grin back, saluting to Brittany. Brittany gave her arm one last squeeze and walked back through the door. Santana put her earbud back in. There was only one more routine before she had to be out on the ice. Feeling much more relaxed, she listened to the music in her ears, trying to block out the routine and anything that might undo what Brittany had just done.

* * *

><p>"<em>Wow, that was impressive, Cassandra."<em>

"_It sure was, Rod. There is a reason why Quinn Fabray is the favorite to win tonight and that was it right there."_

"_She really has that classical, elegant element to her routines. It was very clean throughout. I would be incredibly surprised if anyone managed to beat that tonight."_

"_The best contender is probably up next. Santana Lopez, eighteen, out of Skating Club of Boston. She has been a long time rival of Fabray's and the competition between these two is fierce. And, as I've heard, can sometimes turn a little vicious as well. Ever since Lopez transitioned to a singles skater a few years ago, they have been struggling for that top slot."_

"_Santana has the potential to outscore Quinn, as we've seen, but Quinn gives a much more solid performance. Santana has enormous jumps and great flexibility, but she chokes."_

"_Exactly, Rod. It's something that really started happening after the split between Lopez and her former partner, Noah Puckerman. Of course, she still is a young skater. This is only her second season at the senior level, but in order to win one of those spots for the Olympics, Lopez is really going to have to nail these routines. It's enormous pressure and she hasn't always shown that she can handle that."_

* * *

><p>Santana pushed off on the ice, gliding smoothly around the edge as she shook out her arms. She was trying to focus on the things that Brittany said, but the comments from her coach kept sneaking in. Santana knew that this competition was a big deal, and even bigger than the one last year. She knew how Will would feel if she messed this up. She knew how she would feel. She had to do well.<p>

Clasping her hands together in front of her stomach, Santana rounded the corner of the rink, automatically checking up her body, looking for anything that needed to be adjusted or shaken out before she began. Her skates felt good. There were no twinges in her knee, where she had the occasional flare up of aches. Her stomach was a mass of knots, but that was nothing new for Santana. She rolled her shoulders as she rubbed the base of her right thumb, her blades making tracks in the nearly spotless ice. It seemed like she had stepped out onto the ice years ago and a moment ago all at once.

Finally, she heard the announcer call out her name and club. Santana forced a smile onto her face and glided to the logo at the center of the ice, waving to the audience as she did so. It had seemed so much smaller as a kid, sitting there. Like they were all part of this family or this experience or something. Santana still wasn't sure if that was just because she was young or because of who she had sitting next to her, all slurpie-dyed smiles and salty popcorn fingers laced with hers... Either way, standing out on the ice alone, facing a table of judges and a huge audience of people, it didn't feel so much like they were all in it together. Not yet at least. Santana had to prove herself first.

She took a deep breath and struck her pose.

The music started and Santana forced her smile into place, moving through the motions to the quiet trumpet of the beginning. At the first small swell of the music, she pushed off to skate backwards across the rink. The first thing was a flying sit spin. Santana leapt off the ice, bringing one leg up and out in front of her and landing so that she was crouched low. Her heart pounded in her throat already. Not from the exertion of one fairle simply spin, but out of the fear of disappointing the people in the stadium, her parents and abuela watching, and Will. Mostly, though, she worried about disappointing Brittany.

Already, Santana could hear in her head all of the things that she could be doing wrong. She wondered if her leg was pointed enough and if she was low enough to get the points that she would need. Her spin felt centered, spinning on the sweet spot under the ball of her foot, but had she miscounted the revolutions? Was she spinning fast enough to make it around enough times and still come out of it in the right spot for her music? Santana had been skating for just about fourteen years, but she never trusted herself in competition enough to let go of these questions. Even the best, most reassuring speech from Brittany couldn't seem to last for very long once she was on the ice.

Santana glided out of the spin, smile still stuck on, despite her insecurities. After the comments of last year, that had been one of Will's focuses, getting her to appear happy, even if she wasn't. It wasn't the most successful of goals. For whatever reason, Santana never connected with the music enough to emote like some of the other skaters that she saw. She clearly was just too closed off or emotionless or cold - both literally and figuratively- to be able to convey the joy and heartbreak and love and sorrow that she saw others do.

It wasn't that she hated skating. That couldn't be further from the truth. After all, there was a reason why Santana had devoted her life to the sport and it wasn't the pretty dresses or the crowds or even the fact that her best friend in the whole world had come to her, gliding across the surface of ice rather like this one. It was that Santana loved it more than anything else in the world. She loved working hard at something that she was good at. She loved the accomplishment that she felt when she landed a jump cleanly that she had been working on for months. The feeling in her stomach and heart, bursting out of her face in a smile that even she couldn't stop when she finished a routine without a single stumble was worth five a.m. conditioning practices, more blisters than she could count, freezing her ass off for hours on end, and anything else that had led up to it.

Santana let out a huff behind her smile and continued with the next part of her routine.

* * *

><p>"<em>Well, it's still early in the routine, but we're already seeing some great things from Lopez."<em>

"_Certainly, Cassandra. A clean and tight sit spin followed by an enormous triple loop. The height that she gets on those jumps is just incredible and she makes it look so easy."_

"_That's right. Those huge jumps are definitely one of her trademarks. But you can see during this step sequence how it often seems like Lopez is just going through the motions. It isn't something that will hurt her as much in the short program, but free skate, you need that."_

"_Wow! Did you see that triple axel?! Santana is one of the few ladies doing them right now and she makes it look like nothing! Jumps like that will keep her in the running, for sure."_

* * *

><p>Santana bit the inside of her lip as she landed her triple axel. It felt like a clean landing, but she was worried about her position in the air, if it was clean enough, if she had landed smoothly enough to get high execution marks from the judges, or if she'd get some deductions. Her triple axel had huge point values, definitely, but they only covered her deficits, as Will called them, if she got a lot of execution points for them. Otherwise, she could jump all she wanted and she would never be able to secure herself one of the spots to head to Sochi in a month.<p>

As much as competitions stressed Santana out, that was the goal. Any other year, she'd be hoping for one of the four medals on their own merit, just to accomplish that. But it was an olympic year and she couldn't help but want her shot at that. Four years was a long time in the athletic world and there was no guarantee she'd get another shot. Even with three spots to the Olympics, it wouldn't be easy to grab one. She needed a huge short program score if she wanted to have enough points over all.

Santana wound up, stroking backwards powerfully, before stepping into the rotation of her spin, her body taunt and extended in a camel position. The spins and jumps were the times that she could let the smile off her face, to focus on doing the best she could without putting on some image. Her ears were focused on the music as she counted in her head until she could pull her leg down and in, extending it out in front of her as she sat into her second sit spin of the routine.

The crowd was a blur and so were the judges as she spun and spun. Santana could almost imagine that they weren't even there, that she was at their home rink across the city, skating for Brittany. With that easy picture in her mind, the bright brilliant smile of her best friend, Santana switched feet and drew her leg up straight in front of her. The increase in speed blurred the crowd even further, giving Santana just a moment to breathe in the middle of her routine.

As she held the position, her arms and stomach tense, keeping herself balanced over the sweet spot of her blade as the world rushed by in an indistinct blur, a piece of Santana's mind not devoted to keeping her time and her focus and her nerves slipped back to many years ago when she was first working on the flexibility to do spins like this. Brittany had always been naturally flexible, able to slide out into a split with hardly any effort at all. Santana had seen this as something else to work on, to catch up. And Brittany, being the best friend that anyone could help for, had spent hours with Santana, propped up in a split as they watched movies together or pressing on Santana's legs or back to get her to bend a little further. She didn't think many people knew it, but Brittany was the reason she was able to have the signature i-spin that she did now.

Santana heard the cue that told her to come out of the spin and she did so nearly automatically, gliding out, to finish the spin, before skating around the edge of the rink. She was nearly done. Only two more jumps and one more spin and she would maybe post enough points to put herself in a good place for the long program and avoid a long lecture meant to inspire and shame her at the same time.

Hearing the beat of the music and the vague noise of the crowd behind, Santana glided backwards, arms checking her rotation as she prepared for the jump. At the right moment in the music and when she felt it in her bones, she sprung off the ice, using her toe pick to vault herself up. She made three quick revolutions before touching back down again. Almost instantly, Santana reached her other foot behind, tapping it down into the ice to push herself up again, completing three more quick turns.

On the way down, the back of her blade got caught for moment, somehow, as she uncrossed her legs, leaving her landing shaky, though she managed to hold it. The smile was gone off Santana's face, a worried scowl in its place. The short was supposed to be her crowning glory, to make up for her problems in the long. There was no way that she was going to make it onto the podium, much less on a plane to Russia if she made stupid mistakes like that. Santana gritted her teeth as she wound up for her final spin. Jumps were supposed to be one of her trademarks, something that she was good at and didn't need to worry about.

Of course, there was nothing in any routine that Santana didn't worry about, especially when the stakes were so high. But of all the things, a silly triple toe loop, even in sequence, shouldn't have been any problem for Santana and there she was looking at a significant downgrade in quality. It might not cost her ton in points, but, really, she was fighting for very few spots and the competition would be fierce. Who knew how little of a difference there would be between one place and the next. Messing up, even in a small way, now was a good way to guarantee she'd spend the next winter doing small time shows and drilling endlessly.

As her brain whirred, Santana's muscles clicked into play and she spun, leaning backwards gracefully, her body centered and her spin fast. As the music faded away, Santana pulled out of the spin and struck her final pose.

The crowd cheered. Santana couldn't tell if it was particularly loud or not, but she smiled and waved anyway, dipping her head as she bent at the knee for each of the sides of the huge stadium. Though she wasn't exactly beaming, the cheers did remind her that there were several things that, at least to the relatively untrained eyes around her, looked quite good, and that was probably something to be celebrated.

As she bowed, Santana avoided looking towards one particular part of the stadium. Although, of course, a small part of her worried about what she might see on that face that she knew so well, most of her just wanted to save that for last, so that she could treasure every inch of that expression and tuck it away in her heart slowly and completely, without interruption. Finally, she was able to exit towards the kiss and cry and there was no avoiding where her eyes went.

Somehow, it was still amazing that that smile could be seen so clearly from so far away.

Santana smiled, an automatic response that she had long since stopped questioning. Things were confusing enough without Santana examining every little reaction that she had to Brittany. None of that stopped her from skating over and stepping off the ice, her smile turning a bit shy. Brittany didn't mind at all and pulled Santana into a hug. Santana felt her tense muscles relax as she took in Brittany's scent again. "You were wonderful," Brittany murmured in her ear. Santana didn't comment, but she felt a calmness spread through her bones as she tucked her nose into Brittany's collar. The moment stretched on, just Santana, Brittany, and their embrace.

Will's hand on Santana's arm made her jump, and the sound of the crowd came back in a wave, washing over Santana and making her drop her arms from around Brittany. Will wrapped his arms around her and Santana lifted hers to almost hover around his waist. She waited, hearing the sounds of the crowd, talking and shuffling, as he patted her back and then let her go. "We'll talk about it later," he told her with a nod, heading for the kiss and cry to wait for Santana's scores.

Brittany handed Santana her guards, holding her hand to help Santana keep her balance as she pulled them on. Before Santana could follow Will, Brittany squeezed her hand. Santana looked up into Brittany's eyes, nearly level with her own and relaxed into an easy smile again. "You did wonderful," Brittany repeated and Santana couldn't help the shiver that ran through her at the sincerity of her words.

As much as Santana wanted to linger beside Brittany for a moment longer, she knew that she had to go up and sit in the booth to get her scores, so she squeezed back and hurried up to the bench to perch lightly beside Will. She rattled off an automatic thanks to her family and her friends at the rink, though her mind was on her performance. She had landed her triple axel, and she didn't think there was any way that could be downgraded to a double, but she just didn't know how it had gone. Were the mistakes that stood out in her mind, the toes that weren't pointed and the wobbles and shallow edges, all real or were they made up? Santana didn't know.

She glanced to the side and caught sight of Brittany. For a moment, she just looked at the features of her best friend. Brittany was so beautiful and Santana's eyes traced the graceful curve of her jaw and neck, the way that her hair curled out of the ponytail, sticking up a little in the way that it did after her routine got it just a bit sweaty. Santana could practically smell the sweet, Brittany scent that she knew would be lingering there. For a moment, she focused on bright blue eyes, studying them like she didn't already know them by heart, as if she hadn't memorized each shade and tint to her iris and every expression that they made over the past fifteen years.

Santana started for a moment as Brittany's eyes focused on her. But, far from being weirded out that Santana had been staring, Brittany just grinned and sent Santana a thumbs up. Santana may have returned the smile if she had not suddenly heard the announcer over the noise of the crowd. Her eyes went to the board where her scores would appear.

"For the short program, Santana Lopez has scored 65.1 points. She is in second place." Santana's heart sunk in her chest. Sixty-five points was really not a bad place to be, especially with a long term goal of wanting to go to the Olympics. In order to get there, she wouldn't need to win, she would just need to place in the top three i order to prove she should have that spot. However, the short program was supposed to be her forte and if she couldn't even beat Quinn Fabray out for that spot in her better program, she definitely wouldn't be able to do it in the free skate.

With just a look at Will, Santana could already tell that he was thinking the same thing - there was no way that she was going to win this unless she could somehow stumble upon a perfect performance tomorrow.

Santana turned and looked the other way. Brittany's grin was, if anything, brighter. Santana felt her own smile grow again, watching her very best friend hop a little bit in excitement.

* * *

><p>"<em>And that's it for Ladies' Short Program. Quinn Fabray in first, Santana Lopez in second, and Marissa Gardner in third. It's shaping up to be a fierce fight for those podium spots, isn't it Cassandra?"<em>

"_You bet, Rod. Lopez delivered a solid performance tonight with some graceful spins and great height on those jumps. Fabray is going to have to fight to keep that gold in her hand."_

"_As long as Santana can bring that emotion to her free skate, you're absolute right. Textbook perfection in her spins and jumps-"_

"_Absolutely, but there's a robotic sense to her. Quinn Fabray is more of a whole package skater, and that might be enough to take that top spot from Lopez, no matter how high she jumps."_

"_You'll just have to tune back in to see who comes out on top. Ladies' Freeskate will be Saturday. In the meantime, be sure to catch Men's Short Program, tomorrow at eight. I'm Rod Remington."_

"_And I'm Cassandra July."_

"_Thanks for watching with us this evening for NBC's coverage of the 2014 United States Figure Skating Championships. Goodnight."_


	2. The Lost Cause

Santana let out a frustrated grunt as she landed out of her toe loop with two feet. She had gotten up very early to come to this practice session. After a few stretches and running drills for twenty minutes, Santana was warm and ready to practice. She had messed up her triple lutz-triple toe in her short program and she needed to nail that sort of thing if she hoped to make it anywhere near the podium, which she wanted fiercely. Santana wanted it because she had been working towards international competition at this level since she was about six and actually understood that the skating practices and competitions that she already loved could lead somewhere. Santana just wanted to be really good at something.

It didn't hurt that her best friend in the world would almost certainly be going to the Olympics this year.

After Brittany and Mike's performance last night, the way that they had come out on top of Gunderson and Cooper, who had been strong favorites to win, and the quality of their free skate program that Santana had watched them rehearse many times already, Santana had little doubt that Brittany would be on that plane to Sochi. She wanted to go for her own merit and accomplishments, of course, but Santana would love the chance to go with the person who meant the most in the world to her. They had done pretty much everything together in skating and she hated the thought that she might miss this because of some stupid mistakes in moves that she should be able to do by now.

There was, of course, always next time, but four years was a very long time away. There was no way for Santana to know what she would look like as a skater in four years, if she would have the skills to go to the Olympics, if she would be good enough to be a contender there, or if she would be washed up or injured by that time. She might only be nineteen at the moment, but people had been sidelined a lot earlier.

And not everyone reached the top of the field. People tapered out along the way. Even those who committed as much time as they could might never get to even the first level of true competition as novice skaters. After all, from thousands of skaters, only twenty-two or so skaters might go into the national competition where she was now. And only, at most, the top three would move on to represent Team USA in the important international competitions. Those who won were even rarer.

Still, that was where Santana wanted to be. And she wanted it so bad, that she was up at four-thirty so she could get to the rink by five and be drilling herself on a jump combination that she had had for three years and merely stumbled out of during an intense pressure situation. She wanted to prove to everyone that she could do it, that she deserved the shot to be where she wanted to be and to accomplish the things she wanted to accomplish.

With another frustrated sigh, Santana stroked across the ice, shaking out her arms again and trying to clear her head so that she could land this jump and prove to herself that she would be okay in her free skate. She flipped around backwards and started her entrance, gliding backwards across the ice. She leaned deeply into the outside edge of her left skate and reached back with her right foot, driving her toe pick down into the ice to lift herself off. Santana tightened her body into the right position for the air, legs crossed over each other, her arms folded tightly against her chest for the rotations in the air. She unfurled as she landed, her legs uncrossing and her arms coming out to check the rotation and control it to keep herself steady on her right edge. Despite a slight waver, Santana reached back again, with her left foot this time, repeating the same picking motion to push herself in the air for a triple toe loop. Her pick slid a little as she tried to vault up and she found herself unable to get to a good landing position before her legs were back on the ice, knocking her over onto her butt.

Santana let out a frustrated cry and flopped back onto the cold surface of the ice. She lay there for a moment, just listening to the hum of the lights and the sounds of the refrigeration system.

"I knew you'd be here." Despite being completely unexpected, the voice didn't startle Santana at all. She propped herself up on her elbows and smiled to see Brittany standing at the entrance to the rink. "I thought if I got up early enough I'd be able to beat you here, but clearly you got up at an ungodly hour."

"I need to practice," Santana offered lamely, pushing herself to her feet and skating over slowly to where Brittany stood. Even in the dim lights of the half lit rink, Brittany's blue eyes shone. Santana found herself dazzled for a moment. She wasn't sure if it was a reason or an excuse when she was talking to Brittany. Did she really need to be up at four in the morning in order to practice? Would a good night's sleep be more beneficial? The answer was probably, but if Santana couldn't get herself to sleep in that far, was it better to worry in bed or to work out her problems at the rink?

Brittany shook her head very gently and murmured, "You're just not using the right brain." She reached out and took Santana's hands, giving them a gentle squeeze before pushing backwards with their joined hands. Santana glided backwards away from Brittany. "Do it again," she requested, stepping out onto the ice as well.

Santana nodded and took off down the ice. Brittany had again given her something to think about and puzzle out and she had no idea where to start. Most of the time, when people talked about their other brain, they meant their junk, something that Santana didn't have. Besides, if she did, it wouldn't exactly help her at all with a triple lutz-triple toe combination. Santana's metaphoric dick would be all about one thing and that thing was Brittany. While Brittany had a lot to do with skating and Santana's love for it, it wasn't the sort of thing that would help her focus on what she was doing wrong and how to fix it.

While all of this was running through her head, Santana had crossed the rink and begun to do her crossovers back, ending in a straight line back towards one of the corners. With her brain occupied, Santana leaned instinctively into her outer edge, swinging her leg down to drive her right toe pick into the ice, vaulting her up for three smooth rotations. Santana landed on an easy right back edge, gliding along the outside of her blade, before snapping her left toe down into the ice, pushing herself up and around for three more revolutions. As she came down on her right edge again, Santana could feel how easy and controlled the whole thing had been, from the opening edge right down to the final landing position, and things finally clicked about what Brittany had meant.

Santana had been doing a triple lutz-triple toe for at least three years at this point. It was a hard jump, but she had done the work and drilled it over and over again. While she couldn't say that she had perfect consistency, Santana knew what the combination felt like when it was right. She had muscle memory. That was her other brain.

With a shy smile on her face, Santana skated over to Brittany, who was grinning at her and leaning against the boards. "See?" she said as Santana neared her.

"Yeah. You're kind of a genius. Wanna be my coach?" Santana said, biting her lip and looking up through her eyelashes. It wasn't the first time that Santana had joked about that, but it was hard to not want it. Brittany always seemed to understand what Santana needed and wanted, even when Santana didn't know herself. She always fixed whatever was next on the long list of things that were wrong with Santana.

Brittany laughed, soft and soothing, and stepped away from the barrier. "You don't want me to be your coach, honey," she said, taking Santana's hands and pushing off, skating backwards and pulling Santana with her. Santana was going to argue that she definitely wanted Brittany to be the one to make up her routines and tell her what was wrong and fix it and reassure her before competitions and everything else that Will was supposed to do but never did. But, Brittany pulling her around the rink started a smile on her face, and before she could speak up, Brittany was talking again. "Besides, if I was your coach, you'd have to complain to Will every time I annoyed you."

Santana caught her toe pick against the ice at the sudden image of that and laughed as Brittany steadied her. "Okay," she said, letting go of Brittany's left hand to press against her chest, trying to stop herself from laughing so hard that she made herself look even more foolish by falling. A few steadying breaths later, Santana still couldn't stop the grin on her face, but she thought that probably had to do with the fact that she was with Brittany more than anything else.

Before she could get too distracted by Brittany's eyes again, Santana pushed off onto her left foot, curving slightly on the inside edge of her foot. She spun around on that foot, ending up backwards on the outside edge of her blade, still holding Brittany's right hand with her left one. The simple three turn had left them next to each other and Santana gave Brittany's hand a gentle tug as she crossed her left foot over her right, pulling them backwards faster and starting them around the end of rink.

It wasn't like it was a difficult thing for either one of them to do. After all, both Brittany and Santana had been skating for fifteen years. Back crossovers were nothing new at all. Even the handhold and the unison weren't new things. Santana could still remember sitting at her mother's feet, having her hair brushed and braided, as they watched the skating at the 2002 Olympics in Salt Lake City. Though she hadn't known or understood the scandal that had surrounded the pairs competition, she had loved that event in particular and had started talking about going into pairs shortly after that. Brittany, too, had loved the event. They spent hours talking about the lifts and the throws and the partnership of the skaters, dreaming what it might feel like to be thrown like that.

A few years later, her coaches had allowed her to pair up with Brittany so that they could both learn the basics of skating in a pair. They had won several competitions around their rink skating together until it became clear that they both needed to really commit to skating, because they were both talented and dedicated. That was when they moved to Boston and were paired up with partners they could really compete with. But it was always easy to remember what it was like to skate, hand in hand with Brittany, their legs moving together, parts of the same machine.

Santana could feel her cheeks aching as she continued to skate with Brittany, curving around the end of the ice and then working their way back up in wide half circles across the ice. The tension on her hand, the slightest tug to the left or right, told Santana exactly when Brittany wanted to change the direction of their curve, and she listened without thought or hesitation.

At the end of the rink that they had started from, Brittany slowed down and Santana with her, the sides of their blades making a soft shushing sound as they scraped across the ice. "See," she murmured when they had stopped, "Just use your other brain, and you'll be alright."

Santana nodded. "Thank you, Britt." It hadn't escaped her attention that Brittany was still holding on to her hand.

"I mean it," Brittany insisted softly, touching Santana under the chin. Her gloves were surprisingly soft, though Santana knew it was from years of use, wearing all of the rough or stiff spots out of them, so much so that there was a little hole in the right pinky where Brittany's skin peeked through. Santana tore her eyes away from Brittany's gloves and lost herself in Brittany's eyes. "You are so great, honey. You're going to be amazing out there. You just have to believe it and it'll happen. And even if you don't nail everything, you're still great. Even if you don't nail anything."

There was something of a lump in Santana's throat that she had difficulty swallowing around as she heard those words. Her best friend was one of the few people in the world whose good opinion she needed. She couldn't bear to disappoint Brittany, and sometimes it was hard to remember that Brittany believed in her a lot more than Santana knew she deserved. She wanted to do her best. She wanted to win, and she wanted to go to the Olympics. But if she could just make Brittany proud...

That might be good enough.

Santana pushed forward, her toe pick making an ugly scraping sound that would have been jarring any other time. At this second though, she just wanted to wrap her arms around Brittany and hold her for a moment. Brittany had been her best friend for so long, but that relationship had only become stronger, even as parts of it became murkier. Even now it was hard to put an exact label on what they were and Santana, too afraid of disappointment, wasn't in a hurry to start that conversation.

Still, it would be all too easy to stand on her toes and press her lips against Brittany's at this moment. That was something that they didn't really do here. Ever. Kisses were secrets, pressed in the shadows of Brittany's apartment, smearing show lipstick or interrupted by the soft, cold drip of shower water off the ends of their hair. Santana spent many nights at Brittany's apartment. It was closer to the rink than her parents' house, so after grueling practices, it was easier to drag herself to Brittany's than it was to try to drive home.

And though Santana loved her parents both more than she could say, it was more fun to go to Brittany's. Brittany's fridge was always stocked with every kind of fruit or vegetable that Santana could think of. They made smoothies and watched dumb movies from when they were kids. Santana would sit on the side of the couch, and Brittany would lay out across it, her head resting on Santana's knee. They would go to bed early, wearing t-shirts from competitions that they both had been to, not even sure whose was whose anymore. Under the heavy press of Brittany's soft blankets, they would whisper about silly things from their day and the stones of fear weighing down their hearts.

Sometimes, they would kiss, their lips pressing against each other, almost accidentally at first. Then, deeper, longer. Santana felt like she was drowning in nothing but Brittany and the dark of the room.

Sometimes, their kisses would taper off, growing slow and sloppy as exhaustion won out and they fell asleep, limbs tangled around each other.

Sometimes, even sleep couldn't distract them from each other. Those nights, neither one of them would sleep in competition t-shirts.

No matter what, Santana didn't know how to draw their special thing into the daylight. A lot of things looked different at night, and the morning sunshine didn't always paint a better picture. The moment passed, and Santana finally let go of Brittany. She scraped the side of her blade gently against the ice. Everything in her head and heart was a little mixed up at the moment, and she was helpless for any words to say next.

But Brittany was always there and always knew. "What do you want to work on next?" Brittany's voice was soft, like she was speaking to a baby animal that could startle if spoken to loudly.

Santana lifted her eyes from the glassy surface of the ice, still with large patches of untouched surface, despite forty minutes of practice on her part. Brittany's words helped remind her that she had things to think about outside of the confusing nature of her relationship with her best friend. After all, there was a pretty important competition happening in a while, and if Santana didn't start thinking straight, she wouldn't be on that plane to Sochi with Brittany. It would be all too easy to let second place slip out of her hands.

"Are you doing the triple axel in your long program, too?" Brittany added helpfully.

Santana shook her head. "Will doesn't think I should risk it," she said. Brittany pursed her lips but didn't say anything. It was one of the things that her best friend and her coach seemed to disagree on the most, what was or wasn't a risk when it came to the elements of her skating programs. Still, she understood where Will was coming from. The free skate was much longer and Santana needed to have strength in her legs for the additional jumps, spins, and footwork. A triple axel might result in a fall on that element if it was too late in her program or cause a fall by making her too tired to complete something else later on.

"Why don't you show me the complicated lutz, the one from the spiral," Brittany suggested, gliding backwards to lean against the boards.

Santana smiled at the thought. It was one of her favorite single jumps because it was challenging, but she could do it. The spiral beforehand was one that required a lot of flexibility.

Santana started the jump off gliding across the rink, her leg well up behind her. As she came close to the end, she turned her body around so she was now gliding backwards and, without ever touching down beforehand, performed a triple lutz jump, bringing the leg that was way up in the air down to pick into the ice and throw her up for the three spins that completed the jump.

With an eager nod, Santana skated across the ice, building up the speed necessary for the jump.

* * *

><p>They were still at it an hour and a half later when Will came. Neither wanted to wear themselves out before the competition, so they had practiced a few of the things that they were feeling shaky on, running through jumping passes and spins, correcting steps and ironing out timing and expression. Taking turns kept them from getting too tired or too cold. Either could spell disaster, the former with a sloppy and tired performance that night when it mattered, the latter with an injury only hours before the competition.<p>

To keep themselves warm without burning too much energy, Brittany and Santana had taken to trying to remember the pattern dances that they had learned as children when they were skating in Ohio.

"I swear, it's left, right, left, right, mohawk, step, step, back swing roll." Brittany was saying, performing a miniature version of the steps as she spoke.

"No, no." Santana insisted, "It has to be mohawk, back swing roll," She turned her foot, spraying snow as she stopped, looking down at the pattern she had been making on the ice. "Right?" Her tone was less certain. "What's the coun-?" Santana broke off as she looked up to see Will at the door to the rink, looking impatiently at his watch already.

"Brittany, Santana has practice," he said, his tone tight and scolding, as he stepped on to the ice and made a motion towards the door with his clipboard.

Santana felt her heart sink. Practicing with Brittany was fun and easy, and she never stressed about stumbles that she made. In fact, if she two-footed a jump or landed flat on her ass, then Brittany would just laugh, which would make Santana laugh. Then, Brittany would give Santana a slap on the ass (or the back if she had just landed hard on the ice) and send her off to do it again, and Santana would nail it. With Will, a hundred corrections ran through her head about every movement she made, trying to put together all of the things that he had changed and added and subtracted and moved around up to the last minute. She had drawer of medals that she had gotten being Will's student. He was a good coach. But he didn't always make Santana feel good.

Brittany didn't argue, though. She squeezed Santana's hand, flexed her arm muscles with a wink, and skated off, grabbing her guards off the boards as she hopped through the door. Santana assumed she was going to go stretch or nap or something until Mike got to the rink.

For a moment, Santana desperately wished she could go with Brittany. They could find some little corner of the rink in one of the offices on the third floor or a back hallway, tuck up together, and snooze for a while. Santana could watch the adorable way that Brittany's lips pouched out just a little as she relaxed into sleep. Even without the last little bit of her bright red pirate lip stick still darkening her lips a hint, they looked so pink and... kissable.

"Okay," Will said, the snap of the clipboard as he pulled his marker out from under the clasp, startling Santana, pulling her eyes from the door that Brittany had disappeared through, back to himself. "I know how to rescue your free skate so that we can get enough points to get you on that podium." He scribbled a word across the dry-erase surface, making a broad stroke underneath. Santana wondered what it could possibly be that would help her with only one word written on that clipboard. Will proudly capped the marker, and then turned the board around to show Santana. "We just need to think 'flight'!"

It was all Santana could do to keep from rolling her eyes.

* * *

><p><em>"Welcome back to NBC's coverage of the 2014 United States Figure Skating Championships. I'm Rod Remington and with me tonight is Cassandra July. We're in the TD Garden in the lovely town of Boston and it is hot on the ice today. Coming up in about thirty minutes, we'll have the start of ice dancing, and later on this evening, the ladies will battle for their spots on the podium and the team. But right now, we're finishing up the last group of pairs skating."<em>

_"Yes, Rod, we've seen some great competitors tonight, but this is going to be where things kick it up a notch. In this group are Blaine Anderson and Tina Cohen-Chang, currently in fourth, and Jordan Stern and Bobby Surette, in third. They've had a rough season. Jordan was hurt badly back in August, but they seem to have pulled it together and be in good shape tonight."_

_"Definitely. We'll also see Missy Gunderson and Scott Cooper. They're the reigning champions and I really don't think they expect to be in second going into the free skate."_

_"Absolutely not. However, this team, Brittany Pierce and Mike Chang, they came out of nowhere, really, with a dynamite short program. They're currently in first and, I'm sure, hoping to hold that position."_

* * *

><p>"It's going to be a real fight, that's for sure."<p>

"Will the following skaters please take the ice: Jordan Stern and Bobby Surette, Blaine Anderson and Tina Cohen-Chang, Missy Gunderson and Scott Cooper, and Brittany Pierce and Mike Chang."

Brittany grinned as the crowd roared at her name. There was definitely something special about being on Boston ice when you were from Boston to begin with, and the crowd was not quiet about their support. Brittany waved to a section of fans holding signs with 'PIERCE AND CHANG' in big letters and grinned at the cheer that rose from that section.

No matter what happened in a little bit, this had been fun. Skating in the same arena where the professional basketball and hockey games were, skating in front of their hometown audience, doing so well yesterday, those were all irreplaceable memories that Brittany was thrilled to have made.

She finished a lap around the ice for herself and looked for Mike. The bright orange of his vest stood out starkly against the white of the ice and made him easy to spot. With a grin, Brittany sped up to catch him, sliding her hand into his so they could stroke together for a moment, falling into synch with their movements.

"Start with the throw loop?" Mike asked with a grin.

Brittany could see in his easy smile that he loved this as much as she did. Brittany nodded and picked up her speed a little, checking to make sure none of the other pairs were in their way. Mike slipped behind her back, his right hand on her waist. Brittany held out her left hand to the side of her body and Mike took it.

Together, they stepped from the forward inside edge of their right feet to the backwards inside edge of their left, doing a mohawk to get them set up for the throw. Brittany stepped back onto her right foot and crossed her left over while Mike bent his knees. They both felt the timing as Mike unfurled as Brittany jumped, tossing her high in the air to spin three times before landing. Brittany immediately put out her arms and free leg, stopping her rotation and giving her that smooth landing on the ice.

Brittany pumped her fist a little bit and looked to Mike to see what they might like to work on next. Six minutes could fly by, though Brittany was already loving the feeling of this ice.

"Spin?" She suggested when they got close again.

If everything was going well with lifts and throws, it would be better to spare Mike the trouble of lifting her again so soon. Brittany knew that, compared to a lot of the other pairs competitors, she was almost too tall. Her height meant that she had more muscles and more weight for Mike to throw around, and between the lifts and the twists and the throw jumps and even the death spirals, it was a lot of him lifting her. As a result, neither really liked to do too many of those types of elements before they did a long program. Going last gave them a little more time to recover, but it was better to get a feel of the ice in other ways if they were feeling good about the lifting elements.

Besides, Brittany really liked how the orange and black of Mike's costume popped against the blue and yellow of hers.

It had been surprising to Brittany that Shelby had gone with her idea for this long program. She would have thought that their coach would have pushed for a much more mature and emotional piece. She seemed to think, however, that this routine could play to their strengths and the variety of emotions that came naturally with a soundtrack would serve them well enough. The costumes were gorgeous, subtle enough to be sophisticated but definitely very them.

And if Brittany couldn't be herself when she skated, she didn't know that she would want to do it anymore. It was one thing to play a character or portray the emotions of a piece. It was another to try to skate as though she were a completely different skater. Brittany didn't think she'd ever be able to be a really emotional skater, but as long as Shelby let her and Mike do pieces like this, half fun and half sport, she thought they'd do alright.

Mike and Brittany did their crossovers, winding up by stepping onto a back outside edge and then forward into the spin. With Mike's hands firmly on her waist, both crouched down. Mike extended his free leg in front of him, and Brittany brought hers back as she leaned away, curving in a layback position. She counted the rotations in her head, keeping her stomach tight to keep her from tipping over and rising against the rotational force as Mike's hand pulled up at her waist. They leaned into a camel position, free legs together and pointed away from them, torsos parallel to the ice. Once they hit enough rotations in that position, they stepped their free feet onto the ice, changing the foot they were spinning on and crouching again into a broken leg variation on the sit spin. Brittany thought that with their free legs trailing out to the side, just above the ice, as they spun, it looked a bit like an octopus, incredibly relevant to their free skate music.

The pull of Mike's hand on her elbow rose her out of the spin and she glided backwards with him, completing the spin. "Nice," Mike said, an easy smile on his face. Everything about the ice and the crowd and how they were skating together felt right tonight. Brittany didn't know if they'd win. She didn't know if they'd make into the two spots that strongly qualified them for the Olympics or if they'd even be on the podium, despite the USFSA's tradition of awarding a fourth place pewter medal. But she felt confident, almost certain, that they were going to do their best, for sure.

"Let's do a lift," Brittany said, skating with Mike to keep their heart rates going during the warm up. "Which one do you want to do?"

* * *

><p><em>"Wow! Cassandra, listen to that crowd! That was an absolutely electric program from Missy and Scott."<em>

_"They've certainly put their challenge up to Pierce and Chang, letting them know if they want the title, they're going to have to come and take it."_

_"I think this freeskate really exemplified who they are as a pair. You can see in the replay, they have such unity on these single elements, the side-by-side spins and jumps, the foot work. The lifts look easy and the height of those throws..."_

_"They posted a big score: 141.72, which was even a few points off their personal best. Combined, they have a score of 203.24. Brittany Pierce and Mike Chang are going to have to skate clean after that."_

_"Cassandra, you know, you've been in this position yourself, what are your nerves like at a moment like this? Last to go, needing a big score and a clean program to win or to even medal. What is that like?"_

_"One of the hardest, scariest moments I've ever felt, Rod. You can't imagine the pressure they're feeling at this moment."_

* * *

><p>Brittany rocked up on her toe picks, listening to the last words from Shelby. She couldn't keep still. She knew that this was a big moment - probably the biggest moment of her skating career. The next five minutes or so would determine if they'd get to have a medal or go to the Olympics or any of their other competitions that would come up over the next year, like Four Continents or Worlds or even the Grand Prix Series next fall. They had to do well.<p>

But it wasn't nerves that were making Brittany antsy. She felt so ready and so excited. Even the little hum of nervousness behind her bellybutton couldn't stand up to the bursting of excitement, joy, and anticipation that she felt. Finally, Shelby was done, and Brittany and Mike turned away from the boards just as the announcer came over the loud speaker.

"And now, from the Skating Club of Boston, Brittany Pierce and Mike Chang."

The crowd roared and Brittany smiled, dropping Mike's hand for a moment to wave with both hands to the audience.

They stopped at the center of the ice and took their starting pose. Brittany hid her face in her elbow, her free hand stretched towards Mike as she bent her knee and extended her other leg out, crossing it behind her bent leg. Mike outstretched the hand nearest her so their fingers were nearly touching and lifted his other hand up. Then, they stopped, waiting for the music to begin.

The moment that it did, a smile spread across Brittany's face. Her heartbeat fell into rhythm with the music and she felt at peace. As the first few trickling notes began, Brittany brought her head up, her smile growing at the glimpses of the audience and judges. She pushed off, gliding around Mike, who caught her hand as she came back around, lifting her to her feet for a quick twirl, before taking off on their introductory steps across the rink. Their first element was the throw triple loop that they had practiced in their warm up.

In synch, they stepped together, performing crossovers, crossbacks, and turns across the ice. Mike's hands found her waist perfectly on cue, and Brittany let herself sink into the routine, crossing her leg and bending with Mike before springing off the ice. She locked herself tightly into the proper body position in the air: left leg tucked over right, arms tight against her chest and slightly to the left, everything straight in the air. She could feel how she soared over the ice before unraveling as she landed, bringing her arms and leg out and up, checking her rotation to keep her from spinning out of control.

Somehow, it felt better than the one that they had done in warm up.

There wasn't time to stop and celebrate because the program didn't stop for that and it would break her character, loosely constructed as it was, so Brittany joined hands with Mike. He did a mohawk in front of her, so that they were facing each other. For a moment, waiting for their beat, Brittany and Mike just grinned at each other, and then Mike pushed upward as Brittany jumped, pressing her up over his head. Brittany held her legs out in a split and shifted her weight over to her left hand, reaching behind her with her right hand and lifting her left leg to catch her blade behind her back. Mike started to spin, two and a half times around and Brittany almost laughed at the bubbly feeling that flew through her as the rink whirled by.

Mike set her down and they both extended their free legs behind them before taking off across the ice again.

* * *

><p><em>"That's one of the things that make this team such a joy to watch, Rod. They're so impeccably on time with the music, no matter how big the jump or small the step."<em>

_"Absolutely right. They might not have the emotions completely down yet, but they have that timing, that rhythm, that sense of music that's so difficult to teach."_

_"Oh, there they go again! Another throw, perfectly on time with the music. It really builds your excitement for the piece, and the audience is loving it. It doesn't hurt that they've nailed the landings on everything they've tried today."_

* * *

><p>Brittany stepped onto her left foot, extending her leg behind her so that her body was parallel to the ice in a camel spin. Mike was only a few feet away, doing the same thing, his arms locked behind his back, just as hers were. When they had first started spinning together, it had been difficult to adjust their rates so that they spun at the same time. Brittany always seemed to whip around a little harder than Mike and would get ahead of him in position and eventually revolutions.<p>

In time, they had become more consistent and in synch when it came to these spins, which was a particularly good thing when they were in positions like the camel spin where it was very easy to tell which way they were facing and if one or the other was off.

"Next!" Mike called from beside her, and Brittany pulled her leg down and in, extending it in front of her as she crouched into a sit spin. She had been prepared for the change, thanks to the cue in their music and the fact that she had been counting the revolutions as well, making sure they got enough in each position. They needed to get the proper levels of difficulty if they wanted to keep up their score, which, for Brittany, mostly meant letting herself relax into the spin and not jump the change. It was the reason why Mike was the one who called out for it.

"Next!" Mike said again, and they stood and brought their free legs up and in front of them. Mike was flexible, even for a male skater, but Brittany had to be careful not to bring her leg too high so that they could still match in shape and speed. Finally, they hit the end of their spin and glided out together.

Their footwork carried them across the rink. As they approached the other end, Brittany lifted her leg into a spiral and let Mike pull her around the curve. As he reached back with his free leg, Brittany rose from the spiral and let herself come forward, sliding out until her body was parallel to the ice. Mike had obviously locked his free foot's toe pick into the ice, because they began to rotate. Brittany arched back, feeling the coolness of the ice as she glided across it.

Brittany loved death spirals because it was one of the things that truly looked particularly impressive because of her height. Lifts sometimes worked out that way, depending on if her legs were up or down. Throws, twists, and jumps often suffered because of it. But death spirals, with Brittany's full length laid out, gliding around inches from the ice, looked amazing.

As she glided around the surface of the ice, Brittany was surprised at how genuinely relaxed she felt. She, of course, always fought for a good program, no matter if it was practice or performance, but this was honestly probably the most important program of her entire life. If they performed well, they could be on a plane to Russia next month to compete in the Olympics. If they performed flawlessly, they had the strong chance of standing on top of the podium. If they made mistakes, any or all of that could be taken away. It was a lot of pressure.

And yet, Brittany didn't feel it. What Brittany was feeling was the joy and energy that came with nailing everything so far and the excitement of a hometown crowd, knowing that all of the people she trained with or caught sight of taking the ice were there, that her family was all up in the seats somewhere, probably waving signs obnoxiously large enough to annoy the people in the row behind them. Brittany could picture the proud and breathless look that Santana had on her face whenever Brittany and Mike were crushing a routine, and Brittany knew that that was out there too.

All of that outweighed the risks for Brittany. If something went wrong, if they didn't make the podium this year, they'd try again next year. If they missed out on the Olympics, four years weren't honestly that far away and there were plenty of other amazing competitions in the meantime. When Brittany was little, she had always dreamed of the big competitions, of the Nationals that they watched every year, of the Olympics that came around every four years, but by the time she was eight or nine and started to understand exactly how hard it was to get there, Brittany began to realize that it wouldn't be easy like she had thought. The fact that she was even on the ice, at the TD Garden, in contention for a medal that would proclaim her to be among the best pairs skaters in the whole of the United States, well that was enough for Brittany.

Everything else was a wonderful bonus.

* * *

><p><em>"Those were beautiful spins from this pair. Very in synch."<em>

_"Absolutely. Up next is another side-by-side element. They're doing their jump combination, a triple flip-triple toe-double toe. It is one of the more difficult jump combinations we'll see here tonight."_

_"Jumps don't usually give them a lot of problems, Cassandra. Excellent triple flip there, definitely the inside edge for both of them. Nice triple toe."_

_"Oooh. Mike Chang definitely landed that last double toe with two feet. That's going to cost them some points from the judges. He just didn't have enough height to get his feet out in time."_

_"Brittany's was beautiful, though. Excellent height. Still, it will cost them, but hopefully not too much. It's a small mistake but we'll see where it puts them in the standings. With the score from Missy and Scott, that may mean second place or lower."_

* * *

><p>Even with the little stumble, Brittany was still feeling amazing. She had seen the ice fly up on Mike's landing, too much for a perfectly clean end to the jump, but the lift right after, their hardest, had gone perfectly. It was hard not to stay in that spirit when the crowd was so completely on their side. Brittany felt like she was skating in front of a group of friends she had known all her life.<p>

The next piece of their program was their choreographic sequence, which was one of Brittany and Mike's favorite parts. Both had taken extensive dance classes to help their skating and loved it. When they were younger and just starting out in pairs, they had dabbled in ice dancing and even briefly considered a switch. There was just so much joy when it came to interpreting the music and moving to fit that. However, both partners had eventually agreed that they could add ice dancing elements to their pairs routine, but they couldn't get away with jumps or big lifts in ice dancing, so they should stay where they were.

Mike had been able to convince Shelby to have this part of their routine crafted by an ice dancing coach at the rink. Even with their quick feet and deep edges, it had taken them a long time to get absolutely clean. That was part of what she loved about it. It was challenging, but it was beautiful.

Choreo was something that wasn't often appreciated by many skating fans, unless it was absolutely phenomenal, which made the roar of the crowd as they finished particularly satisfying. Brittany was grinning so hard that her cheeks hurt as she reached back with her right hand, grabbing Mike's left. They both lifted their right legs briefly as Mike pulled Brittany close enough to grab her hands. She wrapped her hands around his wrists as they sunk down in their knees. Brittany leaned onto the inside edge of her skate, feeling the grab of the blade against the slick surface of the ice. There was a beat in the music, and Brittany dug her right toe into the ice, vaulting with Mike's help up and off the ice.

She could feel that there was something off a little in her spring. In her excitement, Brittany knew that she had kicked her toe pick in too hard, not quite giving her the lift that she was used to. She instinctively tightened her arms in harder, trying to complete the rotations in time. Her toe was still a little too pointed as she hit the ice. Training took over ahead of thinking and she snapped her arms out and her leg back, trying to get herself in a good position to save the jump. Still, Brittany tipped forward slightly. She gritted her teeth. She wouldn't fall. The burning cold of the ice on her hot palm kept her on her feet, but it cooled her exuberance enough to remind herself that she needed control, even if she was excited.

Brittany felt certain that gold was out of their grasp now. Missy and Scott had been flawless. But gold wasn't really their goal, as much as just being on the podium and a trip to the Olympics. Even just improvement was something she'd be proud to achieve. The last was a given; they were much better than last year. As for the chance to medal and the chance to compete at the Olympics, that was going to come down to the rest of the program. It was time to fight for those goals. Brittany felt her grin return.

"Wow, Cassandra, it doesn't seem like that close call has rattled them at all."

"Definitely not, Rod. Their entry into that lift was flawless. Their smiles barely even flickered. That's one of the qualities that champion teams have. They don't let mistakes get them down. If you let those nerves take hold of you, one mistake can shut down the rest of the program."

"Now, a lift is one thing, but Brittany and Mike are approaching their last jumping element of this program, a side by side triple loop. They were clean on their throw loop earlier, but since then, they've made two minor mistakes on jump elements. If they're rattled, we'll see it here."

"Beautiful! Absolutely clean and great height."

"I don't think they'll take gold away from Missy and Scott, but they've given them a fine run for that spot."

Brittany's cheeks ached more than any other muscle in her body. This was the final thing in their program, their last move before they found out if they'd get a medal and a shot at the Olympic team, and it was a spin. She stepped into the spin facing Mike. They had practiced this spin less than an hour ago, on this very ice, not far from the exact spot they were spinning in now. It had gone perfectly then, and Brittany could already feel how the set up had been flawless the second time. They were centered, spinning smoothly and evenly, even as they both bent down, Mike crouching and extending his leg as Brittany brought hers back. Next was the camel position and Brittany's smile widened as she felt the speed that they had going into it. The final part of their final spin, stepping onto the other foot and lowering themselves down to the broken leg spin.

Mike's smile, inches from her own, was just as unrestrained.

They rose up together on the last notes of the music, ending posed together, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, free arms outstretched. As the last note of music faded, Brittany and Mike lowered their arms to their sides, and looked down at the ice.

There was a moment of pause in the stadium and then the crowd roared. Brittany couldn't help but pump her fist in victory, whooping once to the air before grabbing Mike in a bear hug. He swung her around once before setting her back down on the ice. They grabbed hands and presented themselves to the judges and then each side of the audience. The applause rising from each side made their success feel even greater and Brittany could feel the way that her heart sang as she looked to each side, ending with the most important one.

Brittany could see Santana's expression from across the ice and she felt a soft blush rise on her cheeks - hidden by make-up and exertion - at the look on Santana's face. She looked so proud of Brittany and Brittany honestly hadn't really realized how important that was to her. Brittany pushed off, gliding quickly across the ice, stopping only to scoop up a plush strawberry in her path and to wave to the little girl who had run down the stairs to throw it. She didn't even bother to slow down as she approached the door of the rink, leaping off the ice to gather Santana into the biggest hug she could manage. Santana laughed as she stumbled back a step but stayed on her feet and wrapped her arms just as tightly around Brittany.

"You guys were... perfect." Santana murmured, looking up into Brittany's eyes. For a moment, Brittany just let herself take in Santana's face. Her eyes were so deep and wonderful. It was amazing that anyone could give off such warmth and sweetness and understanding with nothing more than a lingering look, but Santana did it better than anyone else.

"Thanks to my good luck charm," Brittany said, squeezing Santana one more time and then letting her go. After a short pause, she added, "I've been carrying around this dirty tissue in my pocket for three months. It seems to have worked." Brittany quirked her eyebrow at Santana and couldn't even fight the smile as she watched delight spread over Santana's face, brightening her eyes again and making her mouth sparkly and sweet.

Mike came up behind them and clapped his hand on Brittany's shoulder. "You guys were awesome." Santana said to him, her smile clean-cut but genuine.

"Thanks, Santana," he said with a goofy smile in return. "We better sit before they give us our scores." Mike nodded towards the kiss and cry. Brittany nodded, taking her guards from Santana with a wink before heading to the bench with Mike. She slid beside Shelby, glancing down at the screen that was replaying one of their mistakes, her hand on the ice. Shelby's expression was fairly neutral, but Brittany knew from years of experience that that meant very little about how she was actually feeling. When her hand came out to squeeze Brittany's knee gently, Mike and Brittany shared a grin, knowing that she was proud of how they had performed.

"The factored free skate score for Brittany Pierce and Mike Chang, please." The chatter of the audience fell silent as the announcer came over the intercom. "For the free skate, Pierce and Chang have scored 139.11 points for a total score of 201.95 points. They are in second place."

"Yeah!" Mike cheered.

Brittany hugged Shelby, who smiled at her, before slapping her hand against Mike's. "We did it!" They had won the silver medal and done their absolute best to show the committee that they deserved to be on the plane to Sochi in a month. And the five point difference between them and Anderson and Cohen-Chang in third was another good point in their favor.

Brittany turned to look at Santana. The thumbs up and shining smile was the only thing she needed to see to know that this was everything she had been dreaming of for this moment. Brittany waved to the crowd.

* * *

><p>Santana stepped onto the ice, waving at the people who cheered and waved signs at her. Everyone was pretty focused on the board, waiting for Quinn's scores, but Santana was trying her hardest to block it all out, to not let the pressure of the audience or the pressure of whatever monster number Quinn was about to get wear on her nerves. It wasn't easy, even when she looked over and caught sight of the bright blonde of Brittany's ponytail from where she was leaning against the mats. Brittany gave her a thumbs up just as the announcer came over the intercom. Santana wound up into a spin to block out whatever number was being broadcast, but it wasn't enough to erase the sound of the cheer that followed. Gold was out of her reach, for certain. Without the triple axel in this routine, she had nothing to set her over Quinn, who had beat her without it in the short. Still, there were three spots to Sochi. Gold didn't have to be her goal. Silver or even bronze could get her there.<p>

Without the luxury of a body of work to stand on, though, this was going to be an important program. For every victory and medal in her history, there seemed to be a glaring error or blown program in which she did nothing but crash and burn. It didn't paint a reliable picture for the committee, and if she didn't pull through with this routine, then she would mark herself out as a skater that crumbled under pressure. Santana knew they wouldn't send that kind of a skater to the Olympics.

Santana glided over to the boards, bending down to check her boots, making sure they were both knotted securely. She rose and took the tissue that Will offered. "It's time," he told her. "Time for you to prove that you deserve to be here. That you're the skater that people say you can be." Santana nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach and the creep of worried stiffness into her shoulders. "Don't fall. And remember: flight." Will grabbed both of Santana's hands and gave them a quick squeeze and then stepped away. Santana blew her nose, turning away from the boards as the voice came over the loudspeaker.

"Up next, from the Skating Club of Boston, Santana Lopez."

Santana waved, gliding to the center of the ice, trying to force a smile on her face. There was a cheer from the crowd. It was loud enough that it nearly drowned out the announcer's voice saying her name. Santana looked up from center ice for a moment, taking in the signs waving in the audience and the sheer number of people, most seats filled from the people close to the ice all the way up the rafters, individual people invisible to her at that point. They were all watching her and expecting her to do well. She couldn't disappoint them.

Santana pushed off, gliding around the ice once more, shaking out each of her legs in turn. She stepped onto a backwards edge and brought her left foot up and behind her, extending her arms into a landing position before gliding back to center ice and striking her starting pose. She pressed one hand to her chest and the other she extended slightly, aimed down towards the logo on the ice. She crossed one foot behind the other and waited.

The moment of silence and the anticipation of the whole audience fell on her shoulders and Santana felt like she couldn't breathe.

As gentle piano started, Santana lifted her head, and brought her free arm up, dragging it behind her head and down again. As the violin started in, she pushed off, gliding backwards around a circle. It was a simple sequence of steps to start, but Will had repeated it hundreds of times, using keyword after keyword to try to get Santana to emote the elation and sweet love of the music.

Tchaikovsky was Will's favorite composer, and he had been saving this Romeo and Juliet piece for this Olympic season. He had chosen Sleeping Beauty for Santana last year. It was a beautiful piece, undoubtedly, but Santana had never really been able to connect to it the way that she should. Whenever she tried to really connect, her skating broke down, and she fell. It was just too much to consider the story of Romeo and Juliet, the things that those characters must have felt, not to mention the feelings of the composer writing them. She couldn't do it all.

Will had eventually conceded to switch the music and had brought in the Andre Rieu version. He had written "TRAGIC" on his clipboard and proudly proclaimed that it was the perfect switch:they would be able to focus more on other aspects of the program because they would have to spend less time trying to work on the emotions on Santana's face.

Santana continued her path, her movements slow and long, before stepping into her first spin. She bent low into her legs, extending her left leg straight out in front of her and leaning down on it. She counted the rotations in her head, focusing on making sure that she didn't lose a single level for some dumb mistake like miscounting the rotations of a spin and coming out too early.

When she had gotten enough, Santana brought her left leg in and stepped it down on the ice, tightening her body back down to the sit position with her right leg extended as soon as she was certain of her balance. She wanted to keep up her speed, to keep her marks high from the judges. Every point counted at this moment because, if she made a mistake, she needed to keep herself afloat somehow. Silver and bronze could slip away just as quickly as gold had.

Santana rose pulling her free leg up behind her and leaning back slightly as she finished out her combination with a catch-foot spin. Each of the rotations was carefully counted in her head, and she let out a sigh of relief as she glided out of spin. It was only one thing, though, and there were a lot more steps, jumps, spins, and potential places to lose points before she could finally relax.

In time with the music, Santana leaned deeply into a spiral, her leg straight and high behind her. The tension eased out of her shoulders slightly as she pressed her hands to her chest and then brought them out in front of her as she glided across the ice. Her mind flickered back to this morning, executing this jump perfectly for Brittany, and a hint of a smile graced her mouth. She was still focusing though, as she turned her body and then picked sharply into the ice, rising off, her arms and legs tucked tight to her body. She landed and swept her arms and free leg out, checking her rotation and controlling the landing. The hint of the smile dropped off Santana's face. It wasn't nearly as high as the one that she had done for Brittany this morning. She really needed to be performing better than that or she'd never make the podium.

* * *

><p><em>"Wow, Cassandra. That's all I've got to say about this girl. Wow! And from that spiral! Wow!"<em>

_"Santana is a great technical skater. She doesn't really have a set of elements that are weak, but her jumps are by far her best elements."_

_"Definitely. That was one of the neatest, tightest lutzes that we've seen today. Quinn Fabray can't even touch it."_

_"And watch again in this combination coming up. She just seems to glide over a huge amount of ice. It's such a big jump."_

_"Yes, here she goes. Again. Triple loop, massive. And a triple toe. That might as well have been its own jump, for the height and power she gave it!"_

_"One thing is for sure, Rod, Santana Lopez must feel like she's having as good a skate as her friend Brittany Pierce did earlier today."_

* * *

><p>Santana leaped into her camel spin, holding her body in a straight line as she turned, her teeth clenched tightly together. She hadn't had any huge errors yet, nothing that would necessarily lose her a ton of points, but there were a lot of things that she could have done much better. And her emotionality was all wrong, she knew. She just had to keep going and hope that it all turned out okay in the end. Maybe one of the other skaters had fallen. Santana immediately felt bad for thinking that.<p>

Suddenly, with a feeling like a stone dropping into the pit of her stomach, Santana realized that she had forgotten to count her rotations. Hurriedly, her body tighter than ever, she tuned into the music, waiting for the beat that she was supposed to move. Santana heard the violin note that she was pretty sure that she had moved on many times before, but she wasn't completely sure. Still, the rest of the program had to fit the music as well and if she missed it, it could throw everything else off. She didn't have time to make any other decision, so Santana glided out of the spin with the music and began her step sequence, moving in long, sweeping deep edges, her arms echoing the movement of the music as she skated.

Still, her movements were obviously robotic, because Santana's mind was back on the other end of the ice, trying to figure out if she had honestly spun around six times or not. She usually aimed for eight, to make sure that she was over that mark, but it might have only been five, which would mean a major loss of points.

Santana was focused so much on if she had completed her spin or not that she allowed her step sequence to bring her a little too close to the boards and now she had to lean quite noticeably to keep from hitting her arm on them. The music continued to march on behind her, though, and Santana knew that she needed to keep going. In fact, she needed to nail this triple flip if she was going to have a shot at the podium.

* * *

><p><em>"Something seems to have rattled Santana down there. That was a close call with the boards."<em>

_"Definitely, Rod, but there's no time in a program like this to stop and collect yourself. You have to just keep going. Luckily, her jumps seem to be her-"_

_"Oh, no."_

* * *

><p>Santana winced and pushed herself off the ice. She wasn't even sure exactly what had happened. Her toe pick had just slipped on her take off and she hadn't been able to get around, but she hadn't seen what had happened. She could feel tears welling in her eyes and a weight on her heart. This wasn't supposed to be how it went. Two days ago, Santana had done a double run of this exact program and had nailed every move. Now, when it counted, she couldn't get out of her head long enough to get her feet on the ice. There was no chance of silver now, not with a fall like that. Even if someone else fell. Bronze was a possibility still, but a small one. Pewter was the more likely medal, if there was one to be had. If she could just hold it together for the rest of this, maybe she'd have something to hang on her wall other than a rigorous practice schedule to combat her shame.<p>

The music didn't wait for any mistakes and neither did the judging panel so Santana hurriedly pushed off, gaining speed so she could hit her next element on the mark and try to regain at least some points for her skating skills and musicality. She glided backwards on her right foot, looking over her left shoulder. Santana took a deep breath, envisioning the perfect jump, and stepped forward onto her left foot.

What she needed, if she wanted even the smallest chance of being on the plane to Sochi, was a perfect combination of jumps, all clean and high, with a tight position in the air and easy soft landings. A double axel-triple toe loop-double toe loop combination wasn't the most difficult combination in Santana's repertoire. She should be able to do this.

For a moment, she even briefly pictured what it would be like if she could slip her triple axel in right here. A triple axel, clean, followed by two more jumps, in the second half of her program... It might be enough points to get that silver medal around her neck. In her brief moment of thought as she brought her body through, Santana felt the dread clinging to her throat and stomach lift.

When she brought her body around, Santana couldn't manage to get the lift that she needed for a double axel. Two and a half spins took height and airtime and she just didn't have it. Santana only made it around for a single axel before she landed. Her heart was thudding in a way that had nothing to do with the exertion of skating and without stopping to think, Santana automatically bent low in her knee and picked into the ice, driving up hard and pulling herself in tightly. Triple toes were nothing. She had to be able to do this. She had to.

By sheer determination, Santana mustered enough power to make the three rotations, but coming out of the dead, off-balance landing of her axel set her up wrong. As the cold ice soaked through her tights once more, Santana let out a wet gasp and considered not getting back up. It would be easy to just sit on the ice until they stopped her music or it ended and then slink off.

A cheer suddenly broke through Santana's haze and she remembered with a jolt that there were more people in the stadium than herself, Brittany, Will, and the judges. There were thousands of people who had just watched her bomb what should have been an easy silver. There were thousands of people who were wondering how she had even made it to this place at all if all she could do was fall. Thousands of eyes watching her on the ice and projected on the screen as she made a fool of herself. Santana knew that she couldn't sit on the ice and let the humiliation get any worse.

Santana also knew there wasn't much she could do to change the outcome at this point. Some steps across the ice and a spin weren't going to be enough to rescue her score.

Santana rose again, and stepped into her sequence across the ice, just focusing on staying on her feet, on not falling any more times and embarrassing herself further. All of her attention was on her feet and the ice and her arms performed their movements through little more than rote muscle memory. At the end, she wound up and stepped into her spin, ducking low into a broken leg spin, her free leg gliding inches above the ice as she turned. Santana grabbed her foot and rose up with it, pulling it up in front of her and over her head. She let go and swung her foot down and behind her, leaning backwards as her arms came up to counterbalance and keep her steady. Finally, she slowly pulled her arms into her chest, standing straight, right leg tucked over her left. The seats became a blur, and it wasn't entirely due to her speed.

As the last note lingered, Santana slowed to a stop and pressed one hand over her heart as she looked down.

The audience cheered.

It felt like pity.

Swallowing hard, Santana shook her head and turned to each side of the stadium, staying only long enough to be respectful before skating hurriedly towards the boards, just wanting to be off the ice and away from the cameras. She didn't even want to know her scores.

* * *

><p><em>"Wow, Rod, that could not have gone much worse for Santana Lopez."<em>

_"What happened out there? She was brilliant at the start of this free skate but by the end, she just fell apart."_

_"That's the pressure of the skating world, Rod, undoubtedly. It's one thing to land things in practice, but another to come out here and do them on the ice, in front of all of these people, when it really matters. Something just seemed to get in her head and she couldn't recover from it."_

_"It may have had something to do with the huge score that Quinn Fabray posted just before Santana took the ice. The two have been rivals since the moment that Santana started competing at this level."_

_"Watch here, this was the first big mistake that Lopez made tonight, on her triple flip. The entrance started out great, with a nice solid inside edge, but you can see here, how she doesn't get deep enough in that bend, so her toe pick skids there. At that point, it was over for that jump."_

_"Compare that one especially to that gorgeous lutz from earlier. You can see on the screen, how deep that outside edge is as she goes into it, how deep she gets into her knee and then that lift and the height she covers. Absolutely textbook."_

_"It just wasn't her night, Rod."_

* * *

><p>Santana kept her eyes on the ice until it was time to step off. She didn't want to see Will's face. Or Brittany's. She could still hear what Brittany had said that morning, but she didn't see how anyone could think what she had done on the ice was great. Not even Brittany.<p>

As soon as she was off the ice, a hand wrapped around her wrist. Santana looked down at the long fingers and pale skin. Even if she hadn't been looking at bright yellow nails, Santana would have known that hand. Still, she found a spot of lint on Brittany's black leggings and looked at that, rather than risk seeing disappointment in her best friend's face. After a moment though, there was gentle pressure from Brittany's fingers under her chin and Santana gave in, looking up slowly through her eyelashes to Brittany's face. She was so close that Santana could see the individual shades of her blue, blue irises and the faint sparkle of blush still on her cheeks.

For a moment Brittany didn't say anything. She just looked deeply into Santana's eyes, reading each emotion that echoed there, the language that Brittany had always understood better than anyone else in Santana's life. She didn't think there was anything Brittany could say to make her feel better. She had blown it. No one else was at fault.

"I'm proud of you," Brittany finally said, her voice soft so that only Santana could catch the words.

Santana gasped as something inside of her let go. She brought her arms around Brittany and hugged her tightly, squeezing her eyes shut as Brittany hugged her back. It didn't fix anything, for sure. Santana had still embarrassed herself with that performance and lost any shot she had at a ticket to Sochi. But to know that Brittany wasn't ashamed of her - that was enough for this moment.

It couldn't last long, though. Even with all of the deductions and reviews that judges would be tallying up, Santana knew that her score would come up sooner or later, and she had to be there in the kiss and cry to receive it. Reluctantly, Santana let go of Brittany and took her guards, slipping them on before walking to the bench and taking a seat. She could tell from what she could see of Will out of the corner of her eye that he was sitting in the tense, tight way that he did when she had really messed up. Regardless of what competitions were coming up next, even if there were none, Santana knew that she would have a lot of drills to make up for this.

Santana looked up, her knee jittering as she wrung her hands, waiting for the numbers to flash up on the screen. She had done okay for the first half of the program. It wasn't going to be a great score, but she had been in second by a good amount. She expected that when it was all over, she would probably be in fourth or fifth. They weren't good positions to be in, but there were worse places to be.

"The factored free skate score for Santana Lopez, please." Santana felt her heart thump in her chest and her ears, drowning out the sound around her. All she could think was please, please, please please... "For the free skate, Santana Lopez has scored 101.24 points for a total score of 166.34 points. She is in seventh place."

Santana let out the breath she had been holding, her heart dropping down to the bottom of her stomach. She could see that she had scored tenth for her free skate. Apparently, even the first half of her program, when she had thought she had been doing okay, she hadn't. She hadn't been able to do anything worth watching on the ice, and everyone had seen. Santana could still see her face on the screen and knew that everyone around her, all of the thousands of people, could see her too. They were still watching her and judging her for her skate, for her reaction, for her score.

She couldn't take it for another minute.

Santana stood and bolted, clamping her face down into a disgruntled, offended expression so that she didn't have to cry in front of the audience. On her way, her shoulder bumped into a cameraman. She was about to apologize before she remembered, horrified, that not only did the audience of thousands here see her absolutely fail, but who-even-knew-how-many people had seen at home, as well.

Santana burst through the doors into the hallway beyond, moving as fast as her guards let her until she found an empty hallway. She leaned her back against the cool concrete and bent over, pressing her hands into her knees and breathing hard. She honestly wasn't sure if she was about to throw up or cry or scream or any combination of that.

Footsteps jogging in her direction made her bolt upright and Santana froze when she saw Brittany come to a stop just in front of her. Brittany opened her mouth to say something and Santana felt the tears suddenly well in her eyes until she could hardly see.

"I'm sorry," she managed before she threw her arms around Brittany's neck, hiding her face in the collar of Brittany's jacket. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobbed, shaking as she cried.

Brittany wrapped her arms tightly around Santana's back, holding her as she swayed slightly. "Shhh," she murmured, "Shhh, it's okay. You're okay." There wasn't much else she could say at the moment. Brittany turned her face to nudge her nose against Santana's temple and press a kiss there. She didn't try to stop Santana from crying. She just rocked slowly and held her close.

There wasn't anything to say.


	3. Just Hold Onto Me

Brittany unlocked the door to her apartment and walked through, setting her bag down and moving out of the way so that Santana could come through with her own bag. She was more grateful than ever that this year's Nationals was being held in Boston so that they could go back to her place, with all of its soothing familiarity. A dinner-and-movie night at some hotel in some foreign city wouldn't be quite the same and probably wouldn't do as much to repair Santana's spirits. "You go take a shower, honey. I'll start dinner," Brittany murmured, taking Santana's bag so she could hang her coat on the hooks by the door.

"Don't you want to shower, Britt? You should get to shower first in your house." Santana tugged on the zipper of her coat before pulling it down and sliding the puffy, black sleeves down her arms. She busied herself with hanging the coat on one of Brittany's hooks, letting the backs of her hands brush against the jackets on either side of this hook. One was an impressive and slick tan trench coat, the other a blue and dayglow pink windbreaker. Brittany watched Santana smile softly at her taste. Finally, Santana looked at Brittany and blushed, undoubtedly at the soft, deep look in Brittany's eyes.

"No, I showered after the medal ceremony," Brittany finally admitted, her grin a little too wide for what she was saying. She loved seeing Santana's soft blushes. "You go ahead. Take your time."

Brittany reached out to rest her hand on Santana's arm for a minute before picking up both bags and heading into her bedroom in the back of the apartment. She knelt down by the back corner of her room. In her old room in her parents' house, this back corner used to be the one where she did all of her stretches and exercises. Having her own apartment allowed her to use the living room for that stuff and leave a corner of her bedroom for storing skates, bags, costumes, and other things that accumulated, like spare laces, guards, and gloves.

Brittany tugged the zippers open on both of their bags and took their skates out, lining them up along the wall to make sure they dried out completely and properly. She pulled their dresses out of the main parts of their bags, unzipping the garment bags. Brittany had a rack standing in the corner, half filled with old costumes. A few garment bags just like these hung on the far end and she added their two to the mix. Santana's were labeled with her name, so Brittany knew it was no problem to put them all together. She also hung up their costumes. Brittany knew that there was no plan to change the costumes for her and Mike's free skate, even if they did make it to the Olympics, so she needed to keep her costume in good condition.

For a moment, Brittany stopped and listened. She could hear the sounds of Santana rummaging around the bathroom over the soft sound of the spray of the water. It was easy to picture her, pulling out the pins that had held her hair up for the competition and dragging a brush through her long, dark hair, wincing as it tugged over snarls until it was one sheet of shiny, blue-black perfection. Finally, Brittany heard the shower curtain slide into place. She knew that Santana would be in the shower for a while, letting her body warm and her muscles relax under the flow of hot water.

Carefully, she opened the center part of her bag again. From a pocket along the side, she drew out the silver medal that she had won earlier that day. Her flowers and trophy had gone home with her mother, but Brittany had kept the medal, to add to her collection. Or, really, to take its place front and center of her collection.

Brittany traced her fingers over the lettering and turned it over in her hand. It was hard to believe that she had been feeling so amazing only a few hours ago. There was still a lot to feel good about. She had done better in this competition that she ever had before. With Mike, she had set some personal best scores. And, though there was no guarantee, Brittany knew there was a very good possibility that she could be on a plane to Sochi in just a few weeks. At this moment, she should be bouncing off the walls or baking a cake or running around the block in her underwear or something.

But it was hard to be so excited when she could still feel the way that Santana's whole body had shook in her arms as Santana cried about her loss. It was hard to revel in her own victory when her best friend was so convinced that her worth was tied to the numbers that flashed on the screen after each competition. It was hard to be happy knowing that happiness could hurt one of the most important people in her life.

Brittany brought the medal close to her face, examining the letters once more as she remembered, ghostly and dream-like, how it had felt to fly around the ice with Mike, to have all those people screaming for her, willing her to win or do well, to stand on the podium with a silver medal around her neck. Slowly, she brought her lips up to press a soft kiss against the cold surface. Then, Brittany rose and hung the medal on the middle hook that hung in a row above her rack of dresses. There would be plenty of time to celebrate. For now, she wanted to take care of Santana, and the best way to do that was comfort food for dinner and brainless movie with cuddling. Brittany could start her training diet tomorrow when she'd know if she'd need it or not.

In the kitchen, Brittany pulled a pot out and filled it with water. She only lifted the tap a small amount and watched as the water splashed and the swirled around the metal surface. She knew that the water in her apartment could be kind of fickle sometimes and she didn't want to cut the pressure to Santana's shower. Another minute or two spent filling the pot was worth it to Brittany to know that Santana would be able to take the most relaxing shower possible.

As soon as there was enough water in the pot, Brittany placed it on the stove and turned it on, reaching for the salt shaker to add a few dashes to the water. While the water started to warm, she went to find the box of spaghetti that was always in the cupboard. With a little laugh to herself, Brittany remembered the first time that she and Santana had made spaghetti together.

They had been fourteen and fifteen, long with lanky legs, working long hours at the rink to maintain their skills as they went through growth spurts that threatened to rob them of their double axels. Santana had been at Brittany's house for the weekend while her parents were away at a conference. Brittany's little sister, Ashley, had a soccer tournament. Ordinarily, it would have been something that they would have all gone to together, Santana included, blue ribbons in her and Brittany's hair as they cheered on Ashley's team, scurrying around the field to follow the ball as it rolled through the grass. But Santana and Brittany had a project due for the abbreviated school they attended with a few other skaters from the rink. The smaller classes and direct attention allowed them to spend less time on school and more on the ice, while keeping at the same pace as the other students in the high schools around them.

Brittany and Santana had been left alone before, often with strict instructions on the things they were allowed to use to make themselves food.

(The microwave was okayed because Brittany had finally stopped 'experimenting' with different metals, but the blender was now off limits since Brittany had tried to make a milkshake even though Lord Tubbington had hidden the lid).

However, this time, Brittany's mom had hurried out the door, still trying to tug Ashley's baby-fine blonde hair into a ponytail while Ashley winced and yelped in exaggerated pain, shouting over her shoulder that there was a frozen pizza in the freezer if they needed it. Brittany and Santana had taken this permission to use the oven as an invitation to use the stove as well and decided that spaghetti would be a much better lunch. Brittany had started the pasta while Santana laid out their supplies. It didn't take long before they were deep into a discussion about color schemes and layouts.

When the smoke alarm reminded them of their spaghetti, it was already burned completely to the bottom of the pot.

They had gotten much better at cooking since then, especially since Brittany's mother had decided it was time to teach them how to cook properly, which helped Brittany add background knowledge to her cooking experiments that turned them from disastrous to delicious. Spaghetti had become one of those comfort foods for them, though, and even though Brittany tweaked the sauce, it remained much as it would have been on that first day.

It was the first meal that they had shared at Brittany's apartment, giggling giddily over their plates, trying to get used to the idea that they were on their own for the night, and in their own space to boot, with no chance for interruption and complete freedom to have things the way they liked. (Brittany liked when she licked the sauce from the corner of Santana's mouth later that night.)

It was easy comfort food for them both. Brittany thought it would be a good thing for after the day that they had had.

Brittany paused for a moment with her hand on the handle of the fridge. She could still hear the water running and Brittany bit her lip. She could picture Santana, standing under the wave of water with her forehead resting against the wall, letting the hot water pound the back of her neck and her shoulders at the highest pressure. Brittany wished that she could go back somehow and change what had happened that night. Maybe if she could have talked to Santana again before she went on the ice and just remind her of all of the ways that she was so awesome, things could have turned out differently.

It made Brittany's heart ache how Santana just couldn't see herself. She seemed to have some sort of astigmatism, blurring the beautiful, talented parts of herself and throwing the faults and mistakes into sharp relief. All Brittany wanted to do was to take care of Santana, to coax her into believing that she was worthy of all of the good things that she was given, to show her that mistakes were just a tree branch in the middle of a path to a stunning view, and to let her know that the darker parts of herself didn't make her a dark person.

She just wasn't sure how to do that yet.

But she'd try as long as Santana would let her, and if that meant spaghetti and movies and letting things wait in silence for a little bit, then Brittany would boil the water and turn on the tv and leave things unsaid for just a while longer.

Brittany pulled a jar of her homemade sauce out of the fridge and dumped some of it into a second, smaller pot to begin to warm, wanting things to be prepared for Santana.

Whenever she was ready.

* * *

><p>Santana sighed and tipped her head up again to let the hot water flow over her face. She pretended that she could feel the make up flow off her skin, leaving no trace of the evening behind. The hot water burned for a few moments, but Santana stubbornly kept herself under the flow, letting her skin turn rosy under its tan color, until the water didn't hurt anymore. Until she got used to it.<p>

Things had gone badly today. There really wasn't any other way to put it. Santana was supposed to be on the podium. Pewter was supposed to be the very lowest place that she achieved. And now she found herself coming home empty handed, not even close enough to the podium to be considered as an alternate. Seventh place, to some, was an accomplishment. It was better than thousands of other skaters in that competition. But it was far from the top. She wouldn't even make it to Four Continents with that kind of score, let alone any other international competition. If she was hoping to move up, that wouldn't happen.

If she was hoping to earn the respect of the spectators, that probably wouldn't happen either. No one cheered on someone who fell as many times as she had.

Not even her family could be proud of that.

Santana brushed at her eyes, ignoring any spare drops of moisture that weren't from the shower. She turned so she was no longer facing the water, letting it go to work on the cold, tense muscles of her shoulders while she let her fingers play over the bottles of soaps and shampoos and so on that were laid out there. They were mostly Brittany's brands and Santana looked over each of them, knowing the smell without touching the caps. One small bottle sat behind the others and Santana let her fingers trace over it. The matte white plastic didn't look like anything special, and really, it wasn't.

Santana always liked to wash her hair with this particular shampoo after she had a competition. It was good for her hair, smelled nice, and seemed to get all of the hair spray and snarls that came from having her hair so firmly tied up out in an instant. When Brittany had gotten the apartment, she and Santana had gone to get all of the things that Brittany would need to live on her own.

A lot of them had been things she had brought from her parents' house, like the couch that had been downstairs in the basement, where Santana and Brittany hung out in the summer in their off time to try to keep cool as they watched reality shows on Brittany's dad's work iPad. The things that they bought together were the little things that Brittany didn't realize that she needed until she reached for them during her first week in her apartment. Dryer sheets, envelopes, a strainer, and dish soap were some of the things they had loaded the cart up with. But Brittany had also found a little bottle of Santana's after-skating shampoo. Santana could still picture Brittany's smile as she proudly dropped it into the cart.

Santana hadn't stopped blushing or smiling for the rest of the section.

But that was just Brittany, wasn't it? Santana popped the top open on the bottle with a little too much force, taking a chip out of her red nail polish. She looked down at the ruined color for a moment before shaking her head and squirting some of the shampoo into her palm. Brittany was kind all the time, to the people who deserved it. She brought Mike his favorite tea when they had an early practice, without him even telling her what it was, and she made sure everyone knew to sing happy birthday to Shelby on the right day, even if Shelby hadn't really told anyone that it was her birthday. Brittany was thoughtful and perfect and the only reason that she had Santana's shampoo was probably because they were best friends.

They had been best friends for a long time, ever since that day fifteen years ago when Santana, scared of failure, clinging on to the edge of the rink, had met a beautiful, confident Brittany who took her hand and led her out onto the ice. That was just the way that Brittany was. She could be sharp and catty, but only with the people that deserved it, like dumb reporters and the snide skaters who made comments under their breath. Which made Santana think that she was even more perfect really. Somehow, Brittany managed to only snark at people who truly deserved it.

Santana, on the other hand, was a bitch. That was common knowledge. She couldn't control it when she got angry, and anyone who was near her got stung by her venom. Will walked out of practice or kicked her off the ice at least once a month. Santana's dad didn't ask about practice anymore if he heard the door slam shut. Puck had left probably because Santana couldn't seem to keep her mouth shut around whatever shitty, barbed comment popped into her head.

Even Brittany got stung every now and again.

It gave Santana a sick feeling in her gut, like lemonade on top of a stomachache, just thinking of the times that she had used vicious words to stab out at Brittany. None of them were deserved. Santana was just a bitch and sometimes she couldn't keep herself under control, even around the best person in the world.

Even if it was possible that Brittany would-if she could be so lucky that Brittany would feel—

None of that really mattered, because Brittany was the most awesome woman in the world. She deserved a guy (or girl — Brittany was so brave, it wouldn't matter) on her arm that could be just as awesome as she was. Someone who had the same kindness in her heart and interesting spark in her brain. Someone who could achieve something and be sweet to Brittany and kiss her in the open. Someone who didn't choke under pressure, professional or personal. Someone who was brave and... awesome. Just the way that Brittany was.

And Santana wasn't that person.

Santana tipped her head back, letting the warm water flow over her hair, rinsing the shampoo out.

If only everything else faded away so easily.

* * *

><p>When Santana's fingers began to wrinkle and she could no longer feel the chill of the ice rink anywhere in her body, she turned the water off and stepped out onto Brittany's purple bath mat. For a moment, Santana just stared at herself in the foggy surface of Brittany's mirror, her features blurred until they were unrecognizable. All she could see was vague shapes of dark hair and tan skin. Santana wondered for a moment what she would be in a different life, one where she didn't skate six or seven days a week and went to high school or college like any other kid her age. Would she still be so disappointing? So close and so far at the same time? Would she still be the kind of screwed-up coward who kissed her best friend in the dark and fell on the most important triple flip of her life?<p>

Santana turned away and reached for a towel. She didn't know the answer to that any more clearly than her reflection in the steamed mirror, but she suspected she'd probably be the same kind of disappointment in every life.

Before any tears could well up in her eyes, again, Santana flipped her hair upside down and wrapped the towel around it, squeezing out as much water as possible. The vigorous motion blocked out the sound around her and gave her a moment of white noise peace. By the time her hair was dry enough, Santana was under control again. She wrapped the towel around her body and opened the door.

A quick glance around Brittany's bedroom proved it was empty. Santana lingered at the door for a moment, her finger on the light switch, listening. She heard the hollow clang of Brittany moving pots around the stove top and whistling what sounded like Vivaldi's Spring.

Santana pictured Brittany for a moment, spattering sauce as she absentmindedly conducted with the spoon between stirs, the graceful way she leaned to scoop the drips off the counter with her thumb, before popping it into her mouth, and resuming the concerto where she left off. A small smile spread across Santana's mouth as she finally flicked the light off and walked out of Brittany's bathroom.

Just as it had been when Brittany lived with her parents, Santana's clothes were in the left side of the second drawer of Brittany's dresser. They had just kept things at each other's houses since they were nine or ten. It was so much easier than trying to remember what to pack, and it made having one parent or the other make the drives to and from the rink easier when they needed. Brittany's clothes were still in the right side of Santana's second drawer, even though she came to the Lopez house a lot less now that she had her own apartment fifteen minutes from the rink.

The clothes inside the drawer were mostly just clothes for lounging around and sleeping: old t-shirts, sweatpants with little holes worn in them, and loose shorts. They frequently got mixed in with Brittany's anyway, meaning that sometimes Brittany pulled on a pair of sweatpants that left several inches of leg exposed and Santana sometimes had to roll the waistband down four or five times before she could walk without tripping. They had so many of the same t-shirts from competitions and shows that it didn't even matter anymore whose was whose.

Sometimes the ones that had names on the back would reveal that they were wearing the wrong shirt, but Santana got a secret, jumbly, butterfly feeling low in her belly whenever she wore one that had the star next to Brittany Pierce, so she never corrected it. It felt right to have Brittany's name on her like that, Brittany's star.

Santana pulled on a pair of cotton panties and a loose pair of black sweatpants. She paused to roll the waistband down, shortening the legs enough for her toes to finally peek out from under the end of the legs. A purple shirt was on the top of her stack. Santana pulled it on and glanced down to see that it was from the Ice Chips 2009 show. She and Puck had done a number with Brittany and Mike and a few other pairs teams that year.

It was obvious that Santana wouldn't be where she was if she was still a partner with Puck. He didn't have the talent or the drive to make it to the senior level. But she wondered where she might have been if she had a partner like Mike or like —

A crash and a curse came from the kitchen and Santana tossed her towel into the hamper and hurried out to make sure that Brittany was okay, her long dark hair dripping down her back.

Santana came in to see Brittany shaking her hand, the colander full of spaghetti steaming in the sink. Nothing seemed to be broken, despite the heavy thud in Santana's chest, but still she looked around and then asked, her voice careful and controlled, "Everything alright, Britt?"

Brittany looked over her shoulder, without even a flicker of surprise at Santana's sudden voice in the long lines of her limbs. "Yeah, I just poured the pasta out too fast." She mimicked a splash with her hands and shrugged.

"Okay," Santana said, going to the cabinet and pulling out two glasses. "As long as you're okay," she added, as she filled them with water from a pitcher in the fridge. Brittany watched her, with a smile. Only a few days ago, Santana had been the one to make that pitcher, concentrating so hard on getting the right ratio of mint leaves and raspberries for the recipe on her phone that she didn't even notice Brittany sneaking raspberries from her pile for the first few times.

"I am," Brittany said after a beat too long. Santana looked up, her heart beating a little quick again, but Brittany turned back to the pasta, scooping it onto two plates and ladling sauce over it. Santana wondered if Brittany's pink ears were just from cooking over the hot stove. That was probably all it was.

Santana brought their glasses to the little table in the corner of Brittany's kitchen, pausing to gather the mail tossed on it into a neat pile. She had bought Brittany a little basket that went on the wall for her to put important mail in, but it still ended up being tossed on the table every day after Brittany came home from practice. Santana tucked it into the basket hanging over the table and turned to sit. She stopped when she saw Brittany looking at her, frozen with two plates of spaghetti. "What?" Santana asked, her voice soft and warm, the hint of a grin on her face despite herself.

Brittany blinked, shaking the odd look from her blue eyes. "Uh, nothing," she said. "Can you get forks?" Santana nodded and moved to get the forks out of the drawer — a short one for Santana, but a long one for Brittany who liked to see how much she could twirl onto the tines. She couldn't help but notice that Brittany's ears were still pink.

The plates made a muted clang against the table as Brittany set them down. The scrape of the chair legs as they sat and pulled themselves in was particularly loud. It was the first time since the end of the competition that they really had a moment for conversation.

After Santana had calmed down back in the hallway, she had to go see her parents and her abuela, putting on a brave face before letting them know she'd be going with Brittany. Brittany's family waved as they left, wisely keeping their distance. There was a lot of hustle as Santana changed and gathered up her stuff amid a lot of other skaters and coaches and spectators and who knew who else doing the same exact thing. Then, Brittany had led the way to Santana's car and driven them the fifteen minutes home. Santana's phone had buzzed again and again in the center console, but after the first few texts and notifications, she had just let it go and Brittany had turned up the music to drown out the sound of it clattering around with spare change and straw wrappers. Then, there had been Santana's shower and making dinner. And now they were faced with plates of food and silence.

Santana's stomach turned at the thought of talking about it right now. She still felt her heart sink and her eyes cloud every time she thought of how badly she had messed up, how she had let everyone down. Her mind was still supplying the names and faces of all the people who had expected better for her. Her fork trembled in her hand, jittering with a high, nervous sound against the edge of her plate. Brittany looked up suddenly, her eyes clear and so blue. She looked at Santana's fork and then her face and Santana could feel her heart drop as she watched Brittany's mouth open.

"Did you know that dolphins are just gay sharks?" Brittany said, in a rush, her voice sliding up almost breathlessly at the end.

Santana stared at Brittany for a moment, trying to figure out what she had said. She had expected a comment about the competition, a rehashing of what had happened, a play by play of why things were okay (even though they weren't). In staring, Santana's eyes found the quirk hiding in the corner of Brittany's mouth again. Her eyes were still so bright and focused and the muscles above her eyes were tight, but the tease was back in her mouth and voice. Santana's shoulders relaxed.

"They are?" she asked, scooping up a little bit of spaghetti, the barest hint of a dimple in her cheek.

"Yep," Brittany said, her lips making a little pop. She took a bite of spaghetti and washed it down with some of her water, her eyes never leaving Santana's face the whole time. Santana felt her cheeks flush and she looked down at her spaghetti and then back at Brittany. "Polar bears are left handed," Brittany added.

"Really?" Santana said, studying Brittany's face to see if she was still kidding or not. She couldn't find the smirk anywhere, though Brittany was definitely smiling.

"Scientists aren't really sure. Maybe left pawed," Brittany conceded with a shrug. Santana bit her lip to keep from laughing. "But they do have black skin."

"Okay, smarty pants," Santana said, picking up her water glass to take a sip. "Tell me what else you know."

* * *

><p>Still laughing from Brittany's last fact that she had managed to dig up from some place, Santana pushed herself upright and stacked her plate on top of Brittany's, gathering their silverware and glasses. "Okay, go pick something out to watch," she said, shaking her head, her cheeks aching a little.<p>

"Are you sure you don't want —," Brittany started, indicating the dishes. "I mean, you can totally, like, pick out whatever you want."

"Britt," Santana interrupted, with a quick head shake. "I'm not a guest and I'm not—" She looked down at the plates and cleared her throat. "You should pick out the movie. You did great today. Pick out your favorite. It'll only take me a minute to clean these." Santana pushed a smile onto her face and started for the sink before Brittany could argue. It took a moment, but soon she heard footsteps heading into the living room and the rustle of Brittany opening up her DVD case.

Santana was acutely aware that Brittany probably could have been out celebrating tonight. She would have to be at the rink to warm up and practice for the gala and Santana was pretty sure that she'd have to go to the press conference at noon the next day, but that didn't mean that Brittany didn't have time to go out for a good time with her parents or Mike or some of the other skaters or any of the hundreds of people who would love to hang out with Brittany on a given night. There were probably a few parties going on in various hotels and houses in the area. But Brittany hadn't even mentioned wanting to go to one of those. She had just brought Santana back here and taken care of her.

Sometimes, it was things like that that made Santana wonder... but she knew that she would do the same thing for Brittany. No matter what they were. Even if Brittany didn't give her this feeling all through her chest and stomach and head and heart and fingertips and toes. It felt like the hang time at the top of her best triple toe. It felt like a split jump perfectly timed to the music. It felt like falling and not being afraid of it. It felt like—

The clang of the pot in the sink kept Santana from thinking that last dangerous word and she flicked the water on and began to fill up the sink with hot, soapy water. It was probably a little too hot honestly, but Santana didn't care. It would keep her mind from running away again.

There was no doubt that Brittany had brought Santana back to her apartment tonight because she was such a train wreck. Brittany didn't need someone sobbing to her about how much she had screwed up that evening, even if that someone was a person that Brittany had known since she was little. But Brittany didn't complain about stuff like that. She brought Santana home and made her spaghetti and tried to let her pick the movie without even so much as a mention of the fact that there probably should be at least a few cupcakes or glasses of champagne or something.

Brittany was too good for Santana. Brittany was too good for everyone.

The soap had formed a nice foam on top of the water, so Santana shut the flow off and submerged the glasses and the plates underneath the water. Then she slid her hands in, letting out a low hiss at the heat. She ignored it though. Honestly, if Brittany could take her home and make her dinner after she had messed up so badly, Santana could stand a little hot water to wash the dishes.

Brittany had been so effervescent and bright during dinner, coming up with animal facts — real and cleverly invented — to keep Santana smiling and distracted. It had been a welcome reprieve. But now, alone with her thoughts, Santana couldn't help but go back to earlier that night. She hadn't been able to see the way that people had reacted to her falls or her scores, but she could picture them in her mind and they left a hot, heavy feeling in the pit of Santana's stomach. Will, she knew, was furious with her and she was definitely going to get it in the next practice. He would come in blazing and run through each and every moment that she had messed up, picking apart the routine into the minutiae. Each incorrect hand placement, each half hearted facial expression, not to mention the falls... It would take a long time.

Santana blinked back the sudden prick of tears in her eyes and swallowed hard.

She couldn't imagine what her mother and father must have been thinking after all of the time and money they had spent getting Santana to where she had been. It had to be so disappointing for them to give her the opportunity to really do well and for her to blow it up in their faces. She couldn't imagine how heartbroken her parents must be at this moment, even if they wouldn't say it to her face.

What was next, after all? Brittany would go off to Sochi in a few weeks and Santana would stay behind in Boston, drilling endlessly with Will and trying to find some small-time clubs that were looking for the kind of guest star that almost did something successful but choked and blew it at the last moment, just so that she had something to do besides be with Will and drive herself crazy over the next few months. And it wouldn't hurt to get a little money, considering she doubted that there would be any sponsors who wanted to associate their products with someone like her.

A drop rolled off Santana's nose splashed in the soapy water, startling her slightly in her thoughts. She hadn't realized that she had started crying, but now that she did, Santana found it difficult to stop. Brittany had already been too nice to her and Santana didn't want her to think that she hadn't appreciated the dinner and the animal facts and everything else Brittany had done so far. Though the dishes blurred in the sink, Santana resumed washing, purposefully clinking the glasses together and splashing the water to cover any sounds she made crying.

For a few moments, as her hands worked automatically, swirling soapy water around the dishes with the dish cloth, rinsing them, and placing them on the towel, Santana let herself be swallowed into the deep sadness and regret that still clung to her. She wanted to have done better. She wanted to be good at skating.

Skating was all she did and to fall so short... She didn't have friends — besides Brittany, who was so perfect that she almost didn't count, she didn't have school, she didn't have other skills or hobbies or things to fall back on. Santana had skating. And she had failed at it.

And sure, there might be next season or the next competition or who knew what else. But if she kept choking and underperforming, that would be the skater that she would be. People would see her as a failure. And then she would get to the point where either her spirit couldn't take the failure all the time or her body would give out and then she would have nothing. No reputation to fall back on, no secondary plan, no accomplishment.

Santana swiped at her cheeks, leaving a streak of soap across her nose. Her face felt hot and tight in a way that couldn't be blamed at all on the steam still rising off the soapy, scummy water. Santana pulled the stopper from the drain and got a towel out of the drawer to press against her eyes. She breathed deeply for a moment, as the water swirled out of sight, until her face was dry and her breathing was under control.

Her face still felt stiff and overheated, but at least it was dry. Hopefully, Brittany would just think that her cheeks and nose and eyes were pink from the steam. Or wouldn't mention it. Santana still didn't know if she could really talk about it. The shame of the evening still coated her body and even her very best friend couldn't help her with that yet.

"Dishes are done," Santana said, her voice falsely cheerful even to her own ear. To keep Brittany from commenting on her appearance or the sound of her voice or anything else that Santana didn't know how to discuss yet, she turned towards the screen to see what movie Brittany had picked. Bright music played softly from the tv where Santana could see the painted menu for _Shall We Dance_ lit up. Santana's face relaxed, and a weak smile flitted across her mouth.

Though the movies were produced far before Santana was born, Santana's abuela on her mother's side had loved watching Fred Astaire when she was a child. They had been some of the first movies that she had seen and, as a young girl, she had studied the Mid-Atlantic Accent used by the women like Ginger Rogers in the films of the time to help her speak English more clearly.

Santana's abuela had passed the love for these movies on to her daughter, who had purchased a box set of DVDs to replace the VHS tapes she had that were worn. Santana and Brittany had stumbled upon the box one day, not long before their move to Boston. Santana's parents had been away until late and they had spent the whole afternoon and evening watching the movies and trying to copy the dance movies and accents of the characters, finding both harder than they looked.

Now, it was one of their classics, movies that they could watch again and again without needing too much focus or brainpower, which was certainly in short supply after a day like they had had. Exciting or devastating, both were exhausting.

"Good choice," Santana said, coming to sit beside Brittany. She tucked her legs up beside her and leaned over to rest her hand on her head, her elbow on the arm of the couch. Only her bare toes were close enough to touch Brittany, brushing ever so slightly against her leg. She kept her eyes focused on the screen and didn't look around.

* * *

><p>Brittany smiled at Santana as she reached for the remote, glad that she managed to find a movie that could maybe make this a little better or easier, or at least to distract Santana for a few hours and get her calm and tired enough to actually sleep tonight. The movie started with the RKO logo beeping before fading into a black and white screen of a ballerina spinning around. Brittany skipped past the credits and turned the movie up before tossing the remote to the side and relaxing back.<p>

The movie was familiar, so she didn't mind at all watching it out of the corner of her eye while most of her attention was focused on Santana. At first, all of her limbs were stiff and unnaturally still, like she was carved or sculpted or something, instead of a real person. As the story went on and the zany mishaps started to happen between Astaire and Rogers' characters, Brittany watched the stiffness start to melt out of Santana. Her lines became rounded, her breathing deep and steady, the hand resting on her legs loose and limp.

Brittany knew that she needed to wait until the right moment. Like the way her dad had taught her to feed birds out of her hand in the backyard. If she tried to charge up to the bird, even with the seeds the bird wanted held in front of its face, the bird would startle and fly away. Even worse, it would be twice as hard to get that bird to come back again. Brittany would have to sit still and wait with birdseed in her hand until the little brown bird with its dark, quick eyes came to her first.

So, Brittany let her eyes focus on the screen and waited. Just as Fred Astaire's character was struggling to do a tap dance with a record that skipped, Brittany felt it. A small nudge against her thigh. Santana's foot pressing a little closer to her. Brittany carefully laid her warm hand on Santana's cold toes, keeping her eyes focused on the screen, pretending to be entirely engrossed in the dance there. She warmed Santana's toes for a moment, and then pulled her foot closer, straightening out her leg. Santana let Brittany do it, though she didn't turn her head from the screen either.

Brittany smoothed her hands over Santana's foot, the arch that she knew sometimes got sore after long practices on cold days, and the scar on her ankle that had come from Santana trying to break in new boots right before their club show six years ago. She hadn't complained to their coaches, even when she ended up with a blister so raw it bled. Brittany continued to work her way up Santana's leg until she reached her knee. With gentle fingers and firm pressure, Brittany worked her way around Santana's knee, massaging it and working out any of the aches that sometimes persisted from the fall that had kept her off the ice for a week. She hadn't seen Santana favor it at all that night, even after her falls, but Brittany wanted to help where she could.

Brittany would always help Santana, any way she could.

* * *

><p>Santana sighed and shifted her face slightly in her hand. It was hard to pay attention to the movie with the way that Brittany's hands were working over her knee. She knew that Brittany must be remembering the fall that had caused her to have some knee pain with any rough practice for the better part of a year, pain that still occasionally flared up with a fall in just the right way. It was amazing to her how well Brittany knew her. Everything that they had done together that evening, from Brittany letting her take a shower right away, to the amazing dinner and Brittany's clever wit as a dinner companion, right up to this movie and the massage that Brittany was giving her knee — every little bit of it proved how well Brittany knew her.<p>

The sudden thump of Santana's heart drowned out the sound of the movie for a moment. She wished that she could work up the courage to ask Brittany if she did all of these sweet things because they were best friends and because Brittany was basically the most kind person in the world, or did she do them because...

Santana tensed up her knee, suddenly unable to handle the tender way that Brittany's hands touched her. She didn't know what to do with the way that she felt in her stomach or her heart and when Brittany touched her, it just got more muddled and confused. Brittany's hands fluttered to a stop over her knee and Brittany looked up at Santana. The apology in her features already was like a stone in Santana's stomach. It was clear that Brittany had thought that she had hurt Santana.

Brittany never hurt Santana.

For a moment, Santana opened her mouth to ask, to finally say the things that she had held back for so long. A shout from the tv shook her confidence though and Santana suddenly found her mouth dry. "I —," she began, stuck with her mouth open and no idea what to say. "I'm going to shut off the kitchen light," she finally managed, moving her knee off Brittany's lap and climbing off the couch. In the kitchen, hidden from Brittany's view, she placed a hand on her heart and felt the thump there, a visceral thud in her body.

She was such a stupid coward. It was probably a good thing that she couldn't work up the courage to ask Brittany about her feelings. Santana didn't want to have to make Brittany deal with the fact that her best friend was such a mess she couldn't keep it all in check.

Santana swatted the light off and came back to sit on the couch, her legs down this time. She was determined to just focus on the movie and not make it weird for Brittany anymore. She couldn't help but glance out of the corner of her eye to see Brittany. The number on the screen, "Slap That Bass", was one that always made Brittany smile (though perhaps less because of the joy of the song, and more because of Brittany's fondness for switching the last word of the title with one that was similar in appearance and very different in meaning). However, Santana was startled to see that her eyes were focused somewhere just below the screen and her face was anything but happy. The sudden ache, right in the middle of her chest, at the sight of Brittany's downcast expression was so corporal that Santana couldn't help the tiny gasp that came out of her.

It wasn't fair of her to act the way that she did with Brittany. It was no fair to allow Brittany to get close, to allow the sweet, special intimacy that Brittany was so free with, and then shut it down the moment after, without explanation. She had done it again and again, with simple things like when they held hands or sat close, and things that were more confusing and hard to define, like kisses and the things that happened in the dark of night, in their bed. Every time she gave a bit of herself to Brittany, she had to run away after. Santana was a fucking coward.

Santana always hurt Brittany.

For a moment, Santana hovered, wanting to do something, anything that would make it clear that it hadn't been Brittany's fault that Santana had fled, again. It wasn't because of Brittany. The only thing that she could think of was to open her mouth, to tell Brittany the truth, but the word still stuck in her throat. So, Santana leaned over, and rested her head against Brittany's shoulder for a moment. She felt Brittany's shoulder ease under her weight. The jumbly, butterfly feeling flooded back into her stomach and Santana let herself keep going, laying herself down with her head in Brittany's lap.

A moment later, Brittany's long fingers came to work through the damp pieces of Santana's hair. Even still, Santana waited a minute longer, watching the dance number on the screen. She didn't want to be obvious. Finally, Santana worked up the courage to glance up at Brittany's face.

Even upside down, her smile was the most beautiful Santana had ever seen.

The movie played on and between Brittany's skilled fingers in her hair and the things that had happened earlier, Santana found herself not really watching the movie closely. It didn't take long for Brittany to notice. Her fingers changed from scratching softly against Santana's scalp, to caressing her hair back from her forehead. "Hey," she murmured, her voice audible over the movie because of how close together they were. "What's going on in your head?"

Santana turned slightly in Brittany's lap so she could look up at her. In the dim, shifting, blue-grey light of the movie, Brittany's skin glowed with a particularly incandescent beauty and her eyes looked so, so blue. "I'm... really proud of you," she whispered, reaching up to brush her fingers against Brittany's cheek. It was hard to tell in the dark, but she thought she might have seen a hint of a blush there.

Brittany leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Santana's forehead and then looked her in the eyes. Santana felt her heart in her chest again. "I'm proud of you, too."

Santana shook her head, glancing back towards the tv to keep tears from springing up in her eyes. "Yeah, two falls, a popped jump, low marks for expression. A big, choked mess." She shook her head again and pressed her eyes closed tightly, not sure how to look at Brittany's earnest, heartfelt expression without crying. "I let everyone down. No one should be proud of me." Despite what she tried, her voice cracked on the last sentence and a hot tear rolled down her cheek.

"No, honey, no," Brittany murmured, wiping away the tear with her thumb and cupping Santana's face. Santana opened her eyes, choking back a whimper at the heartbroken expression on Brittany's face. "An exemplary triple loop-triple toe. The most difficult triple lutz entry in the competition. The most gorgeous layback spin I've seen in my life. Neat tight edges. A skater that got back up and finished her job, even when she fell. Even when it was hard for her." Brittany's eyes glided over her face, taking each piece of her, opening her up and seeing to her soul. "I am proud of you. I am _so_ proud of you."

Santana let out a soft sob and reached up, almost desperately lunging up to press her mouth against Brittany's. She kissed feverishly, her lips moving sloppily to suck in Brittany's bottom lip, their noses bumping together. For a moment, Brittany seemed frozen and then she looped her arms behind Santana's back, pulling her closer as they kissed. Santana climbed into Brittany's lap, a leg on either side of her, Ginger Rogers warbling out songs forgotten on the screen.

Brittany buried her hands in Santana's hair, holding her close as she swiped her tongue across the seam of Santana's lips; they parted easily and Brittany and Santana gasped together at the feeling of this, of moving their mouths as two halves of a whole. Of something that almost felt like it was meant to be joined.

Santana pulled back, their lips making a soft pop as they separated. Brittany looked so good, her hair slightly disheveled, her lips pinker and her eyes darker, that Santana almost forgot what she was going to say. "Thank you," she breathed, "thank you for believing in me."

With a soft smile, Brittany smoothed back the tiny fly-aways at Santana's temples, the little wisps of hair that made it so difficult for her to achieve the perfect hair for competition days. Instead of answering, she just leaned forward again and kissed Santana.

This kiss was different than the first, slower and more deliberate. Brittany kissed Santana's top lip and then her bottom one. And then, for good measure, the corner of her mouth and her cheek, right over the deep dimple that appeared there. Santana's eyes fluttered closed and she breathed in for each one, feeling like her brain needed the extra oxygen just to process all of the wonderful firework feelings she got whenever Brittany's lips touched her.

Brittany's kisses continued to move down her jaw and neck and Santana melted under them, her skin warming like butter. "Britt..." she murmured, stroking the soft blonde hair at the nape of Brittany's neck. "BrittBritt..."

"Mhmm," Brittany hummed against the skin of her neck.

"Britt, let's go to bed," Santana said. She didn't know if this would be one of the nights that kisses went on and on until they became more; she never knew when those nights would come. Santana just knew that she wanted to feel Brittany's body against hers, in the soft, comforting quiet of Brittany's bedroom.

Brittany nudged her nose up along Santana's jaw before finally pulling away. "Okay," she said with a nod, helping Santana rise and then shutting off the movie. Santana couldn't help but watch her, even as she disappeared into an outline lit only by the street lamps shining through her curtains.

Even in outline, Brittany was the most beautiful, graceful thing Santana had seen.

It was hard to not just blurt things out like that, so Santana was grateful when Brittany found her hand, their fingers curling together as Brittany led her to the bedroom. "Gonna get my makeup off," Brittany whispered, squeezing Santana's hand before veering off into the bathroom. Light spilled from the door a moment later and Santana just watched as Brittany wet a washcloth and leaned over the sink to get close to the mirror as she wiped off what was left of her makeup. She couldn't get enough of the fluid line of Brittany's leg, arching perfectly off the floor.

Before Brittany could catch her staring, Santana went to turn on the lamp on Brittany's side of the bed, casting a warm, dim yellow glow through the whole room. She knew that they should probably plug in their phones, especially since she knew that Brittany would be getting an important text in the morning, so she went back out to the hallway and fished both cell phones out of Brittany's jacket pocket. Santana wasn't ready to turn on her phone yet, but it helped just to be able to replay the things that Brittany had said to her... It didn't erase the mistakes she had made, but it did make them easier to swallow.

Santana padded back into the room and plugged their phones into the chargers. The only thing she had left to do was brush her teeth. Santana started for the bathroom where her toothbrush was, sitting on the sink in a cup with Brittany's. They had the same toothbrushes at both houses, Brittany's blue and Santana's red so they didn't mix them up. Not that either one of them ever minded sharing if someone forgot. Brittany was just leaning over the sink to spit her toothpaste. She rinsed the toothbrush and the sink and dropped her toothbrush back into the cup with a muted clink before smiling at Santana. A drip of foamy toothpaste was still just below the pretty pink curve of Brittany's bottom lip and Santana couldn't help but giggle as she reached out to wipe it away with her thumb. Brittany shrugged but Santana could see her ears turn a little pink, so she bumped their hips together softly and slid past her to squeeze a bit of toothpaste on her toothbrush.

As Santana brushed her teeth, Brittany went into the bedroom, dragging a brush quickly through her silky blonde hair. The way that her hair shone softly in the low light of the lamp was mesmerizing to Santana. Brittany looked over as she finished and laughed. Santana flushed as she realized that she now had toothpaste on her own chin and she ducked back into the bathroom to finish out of Brittany's sight. She spat into the sink and rinsed her toothbrush and her mouth, before looking at herself in the mirror for a moment. She didn't understand how things could be so heady and charged between them when they were just friends. Maybe Brittany didn't feel it like Santana did. Or maybe she did, but it was just the way that you acted with your best friend.

It was too much to think about at this hour, so Santana dropped her toothbrush in beside Brittany's and shut off the light.

Brittany had changed in the time that she had finished. Santana breathed in sharply at the sight of Brittany's long, strong bare legs and the hint of pink, polka dot underwear peeking out from under the oversized US Figure Skating t-shirt that she had on. "All set?" Brittany asked, turning around. Santana quickly worked to wipe the expression off her face and nodded as Brittany reached for the light. Santana slipped under the covers on her side and a moment later felt the bed dip as Brittany slid in as well.

Blackout curtains kept anything but the thinnest line of light coming through the curtains, so for a moment, Santana was essentially blind. She lay on her side, listening to Brittany's breath. After a few moments, she began to make out the edge of Brittany, her golden hair radiant even with almost no light in the room. Santana knew from the rhythm of Brittany's breathing and the rise and fall of her chest that she wasn't asleep yet, so slowly, she reached her hand out until her fingers brushed against the satin softness of Brittany's skin, a stark contrast to the fuzz of her flannel sheets.

Santana stroked down the inside of Brittany's arm to her hand and slid her body closer. After a moment, Brittany's rolled towards her. Santana's eyes closed as she felt Brittany's breath ghost over her face. A quiet hum left her lips as Brittany's nose brushed against hers, their mouths so close that Santana could feel the warmth of Brittany with every breath. She tilted her face up, eagerly accepting and opening to Brittany. She followed the line of Brittany's arm until she could fist her hand on the back of Brittany's worn shirt, holding them close together.

With every moment that ticked by, Santana's heart and stomach and fingers and every inch ached for Brittany as if, even though Brittany was inches away, that was too far. Finally, Brittany's mouth nudged softly against her, their lips making a plush, sweet smack as they separated. Brittany looped her arm around Santana's waist and joined their other hands, drawing their inside arms up as they naturally rolled together, breast to breast, belly to belly, legs tangled in a knot. When they were as close at they could be, Brittany kissed Santana again, opening her mouth for the tentative swipe of Santana's tongue. Kissing Brittany was intoxicating and dizzying and clarifying and soothing all it once. It was the most rational thing that Santana didn't understand at all. Somehow, when she could taste Brittany, even under the sweet minty tang of her toothpaste, everything in Santana's world slid into place.

If she tried to tell Brittany that this felt like more to her, if this felt like something out of the books that Santana's mother had read to her as a child and the sort of movies that her parents watched on the couch late at night when Santana was supposed to be asleep, glasses of wine forgotten, if it felt like the most important and beautiful thing in her life, then there was a chance that she could lose it. It could be taken away because Brittany didn't want what she wanted or because Santana wanted something that Brittany couldn't give her or because Santana didn't know how to do any of this and especially not with the most perfect girl who ever lived.

But it didn't matter when she was kissing Brittany, in the safe dark space of her bed, so Santana just sighed into Brittany's kiss and let it disarm her, warming her into sweet, pliable softness. The presses of their lips got slower and sloppier as the events from the day, from the week, from the last few months caught up with them. Their lips smacked against each other, looser and looser, but Santana didn't want to stop. Her heart thumped, hard and slow at the same time and the last thing she noticed was the way that Brittany's beat back against hers in the same rhythm, before she finally gave in and sleep rose up to take her.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Brittany barely registered the sound of her text tone going off, mumbling disgruntledly and settling against Santana as soon as the sound stopped. She was almost completely asleep again, soothed by the slow, constant sound of Santana's breathing, when her phone began to blare Beyoncé's "Crazy In Love" and buzz against the bedside table. Brittany jolted awake immediately. Santana's plaintive groan as she tried to tug the blanket over her head made Brittany smile as she reached for the phone yawning and rubbing her eyes.<p>

The moment she saw the selfie she had taken with her coach — who didn't exactly look thrilled in the picture — everything came rushing back to Brittany and she was wide awake. "Hi, Shelby," she answered, her heart suddenly thudding her in chest. There had been a text and Brittany hadn't checked it.

"Brittany!" It only took a moment for Brittany to understand the happiness in Shelby's voice and a wide smile grew across her face as she felt Santana stir next to her and roll so her head was in Brittany's lap once more. Brittany began to brush through Santana's hair with her fingers, gentle around any knots, as Shelby continued. "Congratulations! I'm not that surprised, after how well you guys performed last night, but I am so proud!"

Brittany smiled down at Santana who was staring back up at her with sleepy eyes, dark pools of quiet, slightly confused tranquility. Brittany felt her heart flip over in her chest at Santana's beauty, so obvious and natural, even in the dim sunlight struggling through the edges of Brittany's curtains, even half asleep. A stab of pain followed as she remembered that Santana wouldn't be getting a call like this today. "Thank you," Brittany responded, her voice quiet but her smile obvious.

"Make sure you're presentable for the conference, okay? I know that you have your style and I appreciate that, but it would really help us to ease on that, just a little bit, so that we can have greater chances for sponsorship deals going in to and following this, okay?" Santana was clearly becoming aware that Brittany was on the phone with Shelby as she woke up more. She looked up at Brittany questioningly, and Brittany gave her a thumbs up. Santana grinned back and squeezed Brittany's arm.

"I will," she answered Shelby.

"I'll work out a schedule with the rink and we'll make sure to get some great practices. It'll be hard work but..." Brittany nodded even though Shelby couldn't see her. "Great job, Brittany. Really."

"Thank you," Brittany murmured again, smiling broadly in response to Santana's smile for her. It felt amazing to get this praise from her coach, but it couldn't compare to the way that Santana was smiling at her.

"I have to call Mike, still, so I'm going to go. I'll see you later, Brittany. Enjoy your morning."

Brittany said her goodbyes and hung up the phone with a swipe of her finger.

"Well?" Santana asked after a moment, sitting up, but her smile still bright.

Brittany studied her face for a moment, taking in the sweet way that her nose wrinkled and the two deep, deep dimples that were so hard to resist kissing. "I'm going to the Olympics."

"Yay!" Santana cheered bouncing in the bed a little and tackling Brittany back against the pillows with a hug. "I knew it! I so knew they couldn't pick anyone but you!"

Brittany grinned, wrapping her arms around Santana and held her close. "Don't get too excited, you know as well as I do that we're not going to win any medals over there. We're not quite at that level yet." She could feel the heat in her ears, though, and her grin didn't match her words at all.

"I know you, Brittany Susan Pierce, and I know that no matter how you place over there, that you won't be in it for the medal." Santana pointed out, rolling off Brittany to sit beside her. Brittany knew that she was right, but it was difficult to balance the sudden rush of emotion inside her, the joy from knowing she had got a spot on the Olympic Team, the sadness over what had happened to Santana, the fear of letting people down, the excitement of the opportunity. "People will be proud of you as long as you try, right?" Santana said with a shrug.

Brittany grinned. "Smart lady," she said, feeling a little bit of the tension inside of her ease. Santana certainly seemed to be okay with talking about this. She was relaxed against the headboard of the bed, her grin wide and easy. Just knowing that she wasn't hurting Santana by talking about the Olympics made it easy for Brittany to slide out of the bed and go to her closet. If Shelby wanted her to be presentable, she should probably work on picking out an outfit that was a little more conventional than her usual hedgehog of style.

* * *

><p>Santana watched Brittany start to dig through her closet, examining different clothes with a critical eye. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Brittany was probably trying to pull together an outfit for her press conference, but Santana didn't say anything because she loved Brittany's unique style. It wasn't anything she ever had the confidence to pull off herself, but Brittany just somehow made the most interesting combinations work.<p>

"It's kind of crazy to think that my best friend is going to be going to the Olympics," Santana said, picking gently at a loose thread on the top of the blue sheets. For the most part, she was surprised to find that she was fine talking about this with Brittany. She was just so proud of her that it was hard to feel jealous or envious. Especially since she knew that Brittany would make it. She had known for months, but definitely since last night.

"Yeah, I know." Brittany paused her flipping to look at Santana. "Russia is, like, so far away. And I can't imagine seeing all the skaters there. And the Olympic Village!" She turned back, examining an oversized grey sweater with a bunch of reindeer in blue, then shook her head and turned back to Santana. "People from all over are going to be there. I heard that people bring like stuff from their country, like flags and shirts and stuff and souvenirs and people trade around."

Santana couldn't describe the sudden sour feeling in her stomach, but she found herself speaking before her brain could even get a handle on what she was about to say. "Yeah, people trading sexual favors... hot, athletic men and women having international orgies all over the village." She bit her lip and tugged on the thread harder.

"Santana..." Brittany said, her voice a little sing-song and a teasing grin on her face. "Are you jealous?"

Santana startled, the thread snapping off in her fingers as she looked up at Brittany. "No! No way, I just, um, think that you should be, you know, careful." Santana stumbled through the explanation, rubbing her thumb and forefinger against the crease between her left thumb and hand. She was so stupid. Best friends didn't get jealous when their best friend had the opportunity to get laid by a bunch of amazing looking, totally in-shape, put together athletes at the tops of their sports. "Just, you know, use protection or—" Santana broke off as Brittany started to laugh. "What are you laughing about, Britt? You seriously need to make sure that you protect yourself if you're gonna do anything with anyone over there." Santana was feeling trapped and antsy in the bed. She hated the idea of Brittany being with anyone else. It made her sick to her stomach to picture someone else's hands on Brittany, someone else's mouth... but she had no claim to Brittany.

Santana pushed back the covers and started to climb out of the bed, but Brittany caught her hand and pulled her back gently so she flopped against the bed. Santana struggled half-heartedly against her grip, not wanting Brittany to see the hurt and jealousy on her face. "Hey, hey," Brittany said, rubbing Santana's arm. Just in that moment, Santana hated how easily she melted for Brittany, how quickly she gave in and just let Brittany hold her there. "I'm flattered you think that I could, like, sleep with entire Olympic delegations, but the truth is that I'm not interested." Santana looked up at Brittany, confused. "You see," Brittany continued, her voice light and breathless, her blue eyes focused on the hand that was still stroking over Santana's bicep. "There's this girl... She's kind of silly, because she didn't understand that we were on a date last night, but I like her a whole lot anyway."

Brittany's blue eyes connected with Santana's and everything finally fell into place. Brittany had been on a date with her last night... Santana's heart thumped over and over in her chest and her butterfly feeling was back. It was too good to be true, that a girl like Brittany Pierce would actually want to date someone like Santana. It was completely impossible. And yet, the way that Brittany Pierce was looking at her, with such a sweet, sincere, loving look in her gorgeous blue, blue eyes proved it was.

"A date..." was all that Santana could manage and she blinked hard to keep the tears in her eyes from spilling over.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asked, moving closer and cupping her face gently, the tight worried look back above her eyes.

Santana loved her for it.

"Yeah," she whispered. "I am." Santana gently pulled Brittany down to meet her, kissing her with all of the long, tender affection that had been unnamed to that point. Their lips slipped and pressed over each other for several long moments as their hands stroked each other's hair and arms and faces, as though the feel of each other was the only thing proving that this moment was real.

Finally, Brittany pulled away and looked down at Santana. Her lips had turned such a kissable shade of pink that Santana couldn't help but steal one more kiss. "Wear your purple blazer," she whispered, "and your dark skinny jeans. Shelby will love it, but it's not boring." Brittany grinned and hopped up to go back to the closet and find the blazer Santana was talking about. Santana slid out of bed and started for the kitchen, still smiling so wide that her cheeks almost hurt.

"Where are you going?" Brittany said behind her.

Santana turned around and her smile grew again. Her heart felt like it was overflowing, spreading warmth all over her body. "The kitchen," she answered, turning back to keep going. "You need pancakes!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> For costumes, music, and more, please visit my tumblr at sadiered dot tumblr dot com.


	4. The Other Half of You

Santana gasped for breath and bent over to lean against her knees. Her lungs burned and her legs threatened to collapse underneath her. Her thighs felt like melted rubber, wobbly and unsupportive. In the week and a half since Nationals, Will had been picking apart her performance and making her work on elements—a few days of footwork and jumps, hammering things, picking at finger positionings and exact degrees of leg-lift until Santana was doing it perfectly and holding back screams. Spin after spin, she shouted out each revolution, even when it was difficult to count them due to her speed. She spent hours emulating emotions of different songs, studying what movements meant what.

Now suddenly, Will had come into practice and had her doing double runs of her programs, performing her short or her free skate back to back with just enough time to skate back to her starting position before the music would start over. It was a test of endurance, mentally and physically, and Will was certainly putting her through her paces today. He would only give Santana long enough to suck down some water as he rushed through several corrections, talking over the program music of whoever had managed to sneak in between Santana's turns, before she was back for another two, trying to focus on the feeling of a good jump, a good spin, make the corrections shouted to her as she flew by, and spend more time skating than on her ass on the ice —no matter how good the ice would feel.

At the moment, it was difficult to keep from just dropping straight down onto the ice. Santana could see the white streaks left by scrapes and skids of blades, darkening back to the glossy greyish color of unmarked ice where the sweat dripping off her nose fell. It would feel so good to let the ice seep into her hot face and sweat-soaked body. It would feel so good to just not be moving for a minute.

After so many double runs in a row, Santana was starting to make mistakes. Her final jump combination in her free skate, the same double axel-triple toe-double toe that she had fallen on at Nationals, had morphed into a double axel-single toe-single toe. She just didn't have enough juice or power left in her legs to force herself into the other jumps. By the last free skate, her tenth, her toe dragged a little as she spun in the crouched position, too tired to keep it off the ice for the whole turn. Santana knew that her scratch spin had even been a few revolutions short, but she couldn't keep herself going any longer.

Reluctantly, Santana pushed herself over to the boards, leaning heavily against the rail. She was still panting too much to take a drink of her water, so she just cupped her hand loosely around it, letting the chilled plastic do what little it could to cool her palm. Will's face made Santana quite sure that this wasn't going to be a warm, fuzzy talk about how he was impressed at the depth of her layback and the lift of her lutz, even after running sixteen programs in the last hour and a half.

For a moment, Will just tapped on his clipboard and then he shook his head. "We're going to have to drop the double toe on the end of that combination. At least. Maybe even make it just a double axel-double toe. You just can't land it consistently enough." His decisive steady tone flabbergasted Santana. She landed that combination with ease almost every time she attempted it. Other than her meltdown at the end of her Nationals free skate, it had taken until her ninth free skate run today for her to falter on that combination, even with it being at the very end of her program. Irritation started to creep up her spine, tightening her stomach and making it easy for Santana to stand straight up as her muscles tensed.

"You said at the start of the season that I needed that to have a competitive number of points," Santana pointed out. It was honestly the first reply that her brain landed on, as there were too many other possibilities for her to pick one. She wasn't going to be competing this program again, she had seen to that. It didn't matter what jump combination was where, what mattered was her fitness and her programs for the next season. Even if she couldn't go to the Olympics, there were still a lot of competitions that she could qualify for and compete in if she could only get there.

"I did say that," Will interrupted her internal monologue before it could get too angry or morose. "But now I'm saying this. Things change, Santana, and you need to put in the work if you want to be able to perform the choreography that I give you properly."

Santana felt the hot, tight fire start up high in her belly, just below her ribs. Had Will forgotten the hundreds or thousands of hours she had devoted over the past few years, the countless sit ups and drills and work out regimes and boring diets and endless practices that she had done for him? Had he forgotten the way that she had run his footwork sequence over and over, working out kinks and hold ups and missteps and everything else, until she had a blister big enough to require a bandage from the onsite medic? The number of times that she had run that lutz, on her own, until she had it perfect and how long she had begged him to let her put it into the program? If Santana did anything at all, it was work too much. She spent almost every waking moment thinking about and working on skating. And Will thought she hadn't put in the work.

"What does it even matter?" Santana snapped, trying to keep from losing it. Even with hard, long, taxing practices and the sting of disappointment still fresh every time she stepped onto the ice, the past few weeks had been some of the best of Santana's life, and she had been finding it easier to hold onto her patience. Driving home to her room at her parents' house for some more clothes to keep at Brittany's hadn't even involved a single instance of Santana cursing at other drivers.

"Really, does it matter? I mean, it's not like I'm going to be doing these again. Nationals is over; I blew it completely, as you've said. So, why can't you let this go and just move the hell onto something else?" Compared to the endless stream of profanity laden insults streaming through her head, Santana felt like she had exercised a great deal of restraint.

Will's face darkened, and he clenched his marker a little tighter. If Santana wasn't so filled with the boiling irritation that had been building since whenever the last time that they'd had a fight, she would have slid back a little in fear. "I don't know why I bother with you sometimes. You're the most ungrateful, lazy, and difficult skater I've worked with. I try and try to mold you into someone that could live up to the potential and the investment poured into her by her parents, her coaches, and her club and again and again, you come to me with pathetic excuses about why you can't do it." Will tossed the clipboard onto the bench, startling Santana with the loud clatter. She felt the burning stare of the few other skaters and coaches scattered around the ice. "You aren't loyal to the team. If you were, you'd listen to what I'd tell you to do, and maybe you could win something for once, instead of coming close and blowing it at the last minute. Maybe you could try a little harder and actually succeed for once in your life! When you're ready to actually put the work in, Santana, instead of pouting and complaining and doing everything half-assed, you can come back. Until then, I don't want to see your face."

For a moment, Santana stared hard at Will, at the cold, flat way that he stared back. He was a wall, an immovable wall, and even if Santana threw anything that she could at him, all the evidence of the times that she had worked hard and long and on her own and kept her cool well past where anyone should be expected to, he would still be the same wall bearing down on her.

Santana grabbed her water bottle and bag and skated towards the lockers, eyes focused just above everyone's heads, her face a stone mask.

* * *

><p><em>Crack!<em> The sound of Santana's water bottle hitting the brick walls echoed through the empty locker room. She couldn't believe that Will had honestly said all of those things. How could he say that she didn't work hard? Santana had just done more double runs practically in a row than anyone else that she had spoken to in the entirety of the rink. She had never crammed so many programs into one practice session in her life. Sure, by the end, she might not have been smiling and she might have rolled her eyes once or twice, but Santana had been working so hard and trying with everything she had.

And Will didn't see it. He didn't see it at all.

Now that she was alone, the anger and pride that kept Santana's face still and her back ram-rod straight seeped out of her bones. She bent over, placing her hands on her knees, breathing hard. With an angry sob, Santana sunk to the bench, the cold cinderblock walls chilling through her sweat-soaked back.

What was the point of any of it? Why did she fight so hard if she failed anyway? Why did she try to listen to Will and do what he asked if he was going to just kick her down in the end? What was the point of even skating at all?

Gasping for air slowed Santana's tears, and she let her body go limp for a moment, tired of it all. Her limbs felt heavy and weak and she wondered if it would be such a bad thing to slump against the wall and stay forever. It would be quiet and calm and free of Will.

But other skaters would be coming in soon and Santana didn't want them to see her.

Plus the locker room didn't have Brittany.

Feeling hot and worn, Santana leaned over to unlace her skates, moving like machinery through the familiar process. Each skate was dried and stowed in her bag and she dragged herself off to the shower. It would be the best way to hide for a little bit before the long drive back to her parents' house.

* * *

><p>The hot water in the shower warmed Santana's skin and eased the ache in the small of her back. She let out a low hiss as the hot water found an ice burn that she hadn't noticed until that point. It must have happened when she slid across the ice during one of the falls in her final program of the day.<p>

It was just so stupid and irresponsible of Will to work her into the ground for no reason at all and then get pissed off when she even asked him about it. It wasn't like Santana was new to this game. She had seen what happened to skaters who over-trained. There was only so much that a body could take. One of Santana's big competitors for the Junior title a couple of years ago had had a double hip replacement before she could move into the senior level and it had killed her chance at going anywhere. She had been famous for drilling her jumps for two straight hours every day.

But it hadn't helped her jumps and it hadn't helped her.

If Santana could see that, why couldn't Will? And why couldn't Will see how hard she worked and how much of her life was centered around this rink and this sport and doing her very best every minute that she was involved with it, from her off ice training to her nutrition to keeping herself in a mentally good state to the actual ice training? Was it something to do with Will, maybe high expectations or a tendency to see only the top layer of Santana's substance?

Or was it Santana? Was the top layer all there was to see about Santana?

That was a fear that haunted Santana around every turn, and fights with her coach did nothing but confirm that there was something to worry about. Before she could start crying again, Santana squirted some shampoo into her palm and actively concentrated on scrubbing every drop of sweat out of her hair.

* * *

><p>Santana finished dragging a brush through her hair and tossed it into her bag with her sweaty clothes and the towel she had used to dry off. She would need to remember to bring back another towel and set of clothes in case she got into a situation where she needed a shower like that again, but it seemed like she probably wouldn't be back for a few days. Not if Will had anything to say about it.<p>

Before the hot, uncomfortable tension could rise up in her stomach, Santana shrugged on her puffy black coat and shouldered her bag. She didn't want to be stuck at the rink all day, running over the same shitty situation until she drove herself crazy. It was much better to head home and do something productive or see if she could figure out what Brittany was up to.

Santana pushed the door to the locker room open but only made it a few steps towards the exit when she heard laughter, light and comforting, floating over the hum of the overhead fluorescents and the refrigeration system. A soft smile spread over Santana's face. Before she could make any conscious decision, she was already climbing the stairs to the seats high up in the stands. Her legs ached with each step, letting her know that she was in need of a long, steaming hot bath later, but it was worth it to see Brittany.

Not for the first time, Santana was struck by the very different relationship that Brittany had with her coach. While Santana had spent the morning being berated and harassed over a program that she didn't even need anymore, Brittany was spending the few weeks before her Olympic debut joking with her coach and getting encouraging pep talks. She wondered how things had ended up that way.

It probably had something to do with the kind of people they were. Brittany was effervescent, on and off the ice. She worked hard with a smile on her face, sought advice to make herself better, applied it, and then went to competitions and did just as well as she did in practice. Santana just didn't have it in her to be such a great athlete, so she had fights with her coach instead of pep talks. It was unpleasant, but it made sense.

Watching Brittany on the ice did things for Santana that even the hottest shower couldn't. Brittany was gorgeous. Even from near the top of the seats, Santana could see the gentle bounce of Brittany's ponytail as she explained something to Mike and Shelby. Last night, Santana had stroked her fingers through the same luminous strands, easing tiny knots out of her hair as Brittany dozed on her lap. Down on the ice, Brittany gave a nod to something Shelby said to her and she and Mike skated out to the ice, building up speed with back crossovers, before tucking their left legs over their right and bursting up from the ice in three perfect revolutions. It was the side by side triple loop combination from the short program; Santana had seen them perform it a hundred times. The loft and neatness and synchronicity of their jumps gave Santana a hollow feeling in her stomach.

It wasn't something that she knew how to really explain. She loved watching Mike and especially Brittany do so well skating. They had really come into themselves this year and they were in the best skating shape of their lives. This was an amazing opportunity for the both of them.

But Santana was still jealous.

She was jealous of their ease with the pressure they were handed and of how well they performed. Especially in light of her day with Will, it was difficult to watch them come back to smiles and congratulations after every additional success. And it was strangely hard to watch the camaraderie that they shared on the ice. Santana hadn't talked about it since she had moved to singles skating, but it got lonely on the ice. There was no one to lean on when she lost confidence in herself, no one to fight for their best alongside her. Out on the ice, even as the only two practicing in the special session put together by the rink, Mike and Brittany were anything but alone. But Santana's disastrous partner search had proven that it wasn't something you could just find. So, skating by herself was all there was.

A sharp whistle broke Santana's introspective trance. She looked up to see the shining face of her girl, grinning up at her from the boards. Santana waved a little shyly. It was still so new that she was something more than just Brittany's best friend. Though they were keeping it to themselves, Santana still felt a warm thrill anytime that Brittany went out of her way to do something, and the smile and wink that Brittany gave her now was no different.

"Britt, stop clowning around!" Mike called from the boards on the other side of the rink where he was standing with Shelby, though he waved at Santana. Santana nodded back and looked down to catch Brittany staring up at her. Though Santana was far up in the stands, for a moment, she felt like she was standing face to face with Brittany. Her blue eyes were captivating and Santana's cheeks warmed.

Brittany glided back a few feet, not breaking the eye contact until she had to turn make her way over to her coach and partner. Santana sighed softly and tucked her knees up under her chin, a dopey smile dimpling her cheeks.

* * *

><p>Santana watched for a while longer. There was something about Brittany doing something she loved that kept her warm enough to stay in the ice rink, even with wet hair. In fact, Santana was so engrossed in Brittany, Brittany, Brittany that everything else faded away completely, from her aching legs and stiff back to her fight with Will and her disappointment a few weeks ago. There was nothing but the sounds of Brittany's blades cutting up the ice into beautiful patterns in harmony with Mike and the memories of exploring fingertips and hushed whispers last night.<p>

"Santana?"

Gentle as the voice was, Santana's heart lurched in her chest and her heel slipped off the edge of the seat, startling her further.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

Santana looked up to see Emma Schuester, the club's secretary, standing at the end of the row she was sitting in. She couldn't help but sigh. Emma was very kind, but if she was coming to talk to Santana, it had to do with something about Will and Santana didn't want to hear it at the moment. She had just managed to forget it all happened.

"Could I sit down, please?" Emma asked, stepping into the row to the chair next to Santana. Santana nodded. She didn't want to be rude, even if she wasn't particularly happy about this. Emma pulled a cloth out of the pocket of her green jacket and wiped it over the seat and back, covering each inch twice, her movements practiced and careful. She folded the cloth back up and slipped it into a plastic bag from the same pocket. Finally, she settled primly onto the edge of the seat and turned towards Santana slightly.

"Does Will want me to leave the rink now, too, so that I don't infect Britt and Mike with my poor attitude and subpar work ethic?" Santana winced internally as she heard the words come out of her mouth. Emma didn't deserve the vitriol that her husband created. Santana honestly didn't understand how the two were married in the first place, but that didn't make it okay. "Sorry," Santana murmured, rubbing her thumb over the back of her other hand.

"It's okay," Emma said. She paused for a moment and then sat even straighter in her seat. "I am not here because of Will. I received a call from the selection committee. Dottie Westerton came in fifth at Nationals and was selected as an alternate." Santana nodded. She had spent hours pouring over the score sheets of everyone in the top fifteen, looking for things they had done right where she had done wrong. "She tore a hip abductor muscle a few days ago and will not be able to go as an alternate."

Santana started to realize why Emma had come to talk to her and a smile began to spread across her face. "You mean…"

"Yes, the committee has selected you for the third alternate," Emma said, smiling back at Santana. It wasn't the gold or silver or even the bronze. It wasn't really a chance to compete in the Olympics, considering how many people would have to be benched in order for Santana to step onto the ice. But it was better than just off the scene, with no chance it all.

"Thank you," Santana said, hiding her excitement a little bit. Emma nodded and told Santana that she could expect more information in a day or two before rising and heading back up the stairs to her office on the second floor.

As soon as she was gone, Santana wiggled happily in her seat. For a moment, she felt a pang of guilt for her celebration. After all, a girl had to get seriously injured in order for her to have this opportunity. Injuries could happen any time, especially when a skater was training hard. As quickly as the guilt came, irritation chased it out. That was the reason why Will had been so hard this morning. He already knew that she had been made third alternate and he was picking at her routines in case she was sent to compete at the Olympics or at Worlds later that year. He knew and he had kept it from her, even when she began to ask why he was making her do all of this seemingly unnecessary and potentially dangerous training.

Santana couldn't see any reason why Will couldn't have told her the reason for all of this earlier. It's not like it would have hurt her to know that there was a reason why they were doing everything that they were. And, in fact, Santana was pretty sure that knowing there was an outside shot at the Olympics and an even more likely shot at Worlds would have helped her keep her cool and focus even longer this morning.

Lost in her annoyed and angry thoughts, Santana only noticed that Brittany had gotten off the ice when a shadow suddenly blocked out the rink lights. Santana looked up and an easy grin spread over her face. "Hey, pretty girl," Brittany murmured. The shy smile on Brittany's mouth, deliriously happy and pleased with herself for it, made Santana break out in another wave of warmth, like a cat in a sunbeam. Brittany made her feel all the best things.

"You looked great out there," Santana reached out and carefully stroked along Brittany's gloved pointer finger. "They should just start putting your name on the top of the podium already."

Brittany laughed and looped her finger around to catch hold of Santana's. They had decided to keep their relationship to themselves for the meantime. It was much easier and more comfortable to not have to worry about what other people were saying and thinking, especially so close to an Olympics that they both would be attending in a country that wasn't exactly known for its friendliness towards the idea.

It was hard to not kiss Brittany every time Santana wanted to. Especially now that she could.

For a moment, Santana just settled on watching the beautiful way that Brittany's eyes sparkled when she talked. Then she realized that Brittany was waiting for a reply, and she sat up a little straighter. "Sorry, what?" she asked.

Brittany chuckled softly, her finger curling around Santana's hand again. "I asked what Emma wanted. I saw her talking to you."

The smile returned to Santana's face. Somehow it was easier to forget Will with Brittany tugging softly at her fingers. "Well, Westerson from Florida? She tore a hip abductor, which means I move into the third alternate spot. It's no guarantee for any action, even at Worlds, but it's—"

"It's everything, San! That's amazing. Sad that it had to happen by injury, of course, but you totally deserve that spot, and you should definitely come over and celebrate it with me." Brittany changed her grip so she was holding Santana's hand and gave her the smile that melted her core to butter.

"Throw in a bath, and you've got a deal," Santana said, playing like there was any way that she was actually going to say no to going over to Brittany's for another night of getting to be together. "I need to soak."

"Will?" Brittany asked, rolling her eyes already. Santana nodded and let Brittany pull her off the chair and onto her feet. "Tell me about it on the way home and if he was really awful, we'll stop for a milkshake."

* * *

><p>They did get milkshakes on the way home and worked them off with a run through the park after dinner, which dissolved in a game of tag. Anonymous under the cover of darkness, Santana and Brittany celebrated every tag with kiss on the lips and only went home when they were both too cold to kiss anymore. Back at Brittany's apartment, they stripped off their running clothes, cold and wet with sweat and snow, and slid into a bath together. They painted each other's mouths with kisses, slow and sweet, deep and hot, until their bodies were the only things keeping the bath water warm.<p>

Later that evening, as Brittany drowsily combed through Santana's wet hair, nothing between them but skin, Santana realized this was what she wanted at the end of every day, good or bad.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Santana showed up for her practice. Brittany had encouraged her to go, saying that Will wouldn't camp out to make sure that she didn't come. Either he was going to be there and expect her to show up, or he wasn't and then he wouldn't know about it. Still, Santana's hands were weak with nerves as she laced up her skates, and she had to do the right one twice. Will was waiting for her at the boards, and she skated over slowly.<p>

"I have the information for you about flights and hotel," Will said, peeling a folder off his clipboard and handing it over. Santana knew that was about as much of an apology as she was going to get. As long as he didn't demand that she go on probation or leave the ice, Santana knew that things were as forgiven as they were going to get. She was just glad to move on with it. "You'll be flying out with Group B."

Will pointed out the list of names near the top of the paper on USFSA stationary. Before even finding her own name, Santana's eyes zeroed in on a name near the top of the list. _Brittany Pierce. _A dopey smile bloomed on her face and Santana bit her lip to keep from giving herself away entirely. It looked like she was flying with Brittany, Mike, Shelby, a couple of the men's singles skaters and their coaches, and an official of some sort. Will's name was absent from the list, and Santana couldn't pretend she was sad about that fact.

"I'll be in Japan with the other alternates."

Santana looked up, confused. It didn't make sense that Santana, who was at the bottom of the list of alternates, would be going on a plane with the Olympic team if all of the other alternates were on another one, especially since the final destinations were somewhere completely different.

"It was suggested to the committee that one of our pairs teams might do better if you were near by."

A fierce blush rose up in Santana's cheeks. Will pointedly ignored both her expression and the obvious reason behind it and instead ordered Santana to leave the folder on the boards and start her warm up. Feeling truly affectionate towards her coach for the first time in a long time, Santana skated out and started around the edge of the rink.

* * *

><p>Brittany settled into her seat on the airplane. It was a little cramped with her long legs, but not bad, even for what would be a ten hour flight to Moscow. The plane wasn't particularly full. It seemed like a lot of athletes had been put on the same flight, as Brittany had seen two snowboarders, a speed skater, and several hockey players walk past them. She didn't know if it was because there weren't that many flights to Russia or if the Olympic Committee had purposefully put a bunch of people onto one flight. There were other people, too; people who didn't necessarily look like athletes in Olympic shape. Brittany didn't know if they were coaches or trainers or medical personnel or other representatives, or if they had nothing to do with it at all and just were on the same flight.<p>

There were a few skaters. Several of them who trained in California had decided to sit near the back together, talking about people they knew from their rinks and comparing notes about who was going to be there from other countries and who was supposed to be willing to party a little bit. Shelby was talking with another coach in the middle row. Mike had managed to snag a whole row to himself and was laying out across the seats for the last few minutes before they took off.

And one seat over from Brittany, in their own little row of three seats, looking beautiful and nervous at the same time, was Santana. Brittany watched for a moment, how she gripped the arms of her chair and pushed herself up a little bit, checking to see who was near them, how the plane was getting ready, and to know everything that was going on. It was sweet to watch, even if it gave Brittany a little pang in her heart. She wished that she had some way to make everything smoother for Santana, so she didn't have to worry about things like the safety of a plane flying them across the ocean or the attitudes of the people around them or what people might say if Santana sat in the middle seat instead of taking advantage of their two-people-in-a-three-person-row situation by scooping up the aisle seat.

Of course, Santana had always been that way, since the first day that Brittany had spotted her, too-big jacket hanging off her tiny frame and the most fearfully determined look that Brittany had seen, clinging to the edge of the rink. She seemed to live her life in the presence of a mean dog, as though everyone and anyone might suddenly take offense to her and bite. It made it so hard for her to see the wonderful things about her and all the magic and beauty that she deserved. After all, Brittany had to tell Santana that they were dating, even after countless evenings of coming home for dinner, a movie, a bath, and making out (and sometimes even making love) in bed together.

Brittany noticed the flight attendants in the front of the plane going through the process of shutting the doors and quickly looked around. There was no one in the row in front of them and the two behind them were also empty. A snowboarder was in the row behind that, flipping through something on his lap. Mike was getting settled into the middle seat of the row next to him for take off, though she knew he would probably either watch a movie or lay back down once they were in the air. The far row of seats only had a harassed-looking older gentleman who was already pulling out a neck pillow and a bottle of what Brittany could only assume were sleeping pills. Shelby had apparently decided to sit next to the coach in the row in front of Mike, but Brittany knew that Shelby couldn't see into their row because she had to really crane her neck to check if Shelby was still there in the first place.

Santana and Brittany were about as alone as they could be on an airplane.

"Hey, pretty girl," Brittany murmured, walking her fingers across the seat between them until she could brush against Santana's leg. The muscles were tight and tense under the denim material of Santana's pants, and Brittany rubbed circles just above Santana's knee to loosen some of that up. Santana turned her head and the smile on her face, even with the nerves, made Brittany's heart bloom roses and daffodils and every other sweet flower anyone had ever known. "Nobody is around. Come sit by me."

Santana seemed to consider it for a moment, checking the rows around them as Brittany knew she would. Brittany just waited, wanting Santana to have the security that came with checking for herself. After a moment, Santana's hands went to her seatbelt and the click of the latch releasing brought a smile to Brittany's face. Santana sat into the middle seat, her body still straight with a tightness around her eyes and mouth that Brittany knew well. She scooped Santana's right hand into both of hers and began to rub, massaging along her palm and the base of her thumb.

Santana eased and Brittany smiled.

Up front, the flight attendant began her speech about safety. Being the children of professionals who frequently had conferences and nationally ranked skaters in their own rights, neither Santana or Brittany really needed to hear it. In fact, they both probably could get up and do the entire speech themselves. Brittany leaned over, tucking her nose in Santana's hair so she could murmur in her ear. "I've got a secret."

"Yeah?" Santana turned her head slightly to peek at Brittany, her eyebrow quirked a little but a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite it. She was so adorable that Brittany found it very hard to keep from kissing her right there.

"Yep," Brittany whispered, her lips popping on the p. "My secret is the best secret ever." Though she was already whispering and certain no one could hear, Brittany dropped her voice even lower. "My secret is you." Santana's prettiest smile came back and Brittany had to hold in a laugh at how perfect and beautiful her girlfriend was, like, all of the time.

If everything was perfect, Santana wouldn't be Brittany's best secret because she wouldn't be a secret at all. Santana was so spectacular that Brittany wished she could just tell everyone about how lucky she was, having the absolute best girl in the world as her girl. But things weren't perfect, for either of them. On the verge of the Olympics, in country that wasn't really friendly to that sort of thing, just really wasn't the right time to tell a bunch of people about them. Besides, Santana wasn't ready, and Brittany didn't want to rush anything.

She had tried to do that when they were younger, putting too much weight on Santana and Mike, using one to try and get the other and spooking Santana in the process. She didn't want to do anything like that ever again. Still, Brittany didn't need to let the world know. All she needed was the quiet joy that came when Santana let her head roll to the side, resting on her shoulder, as she relaxed. At that moment, Brittany felt as though it wouldn't matter at all how she did in a week or two. Santana's head on Brittany's shoulder meant more than a medal, even a gold.

* * *

><p>Once Santana relaxed about the possibility of others seeing them, the rest of the flight went easily. Their take-off was smooth, and, in no time, they were in the air. The flight attendant came by shortly with dinner for them, which turned out to be surprisingly good. When they were finished, Brittany crawled over Santana to get Mike's headphone splitter before he fell asleep again. Santana lifted the armrest between her seat and Brittany's, so they could sit close as they watched one of the many movies provided on the screens on the back of each headrest. Once the movie was over, with the lights dimmed and just about everyone already asleep around them, Santana carefully pressed one sweet kiss to the corner of Brittany's mouth, her heart thrumming in her chest as she did. It was scary because there was always the chance that someone could shift in their seat or walk by and catch sight of them, but it didn't seem right to fall asleep without it.<p>

After that, it was easy to lay her head across Brittany's lap and drift off to the feeling of lazy fingers combing through her hair.

* * *

><p>A while later, Santana woke and sat up, stretching the tightness out of her back. It was a long time to spend in such an uncomfortably cramped position. Most people around them were still sleeping, but it was clear from the light starting to peek through some of the windows as well as the clock on the screen in front of them that they were not too far from their destination. Of course, they had another short flight after that, to get them from Moscow to Sochi, but it would be a smaller airplane and everyone would pretty much be awake for that. Then they would finally be in Sochi, where all of the Olympic events were happening. Santana felt her stomach turn over at the thought of that, though she wasn't sure if it was excitement or terror.<p>

Brittany was still asleep against their window, a sweater bunched up between her head and the unforgiving plastic. Her mouth was soft and pink from sleep, and her blonde hair was sticking up a little bit. Santana couldn't help but giggle softly. If they were safe in Brittany's bedroom, she would have pressed kisses against Brittany's lips until she woke up enough to kiss back. They would probably lay in bed for a long time, kissing each other and talking about how they really should get up right now, though it wouldn't happen until at least ten more minutes of kissing mouths and gently wandering hands had passed.

A hot, sick feeling settled in Santana's stomach at the thought that she wouldn't dare to do anything like that here. She was certain that Brittany wouldn't have a problem with it. Brittany was so wonderfully good and open and sure of herself that she would probably love it. But the hassled woman from across the way was nursing a cup of coffee, and she could hear others stirring up and down the plane. A flight attendant had already walked past twice. Shelby was a row closer now and who knew what she would think — she was a person that Santana saw almost every day.

And then there was the news that she had been reading from Russia, all of the terrible things happening over there. They all promised that nothing would happen during the Olympics, but how could anyone be honestly sure?

Santana still wasn't ready to confront any of it, the looks from people she knew, the barbs in articles about her that showed up from then on, the reaction of her parents. It was all too much for Santana. And it kept her from even being able to do something simple and sweet, like kiss this girl that she had loved for as long as she could remember, on the off chance that someone might see.

Red-faced with disappointment in herself, Santana sat rigidly in her seat until she felt her hand being pulled into Brittany's lap. At some point, Brittany had woken up. Though her eyes were still bleary, she gave Santana a smile. Something inside of Santana's spine melted away, and she couldn't help but smile back. She didn't know how she had ever done anything that deserved Brittany.

* * *

><p>Breakfast filled the rest of the time between Brittany waking and their descent. Apparently, being such a large number of Olympic athletes and other assorted, related people was pretty important to the airport in Moscow, because they were lead by several uniformed airport staff directly to their next airplane.<p>

With the smaller size of this one, Mike, Brittany, and Santana all sat together in the same row of seats. Though they had been training at the same rink since they were teenagers and Santana knew Mike well, she suddenly felt shy around him, probably because of the change that had happened between Santana and Brittany since the last time they had truly spoken. Luckily, Mike and Brittany both were very easy going, funny people and, in no time, Santana was drawn into a conversation of impressions about the different coaches and skaters that populated the rink they all skated at. The time on the flight flew and soon after they were touching down in Sochi.

* * *

><p>The unloading in Sochi was not as smooth as the unloading in Moscow. Unlike on the previous flight, the passengers on this one were headed to a variety of different destinations. Some would be making their way to the Olympic Village, some to surrounding areas. Shelby found Mike, Brittany, and Santana standing together and told them that there would be a shuttle leaving in about thirty minutes from the exit near their baggage claim and that Mike and Brittany had to be on it, as it would take them to the Olympic Village.<p>

"Do you know what I'm supposed to do?" Santana asked Shelby, trying to sound like it didn't bother her in the least that she had little more than a hotel reservation to go on for where she was supposed to be. Santana hadn't wanted to ask Will those questions, especially since they were still somewhat cautious around each other in the days leading up to their respective departures.

"I think there should be a car waiting to take you to your hotel by the baggage claim, too," Shelby said, giving Santana a smile. Santana was surprised how much it actually did to relax her.

Brittany's pinky curling around hers, once Shelby had walked away, did a lot more.

* * *

><p>Santana's stomach hurt as she rode in the cab. The driver had been waiting for her with a sign that said 'Lopez, S.' on it. He looked nice and even put her bag in the car for her while she said goodbye to Brittany. It was hard to be somewhere so unfamiliar all by herself. Whenever she traveled to compete, she always at least had Will with her, if not other skaters from her rink or from Team USA, which often included Brittany. She was never really all on her own like she was at the moment.<p>

It was even worse to have to leave Brittany with such a casual goodbye. It felt like she was hurting Brittany, which was something that she never wanted to do. But Santana didn't see much of a way around it. They shared a long hug and Brittany had whispered some beautiful things in her ear before they finally parted. The driver's "Готовы? We go?" had just made things worse and Santana found that she could do little more than nod.

And now Santana's stomach ached worse than it had the time that she had tried to cook scrambled eggs for herself and had accidentally used both eggs and milk that were expired. The ride was not very long, even with the grey backdrop of the overcast day, and Santana was soon at her hotel. The driver helped her with her bag again, and she paid him the fare from the money that she had changed before she had left. Check-in was a blur, with the manager at the front desk doing most of the talking and before Santana knew it, she was sitting by herself in a tiny hotel room.

A buzzing in her pocket cut through Santana's melancholy. She pulled out her phone to see a text from Brittany. _rooming with THAT ice dancer. already said she was sorry because we didn't have to do anything harder in pairs than triples. going to finnstep on her face. miss you xxxoxxoo 3_

Santana giggled and flopped back on her bed. Being so far from Brittany kind of sucked, but being farther would have sucked more.

* * *

><p>Santana checked her phone one more time and then entered the restaurant, confident that it was the one that Brittany and Mike had decided to eat at for the night. They had all been in Sochi for a few days now and Santana was starting to settle into something of a routine. It was lonelier than she had expected. Only athletes who were actually competing were allowed to use the facilities in the Olympic complex, so Santana had been being bussed to a rink almost thirty minutes away to keep herself in proper shape. She wasn't under any sort of delusion that she would be stepping on the Olympic ice, and neither was the governing board, considering they had only booked her a light schedule. Brittany had a lot more hours to train, so Santana had resorted to binge watching <em>One Tree Hill<em> in her room.

Santana hadn't been completely alone, of course. Brittany had come over to her hotel a couple of times and they had watched some movies. The day before, after Brittany had come in cold and a little sore from a long practice with Shelby and Mike, and they had taken a bath together. The tub was a tight fit. It would have been a little close for Brittany's long legs if she was in there by herself, but Santana didn't really care how tightly packed they were. All she wanted was to feel Brittany against her. Santana had rubbed her hands and a wash cloth over every sore part of Brittany's body, trying to bring her muscles the same kind of relief that Santana's heart felt whenever Brittany was near.

Still there had been a lot of time for Santana to be by herself, which was why she was so glad to be having dinner with Brittany and Mike. Shelby had been particularly strict over the past few days, checking to make sure that her skaters were in bed early and eating well, but even she had given them permission for a dinner out, knowing that the worst thing for them would be giving them too much time to dwell and too many restrictions before their event.

"Santana!" Recognizing the voice instantly, Santana grinned and spotted Brittany's head popping up from a booth. Her blonde hair was such a familiar shade to Santana.

Santana hurried over to the table and slid in beside Brittany, giving her hand a squeeze under the table and greeting Mike. Santana unzipped her coat and shrugged it off her shoulders. It was much warmer in Sochi than she had imagined. When Russia was mentioned, Santana always thought of thick snowfall and men in long fur coats and hats to keep warm. It seemed, though, that Sochi was in a slightly different climate. It reminded her of Massachusetts in late-March — chill and grey, half-melted snowbanks crusted with dirt and salt, but a hint of wet warmth in the air that signaled it wouldn't be around for much longer.

"How was practice?" Mike asked, resting the menu he had been looking at down on the table.

"Alright," Santana answered, with a small smile. "It's all Russian, though, pretty much, so it feels a little weird." Santana completely understood why she was hearing so little English, but that it didn't make it less jarring to her system when someone shouted, "Следите!" for the third time, prompting Santana to have to dodge out of the way. "Did you guys have your final practice yet?"

Brittany shook her head. "Nope, tomorrow morning we've got thirty more minutes." Santana nodded. She knew that Mike and Brittany often tried to skate for a short time on competition days. Santana preferred it herself. It felt good to be able to shake out her nerves and remind herself what the ice felt like. It didn't always work for Santana, but it seemed to have good results for Brittany.

* * *

><p>The waiter came by when he saw all three were ready and took their orders. Brittany and Santana decided to split a caesar salmon pizza between them, with Brittany pointing out that it was basically a salad, so it was totally an okay food for her to be having. Mike, on the other hand, decided that he would rather have something more traditionally Russian, since they were in Sochi, and ordered beef stroganoff.<p>

They were pleasantly surprised when their food came less than twenty minutes later, interrupting the end of Mike and Brittany's argument about comic book characters that Santana didn't really understand. She totally loved the way that Brittany's intelligence shone out of her, though, as she clearly was whipping Mike's butt with both the number and depth of facts she was coming up with. It was good that they were fed before Brittany completely decimated her partner.

Santana could tell from the moment that she breathed in the smell of the pizza that she and Brittany had made the perfect choice and she made a mental note to try to recreate the same recipe once they were home. She took a bite at the same time as Brittany and smiled with her mouth closed as a wonderful mix of flavors hit her mouth. Brittany smiled and nodded, too. "Good choice," she murmured after swallowing.

"How is the Village?" Santana asked, turning towards Mike. She had spoken about it with Brittany a little bit, but Santana hadn't really heard a full description and certainly not from Mike.

"It's actually pretty great," he said, in between bites of his food. "We've been using the gym that they set up; it has an awesome treadmill."

Brittany laughed and rolled her eyes. "Mikey is, like, totally obsessed with this stupid treadmill."

"Britt, it has Netflix, and it analyzes your step pattern," Mike said, his voice very serious as he poked his finger at the table to make his point. "I can run to Fred Astaire and then have the treadmill tell me about how I did!"

Santana laughed at Mike's emphatic gestures. "Sounds like an awesome treadmill," she added, so that Mike wouldn't think that she was laughing at him.

"Yeah, but nothing like running outside with the wind and getting to see all the different things and maybe making a stop in like a park or something," Brittany insisted, knocking her knee against Santana's to make it very clear that she meant the runs that they did together. Santana's smile grew at that and she took another bite of her pizza to make sure that she didn't make a fool of herself, grinning too big at Brittany's description of a run.

"I like the data," Mike said with a shrug. "But at least I've got a cool roommate." He smirked at Brittany who rolled her eyes.

"Ugh, I swear, I'm going to do… something to her," Brittany said, with a sharp shake of her head. "A finnstep on her face isn't even going to cut it anymore." Brittany put on a whiny voice, "Oh, those are your costumes? That's… cute. I love how juvenile they are. Did you see my billion dollar dress? Yeah, someone hand sewed these crystals on for me. I guess they just wanted to make sure that I shine on the ice!"

Santana shook her head and rubbed just above Brittany's elbow. She hated that Brittany got stuck with the same ice dancer who had been irritatingly self-righteous at every competition they had seen her at in the past four years. "Pendleton Webber… Let me know if you need me to go all Lima Heights." She puffed her chest out and flexed her bicep for Brittany's benefit, smiling when Brittany laughed.

"You forget that I know that Lima Heights is not some scummy cesspool of drug dealers and catnappers," Brittany pointed out, bumping their knees together again, "but thank you anyway."

For a moment, Mike and the rest of the restaurant seemed to fade away as Santana looked into Brittany's eyes. Brittany had been there for pretty much her whole life—as long as Santana could remember—and she did know everything about her. Santana could feel her heart thumping in her chest. She was so lucky, just to be able to call Brittany hers in any way.

A loud laugh from the table behind theirs startled Santana before she could get too absorbed into Brittany. This really wasn't the place for anything demonstrative, not with all of the talk that had swirled through the media in the past few months. Even something innocent that would probably go unnoticed really wasn't worth it, not for the possible risk that it could cause Brittany.

Or for Santana, if the people back home found out.

"—so there have been those problems, but really, for the most part it's been great. I was a little worried about the tweets and pictures from those reporters, but our rooms have been really nice." Mike scraped the last bite off his plate. He had obviously been talking while Santana had been caught up in Brittany's eyes. She nodded to show that she had heard at least some of what he was saying. "And it's been so great to be able to meet all of these people from the different countries. Last night, I was hanging out with some hockey players and—"

"Mike's been flirting with the Canadian women's team goalie, like, non-stop," Brittany interrupted.

"I haven't!" Mike protested.

"You have." Brittany's phone lit up off on the side of the table, and she picked it up. "Shelby wants us back in forty-five," she said after reading the text. "She wants to go over the schedule for tomorrow."

"It'll take that long to get back," Mike pointed out, flagging down the waiter to let him know they would need their check. Santana felt her heart sink deep in her chest. She wanted to spend more time with Brittany and not have to go back to her lonely room right now. Especially since they had just been talking about all of the fascinating people that occupied the complex. It wasn't that she didn't trust Brittany completely, because she did, it was just that it was hard to compare herself to all of those people who were experiencing the same thing that Brittany was and truly accomplished athletes and put-together and everything, to Santana, who was sitting on a twin bed in a hotel room, twenty minutes away, trying not to cry over a fight between Nathan and Haley that she already knew was going to be resolved in ten minutes. She just wanted to spend more time with Brittany.

Still, Santana didn't want to make Brittany feel bad, so she put on a brave face and reached for her wallet to find some money to throw with Mike's. Brittany's hand on her arm stopped her and Santana watched Brittany lay down three blue notes with a snowboarder on them and a few coins. "We're going to head to the bathroom for a moment," Brittany said, gently nudging Santana out of the booth. Mike nodded and pulled out his phone, starting up a game of sudoku.

* * *

><p>Brittany locked the bathroom door behind them and turned to look at Santana. "I couldn't leave you without a kiss," she murmured, looking at Santana. This was the best experience of her career. Brittany had met so many different people, tried all kinds of new foods and languages, learned rules of sports she'd never heard of before. Tomorrow, she was going to be competing against the best skaters in the world for her country. But somehow, it felt a little empty without Santana by her side. She felt so proud to be there, but whenever Brittany wanted to tell something to Santana, she got a little hollow feeling in her stomach when she realized that she wasn't right there.<p>

The profound, grateful love in Santana's eyes drew Brittany in, and she pressed a soft kiss to Santana's mouth that stretched on and on. It was never enough. Brittany always wanted more kisses from Santana. Facing down her first really big international competition, which was the Olympics, was making Brittany nervous. What if she messed up and let everyone down? Pairs wasn't a discipline that anyone expected the USA to medal in, but they were supposed to do well, and if they didn't, it would be a blow to the sport and the country.

Brittany didn't want to let everyone down.

But when she was kissing Santana, her world narrowed down to the feeling of Santana's soft lips, the taste of her mouth so ineffably Santana, and the press of Santana's fingers against the nape of Brittany's neck. Brittany's heart lifted and her thoughts slowed into calm clarity.

Still, reality persisted and it was hard to forget the fact that they were in a bathroom in a restaurant in Russia, with Mike and Shelby both waiting for Brittany to head back. Reluctantly, Brittany pulled away, their lips making a soft pop as they finally separated. Santana's pretty lips, pink with kisses, and her eyes, deep and warm, made it so hard to keep from kissing her again.

"Wow," Santana murmured, dimples showing in her cheeks.

"Yeah." Brittany leaned in and kissed the dimple to the left of Santana's mouth and straightened again, determined not to get too lost in the beautiful girl in front of her. "I have to go back to the Village now." She knew that her lip was curled out in a pout and it was kind of unfair, because Santana had no control over where Brittany had to go, and in fact, had to go back to her own hotel, which was probably much less fun than the Olympic Village.

"Yeah, but I get to see you tomorrow," Santana pointed out. She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a badge on a lanyard.

"Credentials?" Brittany asked with a grin. She had a very similar lanyard in her own pocket, with a badge that gave her access to the Village as well as her venues and so on.

"Yeah, they left it for me this morning. I got it right after I came back from practice. It means that I get to come stand by you during the competitions." Santana's dimples deepened and Brittany couldn't help but lean in and kiss her again, pressing their mouths together.

"That makes my whole day or, like, month, maybe," Brittany said, smiling at Santana. She began to lean in for another kiss when her phone buzzed in her pocket. With a sigh, Brittany extracted it and read the text out loud. "_'__B. Pierce, we gotta jet unless you wanna walk back. Bus leaves in five.__'_" Mike was right, but that didn't make it any less frustrating to have to pull away from Santana.

"It's okay, Britt. I'll text you and then see you tomorrow, okay?" Santana said with a small smile. Brittany kissed her forehead and pulled her into a tight hug for a moment, before leaving the bathroom and walking back to Mike at the table.

* * *

><p>Brittany let her head thunk against the window of the bus. As happy as she was to know that she was going to get to spend the whole evening with Santana tomorrow, it didn't make leaving her any easier. Especially when they were only able to give each other a hug before they parted to their different buses. It hurt being so far from Santana, a constant ache in her chest, like her heart was stretching to reach over the distance. Brittany was grateful that Santana got to be close enough to see, she really was. It was just not quite the same.<p>

Beside her, Mike answered his phone. Brittany could tell from his shift in expression and tone that it was the hockey player calling him again. She poked him with her elbow and made a kissy face, laughing when he showed her his middle finger. "Yeah, that sounds great," he said. "We have to talk to Shelby for a little bit, and I can't stay out too late. Yeah, we compete tomorrow. Congratulations on your win today. I told you guys you'd kick their Swedish asses." Brittany rolled her eyes with a little smile and settled back into her seat. It was good to see Mike having fun, at least.

"Thanks, but yeah, Shelby's still making her rest." Brittany turned to look at Mike with a confused look her face. "See you in a bit. Bye." He hung up the phone and turned it over in his hand a few times before looking at Brittany. "Uh, I just didn't think you'd… want to go and party." He explained, scratching nervously at his neck. "Because of… you know… Santana."

Brittany expected to feel shocked, but found that she wasn't actually that surprised that Mike knew about them. He was always more perceptive then he let on and she knew that the dopey looks that she gave Santana all the time were probably about a subtle as a bag of car alarms. Instead she just smiled and laid her head on his shoulder and said, "You're a good friend."

* * *

><p><strong>Translations:<strong>

Готовы? = Ready?

Следите! = Watch out!

**Author's Note:** Thank you for your patience during this long wait. This chapter was very hard for me. For costumes or music, questions about skating or Brittana, and demands for more personal apologies, head over to my tumblr at sadiered dot tumblr dot com.


	5. I'm All About You

Brittany tumbled forward as Mike guided her fall, bringing her down until her feet could touch the mat that they were practicing on. She and Mike finished the move by standing on one foot, their hands still joined in the middle, free arm extended behind them as they faced each other. It was the last move in their warm up routine for this competition, making sure that all of their muscles were warm and loose, that their positions felt good in the air, and that they were as ready as they could be.

Mike and Brittany had practiced their programs so many times that they could do them automatically, without having to think about the order of the skills, and they had practiced the skills in their programs thousands of times on top of that, to gain and keep those elements. They were as smooth and polished as they could be.

"Good, that looked great," Shelby said with a nod from where she stood against the wall. "With your practice this morning, I think we're in great shape. Let's get costumes on and then stay warm. I'll come back to talk to you guys again before it's time." She glanced at her watch and then up at the clock in the room, making sure they were aligned. "About one hour." With a smile, Shelby headed out the door.

Brittany sat down on the bench and began to unlace her sneakers. "How is your shoulder?" She asked after a moment, fiddling with one of the laces to delay actually changing into her costume. Somehow that would make this all very real and the unusual, bubbly achy in her stomach would return full force.

"It feels good," Mike replied, rolling it to show Brittany. Occasionally, especially after a long practice with a lot of lifts, Mike began to ache in his shoulder. Brittany knew that it hadn't been happening lately. They had been tracking their training, doing enough to maintain the excellent shape that they were in and keep themselves at peak position for the elements of their programs, but they had been very careful to not overtrain. Shoulder injuries were common in pairs skating, especially for the men, and Brittany didn't want anything to be in the way of their Olympic debut.

The first sneaker dropped to the ground and Brittany knocked it toward her bag with the side of her foot and began working on the next one. She worked one lace out of the bow, very deliberately unwrapping it from around the other lace. When there was nothing left to do on the bow, Brittany moved to loosening each cross of her laces one by one. There wasn't really all that much that she could do to make it last long and moments later the other shoe dropped off. Brittany looked down at it, feeling an unfamiliar panic rising in her chest, making her want to run and hide in some corner where she didn't have to worry about performing in front of the whole world and maybe letting down all of the people counting on her and Mike to not make fools of themselves and the whole United Skates Figure Skating Association and every little kid who got up on Saturday mornings and drove to a rink and practiced their crossovers, dreaming of being in the same position that Brittany was right now.

Brittany opened her mouth to tell Mike that she was going to go for a walk, but a knock on the door surprised her back into silence. For one terrifying moment, Brittany thought that it might actually be Shelby coming to tell them that their hour was up and it was time to get ready to skate.

"Hey Britt, Mike. Can I come in?"

Brittany knew the voice in an instant and looked up to see Santana lingering in the doorway of the room. She grinned and nodded, feeling some of the tightness ease out of her stomach just at the mere sight of her girlfriend. Santana came through the door, gently closing it behind her, and sat next to Brittany on the bench. She glanced between Brittany and Mike for a moment.

"Yeah. I'm actually headed out to go refill my water bottle," Mike said with a shrug. He pulled on his USA jacket and credentials and rested his hand on Santana's shoulder for a moment before heading out the door. As it clicked closed, Santana turned to Brittany and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. Brittany sighed and wrapped her arms around Santana's waist, pulling her even closer and kissed her, their lips smacking softly.

"Hi," Santana murmured with a shy smile after they pulled away. She carefully smoothed a few of the baby fine strands of Brittany's hair at her temple. Though her hair had already been carefully brushed into a ponytail, coated with hairspray, and curled, there were still a few little strands that always seemed to escape.

"Good thing I didn't put on lipstick yet." Brittany ran her thumb along Santana's bottom lip, smiling as Santana dipped her head to kiss it.

"I would have done that anyway. I don't mind wearing your lipstick." A blush rose to Santana's face that made Brittany's heart thump happily in her chest. Santana was so cute and sweet, it just drove her absolutely Beyonce-featuring-Jay-Z-crazy-in-love.

Outside the door someone walked by chattering in Russian, and it reminded Brittany that this wasn't a flirt-with-Santana competition, it was a skating competition and a really important one at that (Brittany wouldn't be nervous for a flirt-with-Santana contest—that was something she could easily win.) She looked down at her hands for a moment and then back up to Santana, who was looking concerned. Brittany tried to crack a joke, but it failed in her throat.

"Britt-Britt," Santana murmured, wrapping her hands gently around Brittany's. "Hey… It's okay to be nervous. But I don't know why you would be." Brittany looked down again, but lifted her eyes again when Santana reached out to touch under her chin. "Look, I've watched you guys skate five plus days a week, almost every week, for the last six years. I know what you guys can do. You just shine on the ice, Britt. It doesn't matter if you fall or mess up or any of that because you're so beautiful to watch. If you just be Brittany, be the girl I— If you just be you, everyone is going to be so proud, no matter what the result. I promise."

Brittany studied Santana's face, seeing the anxious sincerity in her deep, dark eyes. She could feel in her heart, in every inch of her body how much Santana meant exactly what she was saying, and even the things that she wasn't. She leaned in and kissed Santana, their lips pressing together expressing admiration and gratitude and trust and every other huge emotion they had always felt for each other, even before they knew any of those words.

"Okay?" Santana asked, when they parted.

"Yeah," Brittany nodded, squeezing Santana's hand. The knots in her chest had eased and she felt more ready than she would have imagined she could be, staring down the most super important competition of her life so far and possibly forever.

"Okay, then you get your costume on," Santana said, a little pinkness in her cheeks, "and I'm going to go find Mike and let him know he can come back." Brittany gave Santana a curious look until Santana pointed to Mike's water bottle, still sitting on top of his bag and very clearly full.

"I always thought he was a good choice," Brittany smiled at Santana, feeling a surge of affection for her teammate. He really was unbelievable chill in the best way. What other partner would honestly be so up on the feelings and needs of not only his skating partner but also her totally awesome girlfriend, too?

"Definitely." Santana rose from the bench, tugging her credentials straight around her neck and smoothing her jacket. "I'll be back as soon as I find him. Costume while I'm gone and then I'll help you with your make up?"

Brittany nodded and watched Santana walk out of the door. She could feel the dopey smile on her face as she got her costume off of the hanger and she honestly couldn't bring herself to care at all. If anyone ever had earned a dopey smile as much as Santana Lopez, she would be sincerely surprised.

* * *

><p>Santana closed the door behind her, exiting into an almost empty hallway. A few people were milling around, but none of them gave Santana so much as a second glance. She hadn't wanted to say anything to Brittany, but the thought of being in the room when Brittany changed into her costume had been a little too much for Santana. It was one thing for them to slide under the covers of Brittany's bed in her own little apartment, still damp from a shower, and kiss and touch and love each other, in their own space where they were safe and alone. It was another thing to watch Brittany get dressed before her Olympic debut in a country that had been rather vocally unfriendly to the feelings that it would have brought up within her. The whole thing was a little too intense and intimate for Santana, who was still scared even for all of her brave steps.<p>

After a glance up and down the hall, Santana decided that she would check the left half first and swing through the room to make sure that Mike hadn't come back before she went down the right. Luck was on her side, though, because it only took one turn of the hall before she found Mike muttering furiously at his phone as he tapped and swiped things. She caught the words "come on, catch it" before Mike noticed her and put his phone in his pocket.

"All set?" he asked.

"Yeah," Santana said, nodding. "Um, thanks. For, you know." She didn't know how to say "Thanks for being cool about the fact that I'm dating your skating partner and helping us out so often" without completely collapsing in embarrassment, and, as usual, Mike seemed to understand that.

"No worries, Santana," Mike said with an easy smile. He held out his fist for a bump and Santana looked at it for a moment before gently knocking it out of the way and leaning in for a hug. It felt strange, a little bit, to hug Mike, but he honestly had earned so much more than just the simple gesture.

"Mike, has anyone ever told you that you're a good friend?" Santana asked as they began to walk back to the room where Brittany still was.

Mike's laugh startled Santana for a moment, but she couldn't help the smile that it brought to her face as well. "Actually," he said, "yes."

* * *

><p>"Relax your eyelids a little more?" Santana's voice was hushed and intimate and it sent a shiver up Brittany's spine, but she did so, feeling the soft stroke of Santana's brush as she carefully applied Brittany's make up. Shelby had scraped and sprayed and shellacked Brittany's hair into the perfect ponytail, sewing in her headband, and making sure there weren't any strands out of place. She always did this before any last moves that they were going to practice off ice, to make sure that Brittany's hair would hold up. It was impractical, however, to do Brittany's make up when it could be smudged or sweated off or mussed by her costume.<p>

Now, Santana and Brittany were sitting face to face, both straddling the bench. Santana was so close that Brittany could almost feel her presence. With Mike in the corner stretching and keeping warm with his headphones in, they might as well have been alone in the room. There was no one that Brittany trusted to do her make up quite like Santana. She had always been the one pouring over all of the fashion magazines, carefully studying what was in and what was not, what was acceptable and what was foolish. Brittany had never really seen the point. She put together her own awesome outfits and if no one was wearing a hat like hers, that was their loss because it looked totally awesome.

All of Santana's careful studying and fastidious technique paid off, though, when it came to replicating the same look that she had for Nationals, and making sure that it complimented Brittany well. Sitting practically nose to nose with the best girl in the world was a pretty good prize, too.

"Okay, open." Brittany's eyes fluttered open and her breath caught for a moment as she took in Santana. There was a deep vulnerability in the corner of her mouth and the shadows of her eyes. Brittany had always been able to find it in their quiet moments, but there had been a time when she had had to work hard for it. Santana had been so guarded, it had taken a lot of coaxing and patience for Brittany to uncover these beautiful parts of Santana again.

Lately, though, they lurked around unexpected corners and took Brittany's breath away.

Knowing that it would only be a few more minutes until her lips were an unkissable deep red and that Mike wouldn't care even if he was paying attention, Brittany leaned in the two inches between herself and Santana and pressed a soft, quick kiss just to the corner of Santana's mouth.

Santana's eyes clouded for a moment, and she glanced at Mike and the door, checking that she was safe, that they were safe. When she looked back, pink tinged her cheeks and light sparkled in her eyes. "What was that for?" Santana murmured.

Brittany looked at her with an eyebrow arched and a smile hidden. "For you, of course. Otherwise I would have planted it on Chang." Something about the pretty sparkle that Santana got just made Brittany absolutely giddy.

"You're goofy," Santana said, shaking her head and switching her eye shadow brush for a mascara brush. Brittany could hear the other words in her voice, though; lovely, adorable, sweet, wonderful. They were there as clear as if they had been the one that Santana had chosen to say out loud. Brittany had always been able to understand the words that Santana didn't know how to say. When she asked "What the fuck crawled up Will's ass and died today?," she really was asking "Why doesn't he like me?" and "What did I do wrong?". When she said "This fucking asshole cut me off on my drive over and I was like is this your first fucking day behind a wheel?," she really meant "That scared me a lot, and I hate feeling unsafe".

And when Santana said things like "You're so silly, Britt," she meant "You're beautiful and so cute and funny." And maybe underneath everything else, "I love you, I love you, I love you…".

"Can you open your mouth a little more?" Now, Santana was working on painting Brittany's lips with the lipstick, filling in the color until they would pop against her costume and show up clearly on the ice. Each stroke was gentle and purposeful and ever so careful. Brittany wanted to knock Santana's hand out of the way and kiss her until neither one of them could really breathe.

But that would mess up all of Santana's hard work, so Brittany just sat on the bench and stared out from under her eyelashes as the girl who drove her completely crazy.

"Okay." Santana put away the make up into the bag that Brittany carried for competitions and carefully compared each side of Brittany's face, her fingers gently directing her to turn one way or the other until Santana was completely satisfied that Brittany's make up was perfect and, according to Santana's quietly murmured words, made her look as beautiful as she was. She nodded once, very deliberately. "All set."

"Thanks, boo," Brittany said, giving Santana a wink. There was a very real note of gratitude in her voice, but being completely serious with her thanks didn't let Brittany glimpse at that adorable little dimple that creased into Santana's cheek. Beside, there were already too many very serious parts of Brittany's day. She didn't need to add anymore.

* * *

><p>Santana's sides hurt from laughing, and she collapsed down onto the bench as the last notes of "Pac-Man Fever" faded. After she had finished Brittany's make-up, they had decided that they needed to make sure that they were keeping Brittany's muscles warm. It had started off with just some dynamic stretches, walking back and forth across the room kicking or lunging to help her stay loose and ready for the ice. That had gotten boring quickly, so Santana had found Brittany's phone and started up a playlist of music. Soon, stretching had become dancing.<p>

Brittany and Mike had just finished having a contest to see who could do the most a la seconde turns, spinning around with their legs out straight at a right angle. Santana still took a dance class once a week, but she had never really worked her turns on the floor like she had her spins on the ice and so she was content to be scorekeeper and laugh and cheer victoriously when Mike spun himself a little too hard, knocking himself off balance and having to hop out of the turn while Brittany continued to twirl easily. Brittany continued for five more turns before bringing her leg down and behind her to stop the turn. She collapsed down on the bench next to Santana, holding her cheeks. "I told you I could totally kick your ass!" Brittany grinned at Mike as she stretched out against Santana.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Pierce. Wait until we get back to practice. We'll just see who can hold that sit spin the longest…" Santana laughed again, combing her fingers through Brittany's hair. It felt wonderfully joyful and loose to be able to talk and joke like this freely with Mike and Brittany. There weren't a lot of situations where Santana felt at ease, and, even though there were a lot of reasons why she shouldn't, something about laughing along with Brittany and Mike and showing off her own layout made them not matter.

At least, until Shelby appeared in the door way. Santana felt a sinking in her stomach and sat up a little straight, gently nudging Brittany to do the same and trying not to look like a terrible influence on Shelby's skater. After all, there was something to be said for keeping their heads in the game and not expending too much energy before skating for the Olympics, and Santana had definitely just encouraged Brittany to do upwards of twenty turns.

"Hey, guys, Santana," she said coming into the room. "Do you mind if I—" Shelby gestured toward the bench but before she could say anything Santana stood up.

"I'll go," she said, gathering up her coat. If Shelby was even the slightest bit like Will, she wouldn't want Santana anywhere near Brittany while she was giving her final speeches. Santana squeezed Brittany's shoulder and hurried out the door. Once she was in the hall, Santana tugged at the credentials around her neck, trying to get them to lie straight, and followed the signs leading towards the ice. She was supposed to wait for Brittany and Mike's turn in the hallway just off the ice and she wanted to be there to see the warm up, too. This was all about Brittany, after all, and Brittany deserved every second of it and more.

* * *

><p>The warm up was surprisingly difficult for Santana to watch. Maybe it was being out there where the audience was, feeling the atmosphere of the competition and all of the people, but it made Santana's stomach hurt to think of Brittany out in all of this. It wasn't that she didn't think that Brittany could or would do well; it was just that Santana knew how very easy it was to slip up and make a major mistake.<p>

It unsettled her, too, to realize how close she had been to being caught by Shelby. They hadn't been kissing or anything, but there was a fine line that they were walking between looking like very close best friends and looking like people who were dating. Shelby seemed nice, but there were a lot of reasons why she might not want her skater to be in a relationship with another woman, particularly another skater. It could hurt them both.

There was always so much at stake it seemed. Whether Santana was stepping out onto the ice or kissing Brittany behind closed doors or giving her advice to be able to go and compete, there always seemed to be these huge things hanging over her head, and Santana always seemed to make the wrong move. She fell on her ass; she hurt Brittany. Maybe she even set her up to fail. Maybe Brittany would go out with Santana's advice and crash because she should have been focusing harder or something. Maybe Brittany would resent Santana for this and realize that she was kind of a terrible girlfriend.

Santana felt her stomach roll over as worry settled into her core.

Mike and Brittany were in a pretty good bunch. They were in the third group, right after the ice was resurfaced, going second. It was a perfect position. They were competing against a mixed bag of pairs; Russia's C team, the team from Azerbaijan, and French team. It was a mostly random assignment, but still most of the big names in pairs skating at the moment were going in the last group or two, as it always happened. The pairs the judges had already seen and the Azerbaijani team going right before Brittany and Mike should set them up to be scored highly by the judges. Santana could already tell that the Azerbaijanis were a new pair and, though they had some raw talent and connection, Brittany and Mike were going to shine in comparison.

Watching Brittany and Mike execute a perfect loop helped calm Santana's nerves just a little bit, but she wanted so much for things to go well for Brittany — and maybe even to know that she could do something right when it came to Brittany— that it was hard to be assured of anything at this point. Santana watched each movement of her best friend, the girl she was dating, as she passed through a few different moves, feeling the ice, feeling the connection with Mike, preparing to do their jobs.

As she passed by the boards where Santana stood, Brittany winked and Santana felt herself smile her big, easy Brittany-smile. No matter how bad her nerves got, nothing ever seemed to top the burst of butterflies she felt whenever Brittany did that.

The announcement came over the loudspeaker, telling the skaters to clear the ice. Santana took a deep breath and stood back against the wall. There was just a few minutes, now, before Brittany's Olympic debut.

* * *

><p>Santana pushed off the wall of the rink, coming closer to the boards. The Azerbaijani skaters had just stepped off the ice and were settling into the bench in the kiss and cry for their scores. Santana wasn't paying any attention to them, though. The female skater had popped their side-by-side jumps, downgrading to a single, and they'd had a fall on their throw jump. Combined with a well done but not particularly difficult steps sequence, Santana knew that they were not going to be much of a factor if Brittany and Mike did as well as they were supposed to.<p>

Besides, Brittany had stepped onto the ice and, for a few moments at least, Santana's world narrowed to this ice, this girl, as she watched Brittany and Mike skate around for a few moments, feeling the ice one last time and getting their legs warm. Brittany's skirt swished around her legs and Santana couldn't help but admire how absolutely lovely she was. It was incredible, even to watch nothing more than her curve of her back and the extension of her leg as she stroked around the ice, holding Mike's hand.

The score was announced for the Azerbaijan team, a little low due to the mistakes, but still a respectable. Santana forgot about it a moment later though, as she listened to the voice that came over the loudspeaker. "Ladies and gentleman, representing the United States of America, Brittany Pierce and Michael Chang." It was repeated in Russian as they glided to the center, waving to the crowd. Santana clapped and cheered loudly, despite her thrumming heart. This was it. She knew that Brittany could be brilliant on the ice, but she knew, as well as anyone, how easy it was to make mistakes and how costly those mistakes could be.

"At least sixteenth, at least sixteenth," Santana murmured, crossing her fingers inside of her sleeves. If Brittany and Mike could place at or above sixteenth of the twenty pairs competing, they would qualify to compete their free skate program as well. Less than that would mean elimination.

Brittany and Mike struck their opening pose, standing back to back on the ice. The moment before the music started was unbearable and Santana could hear her heart thump over the sound of the crowd rustling. The lights glinted off Brittany's blades and the pause seemed to go on so long, Santana wondered if they were having problems with the music.

Then, suddenly, the violins rose and Santana watched as they started to glide across the ice, their movements fitting the slow build of the music. Santana leaned closer, watching them move down the rink towards her. Their opening move was a twist lift, where Mike would have to throw Brittany in the air so she could make three revolutions, before catching her again and setting her down onto the ice. Just last year, one of the competitors at the European Championships had slipped doing a move just like this and she had ended up breaking her partner's nose. Santana held her breath as Mike's hands came around Brittany's waist.

There was a moment.

Then, Brittany sailed up, almost at an angle, twisting quickly, before Mike caught her around the waist again and easily sat her down.

Santana let her breath out with a gasp, but her relief was short lived. There were still a lot more pieces to this program before things would be over. "At least sixteenth…" Santana murmured, her voice getting lost under the music. If Brittany and Mike could at least give an okay performance, at least move on to the free skate portion, maybe it would mean that she could actually do something for Brittany like Brittany did for her.

* * *

><p>Santana's knuckles were white as she gripped the hem of her sleeves, her eyes glued to the center of the ice where Brittany and Mike were spinning together in their final position. They had nailed everything up to this point and there were only moments left. They stepped out of the spin and Brittany pretended to knock Mike onto the ice as the last deep rumble of music echoed through the rink. The audience burst into applause. It was as good of a performance as Brittany and Mike could give, undoubtedly.<p>

For a moment, Santana felt a profound sense of relief. Everything had gone perfectly, really, as best as it could go, and she had maybe helped Brittany a little, by giving her the advice. As quickly as it came, the relief disappeared. Santana realized that she had spent the entirety of Brittany's gorgeous Olympic debut panicking. She could have been watching the beauty and joy that radiated off the woman that she… But, instead, she had locked on to every time a blade came off the ice, as if her concentration was the only thing keeping them on their feet. Santana looked up to the screen over the ice, watching a slow motion close up of Brittany and Mike pretend dueling. Brittany's golden ponytail fanned out behind her and the elated shine of her eyes and her smile made Santana's heart ache. She should have enjoyed it and instead she missed it.

She didn't have time to dwell on that, though, because Brittany was stepping off the ice. Santana opened her arms and pulled Brittany into a tight hug. "You were perfect. Magic. I'm so, so proud of you," she murmured, meaning every word fiercely. The sweet smell of Brittany's warm neck washed over Santana. Brittany lingered in the hug before she had to step into her guards and head up to the kiss and cry to receive her scores. Santana watched as they waved at the camera and talked about the slow motion shot of one of their lifts on the screen before Brittany looked up and smiled at Santana. A bloom of heat in her belly brought a blush to Santana's cheeks despite the disappointment she was feeling in herself.

"The scores for Brittany Pierce and Mike Chang, please." There was a moment of silence as just about every person in the rink turned to see what they had score. "For the short program, they have score 67.42 points. They are in first place." Mike and Brittany high-fived each other and Shelby. It was an excellent score and their personal best. They were in first place at the moment, and probably would stay that way for another few pairs, but Santana doubted that it would hold up to the last group of competitors. Still, it was an amazing score and something that Brittany and Mike could really be proud of.

If only Santana could have had more faith in them, in herself, to start out with.

* * *

><p>Later, while she was laying in bed, listening to the sound of cars outside her room and then two Russian men arguing down the hall between clicks and clanks from the heater that she was almost used to, Santana pictured it again, the gorgeous smile that she saw above the rink on that huge video screen, every light and pixel radiant with Brittany's beauty. She lived and died for that smile. It wasn't something that she could say out loud, and sometimes it was even hard to think to herself, outside of private moments when she was completely alone. Still, Santana knew it was true. Her day, good or bad, didn't revolve around landed triple axels or fights with Will. It all came down to Brittany and seeing her face light up in a smile just for Santana.<p>

But, if Santana knew that, then why was it so hard for her to trust it? Even as she asked herself the question, hundreds of images popped up into her mind. Her parents, her abuela, their coaches, the people they skated with and against, the judges and fans of the sport they had built their lives around, people they walked by in the streets and sat near in restaurants. There were so many people who would think of her differently, and many of them in a way that would ruin Santana in their eyes.

And even worse, maybe Brittany would start to see it. Not that it might be wrong to be with a girl, because Brittany—well, Brittany was everything good and right with the world. Maybe she would start to see the selfish way that Santana acted, the way that she lashed out and hurt people and made everything miserable. Maybe she would see the cowardly way that Santana shrunk away from the good that Brittany offered her.

The men down the hall started arguing even louder and Santana shoved her blankets off and reached out to turn on the light. She couldn't sleep anyway, so she might as well do something productive. Cleaning was the first thing that came to Santana's mind, but she really hadn't made a mess of the room. Her clothes for the free skate tomorrow were draped over her chair and her laptop was sitting out on the little table, but there were no real messes to deal with. Santana's eyes fell on her skating bag sitting near the door and decided it had been long enough since she had dug through the side pockets and cleaned out the tissues and wrappers and scraps of paper that always seemed to accumulate there. Anything that would keep her busy.

Santana dragged the bag to her bed and tugged open the zippers sharply. She could see the excited way that Brittany had looked up from the kiss and cry, sharing her joy with Santana, and she felt guilty that she hadn't been present in that moment with the one person she really should have been. Santana tossed three granola bar wrappers at the trash, each one pathetically fluttering to the ground, well short of the bin, despite the power behind Santana's throw. With an irritated grunt, she reached deeper, pulling out a tissue and the receipt for a water bottle and a bag of gummy bears. The bears had been for Brittany. The tissue landed too far to the left and the receipt joined the wrappers on the floor. Another tissue, an old flyer for ice time, and a sticky cough drop wrapper followed quickly, and Santana was struck with the thought that if her room hadn't been messy before, it was certainly headed that way now.

She dug at the bottom of the pocket, looking for anything else to throw away, when her hand closed around something small and medal. Santana pulled it out, expecting to find a penny or some other piece of small, loose change. Instead, it was a tiny, inexpensive pendent, a little figure skate. Brittany had given it to her before their first competition officially skating for Boston, telling her it would be good luck. Santana and Puck had won the competition, eking out Brittany and Mike for first place. Santana had moved it from skating bag to skating bag, until it had been replaced in her memory by hundreds of other gifts, small and large, corporeal and intangible.

Brittany had always been so good to Santana. Even before they had become so intertwined, she was always the best thing to Santana. And Santana always wanted to be the best thing to Brittany, but she wasn't sure she knew how. Brittany deserved to be trusted. She deserved to be protected and loved. And somehow, for some reason that Santana couldn't figure out, Brittany had decided that Santana was the person to do that for her. If Brittany was going to make that choice, then Santana knew that she had to do the best job that she could.

And the first thing that she could do was enjoy Brittany's free skate. It was the last part of her Olympic debut and if Santana could live in every moment and celebrate the amazing success of the woman that meant so much to her, then she could start doing better for Brittany.

Suddenly very tired, Santana pressed a soft kiss to the little metal skate and slipped it back into her bag. She zipped it up and brought the bag back to its place by the door. On her way back to the bed, she gathered up the trash she had found and dumped it into the bin. Santana crawled under the covers and shut off the lights. The last thought she had before she fell asleep was that the men down the hall had finally stopped arguing.

* * *

><p>"Okay, open…" Santana murmured. Brittany's eyes fluttered open and she was dazzled slightly by the light in the room and the beauty of the girl sitting so close to her again. Santana had come to do Brittany's makeup again, which was awesome, even without the fact that it meant that she got to spend several wonderfully long minutes so close to Santana.<p>

Mike was over in the corner, doing a few dynamic stretches with his headphones in, which seemed to relax Santana. Her leg was draped over Brittany's, and they were sitting so close that Brittany could feel the warmth radiating off her body. It was difficult to keep her hands to herself, but she understood that this was a difficult place to do anything, for a lot of reasons. Most of them were dumb, but the most important one was making sure that Santana felt safe and comfortable, so that was a good enough reason.

"I really like this blue," Santana said, replacing the eye shadow and brush in Brittany's bag and drawing out the mascara. "It brings out the color of your eyes. Like, it makes them bluer, somehow." She carefully swiped Brittany's upper lashes with the mascara. No matter how many times Brittany saw it and felt it and lived it, it still felt amazing when Santana was so sweet. It was a special little gift that Brittany got, seeing her girl so open and exposed and soft. As much as she wanted other people to see the good in Santana and to know the amazing person that she was under her poison coating and out from behind her brick and dynamite wall, sometimes it felt nice to know that there was this piece of Santana that was only for her.

"You're really pretty," Brittany blurted out. She couldn't help but grin shyly at Santana. It wasn't that she was embarrassed by her outburst, because telling Santana sweet things about herself was one of her favorite activities, right up there with kissing Santana on the mouth and everywhere, taking baths with Santana, and landing triple lutzes. But the melted chocolate look that Santana got, all gooey and warm, that was something else special.

Santana leaned forward, and, without even looking at Mike, pressed her lips against Brittany's in a quick peck. It was chaste enough for even the oldest Disney movie, but it made Brittany's stomach bubble.

"Lipstick?" Santana said, the pink tinge in her cheeks and the adorably flustered way that she dug through the bag for the lipstick making her look cute. Santana found the tube and applied it to Brittany's lips, her steady hand tracing around the curves, careful not to stray outside her lip line. "Okay, go check."

Brittany slid out from under Santana's leg and went over to the mirror someone had propped against the opposite wall. She turned her head back and forth, checking to make sure things looked even and marveling at the way that Santana seemed to be able to replicate the exact same look over and over again. If she didn't know better, Brittany might believe that she'd never washed off her makeup from Nationals a month ago. "Looks good," Brittany said, turning around. She caught Santana, lipstick in one hand and a compact mirror in the other, just finishing applying the same color to her own lips. Brittany grinned.

* * *

><p>A knock on the door sometime later signaled Shelby's arrival. Santana was glad that they weren't fooling around when Shelby came this time. In fact, Santana was massaging Brittany's foot where her boot sometimes gave her a little cramp, trying to make sure that she was all set to get on the ice in a little bit.<p>

"Alright," Shelby said, motioning for Mike to come over and sit beside Brittany. Santana let go of Brittany's foot, but stayed where she was on the bench. She had decided to try and be better and braver for Brittany, and this was one of the ways that she could. A cold thrum of nerves settled into her stomach, but Shelby continued on, obviously not minding Santana's presence at all. "This is it. You've laid the groundwork with your short program. All you have to do is go out there and do your best. Even if you end at the bottom of the heap, I'm proud of the job that you have done. Bend your knees, land your jumps, and focus on each other. You can do this."

Santana felt a pang in her chest. She could feel what it would be like to be the one skating with Brittany, under a coach who taught with the kindness and freedom that Shelby did. She could feel what it would be to get to compete at the Olympics. But none of that was happening.

Still, there were good things. Santana slipped her hand into Brittany's, giving her a quick squeeze before letting her get her skates on.

* * *

><p>Brittany and Mike were the last in their group this time. The top four teams, including Missy and Scott, would be taking the ice for their warm up next. Santana had found, surprisingly, that the wait was easier today. There was something about letting it go and really trusting Brittany and Mike's abilities that made it a lot easier to get through this all. Every time she felt the nerves starting to grip her stomach, Santana pictured the glint of the dim yellow-brown light in her hotel room, bouncing off the metal skate, and everything that it meant. It made sitting through the three other free skates in Brittany's group—two great and one a spectacular mess—much easier than it had felt the day before.<p>

"Representing the United States, Brittany Pierce and Mike Chang." The announcement blared over the loud speaker, clearing away any last chatter from people reacting to the pair before Brittany and Mike as everyone applauded and then fell silent. Santana watched Brittany skid each foot just a little bit, getting one last feel of the ice, before she struck her opening pose with Mike. There was a moment of silence, stillness and Santana looked up at the video screen, seeing the projected image of a close up of Brittany and Mike's hands, fingertips almost touching. She grinned a little as she saw the bright yellow of Brittany's nails, which she knew Brittany had painted the night before, sitting on her bed with a wet braid trailing down her back.

Suddenly, the music began, and the odd, projector-like sputter filled the air, followed by the bright opening notes of their program. Santana knew the first element was a throw triple loop, one of their strongest throw jumps. For a moment, fear and doubt prickled up her spine as she watched Brittany turn backwards and cross her left foot to the front of her right. There was a moment and then, perfectly on cue, Mike launched Brittany into the air.

Santana's fear disappeared as Brittany's gorgeous blue skirt flared out in the twist. Her costume was so perfect, brilliant blue and sunny yellow, shimmering under the bright lights of the rink. Her blade whispered across the ice as she landed perfectly. Santana admired the graceful curve of Brittany's back as she held the edge, the strength of her steady arms, and the adorably proud grin on her face. Everything about Brittany was breathtaking. Sometime Santana literally could not breathe for Brittany's splendor.

The program continued and Santana found new moments where she lost the ability to breathe: seeing Brittany's eyes sparkle and shine as stepped with Mike across the ice, watching the powerful whir of her body as she spun with Mike, feeling the excitement and joy of not only Brittany and Mike, but the whole crowd as well. Even when they had their stumbles, a hand down on the throw triple flip, a scratchy, shaky landing, Santana couldn't help but adore the way that Brittany's exuberance fought on. She never gave up, never lost the joy or the spirit of what she was doing.

When Brittany and Mike hit their final pose, Santana was the first to cheer, but audience was just behind. It might not have been perfect, but it was engaging and electrifying. Santana couldn't have been prouder or more wonderfully present.

* * *

><p>As soon as Brittany stepped off, Santana handed her the purple and blue sparkly guards. She waited, bouncing a little in her boots, as Brittany got into them and moved out of the way so they could close the door before she threw her arms around Brittany. "You were… incredible," Santana murmured in Brittany's ear. "Just absolutely magic."<p>

"Yeah?" Brittany murmured back, tucking her nose down to Santana's neck.

"Yeah," Santana confirmed, softly.

"Britt!" Mike's voice startled Santana and she looked up to see Mike a few steps away, trying to get Brittany's attention so they could go sit in the kiss and cry booth and receive their store. For a moment, Santana's stomach dropped as she thought about all of the people who could have seen their very intimate moment just before. It wasn't inappropriate, but Santana felt their connection, deep and expanding and oh-so present and she was afraid of what other people might have seen. But a glance at the video screen showed that they were displaying slo-motion replays and Brittany squeezed Santana's arm, reassuring her before she slipped up in-between Shelby and Mike.

It was perfect timing because a moment later, they displayed the logo and switched to the view of Shelby, Brittany, and Mike all sitting on the bench. Santana watched the way that Brittany smiled and waved, heard her chattering her thanks to "everyone back in Boston, both sets of parents, Ashley, and Tubs" with a huge grin on her face in the few moments before the announcement came.

The panel didn't take long to return the scores, which must have meant that they didn't have very many things they needed to review. It was a good sign that Brittany had only enough time to get to her cat before she was being cut off by a voice saying, "The factored free skate score for Brittany Pierce and Mike Chang. They have scored 130.08 points. They are currently in first place." Brittany fist pumped and leaned over to high five Mike, a huge grin on her face. They all knew it wasn't the score that was going to get them on the podium, but it was an amazing effort and it felt so good to do so well on their Olympic debut.

The camera cut away to watch the next group of pairs skate out onto the ice, the last warm up group of the evening. The presence of two Russian pairs, as well as the very popular Missy and Scott, drew a large cheer. Santana took a few jumpy little steps forward, feeling a strange mix of excitement and desire and pride and love and nervousness and who knew what else, all rolled into one little ball. "Can you come with me for a moment?" Santana murmured as soon as she was close enough to Brittany to do so.

"Sure," Brittany replied, looking around for Shelby. She caught her coach's eye and indicated that she was going to step out into the hall for a moment. Santana looped her arm through Brittany's and walked with her through the thick double doors. At first, it was still pretty loud. Santana could hear the sound of a crowd—people talking and shuffling and walking, not to mention the music they were playing for the warm-up. Coaches and skaters and officials and other people milled around talking, but no one seemed to take a second glance as they walked past.

To her credit, Brittany did not ask where they were going, just let Santana lead her around turns and down hallways, until, finally, they walked through a set of double doors and into silence. They had managed to find a deserted hallway. "So, what's u—?" Brittany broke off as Santana tugged on the collar of her USA jacket, pulling her face down from the tall height of Brittany's long legs plus figure skating boots, blades, and guards. She pressed their mouths together, pouring all of that love and admiration that she had felt watching Brittany's free skate. Brittany immediately, eased into the kiss. Her right arm came around Santana's waist, keeping her so close as they kissed and kissed, their lips making soft smacking sounds, drown out by the thrum and click of the heating and cooling units in the rink.

* * *

><p>When Santana and Brittany returned, ten minutes later, Mike was halfway though getting his skates untied. He looked up at the two of them, gave them a smile. Santana went to dig through her bag, and Mike waited until Brittany was sitting down to very quietly say, "Britt, you still have a smudge of lipstick on your top lip." Brittany's ears turned red, but she just grinned.<p>

* * *

><p>"Are you sure that it'll be alright for me to come?" Santana asked, checking her lipstick one more time and tugging her jacket a little straight. "I mean, I know it's the Olympic Village and it's supposed to just be the athletes, and—"<p>

Brittany cut her off with a quick peck, causing Santana to try to fake a scowl as she leaned forward to check her lipstick again. Brittany knew that Santana couldn't really be mad at a kiss when they were alone, though, and it had the desired effect of derailing Santana's worry train. "I've seen lots of non-athletes. Besides, Mike's hockey player not-a-girlfriend specifically told me to bring anyone that I wanted, and that is you."

Santana smiled her easy, Brittany smile. "You sure you don't want to take one of those shaggy-headed snowboarders?" She teased.

Brittany slid her arms around Santana's waist. "I'm very sure," she murmured in Santana's ear. It was strange and not all at the same time how absolutely sure she was of that. It felt good and right in her heart, even if her brain knew that she was young to feel so much his way.

"Okay," Santana agreed, wrapping her arms around Brittany and leaning in. "I guess if the officially sixth place finisher at the 2014 Olympics says that she's sure and it's fine…" Her grin was so cute that Brittany had to kiss her one more time.

* * *

><p>It was amazing to Santana how much of a real party this was, even under the circumstances. There were drinks. Someone had hooked up a speaker system of loud music thumping through the crowd, and sweaty, excited athletes, the pinnacle of all kinds of winter sports fields, were dancing and talking or miming as best they could over the bass of some dance club song that was entirely in French.<p>

Mike had disappeared with the goalie from the Canadian women's hockey team, leaving Santana and Brittany on their own on the dance floor. Santana really didn't mind though. She was having a great time with Brittany. It seemed like Brittany had actively worked to know the name, sport, country, and, if relevant, result of every person there. Santana knew that she probably hadn't worked for it at all, because these were the sort of details that stuck into Brittany's brain, but she was still amazed at the way that Brittany was able to rattle of so much information about nearly every person they came across.

Even better, Santana could tell if someone had been condescending or rude to Brittany, because she made up a funny pun on their name or told her that they had "totally tried to score the fastest ever time on the slaloms, but, like, a walrus came out of nowhere and that is why he looks like that". Santana felt like she hadn't stopped laughing or smiling in the two hours they had been there.

At the moment, she and Brittany were dancing along to the song that she would have only been able to understand a third of if she was listening to it in a quiet room, and that she understood none of now. Santana loved to watch Brittany move and this was no exception.

Someone tapped on Brittany's shoulder suddenly, interrupting her flow. Brittany turned, revealing a tall guy with a former-quarterback sort of swagger about him. A press pass hung around his neck. "We should dance!" he shouted over the music, way too close to Brittany for Santana's comfort. A quick look at Brittany's face said it was too close for her comfort, too.

"Wish she could, but unfortunately, she's had her fill of morons with double-left-foot syndrome. Why don't you try moving over there and not talking to us again?" Santana cut in, her voice sharp and clear, even above the beat. The reporter looked startled for a moment and then his eyes narrowed.

"I asked her, not you," he sneered. "So, unless she's too stupid to open her mouth, why don't you stay the fuck out of it and go grind up on someone else." He hit the last part hard, trying to indicate something to Santana, but she was too concerned with Brittany. The moment the word stupid slipped out of his mouth, Santana had seen the flicker in Brittany's eyes, and Santana's heart sunk to see her girl looking so hurt.

"Look, dipshit." Santana started, feeling the roll of bile and flame in her stomach that always came when she was angry and scared at the same time, "Brittany isn't talking to you because you're so fucking far beneath her that you don't deserve it. Just because you can't get anyone else in this huge party to so much as look at you, doesn't meant that you should bring your doughy, potato-faced self into our space and try to get one of us to stoop to that incredibly low level. Maybe you should consider turning around and walking away, or I'll see how hard I can twist your puffy, out of shape nipples before you start crying like a little baby, okay?" Santana glared until the reporter huffed and stalked away.

As soon as he was gone, Santana felt the sick grossness rise in her stomach and the blood rinse out of her face. A moment ago she had been hot with anger, but now she was cold and tired. "Come on, honey," Brittany whispered in her ear. "Let's go back to your hotel."

* * *

><p>Brittany looped her arm around Santana's waist and guided her outside. She sent Mike a text to let him know they were going, and then Brittany and Santana walked hand in hand across the Olympic Park complex. Brittany pointed out the different sights along the way and Santana calmed as she took in all of the places that had been such a big part of Brittany's life over the past week.<p>

At one point, they passed under the shadow of some sort of sculpture and Brittany leaned down to press a kiss to Santana's mouth. "Thank you," she murmured. Santana blushed and shrugged because there was nothing that meant more to her than Brittany, so it was easy to defend her against lugs like that guy.

* * *

><p>Eventually, they made their way into a cab and rode in near silence back towards Santana's hotel. Brittany pulled Santana close, her head leaning on Brittany's chest, as they listened to the radio in another language that neither understood. Santana felt herself drifting off a little in the quiet peace that ended such an exciting day.<p>

Brittany's phone buzzing made her stir a little and Santana yawned and mumbled, "'oo is it?" She nuzzled her nose into Brittany's collar, assuming it was just Mike.

"It's Shelby," Brittany said, looking at her phone with worry. Santana sat up, her stomach sinking uncomfortably. Whatever this phone call was, it couldn't be good. Maybe she realized that Brittany had decided to not sleep at the Olympic Village and was calling her to make her come back. Or maybe one of their scores had been wrong, somehow, or something had happened back home. The longer the phone rang, the more worried Santana became.

Brittany pressed the key to answer her phone.

"Hello?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> For costumes and music related to this story, questions about skating or Brittana, or other feelings about skating and Brittana, head over to my tumblr at sadiered dot tumblr dot com.


	6. And We Watch and Wait

"Brittany?" Shelby's voice came through the speaker sounding tense and worried. "Where are you?" For a moment, Brittany was afraid that Shelby had come to her room to talk about training for Worlds or to break down their performance and had discovered that Brittany wasn't there. If that were the case, Brittany could only imagine that the rest of this conversation would end with Brittany having to go back to the Olympic Village and leave Santana alone on a night that she wanted desperately to spend with her girlfriend.

"Is Santana with you?" Shelby's next question confused Brittany even more, and her heart began to pound. She couldn't think of any reason why Shelby would be looking for Santana. Brittany glanced at Santana, meeting her eyes for a moment.

"Yeah, she is," Brittany said, shrugging in response to the wrinkle that appeared between Santana's eyebrows.

"Okay, good. She's not answering her phone," Shelby said. "We've called twice."

"Phone?" Brittany mouthed to Santana, gesturing towards Santana's coat pocket. Santana pulled it out and pressed the button. Instead of the selfie of the two of them at practice, Santana was greeted with a picture of a battery with nothing left but a red line. "Her phone died," Brittany said. "What's up?"

"Where are you two?" Shelby's voice was still strained and tense. Brittany hated the sinking feeling that she got when Shelby ignored her question. It didn't bode well for whatever was going on.

"We're in a cab on the way to Santana's hotel room. What's going on? Are our parents okay?" Brittany felt Santana's hand slip into hers, and she squeezed it with a grateful look towards Santana. They were both on edge, but it was so sweet that her girl was trying to help her out.

"Yes. No one is hurt— or… Your parents are fine. We're almost to the hotel, too. We'll see you there. Do not make any other stops along the way. Come straight to the room."

Brittany was more confused than ever, but she nodded before remembering that Shelby couldn't see her. "We will."

"Okay, good." There was a long pause that Brittany didn't know how to fill. The thought occurred to her, rising through her mind as if through molasses, that Shelby might not know how to fill it, either. "I will see you soon, Brittany." The line went dead and Brittany pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it in the palm of her hand. The picture of Shelby and Brittany together faded and was replaced by a picture of Santana with a milk mustache, puckering her lips for the camera. Brittany stared at it for a moment and then looked up to the real Santana seated beside her, every warm, comforting inch of her.

The line between Santana's eyebrows had gotten deeper, and her voice was soft and breathy as she began to speak. "What— what is going on? Were they asking about me too? Is everything okay?"

Brittany laced their fingers together and stroked her thumb firmly over the area between Santana's thumb and her finger. "Shelby didn't really tell me anything. She's meeting us at the hotel, and it sounds like someone else is with her. She said our families are alright."

Santana bit her lip for a moment. "Okay, so our families aren't hurt, and they need us both. Or just me. Did she say?" Brittany shook her head. "So, it could be about just me." Brittany hated the look of panic that started to come into Santana's eyes, and she focused on rubbing Santana's hand, trying to soothe her a little. "I— I don't think I've done anything. I followed the rules. My room is clean. I didn't— Do you think this could be about—?" Santana swallowed hard.

"I don't know, honey," Brittany murmured softly. Worry boiled in her stomach, too, but there wasn't anything that she could do. Shelby had the answers about what was going on and she was still ten minutes away. "Whatever it is, even if it's the worst thing, we'll figure it out, okay? I've got you and you've got me?" Santana was so used to standing up to things by herself, ever since Puck left or maybe even before. Brittany had watched her attack all of her problems by herself, over and over. Somehow, it was really hard for her to see the people who were willing to stand beside her.

The small smile that bloomed on Santana's face, tight and worried as it was, made Brittany feel so much better. "I've got you, babe," she whispered. For a moment, in the dull, shifting light of street lamps filtered through car windows and another foggy, drizzly evening, Brittany thought Santana might lean in and kiss her. She wanted it, too. She wanted to feel the press of Santana's lips and the strange, simple perfection that they promised and delivered, every single time.

But Brittany was smarter than she got credit for and she knew that the back of a cab in the outspokenly homophobic Russia, during an event that had her name and picture splashed up all over the place, really wasn't the place for kissing even the best girl in the universe.

And Santana, of course, knew that, too.

After a few seconds, blinking heavily to clear the buzzy feeling in her heart and brain, Brittany tugged Santana gently so her head came back to Brittany's chest. With careful fingers, Brittany worked through the soft hairs at the base of Santana's neck. The streetlights passed by and passed by and passed by.

Brittany honestly wasn't sure if she wanted to get there or not. She had a feeling that things were going to change and, as much as she knew that she could handle whatever change occurred, things were going really well.

And then, the hotel appeared just down the street. They stopped in front of it and Santana sat up. The look in her eyes was the same feeling that Brittany had in her stomach. Brittany paid the taxi driver, and they both slid out and stood on the sidewalk together, looking up at the sign for the hotel. Then, Brittany felt the gentle nudge of Santana's hand brushing against hers. Taking the hint, Brittany wrapped her hand around Santana's, and they walked inside.

* * *

><p>The elevator doors slid closed, and Brittany could feel her heart thump as they started to ascend toward Santana's floor. Beside her, Santana kept tugging at her jacket and the credentials still hanging around her neck, trying to adjust everything into place. Brittany gave her hand a little squeeze and Santana looked up. She tried to smile, but the worried tension in her face didn't quite yield enough. Brittany understood. Her whole body felt alive, but not in any of the ways that she was used to. There was an alive sort of feeling that she got when things were really on at the rink or in front of a crowd, a clouds-and-fist-pumps sort of energy that coursed through her like a jet stream. Then, there was an alive feeling that she got whenever she was with Santana, like waking up in a field full of flowers on a cool, crisp, spring morning and sipping the sweetest honey tea, like she was perfectly aware and at peace.<p>

This was the opposite of both of those feelings, an unpleasant, prickly, and cold electric feeling that jolted from her stomach to her fingertips, and down into her toes, and up into her brain, sending everything into achy confusion.

Her hand, where it touched Santana's, felt warm, though.

"Did Shelby say who was with her? At all?" Santana watched the number creep up another floor.

Brittany shook her head, trying to remember all the details, but there really hadn't been anything other than Shelby saying "we" throughout the conversation.

"Do you think… that it's Will?" Santana asked, and the apprehension in her voice made Brittany's heart ache.

"No," she answered with a head shake, "probably not, because it's like a million miles from here to Japan." Brittany watched the numbers finally change to Santana's floor. "Maybe it's Mike," she added as the doors slid open. "Let's go find out."

* * *

><p>Santana pulled her room key out of her pocket and tried to ignore the feeling that she needed to knock to enter her own room. She could hear voices talking softly and, before she could chicken out, she pushed the key into the lock and let herself and Brittany in.<p>

Shelby was sitting on the edge of Santana's bed, and Santana felt oddly relieved that she had remembered to make it this morning. It so wasn't important at all in this situation, but it was comforting that she didn't look like a huge slob in front of Brittany's coach.

Santana stepped a little further into the room so that Brittany could close the door and caught sight of the other person in the room. "P-president Sylvester?" Santana said, shocked to see the head of the entire United States Figure Skating Association leaning against the side table of her tiny hotel room in Sochi in a red, white, and blue track suit.

"Hi, girls," Shelby said, rising from the bed and crossing to Brittany and Santana. "Come sit down please." She put her hand on Brittany's shoulder and led them over to the bed. Santana's heart thumped hard in her chest as she took a seat on the edge of the bed. She couldn't shake the uncomfortable, sick feeling in her stomach. The fact that Shelby and President Sylvester were both here in Santana's hotel room couldn't mean anything good at all, and not knowing why was painful.

"What's going on?" Santana asked looking between the two women.

They glanced at each other and then President Sylvester began to speak. "I'm afraid we have some bad news." Santana pressed her knee towards Brittany's. She needed to be able to feel the warmth and the weight of her best friend, even if they couldn't hold hands at this moment.

Shelby piped in. "We want to let you know that we're going to do what we can to help and support you while you both work through this. We'll get a counselor if you want one and a consultant to help us know the best way to move forward."

Confusion started to mix in with Santana's fear. She had no idea what Shelby and President Sylvester were talking about, and prickles of irritation crept up her spine. Why drag it out so much? They were called ahead of time and given no clue what this was about, and then, when they were all together, Shelby and President Sylvester wouldn't say anything and wouldn't give them any clue what was happening. If Shelby and President Sylvester weren't here, Santana would probably be kissing a shirtless Brittany right now.

"What are you talking about?" Santana asked, shaking her head. "What's going on?"

President Sylvester looked at Santana for a moment, studying her face. "About ninety minutes ago, a series of photographs were published on a popular gossip website. These pictures depict you, Miss Lopez, and Miss Pierce, in an intimate position. They were noticed quickly, and they have been spreading rapidly throughout other websites, blogs, and message boards." President Sylvester picked up the tablet that was sitting next to her and turned on the screen to reveal a webpage with a shockingly pink background. There were several pictures of Brittany in her skates and USA jacket, with the bright blue skirt of her freeskate costume peeking out from the bottom, pressed against Santana, up on the tip-toes of her boots, their red, red lips obviously pressed in a deeply passionate kiss.

Santana gasped wetly, and her vision swam. "H-how?" she asked, the word almost ripping from her throat.

"We don't know," Shelby said with a shake of her head.

"But I haven't even told my parents, yet." Santana covered her face with her hands. She didn't know what to do. Being with Brittany had been so amazing and, for the first time, she was starting to feel like she actually knew what she was doing, and that she might be ready to plan a way to tell the other important people in her life about this wonderful thing that was happening. But Santana wasn't naïve, and she knew that the Catholic faith her parents followed wasn't for show.

For a long time, Santana had been dreaming different ways that she could tell her parents, ever since she started to realize that there was something different about how she felt about girls in general and Brittany specifically. And just now, just as she was finally in something concrete, something that was beautiful, something that she was proud of, and trying to be ready to share, she was going to have it ripped away from her.

Santana felt Brittany's hand on the small of her back, and, for the first time in a very long time, Santana wasn't sure if it made her feel better or not. She felt so open and exposed and the thought of taking comfort from Brittany in front of two people who weren't supposed to know about them felt overwhelming. Santana could feel Brittany stiffen beside her, and then she started to pull away. Icy panic filled Santana's veins. She didn't want to lose Brittany. Santana turned quickly to bury her head in Brittany's shoulder. Her hands were shaking, so Santana pressed them into her lap. She wanted to get away from all of this, but she didn't know where they could possibly go.

"I'm sorry, but there's more."

Shelby's voice startled Santana. She looked up, wondering what else there could possibly be. "I'm sure you've heard in the news leading up to these events about the different policies that have recently been enforced here in Russia."

The heat in Santana's face from her tears drained away.

"We don't think that anyone would do anything to an athlete or another member of a visiting country's specific delegation. It would cause a lot of international problems, and it's likely that officials will instead choose to turn a blind eye to this." Shelby paused for a moment, looking between the two. "However—," she added, and Santana trembled. "—there is the possibility that someone will decide that a high profile event like the Olympics is the time to send a message."

Santana had been worried, before they arrived in Russia and at different points throughout the stay, about what would happen if she accidentally showed Brittany too much affection for "just friends" or if someone asked why she had another girl up to her room. But those were just everyday sort of people she worried about, waitresses and desk managers and housekeeping staff. Santana had never really thought about what it might be like for the powerful and important people in this country to all know that she was gay. It was terrifying.

"We're sending you both home," President Sylvester cut in. "Santana, I will be taking you to the airport in twenty minutes. Brittany, you will fly out in the morning."

The glimmer of hope that Santana would be able to be with Brittany so quickly deflated that it almost didn't hurt—that is, until Santana realized that she would be spending at least twelve hours by herself on an airplane, where any number of people could know her secret, and that she was heading home to a family that would know the news before she could tell them anything. All of her emotions seemed to be on delay, rising to the surface from under the pressure and depth of this terrible situation.

The funny thing was that Santana had really started to enjoy this trip. The beginning had been weird and hard, while she was still adjusting to the fact that she wasn't there in her own right, as an accomplished skater, and that she was excluded from a lot of the good things that being in Sochi could have brought. But as she settled into her role there, she began to find joy in places along the way. Things were finally feeling wonderful, and then this had to happen.

And how had it even happened? There hadn't been anyone else in that hallway. She had looked around and made sure.

Shelby took a step towards Santana, looking concerned, reaching for her shoulder, but she faltered before she even came close, her hand swinging back to rest lamely at her side. Santana was glad. She wasn't sure she could stand being touched by anyone but Brittany at this moment. The urge to get away still flooded through her, pricking at her legs and her feet, until her muscles were so tense.

It built and built and would have exploded somehow if President Sylvester hadn't suddenly looked at her watch. "Santana, you have fifteen minutes until you need to be downstairs with all of your things. At that time, I will take you to the airport and Ms. Corcoran will bring Brittany back to the Olympic Village." She took a few steps towards the door, following behind Shelby.

Just before she left, President Sylvester turned back and the hard edges of her face softened for a moment. "I'm sorry, girls. This shouldn't have happened." Then, the door closed behind her, and Brittany and Santana were alone.

* * *

><p>At the click of the door closing, whatever was helping Santana hold it together collapsed. She felt it all well up in her chest and throat. It hurt, like too much pressure inside of her, pressing to get up and out and to escape this situation that she had been thrust into. Santana turned to Brittany and saw the same shell-shocked and paralyzed expression on her face. Somehow, it was even worse, seeing it on Brittany's face and Santana sobbed. She wrapped her arms around Brittany, pressing her face into Brittany's shoulder.<p>

Brittany's arms came around her, and they felt like the only thing keeping her whole.

It was all so incredibly unfair. Things had just gotten sorted out between Brittany and Santana. She understood for the first time in her life where she stood with Brittany, and she was learning how to be the kind of girlfriend that Brittany could be proud of. It wasn't easy. Being with Brittany was the easiest thing, and it always had been. But being comfortable with that herself, and being comfortable with other people knowing who she was, that was all something very different. It was a lot of hard work, and Santana had only just begun that.

Santana had planned and dreamed about sitting her parents down and talking through how much she loved Brittany and how the feelings that she had were so real and true and pure that she knew they had to be okay things to feel.

Other times, when she was feeling less brave, Santana looked for stationary online, bookmarking link after link to beautiful cards that she could use to write to her parents so she wouldn't have to look at their faces if they hated the idea, to give them a chance to cool down.

She had thought about being frank and ripping it off like a band aid, and she had considered long speeches about how she loved her parents and didn't want to disappoint them, but that she had to follow her heart, because Brittany made her happier than anything else in her life.

She had pictured happy endings where her parents hugged her and told her that they loved Brittany and that they were so happy for her to be herself.

More often, she planned about what would happen if things went disastrously wrong. If her parents kicked her out, she would live with her abuela. It would mean a longer commute to the rink, but the nights before her early practices, she could spend at Brittany's. If they cut her off, she would find a part time job, and she would apply for scholarships or grants. If she had to cut back on her instructors, she had a precise list of the things that she could cut, one by one, until she reached a balance between what she could afford and what she needed to succeed. If her parents became distant and disappointed but didn't kick her out, well, that would be hard to swallow, and she would probably spend more time with Brittany, but it wasn't the worst case and she could deal with that.

Santana had a lot of plans, and none of them involved being outed to the entire world.

The hot drip of water on her ear startled Santana out of the confusing, painful swirl of thoughts in her mind. She pulled back to see tear tracks on Brittany's face. Santana let out a shuddering breath and reached up to wipe one of the tears away from Brittany's cheek.

Brittany leaned into the touch and Santana cupped her hand around Brittany's cheek. "Do your parents know about—?" Santana couldn't seem to finish the sentence. Naming what had happened to them, the reality of the situation that they were in was terrifying. Beyond that, Santana felt a stab of something else—maybe shame—that she had never really asked Brittany if her parents knew.

Brittany splayed her hands across Santana's back and nodded. "I told them that I was bi when I was fourteen," she sniffed and brushed her nose against Santana's, pressing their foreheads together. "I didn't tell them about you. I think they probably guessed, though, but they never said anything."

Santana didn't know why it was comforting to know that Brittany hadn't told her parents specifically about them and their relationship, and that the Pierces never asked. It changed nothing about the situation that they were in. Santana and Brittany still didn't have any control over who knew, and, whether or not Brittany's parents had actually known, they did know now. But Brittany's discretion made Santana feel taken care of, all the same.

For a moment, Santana sat very still, just looking at Brittany's face. Her eyes looked even bluer than normal, shining in the dim, yellowy orange light of the lamps and rimmed in red. The tip of her nose was a little red, too. Somehow, she was still beautiful. It wasn't fair that she had to go through this.

Santana's face crumpled, and she looked down as tears slipped down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. She wasn't even sure what she was apologizing for. Maybe because she had been the one to bring Brittany into the back of the rink to kiss, maybe because she had been the reason that it was such a secret in the first place. Maybe because she had made it all so complicated in the first place. Santana just wished that she could do something to make it all go away, for herself and for Brittany.

"Honey, you have nothing to apologize for," Brittany's eyes were fierce as she said it, but her tone was soft. "This was done to us. It was not done by us. Don't let other people make you feel like this is your fault." Santana nodded, but it didn't stop the tears. She believed Brittany, but it still didn't alter any of the things that were happening, and it didn't protect either one of them. Brittany pulled her in closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead and her cheek and her nose, her fingers wide on Santana's back, holding as much of her as possible. Santana slipped her arms around Brittany's waist, her head coming to rest in the safe haven of the crook of Brittany's neck.

For a few minutes, Santana just breathed. Hot tears still rolled down her cheeks, soaking into the collar of Brittany's USA jacket, but they were slow. The world seemed like it stood still for a moment and the only thing was Brittany. Santana closed her eyes and breathed and breathed. The only thing that she could feel was the soft expanding of Brittany's ribs against hers, the press of her hands covering Santana's back, the clammy warmth of her neck, wet with Santana's tears. Every breath brought Brittany's scent into the very deepest parts of her soul.

The world waited and Santana calmed. It wasn't much, not in this situation, not with everything waiting outside the door. The world would know, their world would know, and nothing would be the same the moment they stepped outside. But Brittany's touch pulled her away for a moment, and slowed the frenetic pace of her heart, until she worked up the courage to murmur, "What do you think my parents are going to say?"

It wasn't something that she had ever discussed with them, nothing about their opinions about gay people or bisexual people or anything else. When she was younger, Santana hadn't even realized that it was possible for two girls to be with each other until she had started to want that with Brittany. After that, she had always been too afraid to bring anything up, because what if her parents weren't supportive? What if they guessed that she was talking about herself?

Brittany took a moment before she answered, stroking Santana's back as she thought. Eventually, she spoke up. "I don't know. I hope that they'll show you that they love you, because nothing has changed about you. You're still the totally awesome daughter that they've always had." Brittany stopped for a moment and wrapped more of her arms around Santana. "But they haven't always known all of those awesome parts. And they might need to take a little time to see how awesome they are. Like you and mint chocolate milkshakes." Santana smiled a little at that, weakly, but still a smile. Brittany loved mint chocolate milkshakes and Santana had never been a fan until she grew to love the taste as she kissed it off Brittany's mouth. Now it was in her top three favorite flavors.

Brittany pulled back and looked at Santana's face. "If they, like, need time, Santana, call my parents. It would totally suck for them to need time, but if it happens—like, my parents love you and they'll take care of you until I can."

Santana stared at Brittany for a moment, torn between the heartbreak of the fact that even Brittany didn't know if this was going to go well, and the sweet flutter that she got because Brittany was just so good at taking care of her. She surged forward and pressed their lips together, kissing Brittany with a desperation that didn't come from desire. Brittany's fingers dug into her back and Santana wrapped her arms tightly around Brittany and kissed and kissed. She could feel hot tears on her face again, but she wasn't even sure who they belonged to.

Santana kissed Brittany until she couldn't breathe anymore, and then she pulled away just enough to press her face into Brittany's neck again. She felt Brittany's fingers thread through the hair at the back of her head and hold her close as they swayed for a moment.

"We have four minutes until we're supposed to meet them," Brittany murmured, and Santana could hear the reluctance in her voice. Her heart kicked in her chest. Santana didn't want to leave Brittany and their time seemed to have gone by too fast. "Come on," Brittany urged quietly. "I'll get your stuff out of the bathroom. You pick up the things in here. Maybe we can get it done with a few minutes to spare."

Santana nodded and let go of Brittany. They rose off the bed, Santana's legs feeling a little bit shaky. Brittany walked off towards the bathroom and Santana looked around at the room. She didn't have much out, but she had been planning on several more days, so there were things to take care of. Santana reached for her charger cord for her phone and realized that her hands were shaking. Rubbing them on her legs for a moment, she steeled herself. If she wanted any more time with Brittany before she had to leave, she needed to be able to get this done.

Moving on autopilot, Santana made a circle of the room, collecting her charger and headphones, the clothes that were laid out for the next day, her book, and a few other things that had been laid out around her room. She stuffed her charger and her headphones into her carry-on bag with her book and her laptop, then added the clothes and the other things back to her suitcase, which was half-filled with her skating bag. It had been easier to pack that bag inside her suitcase than to try to check to the two separately. Santana unwound the credentials from her neck and tucked them inside of her carry-on bag. It was hard to imagine that only an hour ago, those felt like such a badge of honor and that she was so proud of wearing them with Brittany. Now, they felt heavy and scary, a different kind of badge all together.

Brittany emerged just as Santana finished, holding out the different cosmetics and toiletries Santana had brought in her bag, zipped into their case. Santana fit the case into the spot that she had left for that purpose and easily zipped the suitcase before setting it upright. "Time?" she asked Brittany, fearful for what the answer would be.

Brittany glanced at her phone. "We have one minute," she said, pulling Santana into another hug, holding her as close as she could.

Santana felt tears well in her eyes again. "I don't want to leave you," she cried.

"I don't want to leave you, either," Brittany said, her voice cracking in the middle. Santana squeezed tighter, hating the pain that was hurting them both. "But I'll be home tomorrow. I'll text you my flight information and you can come pick me up at Logan. And I'll text you as much as I can tomorrow, okay?"

Santana nodded and then turned her face up to Brittany's. Brittany, clearly understanding, dipped down just a little to press their mouths together. It was a long kiss, but still, as Santana just tried to feel as much of Brittany as she could in the little time that they had. Finally, they had to step apart. Santana let out a shuttering breath, and Brittany wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

"Here," Brittany suddenly said, unwinding the scarf that was around her neck. It was a bright yellow and blue pattern, and Brittany's mom had given it to her after their silver place finish at Nationals that year. "I've been wearing it a lot, so it probably smells like me and stuff," she snuffled, and tucked the scarf around Santana's neck. "Did you know that a person's sense of smell is strongly tied to their emotion? There have been studies."

Santana tucked her nose into the soft cotton and breathed. It did smell like Brittany. She rose up on her tip toes and pressed on more soft kiss to Brittany's lips and then pulled on the straps of her carry on. Brittany took the handle of Santana's suitcase. They both looked around one more time. It was so strange to be leaving like this, and if it weren't for the fear making her heart pound and the rock of heartbreak in her stomach, Santana could have even wondered if it were a dream. But it felt all too painfully real.

The door closed behind them with an emphatic thump, a certain end to her time in Sochi.

"Hold my hand?" Santana whispered, not sure how to take another step forward without Brittany to help. Brittany wove her fingers with Santana's, and they moved forward together.

* * *

><p>The elevator ride seemed to only take a second, the complete opposite of what it had felt going up. All Santana wanted was another minute with Brittany, but it felt like the doors had barely closed before they were opening again. Shelby and President Sylvester were waiting by the door and they looked up as Santana and Brittany stepped out of the elevator. Through the glass doors of the hotel, Santana could see two cabs idling. Brittany's fingers tightened around hers, and Santana looked up, turning towards Brittany slightly. Brittany met her eyes and Santana had to blink hard to keep from crying again. This was their last moment together before everything really changed.<p>

"I love you," Santana blurted out. She had been fighting it for a while, for years, maybe since she was thirteen. She hadn't wanted to say it, afraid of the consequences. But, now, the consequences didn't matter and Santana needed Brittany to know.

"I love you, too," Brittany said, without a moment of hesitation.

Even with everything else going on, hearing that from Brittany was a moment of joy. Santana had suspected and thought and hoped and prayed, but she had never been sure. They stared at each other for a moment, Santana drinking in the feeling of being in Brittany's gaze. Santana would have given anything to be somewhere private where they could celebrate this moment like it was supposed to be celebrated. It was just another thing that had been taken from them.

President Sylvester cleared her throat from near the door, shattering the moment. "Santana, you have to make that flight."

Santana turned back to look at Brittany, feeling the desperate urge to cling to Brittany like a child getting ripped away from a favorite stuffed animal. Brittany was her comfort and her home and her safety and her love.

Brittany could surely see that in Santana's eyes, because she just gave Santana's hand another squeeze and said, "I'll see you in Boston."

Santana closed her eyes for a moment, and then she finally stepped away from Brittany. President Sylvester took her suitcase and brought it out to the cab driver. Santana followed, with Brittany and Shelby right behind. President Sylvester slid into the backseat of the cab.

Santana couldn't follow. Not yet. She turned and ran to Brittany, throwing her arms around Brittany's neck and pressing a short, hard kiss to her lips. "Be safe," she begged. "I love you, please be safe."

"I'll be okay," Brittany answered, wrapping her arms tightly around Santana's back. "I love you and I promise we'll both be okay."

Before anything else could stop her, before she lost the courage, Santana let go of Brittany and ran the few steps back to the cab, climbing in and slamming the door shut behind her. She couldn't watch as they pulled away from the hotel, afraid that her heart would shatter the rest of the way if she had to watch Brittany's face as they left.

* * *

><p>For a few moments, all Santana could feel was the pain of pulling away from Brittany to sit in the cab. President Sylvester had done little to comfort her, which Santana saw as a small mercy. She wasn't sure how she would be able to handle the highest ranking official in the whole association trying to console her. Instead, President Sylvester had made several phone calls, barking into the phone, whether she seemed to be speaking to one of her staff or a family member at home.<p>

Then, Santana began to worry that maybe she shouldn't have pressed that last kiss to Brittany's lips. It was foolish when they were already in so much danger and trouble for the kisses that had been caught on camera. Why would she be so ridiculous to chance more people seeing? It was still the middle of the night, really. It could barely be called early morning, and there was no reason that most of the people in the area had seen the picture on the website or any where else that they had been shared to—a thought that still made Santana feel queasy—so if anyone saw Santana place that decidedly non-platonic kiss on Brittany's lips, that would be the thing that revealed who they were.

It was especially important because Brittany still wasn't leaving for a few more hours, which meant that the only person that Santana had put in danger by her terrible decision was Brittany. That knot had turned over and over in her stomach, until she finally pulled out her phone and texted a heart to Brittany. The immediate response soothed her to know that Brittany was okay. Shelby would protect Brittany, Santana knew. But that didn't meant that she wouldn't worry all the same.

The ride to the airport went much faster in the early hours of the morning than the middle of the afternoon, and, in no time, Santana was hurrying behind President Sylvester, who was practically marching through the airport. She could barely keep up, even though President Sylvester had taken the handle of her suitcase and yanked it along after her the whole way to the desk. After some short, terse small talk between President Sylvester, and the unfortunate woman behind the counter, Santana's bag was checked, and she had her ticket in hand. President Sylvester had sent her through security with strict orders to stay well within sight of airport employees at all times, instructions that a cart would be waiting for her in Moscow so she could make her flight to Paris, and a sympathetic look.

An hour later, Santana sat down in her seat on the airplane. It was another smaller aircraft, just for the journey back to Moscow so she could fly out from there, but it was close to empty. It seemed that not a lot of people were looking to fly out from Sochi in the middle of the Olympic weeks. Still, there were several people scattered throughout the plane, and Santana sunk down lower into her seat. Her heart was thumping uncomfortably in her chest, and her stomach rolled and flipped over. Santana quickly fastened her seat belt and pushed her carry on bag under the seat in front of her before clasping her hands together, rubbing the muscle at the base of her thumb.

Closing her eyes, Santana tucked her nose into the edge of the scarf wrapped around her neck and breathed deeply. Brittany's smell, sweet and tangy and natural and _Brittany,_ washed over her. It was a moment of peace, breathing Brittany in.

But only a moment, because Santana's mind was a freight train, an avalanche, and she couldn't stop worrying. It had been like that since the moment the cab had pulled away from her hotel.

The flight had been booked with such a tight timeframe that Santana barely had time to think between security and her gate, before she was on the plane. But now, she was strapped in and would be sitting still for the next two hours on a plane half full of strangers who very well could have some idea of who she was and have seen intimate pictures of her, revealing private information.

It was daunting.

Santana desperately wanted Brittany beside her. Nothing could make her feel quite the way that she did when she had Brittany. They had been best friends since they were children. Brittany had been four, and Santana had been three and a half, new to Ohio from Miami. From their very first skating lesson, Brittany had been beautiful and brave, and Santana had latched onto her like a lifeline. More and more, as they grew, Santana found herself turning to her best friend when she needed help or understanding. Brittany was the person that she could talk to about almost everything — certainly more than her dad or her mom or her coach.

As she grew into a teenager and her feelings became strange and uncontrollable and scary and bigger than herself, Santana had grown even closer to Brittany. She knew now that what she had been doing was falling in love. Brittany was her person for everything, and when Santana needed someone, she was still the first person that Santana ran to.

But Santana's phone was off, dead still and stowed in her jacket pocket as the crew prepped the plane to leave, until she could charge it a bit in the air, though she still wouldn't be able to get anything until they landed.

They would fly to Moscow for a very short layover, then onto Paris, and finally home to Boston. None of that seemed easy. Moscow was still in Russia, the country she was being rushed out of because Shelby and President Sylvester and who knew who else in the United States Figure Skating Association or the Skating Club of Boston or whatever had decided that it was too dangerous for her to stay there another minute longer. Santana still wasn't really sure who they were exactly afraid of. Should she be worried about the Russian police storming the airport to drag her away? Some sort of official government person coming to condemn her or send her to jail? People that she passed by or who were sitting near her attacking her? Santana didn't know what it was that she needed to be scared of, so she was scared of everything.

The plane started to taxi down the runway and then lift up into the air. Santana pressed herself back against the seat, gripping the arms of her seat tightly. She wasn't scared of flying, but with the way that her stomach was gnawing, she had to breathe just to keep from vomiting.

In Paris, the problem was that a lot more people would have time to see the pictures. Even when she landed in Moscow, it was only going to be five or six in the morning and most of the people that she would see in the short time between flights, as well as on her flight from Moscow probably still wouldn't have had the time or desire to be flipping through whatever terrible gossip sites were posting the pictures of her and Brittany. But by the time she was in Paris, it would be midmorning. By that time, who knew who could have seen the pictures? They must be everywhere, for President Sylvester to have known about them so quickly.

It felt so violating to know that those pictures were out there. Santana pressed a hand to her stomach and closed her eyes to breathe again, just trying to force herself to stay calm. Hundreds, probably thousands, of people had looked at pictures of her kissing Brittany. They were able to see what it looked like when they were in a private moment. That was meant for Brittany. That was meant to be a moment of joy between them, because Brittany did such a beautiful job. Brittany had skated the best that she and Mike had probably ever skated, achieved a personal best score, and finished in the top ten pairs at the fucking Olympics. And Santana had gotten to be there, to be a part, to share it with her. And then someone had taken that moment and allowed the entire world to peek in, to spread it around, to judge and to salivate over, to make partially theirs as well.

Santana had never been that much into paparazzi photography before, even of her most favorite celebrities, but she definitely wasn't anymore.

Paris wouldn't be a long layover, but it would still be a stressful one. And then it would be followed by a seven or more hour plane ride with a big question mark at the end.

Santana still had no idea what her parents were going to be thinking. President Sylvester had told her that they would send her flight information to her parents so that they would know when she would be coming in, but she didn't know what they would do, if they would actually show up for her. Santana swallowed, fighting around the lump that suddenly rose in her throat.

She couldn't think about her parents right now. There were still hours to go until she was back in Boston, and if she started to worry about it now, she wasn't going to make it. She could feel her heart thumping so hard in her chest that it hurt.

In an effort to distract herself, Santana pressed her forehead to her window, peering out of the plane. It was like a dreamland, with the moon low on the horizon casting a soft light across the clouds that they were flying above. She wondered what Brittany was doing at this moment. She didn't know what time exactly Brittany would be leaving because President Sylvester was still trying to work the flights out. That was one of the phone calls that she had heard was to Shelby, telling her to pick between flights and get Brittany on one of them. Santana closed her eyes and tried to picture Brittany joking around with Mike or having fun loudly packing at three in the morning so that Pendleton Webber couldn't sleep through it. It would definitely serve her right to be woken up like that after all of the shit she had been talking to Brittany all week.

Pendleton had been a thorn in their sides for years. Four years ago, when Santana was still skating pairs with Puck, they were at their practice for the novice part of Nationals, hanging out in the seats watching the other skaters while they waited for their coaches and the boys to get there. She and Brittany had been talking about how they were totally going to be watching the newest episode of One Tree Hill in their hotel room and they couldn't wait because the promos looked amazing. Santana had leaned forward to toss the wrapper of the granola bar she had split with Brittany into the trash, which was sitting on the floor a few rows of seats below them. The wrapper had bounced off the rim—there was a reason Santana was in figure skating and not basketball—and landed at the foot of a tiny girl wearing her hair in a bun so tight it looked painful. She had stormed over and yelled at them for being childish and inconsiderate. Santana had gotten flustered and tried to explain that it had been an accident, but the girl had screeched over her that she was supposed to be focused and they were ruining her concentration. She went on and on, getting louder and louder as Santana got redder and redder until she finally demanded an apology from Santana. Before Santana could say anything, Brittany had burst out laughing, holding onto her stomach with one hand and the seat with the other so she didn't tip off. Santana and Pendleton had both stared at Brittany for a moment before Santana started laughing, too. Pendleton had basically screamed in frustration and stormed off, which had been the start of their prickly relationship.

Brittany was just the best like that. No matter the situation, she could always turn things around for Santana. Tears welled in Santana's eyes and she blinked as she looked down. She wanted to be with Brittany right at this moment. She wanted to feel better and safe and sure and comfortable. She wanted to know that everything was going to be okay, that she would come out of this and still be able to hold her head up and get out on the ice and do her job and live her life and love her family and just be Santana. But she couldn't know any of those things when Brittany was so far away.

And she wanted to make sure that Brittany was okay, too. She knew that Shelby probably wouldn't be leaving Brittany's side the whole rest of the time that Brittany was in Sochi, which was a small comfort. But Shelby wasn't going to know how to make sure that Brittany was doing alright inside. It was different for Brittany, in some ways. She had the support of her family, no matter what, Santana had seen and felt that for years. And she was so comfortable with who she was.

Santana envied that. Brittany knew how she felt, knew who she loved and how she loved, and she never once seemed to feel like she needed to apologize for that. She was just Brittany, and she did so boldly and proudly.

Santana felt out of place in her skin and in her life. She tried so hard for so long. There were all of these moments when she was growing up that she had felt so broken and confused and out of place. Playing MASH in elementary school with Brittany and their classmates had always left Santana with a belly ache, because she knew the first question was going to be about who they would marry. Her friends would shout out celebrities both "totally hunky" and "so gross it's funny" and boys in their grade. Santana would watch the list fill up with boys she couldn't stand and men she couldn't care about and wondered why she never had any suggestions of anyone that she wanted to marry, even if it was just for a game. Everyone knew that they weren't really going to get the chance to marry Aaron Carter or Frankie Muniz, but it was just fun for them to think about. Santana couldn't even pretend in her mind. The only person she had ever wanted to spend the rest of her life with was Brittany. Santana could remember the way that she would sit there and watch Brittany laugh and call out for other people she wanted on her list and feel her heart sink lower and lower.

But then at the end of recess, once all of the tallies were counted and they all knew their futures for the moment, Brittany would come stand beside her in line and hold her hand and whisper, "I'm glad that I got mansion, because then I'll definitely have enough space for you to live with me, too." And Santana would smile her first genuine smile of the whole recess and walk back to their classroom with her best friend.

Santana's whole childhood had been moments like that, trying to force herself to be the person that she was supposed to be, liking what she was supposed to like and living how she was supposed to live. It was only recently that she had started to change that, first to see that there was maybe other words for her than just broken. And then, more recently, to really allow herself to see that things could be different, that she could love Brittany in the deep, forever, romantic way that she did, and have it be okay. It was taking time. More time than Santana wanted it to, and probably more time than Brittany deserved, but Santana was making progress.

Except that it had all been ripped away from her. Someone had decided to take pictures of her in a private moment and put them everywhere and now Santana didn't have a choice or chance to get there on her own. She didn't have a chance to prepare her family or control the story. Her whole life was going to be different now and Santana still didn't even know what that would mean.

A tear ran down her cheek and Santana reached up to wipe it away. She hadn't realized that she was that close to crying, but she didn't want to draw any attention to herself. The last thing that she needed was anyone looking at her any longer than absolutely necessary. Santana looked up towards the ceiling of the airplane, counting the ridges in the air vent above her and taking deep breaths until the pressure behind her eyes faded away. She couldn't cry here. She had to try to keep it all together. At least for a little while longer.

Maybe tonight, when she was laying in bed, then she could let go.

Of course, Santana didn't know how to finish that picture in her head. She didn't know which bed she would be in. She didn't know where she would be welcome.

The seatbelt sign saved her from thinking about it and Santana tucked her nose into the scarf and breathed Brittany in, over and over as the plane landed.

* * *

><p>The flight attendant came and got her when they landed, letting her know that there was a cart waiting for her, just like President Sylvester said there would be. Apparently, the connection really was that close; Santana still wasn't totally sure how President Sylvester pulled off getting the flight crew to actually escort off the flight first in order to make it—although, she had seen how scary it was to be on the receiving end of one of those phone calls. Santana didn't think she'd say no to any of President Sylvester's requests either.<p>

Only moments after they'd actually connected up to the gate, Santana was in the airport and being helped onto the back of what looked a lot like a golf cart with no roof. The man in an airport uniform took off, sailing through the shiny tile expanses of the airport at a pretty good clip. Santana was so busy feeling slightly embarrassed and amused at the same time that she didn't even find time to think about if anyone could possibly recognize her. They arrived at her next gate before Santana could even get used to the sensation of flying past everyone else inside.

For a moment, Santana felt light.

* * *

><p>When Santana stepped aboard the plane, it was obvious that she was the last one and that they may have even held the plane for her a little bit. Everyone was already seated and, for the most part, settled. The plane was a lot larger, but it was also fuller. Santana felt a nervous flutter work its way up her spine, and she shrunk down a little as she walked to her seat. Her row was mercifully unoccupied, and Santana sunk down and pushed her bag under the seat in front of her. There was no time to pull out her phone, even just to check and see if Brittany had sent her any messages, because the announcements had already started over the loudspeaker. Santana clipped her seatbelt and then looked out the window. It was still dark outside, but the skyline out over the city was starting to get a little greyer.<p>

Santana leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. If Shelby and President Sylvester hadn't been in Santana's hotel room when they got back, things would have gone very differently. Santana would have been kissing Brittany the moment that they had the door closed behind them. Probably giggling and kissing her as they moved around her little hotel room. Then, there probably would have been some flopping onto the bed and Brittany would have talked about how tired she was. Santana would have flipped the covers over her and told her that they could just go to sleep. Brittany would have laughed that beautiful laugh, and then she would have tickled Santana until she couldn't breathe. And then they'd probably end up laying on each other, a little out of breath. And then they would have kissed, without any giggling. And, if Santana had been really lucky, they might have made love. And maybe Santana could have whispered the three words she'd been holding in, as they lay wrapped up together, just before they got to fall asleep in each others arms.

Right now they'd still be asleep, together, and happy.

But that wasn't what happened at all. Brittany was hundreds of miles away and Santana was on a plane. Instead of a romantic night, they had one of the worst nights of Santana's life, and it was just the start of a nightmare that wasn't ending any time soon.

Whenever Brittany thought about the first time that Santana said "I love you," she was going to have to remember this awful day, too. Santana didn't know why she had blurted it out at that moment. It wasn't private, it wasn't sweet. It had just been a moment of panic, worrying that if she didn't tell Brittany now and something happened, that Brittany might not know. Because it was true, Santana did love Brittany. She had loved her for a really long time. It was hard to say when Santana even fell officially in love with Brittany. They had been best friends since their first day at the rink together and inseparable from that point on. They had been in the same class for almost every grade, especially when they began to skate seriously. They spent half of the weekends a year at each others houses, having sleepovers. Their parents worked together to find a place that they could move when it was time to find a bigger skating rink, and their childhood homes in Boston were five houses away from each other. At some point, Santana had started to go from loving Brittany to being in love with her, but she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to pick out when that had happened.

But the first time that Brittany got to learn about it had been in front of her coach and an important member of their skating association, not to mention two cab drivers. Brittany was probably wishing that Santana had had enough courage to do it earlier or enough faith to do it later.

Santana's head throbbed, reminding her that she had been awake for about twenty-four hours straight at this point, and all of them had been exhausting in a number of ways. She looked up, relieved to see that there was a flight attendant down the aisle with coffee on her cart. It took a few minutes for her to make her way all the way down to Santana's row, but eventually she arrived and handed Santana a cup and a handful of sugar and creamer packets. Santana carefully mixed her coffee and took a sip. It was about as terrible as she expected it to be but still drinkable. The coffee eased her head a little.

It still honestly hadn't completely sunk in. Everything had been so surreal. One moment, she had been curled up against Brittany in the backseat of a cab, the next moment they were suddenly in this whole new reality where everything had shifted and they were outed to the world, and now Santana was somewhere over Eastern Europe, drinking terrible airline coffee, alone. She knew what had happened. She had run it over in her head. But she didn't know what that would mean yet. She wasn't sure how things were going to change. There were a lot of things that probably would be different.

Santana gulped down her coffee so she didn't start crying, burning her tongue a little in the process. A surge of anger went through her, and she slammed the window cover shut and set her now empty cup onto the tray of the seat next to hers. It was so unfair. She was supposed to be able to do all of this in her own time, with Brittany at her side. She was supposed to make Brittany proud and be with her and stand up and be ready. And now she never would get to do any of that. She was always going to be behind, running to catch up, to feel comfortable. Santana wanted to be at ease with herself, with who she was, but nothing seemed to let her. She couldn't be the skater that she was supposed to be, she couldn't be the woman that she was supposed to be, she was just a second rate version of everything in her life.

Gripping the arm rests, Santana squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could and closed her eyes. She didn't want to start crying. Her row might have been empty, but there were still people around her, who could see her, and the last thing that she needed to do was to cry here in front of everyone, so they could see how poorly she was handling everything.

Santana focused on just breathing. In, out, in, out, Brittany, Brittany, Brittany.

* * *

><p>Something about it must have worked, because Santana woke suddenly awhile later. A beam of sunlight was blazing out from under the crack of the window shade and Santana rubbed her bleary eyes as she tried to figure out exactly what had happened. She had drank her coffee and then tried to get her mind off of things by just breathing and thinking of Brittany, and she must have dozed off. Santana felt disoriented, unsure of where she was exactly, and a little panicked. An announcement came over the speaker a moment later saying that they were starting their descent into the airport in Paris, and Santana realized that she had slept through almost her entire flight. It wasn't much sleep, in the scheme of what had gone on. Santana had probably been asleep for about two hours, and it had given her a headache and a crick in her neck.<p>

But at least she didn't have to spend the entire flight obsessing.

They taxied into the airport and pulled up to their gate. This time, Santana didn't have to rush off the airplane, so she took her time. She had time before her next flight—at least an hour—and she wanted to see as few people as possible in that time. By the time the people in front of her were moving out into the aisle, Santana finally pulled her bag out from under the seat in front of her, and rose to follow them out of the airplane.

Getting to her next gate presented another challenge for Santana to put her mind to, to keep herself from thinking about other things, so Santana began following the signs that led her towards her gate.

Santana couldn't help but feel like she was being watched, though. Every time someone looked at her, she wondered if they had seen the pictures, if they knew about her most precious and intimate secret, if they were judging her, if they would hate her. Santana walked quicker and quicker, her heart thumping, until she was at her gate. There was a short row of chairs facing out towards the windows, and Santana took one so that she wouldn't have to see any of the people and hopefully anyone who had seen the pictures wouldn't be able to recognize her.

For a moment, she just sat there, breathing a little hard, her carry-on slumped at her feet. Santana knew that she should probably find something to eat, but she didn't see how it would be possible to choke anything down. She had meant to take that walk slowly to kill as much time as possible and keep her brain quiet, but that hadn't worked.

Santana pulled out her phone to check the time and remembered that she had shut it off on the first airplane from Sochi to Moscow and never turned it back on. Heart thrumming, she pressed the button and watched her screen come back to life. Sure enough, though she wasn't sure she even knew how she knew to expect it, there was a message from Brittany. Santana opened it, drinking in the words.

"_hey baby i hope you__'__re doing okay. you__'__re so strong. i love you and i__'__ll see you soon. xxxxx_"

Santana let her breath out slowly, swallowing against the lump in her throat. It helped her to remember that there was a light at the end of this tunnel, that being with Brittany, that kissing Brittany, was worth everything that she could go through over the next few days or weeks or more. Santana closed her eyes and just held her phone for a moment before carefully typing out her reply. "_I love you, too. I__'__ll be okay if you__'__re okay. Tell me when to pick you up at the airport. I love you. xxxxx_" She pressed the phone to her heart, like she could actually feel Brittany through the screen, and tucked her nose back into the scarf that she was still wearing around her neck. Brittany loved her. That was enough peace for Santana at the moment.

* * *

><p>Brittany didn't text back before Santana had to board the plane and turn her phone off again. Santana wasn't particularly surprised, even if she was a bit disappointed. It had been hours since she had left Sochi that morning, they must have put Brittany on her plane by now. Santana would probably receive another text when she turned her phone back on in Boston.<p>

Santana still didn't know if she was ready to confront what would happen when she got to Boston. Instead, she had tried to force herself to watch one of the movies that was provided on the screen in the seat back in front of her. She found a lighthearted comedy, but it did little to distract her from what was coming. After the third time of realizing that she had no idea what was going on or even who the characters were, Santana finally shut the movie off. She stared at the little icon of the plane inching its way over Europe and out over the Atlantic Ocean for a few more moments.

Her heart had been thumping uncomfortably in her chest since she had left. It hadn't helped that the gate attendant had looked down at her boarding pass and then back up at her, like he recognized her name, but he had let her through without a comment.

Finally, Santana couldn't fight it any longer, and she allowed herself to think about what would be happening when her plane landed in Boston. At the moment, at least, there were only two possibilities. Either her parents were there to pick her up, or they were not. Santana wished desperately that she knew how things were going to go, but the truth was that she really didn't.

Somehow, at some point, a distance had grown between Santana and her parents. It had happened little by little, the way that it was supposed to. Santana went to school and grew and matured, so that she didn't need her parents for everything. She became responsible, driven, and committed to figure skating, enough that the family could change their course around her. But, there was a divide that was starting to grow between her parents and herself. She turned to Brittany with her worries and her fears. As she became a pre-teen and a teenager, she really started to notice the ways that she didn't fit in with the other girls her age and that scared her, afraid that she might disappoint her parents.

It was hard to explain things to her parents, so she pulled away. She didn't want to disappoint her parents, so she pulled away. She didn't want to hurt her parents, so she pulled away.

The space between them probably was Santana's fault.

And now she had no idea what they would think when they found out. Santana knew that they still went to church every Sunday. She went with them on the days that she didn't have practice. She knew that her father still prayed before every meal that they ate as a family.

But she didn't know how to handle the idea that her parents wouldn't want to be her family anymore if they found out about this. Santana had been trying to prepare herself for that possibility for months, going over how she would reveal it to her parents, trying to find the most respectful and gentle way to let them know, but trying to be realistic about what might happen. But now she was realizing that she had never come close to really being ready. If her Papa, the same man who had read her _Charlotte__'__s Web _every night that he was home, two times in a row the year that she was five, rejected her, she knew that her heart would break. And her Mama, she had been the one who would brush Santana's hair into a smooth shiny wave before school or weave it into a tight professional bun before every meet, long after Santana was able to do it herself. Santana knew that she wouldn't be able to stand losing her parents.

But it could happen. Every part of Santana's body knew that it could. Her stomach was knotted and her heart thumped. Her body was cold and clammy all over and her head throbbed along with her heart.

Every moment, every pixel, the plane moved closer and closer to the city she called home, but she didn't even know if she had a home anymore.

Santana was torn between a furious anger at the person who had done this to her and a deep, paralyzing sadness. She shook slightly, her hands trembling. She just wanted to be loved—by her mom and her dad, by her abuela, and by Brittany. That was all she needed to be okay. Everything else, she could manage. "Please," she whispered under her breath as a tear slipped out from behind closed eyes and trailed down her cheek. "Please, just love me. Please, please…"

* * *

><p>The flight had been unbearable, but that was nothing compared to the customs that Santana had to go through when she landed. Every step, her knees felt weaker, like she could barely stand up, and her stomach turned and turned. She felt so cold and small and scared. The process went on and on, drawing it out so her anticipation grew. Santana was still trying to prepare herself for what would happen when she turned the corner and saw no one there. She hadn't turned on her phone yet because she wanted to save whatever message Brittany sent her for when she would really need it.<p>

Her heart beat and thumped as she waited for her suitcase, and finally, she dragged it off the baggage claim. She tried to just keep breathing as she showed someone her passport and turned in a form saying that she wasn't coming back with anything illegal and had nothing that she needed to claim.

It seemed that every corner just brought another line for Santana to stand in, another metal detector or something else to walk through, until she felt dizzy and overwhelmed and on the edge of tears, tears that she wouldn't be able to stop.

Then suddenly, she was around a corner and she was out. This was where family were picking up their loved ones. Santana looked around, scanning the few people milling around anxiously. She thought she saw her father, but it turned out to be someone else.

Santana's heart sunk and sunk and she tried to breathe, but she didn't know if she was going to be able to, as she reached for her phone, needing to know what Brittany had said, whatever it was that was going to make it so that she could hold it together for another few minutes.

"Santana!"

The voice came from behind her and Santana froze for a moment as the tears welled in her eyes, and then she turned around, not sure if she could hope that voice was who she thought it was.

Her mother and father were there, just coming through the crowd. "Santana!" her mother said again.

Santana dropped everything she was holding and ran, closing the distance as quickly as she could, throwing herself into her parents' arms. They both wrapped their arms around her tightly, holding her from each side. "Papa, Mama," she sobbed, the tears finally bursting free. "You're here." Santana felt relief in every bone in her body. Her parents were there.

"Of course, _mija,_" her father murmured, still holding onto her tightly.

"I love you," Santana cried.

"Oh, baby," her mother whispered, "_t__e queremos tambi__é__n_."

* * *

><p><strong>Translation:<strong>

_Te queremos tambi__é__n = _We love you, too.

**Author's Note: **For costumes and music related to this story, questions about skating or Brittana, or other feelings about skating and Brittana, head over to my tumblr at sadiered dot tumblr dot com. I'm working on a queue with a lot more posts about both skating and Brittana


	7. Won't All Go the Way It Should

Brittany sat in shock in the backseat of a cab. Her fingers felt numb, and her cheeks were cold. Until a moment ago, her focus had been on Santana, trying to get her to be able to get in her own cab and to leave, to keep her safe and whole and loved long enough to get by until she could be with Santana again. There was a specific task she had to get done and a time frame to do it in. But now, there was emptiness, and it was starting to sink in.

So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. It made Brittany's head spin. This morning, she had been nervous but excited, practicing for the free skate of her Olympic debut, knowing that Santana was going to be there cheering her on. Then, from the moment that she stepped on the ice, her day had just climbed and climbed. The free skate went so well, better than anything that she could have expected. And then Santana had pulled Brittany back into the hidden hallways of the rink and had kissed her like she had always hoped that Santana would. They were kisses that said so clearly the way that Santana felt about her, and they weren't given shamefully or secretly.

Brittany had felt in her heart that things were going to change for them. Maybe not at that moment exactly, but soon. Santana was getting braver and stronger and, god, she had been so strong and brave before. Kissing Santana in the Iceberg Skating Palace, Brittany just knew that the day was coming when they would be able to find their way out into the sunlight together. Even being hit on by a gross asshole hadn't been able to dampen Brittany's mood. She was with Santana, and that made everything feel alright.

But then those pictures had been published.

Brittany still couldn't figure out how. Well, she knew how. Someone had been hiding and taking pictures of them; that much was clear. Maybe it was the why she didn't know. Why would someone see the two of them in what was clearly such a totally private moment and think that it was okay to take pictures? And beyond that, why then would they sell the pictures to a gossip website. What could possibly be gained from that? Who would want to hurt them like that? Santana wasn't out to her parents, and even Brittany wasn't sure what was waiting for her when she stepped off the plane.

Why couldn't they have just gone together? This would have been so much easier if she could have sat beside Santana and held her hands and talked to her in a quiet voice until they both understood the swirl of emotions that they felt, until they could come up with a new plan that could work. It wouldn't be like the old one, but maybe it could give them back a little bit of their control.

Brittany felt her stomach start to boil, and her hands tensed in her lap. Santana had been working on a perfect plan, Brittany had just known it. That was the way that Santana was. When she faced a new situation, especially something big like this, she worked on it and researched and thought and decided and rehearsed it in her head hundreds of times until she had it just right and she could know what to do if her plan didn't work out. It took time, and that had frustrated Brittany, not being able to be with Santana the way that she wanted a long time ago, but she had been willing to wait for Santana to carry out her plan.

It wouldn't happen now.

Beside her, Shelby was alternating between working on her phone and calling people. Brittany assumed that it was probably about getting her a flight home, but the rushing noise in her ears and loud _thud, thud, thud_ of her heartbeat drowned out whatever Shelby was saying.

* * *

><p>The closer they got to the Olympic park, the tighter Brittany's stomach got and the harder her heart seemed to beat. The cab pulled up outside the front of Brittany's building, and Brittany shot out, slamming the door behind her before Shelby could even move. "Brittany, wait," Shelby called behind her, but Brittany ignored her, wrenching open the door and heading up the stairs, her feet slapping down to the same rapid rhythm as her heart.<p>

Her room was on the third floor and Brittany didn't even feel out of breath by the time she reached her door. Brittany unlocked it and pushed it open, not even flinching as it crashed against the wall.

"What the hell," mumbled a thin, whiny voice from the bed. "Pierce, I swear, if you're drunk, I'm going to turn you in to President Sylvester. Don't you have any respect? I have practice tomorrow!"

Brittany was not in the mood to deal with Pendleton Webber. "Shut up," she hissed. "I don't fucking care." And, to accent the point, Brittany reached out and flipped the light on.

"Hey!" Pendleton screeched, sitting up and shielding her eyes from the bright light.

Brittany ignored her and went to the closet on her side of the room. She scooped up the few clothes that she had hanging — her sweater for the closing ceremonies, a blazer for any interviews they were asked to give, a nice dress in case she would get to take Santana out for dinner. None of that was happening now. Brittany dumped them on her bed and pulled her suitcase out from the corner.

The light turned off.

Brittany whirled around to see Pendleton standing by the switch, the thin beam of light from under the door bouncing off the sheen of her pale pink satin pajama pants. Brittany pushed herself off the floor and stalked over to the door, her sneakers slapping the tile angrily. "Move out of the way," she snapped.

"No. You need to respect me." Pendleton covered the light switch with her hand.

Brittany could feel her stomach tightening, the angry intense feeling rising. Pendleton normally made her laugh because her self-righteous, all-important act was just so hilariously unwarranted that it was ridiculous, but today, Pendleton was just rubbing on some already exposed nerves, and Brittany couldn't take it.

"I'm going to hurt you if you don't move," Brittany said, her tone sharp and soft, a promise, not a threat.

Pendleton looked at Brittany for a moment, before stepping to the side. Brittany flipped the light back on and went back to her suitcase.

"Fine, if you're going to be that way. But I am emailing President Sylvester right now, and you're going to be in huge amounts of trouble." Pendleton moved over to the desk and picked up her phone to start the email.

"You don't fucking matter, Pendleton. President Sue's not even going to respond to your fucking email because she's too busy arranging flights to get me and Santana out of the country before someone tries to hurt us. Do you think that you having to be up for thirty minutes in the middle of the night is going to even rank on her list of issues? You don't matter for shit." Brittany turned back to her bed and knocked the pillow on to the floor.

Behind her, Pendleton let out a low whistle. "Jesus, Pierce. What did you do?"

Brittany saw white. She whipped around and started across the room. Pendleton let out a screech and scrambled up on her bed.

"Brittany." A firm, calm voice came from the doorway and Brittany turned to see Shelby standing there, one still hand on the doorknob. "Do you think that we could leave in about twenty minutes? Mike is going to meet us in the dining hall for some breakfast before we go to the airport."

Brittany nodded and turned back towards her things, shooting one last glare over her shoulder at Pendleton, who squeaked and gripped her pillow.

Her suitcase was open with some of her practice clothes already in the laundry bag inside. Brittany went to the small dresser, grabbing a pile of undergarments and clean practice gear which she dumped in, not really caring what was where or what might get wrinkled. Her everyday clothes—jeans and shirts and sweaters—came next and were dumped in the same haphazard way. Finally, Brittany scooped up the items from the foot of her bed that had been hanging in the closet. As she was dropping them into her suitcase, the hanger of her not-a-date dress got caught in her credentials, which were still hanging around her neck.

Brittany pulled them off and stared down at them for a second. The lanyard printed proudly with the logo of an Olympic games held by a country that threatened her safety and the safety of the woman that she loved. A badge with her stupid smiling face. The barcode to get in and out of buildings that was supposed to keep her safe. But that hadn't worked, because some… Brittany couldn't even think of a word bad enough. Someone had used credentials just like this to get close enough to hurt Santana and to hurt Brittany. Someone who probably would never have to pay for what they did.

The sound of the credentials slamming into the empty bottom of the trash can rang through the quiet room. Pendleton let out a startled gasp.

Shelby stepped closer and rested her hand on Brittany's arm. "Hey," she said.

"No, what's the fucking point of them?" Brittany snapped, pulling her arm away and storming over to her nightstand to gather up the chargers and books and jewelry that was scattered there. "They don't mean anything. Anyone can get in and do whatever the fuck they want, apparently."

"That's not true. President Sylvester is already working with someone to find out where these pictures came from, and—"

"But that doesn't change anything!" Brittany broke in, shoving her chargers into her suitcase. "That does nothing for me and nothing for Santana." She let out a frustrated huff and yanked her chargers out of her suitcase and shoved them into her backpack. "It's not like anyone cares anyway! Whatever reporter published them is probably going to get a fucking raise. No one cares about what they do to someone's life as long as they get a shit ton of hits and a shit ton of money, right? I want to fucking murder whoever did this." Brittany tossed her toiletries bag into her suitcase and followed it with the bag of shirts and pins and other trinkets she'd gotten from some of the other athletes. There wasn't much, because she had planned to do most of the trading after she had finished her events. That wouldn't happen now.

Everything was in Brittany's suitcase now and she slammed it closed, grunting as she struggled to zip it. It didn't fit well as a jumble, but by force, Brittany managed to get it close. For a moment, she stood with her hands resting on her closed suitcase, breathing hard.

"We were getting there," she finally managed. "And now someone took the most private and special thing that I had and gave it to the world. For something shameful." Brittany looked up at Shelby.

"I know, Brittany. I'm sorry that that happened. I'm going to help you get through it. Both of you. We'll make sure you're okay." Shelby walked over and reached into the trash, pulling out Brittany's credentials. "You might not want these now, but maybe someday."

Brittany, feeling suddenly very tired, accepted them, pushing them into her jacket pocket instead of around her neck where they had proudly hung since she had been given them.

"Come on," Shelby said softly, taking the suitcase and letting Brittany get her skating bag and back pack. "Let's go meet Mike."

Brittany glanced over her side of the room, empty and a little worse for her temper tantrum, the drawers standing open and her covers a mess. Then she looked at Pendleton, who was staring at her like she didn't know what to say.

Honestly, Brittany didn't know what to say either. So, she just followed Shelby, a weary sadness seeping into her bones.

* * *

><p>Mike was waiting for them when Shelby and Brittany entered the dining area of the Olympic complex. The walk between the two buildings in the chilly air and steely grey light of early morning Sochi had calmed Brittany down from the rest of her rage. Now, she just felt cold and tired as she slumped into the chair between Mike and Shelby at the round table. A few members of the Danish women's curling team were on the other end of the dining hall, half asleep as they ate before their match in a few hours, but the room was otherwise deserted with none of the hustle and bustle of hundreds of athletes from dozens of countries trying to eat, like there usually was.<p>

Shelby rose to go get them some breakfast, though there wasn't much available at this time of day.

Once she was gone, Mike reached out and covered Brittany's hand with his. She let go of her credentials, which she had been playing with since she had to use them to get into the building, and looked up with him. "Britt, I'm so sorry," he said.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked, slipping her hand out from under his so that she could trace over and around his fingers, watching her own motions instead of making eye contact. "I mean, I know that your parents had a lot of trouble with skating to start out with, and then this… I don't want you to get in trouble. Santana was reading about Russia before we came, and she was saying about how a lot of countries in Asia are still very conservative about— about stuff like this. And I know that you and your dad really get along now, and I just don't want—"

"Britt! Hey, Brittany," Mike interrupted, bringing his other hand up to gently rest on top of Brittany's so that she could no longer fidget with his fingers. "I'm okay. My mom and dad like you. They even like Santana. You don't have to worry about me." He looked into her eyes for a moment and then asked, "What is it?"

"Nothing. I mean, I'm just worried about you and your family. I don't want something bad to happen to you because of me. And, you know, I have to get on a plane in like ten seconds, and I don't even have like clean underwear or whatever incase we crash to our deaths in the middle of the ocean. Isn't there a phrase about that? Like always wear clean underwear? But, I don't really see how that's possible because you don't know when shit like that is coming. It just comes out of nowhere and hits you. So, like even if you put on clean underwear every morning, you could get hit by a bus at 2:30 on your way home, and then your underwear is dirty." Brittany could just feel the words pouring out of her mouth, and she wasn't sure that she was making a ton of sense, but she didn't want to stop talking because her heart hurt, with this bone-deep ache that might take her over if she let it.

Mike listened, waiting until Brittany started to wind down before he spoke up. "Is it Santana?"

Brittany found it suddenly hard to swallow. She nodded, blinking rapidly. "We were just starting out, but she was working on telling her parents and getting there. She was being so brave and now—" Brittany's throat hurt and her voice was hoarse. "I don't know what's waiting for her when she gets home."

Mike scooped up her hand in both of his and squeezed it gently. "She'll be okay. I'm not saying that it isn't a horrible situation, because it is. But there are people who will help her out. Your parents will take her home, if they have to." Brittany nodded, tears still welling in her eyes. "And she'll have you. The two of you will figure out whatever you need to, and we'll all be there to help you."

There was a long moment of silence as Brittany stared at their hands. The knot in her throat was getting bigger and bigger. Then, she couldn't hold it back anymore. Brittany let out a sob and looked up at Mike. "What if she doesn't want me anymore?" Tears were suddenly running down her face.

"What?" Mike asked, clearly not expecting that question.

"She's so brave, but this is scary. I've pushed before and it was wrong, it hurt her, and she got scared, and she ran away. I've waited so long for her, I can't lose her." Brittany wiped at one of her cheeks with her free hand. "I love her, with all of my heart, but it might not be enough."

"Hey, no, Britt, stop," Mike said, pulling Brittany into a hug. "Don't beat yourself up like this. Santana loves you. She does. And this is scary, but she knows that she can count on you. Just get yourself home, and you'll see. She's not going anywhere, I'm sure of it."

"Are you sure?" Brittany asked, her voice breaking again, as her tears soaked into the collar of Mike's jacket.

"I am. I've watched the two of you making moon eyes at each other for— well, I was going to say for the past month, but you guys have been giving each other moon eyes since you got to Boston."

Brittany laughed at that, a soft and somewhat wet laugh, but a laugh all the same. She pulled back from the hug and wiped her eyes again. "Things are going to be really different," she warned him quietly.

"Things were already going to be different, Britt. This is just a lot shittier of a difference to deal with." Mike leaned back in his chair with a shrug.

Shelby came back to the table, carrying three plates of fruit, cucumbers, dried meat, and hardboiled eggs. She rested one in front of each of them, and then slipped Brittany a couple of napkins so she could blow her nose and wipe her face. "We should leave in about thirty minutes, so eat up." She looked down at her plate and wrinkled her nose a little bit. "As much as you can," Shelby added, picking at the meat. "I'll be back this afternoon, Mike. You should be okay, but just be careful."

Brittany looked up, meeting Mike's eye, and nodding. She wanted him to be careful, too. Mike agreed that he would and dug into his breakfast. After a moment, Brittany started in on hers, too. She still wasn't particularly hungry, but it was a long way home.

* * *

><p>The cab to take Brittany and Shelby to the airport picked them up inside of the athletic complex, just as the sun began to peek over the horizon. There was no one around and Brittany lingered at the door, taking it in for a moment. Her insides felt jumbled up, like a tornado had spun through her. She had thought that this was going to be a really happy place. And it was, it had been. Right over there was the spot that she and Mike had won themselves t-shirts from Norway by showing off one of their lifts to a bunch of snowboarders. Brittany had made out with Santana over by that building. She could just see the Iceberg Palace in the distance, too, where she had made her stunning Olympic debut.<p>

But Brittany could already feel the unsteadiness of what was to come. She was going to miss so many of the things she had been looking forward to here in Russia. No hockey games with Santana and Mike, no more interesting trades and interesting people, no date night with Santana, no closing ceremony. And her heart ached and thumped when she thought about the way that things were going to change.

Brittany ducked into the cab, tugging her zipper up until she could almost tuck her chin under her collar. Shelby rested her hand on Brittany's knee as they drove, and Brittany let her head fall against the glass, watching the grey snow pass as tears slowly trickled down her cheeks.

When they arrived at the airport, though, there was a crowd of photographers and reporters outside of the door. Brittany wiped her face hurriedly and looked around, wondering who they were waiting for. As soon as the crowd spotted the cab, they surged forward and Brittany realized they were waiting for her. Shelby's grip tightened on her knee. "Let me go out first. Don't say anything."

Brittany nodded, her throat too tight to speak, and she shrunk down to let Shelby climb over her. As soon as Shelby opened the door, the shouts started. In Russian, English, and maybe something else too, people were asking her about Santana, if she was a lesbian, about what would be happening for the rest of the season, and other things that blended together into a loud roar. Brittany pushed forward after Shelby, clutching her backpack strap and the handle of her skate bag, staring straight ahead with no reaction.

It seemed like a long time before they were finally through the door. Security stopped the reporters from all pushing through after. Shelby led Brittany to the counter where they would check her bags. Brittany sagged against the counter, her heart still pounding in her chest and the dull grip of a headache settling in behind her eyes. She couldn't even listen to Shelby at all, with the way that she was still reeling from even that brief experience. It didn't seem to matter though. Shelby talked to the woman behind the counter and checked her bags and pressed her ticket into her hand. Then, she brought Brittany to security. For a moment, Shelby paused. Then she wrapped her arms around Brittany. "It's going to be okay," she murmured as Brittany sunk into the hug. "It will." Brittany nodded, but she was too choked up to say anything. Shelby let her go and she started through security.

* * *

><p>Brittany's backpack hung low on her shoulders as she trudged past the last few gates until she finally made it to the one announcing a flight to Logan Airport would be boarding in an hour. She sunk down low in a seat facing out towards the massive windows. Her heart had been heavy and sore the whole of her first two plane rides, her stomach in knots. She had sent Santana a text before she boarded in Sochi and gotten the reply after she'd touched down in Moscow. Writing the reply, focusing on crafting a message that would be there for Santana in case things went wrong, occupied enough of her time before she had to board the next plane. Once she had sat down, Brittany found herself gasping for air. The fear of losing Santana choked her, and she hadn't realized how little she was breathing.<p>

Now, though, she was at her gate to go home (it had taken way less time to cross the airport than she had thought), and Brittany could check her phone finally to see what Santana had responded. As she watched it boot up, Brittany wondered if she could handle losing Santana. She knew that she couldn't, not really, but that she would be there for Santana however Santana would let her be.

Again, a thread of anger rose up, knotting tightly at the base of Brittany's throat. They had been so close, so close to having everything. Comfort, stability, and security in each other. Ease and openness. Santana was there, she had been there. Who knew what would happen now?

The phone prompted Brittany for her password, and she punched it in: nine-four-nine-five. There was a text waiting for her. Brittany's finger shook a little as she pressed it. Instantly, a wave of relief washed over her as she read the words on the screen: _My mom and dad were here waiting for me. Everything is okay, at least for now, I think. I miss you already. Make sure you text me your flight info so we can pick you up. I love you, Britt. xxxx_

A drop splashed onto the screen of her phone and Brittany realized that she was crying. There, in the corner of an all-but-abandoned gate in the middle of Heathrow Airport, great big tears began to roll down her cheeks. She dropped her phone into her lap and covered her face, letting herself just sob for a moment. Brittany had been so afraid that she was going to lose Santana to this, and now she wasn't. Santana was okay. Brittany was okay. It was awful, but at the heart of it, they were still okay. That was what mattered.

"Are you okay?" Brittany looked up to see a worried gate attendant hesitating to put her hand on Brittany's shoulder.

With a laugh, Brittany wiped away her tears and smiled. "Actually," she said, "I think I am."

* * *

><p>The last leg of Brittany's flight went much better than the previous two. She slept for a couple of hours, laughed through a comedy movie, and had some of best airline sandwiches she had ever tasted.<p>

Somehow, that made the customs line all the more unbearable.

Around every corner, there just seemed to be another metal detector or border agent or airport security officer that she had to speak to. It took forever for her bags to appear on the luggage carousel and the person in front of her in the next line was an old lady who hadn't filled out her form, and was complaining loudly, in a creaky, grumpy voice about how in her day you got to cross the border whenever you damn well pleased because you were a goddamn American and this wouldn't be happening if Fergie hadn't failed to defeat the Nazis.

If Brittany wasn't waiting for Santana, she honestly would have found the old lady hilarious and spent a long time listening to her, trying to figure out if she was as crazy and crotchety as she seemed or if she were just putting on an act. She was pretty sure the pick up area was just on the other side of this check in point, but she couldn't get there until this woman finished up.

Brittany bounced on her toes until finally the harassed looking customs officer waved her through and Brittany's turn was up. Especially after that last person, the officer was more than willing to speed through Brittany's and moments later, she was out of there.

Brittany's feet slapped against the tile, faster and faster, as she ducked around the old lady (_"__Slow down, dingbat!__"_), zoomed through the last metal detector, and out into a hallway. Brittany caught sight of her immediately.

She had changed and taken a shower since Brittany had last seen her. Now she was wearing her pretty blue ballet flats (_"__Like your eyes on a sunny day__"_) and dark skinny jeans. Her jacket was open over a soft white shirt and Brittany's blue and yellow scarf was still tucked around her neck. Sunglasses rested on top of her head and the late evening sunlight set the light behind her on fire. Brittany was speechless for a moment. Santana fidgeted bashfully under her gaze. "We came to get you," she said with a smile.

For the first time, Brittany noticed the other people standing around her. On her left were Santana's parents, her dad with his arm round her mom, and her mom looking like she still wanted to hug the life out of Santana and maybe Brittany too. On Santana's right were Brittany's parents, both of them looking like they would fight Maribel for the chance to hug them all first.

Brittany smiled, tears coming to her eyes again, and wrapped her arms around Santana, feeling her fit exactly into that place that she always had, like two perfect pieces of a puzzle. A moment later, Brittany felt arms and warmth as the other parents joined in.

* * *

><p>Leaving the airport took a bit of awkward shuffling. Both sets of parents clearly wanted to be with and supportive of their children. Eventually, after a bit of hinting in all directions, they decided that Brittany should go with her parents to pick up her little sister at school and Santana would go home with her parents. Then they would all meet at the Lopez house for dinner.<p>

Santana felt a strange sense of relief as Brittany climbed into her parents' van and drove away. It scared her a little bit, because all she had wanted from the moment that she had stepped into the cab in her hotel in Sochi was to have Brittany back with her. Now that she was here, though, Santana didn't feel comfortable standing close to her. And she had no idea why. Santana's stomach ached for the ride home, and she had to try three times to shake the clean sheets out over her bed because she kept dropping one of the edges.

At dinner, a short while later, the families chatted easily, discussing Ashley's upcoming tryout for the spring soccer team and listening to Brittany describe the feeling of being on Olympic ice. Santana's dad talked about the garden they were working on in the back. It was just like all of the other dinners that they had done together over the years.

Except Santana felt like she couldn't pay attention at all. The conversation buzzed in her ears, and she picked at the chicken on her plate with her fork, not hungry at all. Under the table, she could feel the clammy slickness between her palm and Brittany's and wondered if Brittany could feel her pulse thumping.

Santana's skin crawled at the back of her neck and in her hands and legs. She wanted to get up and dash out of the dining room or the house or the state and just get a break. She wasn't even sure what she wanted a break from, as long as she got just moment to not feel so unbelievably uncomfortable. If Santana's parents or Brittany's family noticed Santana's quietness or discomfort, they didn't say anything. Brittany could tell, she was sure. Brittany was going to ask what was wrong as soon as they were alone and Santana had no idea what to tell her. She had dreamed of being able to have a dinner with their families together, honestly and openly with Brittany. Now that it was here, why couldn't she sit there and enjoy it?

Once dinner was over, Santana claimed exhaustion and the two families accepted it without question. It was true, after all. Santana still had barely slept once she had gotten home. Brittany gave her a lingering look and then tilted her head up towards the stairs, a question written in her eyes. Santana nodded before she could let herself think about it, then scurried up the stairs as Brittany hugged her parents goodbye for the night.

In her room at the top of the stairs, Santana paced back and forth, but she still wasn't ready to explain herself to Brittany. She couldn't describe what she was feeling. Brittany was almost always the person that she could talk to, but right now she didn't know how to do that without hurting her feelings. How could she be feeling uncomfortable around Brittany? Santana loved Brittany. She had told her that before they had left, and she still meant it with all of her heart. But if that was true, what was her problem?

Before Brittany could come upstairs and be crushed by Santana for something that wasn't her fault at all, Santana grabbed some pajamas, slipped out of her room and ducked into the bathroom. She turned the tap for the shower all the way to the left, making the water as hot and hard as it would go and stripped off her clothes. The heat and heavy pounding of the shower helped her not think for a few minutes. Santana closed her eyes and let the white noise of the water surround her.

When her heart finally slowed and the tense, jumpy feeling washed out of her legs, Santana turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Mechanically, she dried herself off and dressed in her pajamas, brushing her teeth and hanging up her towel. As her hand rested on the doorknob, Santana's heart started to jump again, but she pushed through and walked out.

In her bedroom, Brittany was sitting at the vanity, twisting back and forth slightly in the chair. She looked up when Santana came in. Santana could see the worry-lines in between her eyes, and it made her heart break. She opened her mouth to try to say something to make it better, but Brittany spoke up before she could. "I'm going to go take my shower, too."

Santana sank a little but nodded. "Okay," she said, reaching into her pajama drawer and pulling out a shirt and some shorts for Brittany. Brittany took them and headed to the bathroom. Once she heard the door close, Santana sunk down on the bed and then flopped back.

Now that her shower was done and she had seen Brittany's face looking so crestfallen, all of the antsy discomfort had seeped away, and Santana felt limp and overworked in its absence. She wanted to be held and to hold Brittany and just figure out what the hell was going on in her brain and heart. After all, she admitted to herself, it had been a really rough emotional day or two days or however long she had been awake and dealing with this.

Santana pushed herself up and started to fix her room up. Brittany had slept over hundreds of times in the five and a half years since they had moved to Boston, and Santana knew exactly how she liked the room. She turned off the overhead light, the bright glow feeling overly harsh with the bone-tired weight that had dropped over her. There was a small lamp beside Brittany's side of the bed that she turned on instead, the bulb casting a soft yellow glow. She drew the curtains, more to block out sunlight in the morning than streetlights and headlights during the night, like at Brittany's apartment. She made sure there were the perfect amount of blankets—one less than when she slept alone—and three pillows across the top of her bed. Santana shut her closet door and then slipped into her side of the bed. She had only just gotten settled when Brittany came back in, her hair dark from the water and her skin glowing pink. Brittany dumped her clothes into Santana's hamper and then hesitated at the edge of her bed. Santana reached for her, wanting her close.

Brittany's soft smile meant the world.

They met in the middle of the bed, heads on one pillow, legs intwined into one knot, lips pressed together in one gentle kiss. Santana sighed as their lips parted.

Brittany reached up and pushed some of Santana's wet hair off of her face, smoothing her thumb over Santana's temple. "Are you okay?" she murmured.

Santana hesitated for a moment. Even though she wanted to talk to Brittany about this, it still felt stuck in her throat. "No," she whispered. Before Brittany's face could fall, Santana hurried to add, "but we're okay."

Brittany stared at Santana for a moment. The low light of the lamp brought out the deep blues in Brittany's eyes, and Santana felt a little dazzled. "Tell me what's wrong?" Brittany said, the gentle lift to the end of her words relaxing Santana, giving her the option to wait until they'd had more sleep and less stress. As much as she appreciated it, Santana wanted this done.

"I don't really know," she said, sliding her hand under the worn fabric of Brittany's shirt, feeling the heat of the smooth skin of her back as she pressed her palm there. "I just feel so… uncomfortable and antsy around my parents and yours. I just want to run away and not have to deal with anything that they might do or say." She sighed and let her fingers slide up, bumping over the ridges of Brittany's spine. "They've been amazing. They were there for me, and we talked a little bit once we got home, and it was all them just reassuring me that they loved me and loved you everything, but I just don't know how to—" Santana shook her head in frustration. "I don't know how to be comfortable being gay in front of them, whatever that means."

Brittany nodded, "It's a big adjustment," she said, "even when you choose for it to happen, and you didn't. It's okay to feel awkward for a little while."

Santana looked up at Brittany, "But what if it isn't for a little while? What if it's forever?"

"It won't be," Brittany said, leaning up a little to look right into Santana's eyes.

"How do you know?" Santana asked, caught in Brittany's gaze. Now that she had named the feeling, there was that fear there, that she was just going to go on forever, feeling uncomfortable in her skin, never being able to settle into who she was and how she operated. "Did you feel like this?"

Brittany shook her head. "No, not really. Not with my family at least." She tugged Santana a little closer by her hips, wrapping her arms around to keep Santana safe. "But I know you, and I know how hard it is when your private life isn't anymore. But you'll settle into it." Brittany splayed her fingers, covering Santana's hip. She leaned in and brushed her nose against Santana's. "When I was first wondering about this stuff, I ended up looking up a lot of videos on Youtube. There are a lot of stories, Santana, and everyone's is going to be different and hard in different ways and easy in others. But other people talked about stuff like that. It's a big change, for you and for them, and a little bit of time will make a big difference."

Santana let her breath out, closing her eyes for a moment. It would be so much easier to just be on the other side of it and the idea of slogging through these feelings until it just was better, it seemed impossible. But having Brittany's arms around her, Brittany's nose against hers, Brittany's heart in her heart, that all helped. And the idea that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. That there would come a day, maybe soon, maybe a little later, but eventually, where she would feel comfortable holding Brittany's hand on top of the table or kissing her in front of her parents, or cuddling in the backseat on the way to one of Ashley's games. "Okay," she whispered, opening her eyes to look into Brittany's. They were so close and so blue, even in this dim light.

"I love you," Santana whispered, feeling a zinging little thrill through her stomach that she could say that.

"I love you, too." Brittany's smile crinkled the corners of her eyes, and Santana couldn't help but kiss her.

It was a long kiss, full of soft smacks as their lips broke apart and came together. Santana could feel Brittany's breath on her cheek and it made her brush a little closer and suck softly, just to feel the way that the rhythm stuttered.

Suddenly, Brittany pulled away. "One sec," she breathed, rolling away from Santana and reaching up to turn off the light. Instantly, the room was plunged into darkness, save for the sliver of silver moonlight that crept in through the edge of the curtains. "Where was I?" Brittany whispered, sliding back into place by Santana, entwining their legs, and wrapping her arms around her, before pressing their mouths back together.

Santana wondered for a moment or two if this was going to build up to be more, but she could already feel the bone-deep tired, spreading through her legs and arms, making her limbs heavy and, not very long after, her kisses grew sloppy against Brittany's lips. Finally, they broke apart, heads both resting on the same pillow, noses almost touching.

Santana yawned, then Brittany.

The last thing Santana remembered was thinking that there wasn't anything quite so relaxing as listening to Brittany breathe in a quiet room, and then she was asleep.

* * *

><p>The sunlight poured in around the curtains, casting a golden glow, tempered by the cloth in the way. It made the air feel liquid-warm even though Brittany knew it was freezing cold outside. Even without opening her eyes, Brittany could feel how close Santana was and she smiled, before slowly blinking her eyes open. Santana was still dead asleep, her dark hair fanned out behind her and Brittany admired how beautiful she was for a moment. The real world and everything that happened the last night in Sochi felt a million years away from the radiantly peaceful bubble of Santana's bedroom.<p>

There was a soft knock on the door that somehow did nothing to disturb Santana's sleep or Brittany's peace. A moment later, Maribel pushed it open and peaked inside.

Brittany rolled over a bit so she could see Santana's mom standing at the door.

"Is she still asleep?" Maribel whispered, pointing to Santana. Brittany nodded, unable to help the fond smile that rose up. Santana's cheeks were rosy and pink and her lips looked delicious, though Brittany didn't want to disrespect Santana or the conversation that they had had last night by kissing her in front of her mom. "Okay, I'm going to start breakfast in ten minutes. Do you guys want pancakes or waffles?"

Brittany opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by a sleepy voice beside her. "Pancakes," Santana slurred, still clearly half asleep as she reached up to rub her eyes.

Maribel laughed and pushed herself off the doorframe where she had been leaning. "Okay, pancakes in fifteen." The sound of her laugh echoed even as the door closed between them.

Brittany looked down at Santana, who was looking back up at her with a little wrinkle between her eyebrows. "Mmm, what time is it?" she asked, her voice still raspy from sleep.

"Seven," Brittany said, "but that's two in the afternoon in Sochi."

"So what you're saying is you're a lazy bones and slept way in today," Santana said, inching forward to bury her nose in the soft fabric of Brittany's worn shirt. Brittany ducked her head and pressed a kiss to Santana's forehead, breathing in her scent, a mix of the shampoo from last night and, underneath it, that undeniably Santana smell that she had never gotten enough of.

"Says the girl who's trying to go back to sleep on my boobs right now." Brittany combed her fingers through Santana's hair and gave her a quick kiss. "Come on, you know that your mom makes the best pancakes. Let's get dressed so that we can go eat up." Brittany moved to get out of bed, but Santana's arms suddenly latched around her, holding her tight. "Hey, honey, what's up?" Brittany asked, gentleness in her voice.

"I don't know. This just feels really nice. I don't want to leave it," Santana said, her voice slightly muffled as she hid her face against Brittany's chest. "I'm afraid of what's waiting for us."

"I know, but you've got me, and I've got you. And we've got a lot of people. Your mom and dad, my mom and dad, Ash, Mike, Shelby, President Sue, apparently. Probably a lot more people, too. We'll be okay. Okay?"

Santana sighed and lifted her head. "Okay. Thanks. Sorry for being such a mess."

"Hey now," Brittany said, "Be nice to yourself. You're not a mess, and even if you were, you're my mess, and I'm happy to have it." She wished that she could make Santana understand. This was hard for Santana because she'd always been so afraid of what other people thought and what they might say and think and feel and do. It would take time for her to get used to it, and she was so strong, even when she was waiting for that time.

Brittany was only not-a-mess because she had Santana, anyway.

"I love you," Santana added, peering up through dark eyelashes. Her brown eyes were just so deep and beautiful, Brittany couldn't help kissing her again.

"I love you, too."

* * *

><p>Eleven minutes, six kisses, two raspberries, and one tossed pillow later, Santana and Brittany made it to the kitchen where they slumped in chairs at the dining table, waiting for pancakes and shivering slightly in their pajamas. For a moment, Santana felt eight years old again. Brittany caught her eye and gave her a dirty wink, shattering that feeling and making Santana grin and blush. If her mom hadn't come at that moment, with two piles of steaming pancakes, Santana was almost certain Brittany would have tried to make a dirty joke, at the very least.<p>

Maribel sat down a few minutes later with her own pancakes and they started eating. It was the middle of the week and the start of the semester for the college that Brittany's parents worked for, so all three Pierces were at their various schools that morning. Santana's dad had an early morning round of patients. But, as Maribel let them know, she had taken the day off and could stay home for anything that they needed. Santana thanked her mom around a mouthful of pancakes and bumped her knee against Brittany's under the table.

This morning, after a long night of deep, calm sleep, with amazing pancakes in front of her, Santana found that she was feeling a little more comfortable. She still didn't think that she could kiss Brittany in front of her mom or anything like that, but at least she wasn't feeling like running out of the room.

"I think you guys got some text messages a little while ago," Maribel added as Brittany and Santana were finishing their pancakes.

Santana suddenly remembered that they had plugged their phones in before dinner the night before and never touched them. She stood up and grabbed them off the counter, handing Brittany hers, before she sat back down. There were several texts and a missed call. The call and some of the texts were from friends at the rink, but there were only a few of them. Santana clicked through them all without reading any of the words, glad that she had always been stingy about handing out her phone number. The final texts, the ones that had come in this morning, were from President Sylvester.

"She wants us to come in and get some publicity training," Santana said to her mom.

"And then do a few interviews," Brittany added. Santana looked up from her screen to take in Brittany's face. She could see that Brittany's expression was pretty similar to her own—resigned but less than thrilled about it.

"What time do you need to be there?" Maribel asked, sipping from her tea.

"Nine," Brittany answered.

"Okay, you two head up and get ready and then I'll drive you," Maribel said.

Santana grabbed her plate and Brittany's and put them in the sink before pressing a kiss to her mother's cheek. "Thanks, Mama," she murmured.

"Of course, _mija_," her mother said, squeezing her hand for a moment, before Santana dashed upstairs after Brittany.

* * *

><p>Santana and Brittany managed to get ready a little before eight-thirty which would give them time if they hit any traffic in the drive to the rink. Santana went to climb into the front passenger's side door of her mother's SUV, but Maribel stopped her. "Why don't you sit in the back with Brittany?"<p>

Instantly, Santana blushed and tried to ignore the uncomfortable twist inside her chest. She wanted to, but it was still so hard.

"It would probably be much more comfortable for her," Maribel pointed out. "And I've been driving the two of you around in that backseat for fifteen years. So, it'd just be like old times."

Santana could feel some of the tension easing out of her shoulders and she nodded, moving back to climb into the backseat with Brittany, who was already waiting inside.

"Oh, and Santana?" She stopped with the door half open and looked at her mother. Maribel grinned. "Let's make sure it's really like old times, okay? No funny business in my backseat."

Santana turned bright red, "Mama!" she protested. Inside, Brittany was cackling along with Maribel. "Oh my god, don't encourage her," Santana grumbled, climbing in and slamming the door shut. Still, underneath the embarrassment of being accused of potentially making out in the backseat of her mother's car, while she was driving, there was almost none of that unpleasant prickle of desperation.

Santana found Brittany's hand with her own and squeezed it as they headed off to the rink.

* * *

><p>The meeting with Jesse St. James, public relations manager to the likes of a lengthy client list that he had reeled off as they were sitting down into the conference room that overlooked the ice at the rink, started off well, or as well as could be expected from a meeting talking about Brittany and Santana's horribly public outing.<p>

Jesse had clearly approved of both of their outfits for the interviews they would be conducting later. Santana's clothes were still almost all at the house, so she had found pretty black dress that hugged her pretty tightly, ready to wear in her bedroom closet, which Brittany hadn't minded at all. Santana had added a soft sweater over it, and Brittany felt sure it was as much for the comfort as the warmth.

Brittany's outfit choice hadn't gone quite so smoothly. Since moving out last fall, all of her nice clothes were hanging up in her apartment, where they did not have time to stop. In the back of her closet at her parents' house, Brittany had managed to find a navy blazer from several years before. It was tight on her shoulders, though, and didn't really fit over the muscles that she had developed in the years of skating since. Maribel had quickly come up with a solution, using a seem ripper to slice a few inches in on each sleeve, and then cuffing the blazer at Brittany's elbow. The blazer was paired with a floaty lilac skirt, slightly too short and borrowed from Santana, and a plain white shirt, left at the Pierce's house for its unremarkable appearance. All together, Brittany knew that she looked good for what she had to work with. And the hungry, wanting look in Santana's eyes as they walked into the conference room definitely helped put a swagger into Brittany's step.

Jesse was a younger guy, probably only a few years older than them, but he held himself with lazy confidence, evident in the way that he leaned back in the swiveling chair, one foot looped up onto his other knee, twisting back and forth slightly as he looked over the two of them. "You guys are very lucky," he said, and Brittany couldn't help but turn slightly to Santana and smile. She did feel very lucky, all things considered, to be with Santana. "Very lucky to have me," Jesse finished. Brittany squeezed Santana's hand to keep from rolling her eyes.

"I know that you don't have a lot of experience in the world of media relations," Jesse said, and Brittany hoped he was going somewhere soothing with this train of thought. "And I know that because you guys have had so many major mess-ups in the past like seventy hours alone. So, that is why you're lucky to have me, because I am going to teach you how to stop making these stupid mistakes—" Brittany flinched a little at the word and Santana squeezed her hand, "—and start making brilliant successes. Sound good?" He looked between the two of them, and Brittany tried to put a cheerful smile on her face.

"Great, let's get started with mistakes like this." Jesse reached into the chair beside him and pulled up a tabloid. Brittany was expecting to see the pictures of her and Santana kissing again, but instead she saw a mass of arms and cameras, a cab, and herself. Brittany was shocked to see that her expression, which she had tried to coach to be so perfectly neutral, had come out closer to a smile, and the media had pounced.

Jesse lay headline after headline on the table and Brittany felt her breathing get harder with each one.

_Brittany Pierce All Smiles As She Leaves Sochi in Disgrace_

_Pierce Doesn't Care about "Outing"; Was It All A Stunt?_

_US Pairs Skater Unable to Understand Danger in Russia_

_Move over Britney Spears! Brittany S. Pierce and Her Attention-Grabbing Smooch_

"I—" Brittany tried to say as tears came to her eyes. Instantly, Santana cupped her face, drawing Brittany over to look at her as she stroked her thumbs across Brittany's cheeks.

"They're wrong," she insisted softly, in Brittany's ear. "You are a genius, you are so loyal, you are so wonderfully thoughtful. They're selling copies any way they can, even if it's just a split second when they took advantage of you." It was true. Though there were different angles of that almost-smile, it was all clearly more or less the same moment. "Besides, look at the papers. They're all shitty publications anyway." Brittany nodded and gripped Santana's hand even tighter than before as they turned back to Jesse.

He was still turning slightly in his chair as he watched them. "Now, before we move on, I want to ask you if this was a stunt after all."

"No!" Santana broke in before he could even roll onto his next comment about the situation. She opened her mouth and Brittany knew that a barrage of vicious words were about to spring free. Brittany gently squeezed Santana's hand and shook her head. Watching Santana deflate like a balloon settled the ache even deeper into Brittany's stomach, but it was probably a good idea to not go all Lima Heights on the man who was supposed to help them out of this media mess.

"Hey, just checking." Jesse held his hands up defensively. "I mean, I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but I've helped to spin many a just-experimenting-with-ladies kiss in my time." Santana's grip tightened and Brittany stroked her thumb over the tense muscle at the base of her thumb. "Anyway, that is a question that you could be asked, you know? My job is to give you the kind of answers that are going to help you keep or establish the reputation you want, by teaching you the answers to the questions you will likely be asked." Jesse sat up for the first time since Brittany and Santana had come into the room, planting both feet on the floor and leaning forward with his hands clasped on the table. "Let me make it clear, though, that I only guarantee these results if you actually stick to what I say. Improv is not going to do you any favors."

Brittany nodded slowly. Santana must have done the same, because Jesse sat back in his chair and crossed his leg over again. "Awesome. We'll get started with me asking you questions. I want to hear your automatic responses to find out what I have to fix."

Brittany could tell it was going to be a long morning.

* * *

><p>The interviews had been set up for the afternoon. President Sue had told them that the publications coming to the rink were not the most prestigious members of journalism, but that they were what Jesse St. James had found appropriate for their situation. Since Brittany didn't have Mike, who was still in Russia, and Jesse felt it was a bad idea for them to skate together, promoting an image that might make high scores difficult with judges in the future, all of their interviews were going to be conducted in one of the spare offices upstairs. Someone had gutted the room, dragging out the excess furniture and hanging what looked to be one of the backdrops from the annual ice show behind them. Two chairs were set on the backdrop, giving any reporter that might have a camera a clean shot behind them, and good lighting.<p>

As soon as President Sue had left, Brittany turned to Santana and wove their fingers together again. "You know that all of those headlines are lies, don't you, Britt-Britt?" Santana asked, her forehead deeply wrinkled in concern. "Even if Caesar Flickerman over there is right, and those reporters ask about the headlines, we just have to do what he said and tell them, calmly, about how wrong they are. And I know he said calmly four times because of me," Santana said, offering a tight smile to Brittany.

"I know, I promise," Brittany said, leaning in to press a kiss to Santana's forehead.

They sat in silence for a moment before President Sue walked in with the first reporter. He had a camera slung over his shoulder and a large afro, coupled by thick glasses. Without introducing himself, he quickly fell to setting up his camera, checking several times to make sure that everything was aligned before pulling out a mic emblazoned with the initials JBI. "Hello viewers, and welcome back to the Jacob Ben Israel Report. I'm Jacob, and, as usual, I'm hot on the trail of the Bay Area's hottest gossip. With me, I have internationally ranked skaters Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce, who are some of the hottest gossip right now after these juicy pictures of their sapphic smooching were spread all over the webisphere early yesterday morning."

Brittany felt her heart sink at this intro, knowing this was going to be exactly the kind of interview that Jesse had spent all morning grilling them for. No questions had been asked, and already she was feeling crispy around the edges. Brittany glanced at Santana, wondering if they could hold hands. Santana hesitated for a moment, but reached across the few inches between their chairs and linked their pinkies together.

"Now, ladies, how do you respond to the rumors that these photos were staged and then released for publicity reasons?" Jacob asked, holding the microphone out towards them.

"Categorically false," Santana said, her voice crisp and firm. Brittany's mouth twitched into a soft smile, proud of Santana already. "Someone intruded on our private moment and took pictures that revealed parts of us that we did not want to share with the world, yet." Brittany's heart squeezed in her chest at the word yet. "They then sold these pictures for profit, despite knowing that we were in a country where it was considered illegal, and without knowing the degree that it might affect our personal lives." Brittany nodded, having nothing to share.

Jacob, however, didn't seem shaken by Santana's steady answer and instead asked, "The pictures, were they capturing a passionate moment, a romantic moment, a se—"

"Romantic," Brittany cut in before Jacob could finish whatever word was coming next. Jesse told them that the best thing was to make the whole thing boring and romantic, before remarking that it would probably be annoyingly easy for them.

"This was not a one time lip-lock?" Jacob asked.

"No, Brittany is—" Santana looked up at Brittany for a moment and then straight back down the camera. "Brittany is my girlfriend,"

"So, you two are in love? Soulmates, so to speak?"

Santana drew in a big breath and locked eyes with Brittany. "Uh, yeah," she said softly, "I'd say that was accurate.

Brittany had to try so hard to not kiss her right there.

* * *

><p>The rest of the interview careened back and forth between the same heart-pounding, nervous, almost giddy excitement at finally embracing everything that Santana had been feeling and hiding and wanting to share, and the offensive, overly-sexual, and clearly inappropriate questions that Jacob kept slipping in. Whenever Brittany seemed to sense that Santana's temperature was getting too hot and she was going to explode, or conversely, when the question made Santana want to curl in on herself and never answer any questions again, Brittany always made a disarming comment. Most of them were even appropriate and only slightly off topic, a feat that Santana found amazing, but unsurprising coming from Brittany.<p>

Still, the interview was exhausting and Santana loathed that they still had several more to do. She wondered if they would all be this bad.

Of course, just as she thought that, President Sylvester arrived with the next reporter. This one was a young girl, probably no older than Santana. She had on a white faux-fur shrug and bright pink heart sunglasses. She instantly sat herself down in the chair. "Oh my god, I'm so happy to meet the two of you! I'm from Starry Magazine and probably your biggest shipper, like, ever," she gushed as she pulled a recorder, sparkly notepad, and fuzzy-feather topped pen out of her small clutch.

"Our biggest what?" Brittany asked, more amused than defensive.

"Your biggest shipper, of course!" The reporter settled into her chair, crossing her legs and leaning over, as if speaking in confidence. "Now, have you chosen a ship name? I'm all for Brittana, honestly. It's sweet and balanced and easy to say. The other choice is, of course, Santittany, but that's so much longer and more awkward."

"Uh, what did you say your name was?" Santana asked, not sure what to make of this bubbly young reporter, wondering if it was possible that someone let the wrong person in.

"Oh, it's Sugar Motta," she said with a grin.

"Fitting," Brittany mouthed to Santana, and Santana had to hide a grin.

"I'm going to go with Brittana," Sugar announced, scribbling into her pad, "if you don't have a preference."

"That's fine," Brittany said, relaxing back into her chair a little more. Santana glanced at her, glad that this interview was already easier and more comfortable for Brittany, though she still had some doubts.

"I have to admit, I've been following you guys for a while, and I was always hoping that the two of you were together," Sugar said.

"You were?" Santana asked, shocked that there was anyone who had possibly picked up on the things between herself and Brittany, especially someone who had never met them in person.

"Yeah, of course. It was just such a sweet story to think about: friends since childhood, falling in love. It, like, totally sucks that it had to come out this way though. I hope you guys are gonna bring the freaking hammer down on whoever did this."

"We're hoping to," Santana responded a little faintly, still shocked that this girl really did seem to be telling the truth about shipping them and following their careers on the ice and everything. Everyone always seemed so focused on Brittany and Mike, no matter how many times they tried to deny it, and Santana was notoriously shy about media and Brittany, just in case someone did notice.

"Anyway, let's start with some of the easier stuff, fluff and whatever, and then maybe we can talk about how you guys have been handling this. There are a lot of lady-lovin' ladies who read Starry Mag, and I'm sure they would benefit from hearing from you two, early as it is." Santana felt her heart soften a little bit at that. It seemed like, for all of her bubbly, vapid exterior, Sugar was one hundred times the reporter (and probably one thousand times the person) that Jacob Ben Israel was. Brittany was already looking at her like she wanted to invite her for a sleepover, so Santana finally relaxed and laced her fingers fully with Brittany'.

"Okay, that sounds nice," she said, smiling at Brittany and then back at Sugar. "Ask away."

* * *

><p><strong>Author<strong>**'****s Note: **Thank you for your patience with this chapter (and every chapter). For costumes and music related to this story, questions about skating or Brittana, or other feelings about skating and Brittana, and any questions or comments about the story, head over to my tumblr at sadiered dot tumblr dot com.


	8. Tell Yourself That It's Worth It

The next few days were mercifully quiet. The bulk of the attention was pulled off of Brittany and Santana by the next skating events happening in Sochi, and, though there were still some media requests coming into the rink and a few blurb news stories popping up before Olympic broadcasts, no one really bothered the two of them. Even though Worlds was coming up, Brittany said she could take a few days off from training. If she had been in Sochi, the same thing would be happening anyway. Santana and Brittany bounced back and forth between the Lopez house, the Pierce house, and Brittany's apartment, mostly spending nights at the apartment, but hanging out with different members of the family during the day. Santana was relieved to feel some of her anxiety easing around their families. She still felt a little uncomfortable sometimes, but Brittany was right, and time was making her feel better.

After a few days of doing nothing with their families and a few nights of movies and making out, both Santana and Brittany started to go a little stir crazy. They were both used to a certain level of activity and felt restless doing so little for such a long time. The next morning, they went to the rink to take advantage of the onsite gym, running through their separate off-ice routines.

Santana could feel the way that Brittany's eyes were glued to her through her whole work out, scanning over the muscles in her arms and legs as she lifted weights and used the machines and to her ass as she ran on the treadmill. It made her feel sexy and warm all over. She couldn't help sneaking a few peeks of her own. Santana was quite sure she knew what would happen in the shower when they got back to Brittany's apartment.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore, and Santana came and rested her hand on Brittany's back where she was doing squats. Brittany paused and looked at Santana, getting the same dirty smirk on her face that Santana gave her. "Let me just finish this set," Brittany said. Santana stepped back to watch, but Brittany only did one more before stopping with a laugh. "Done. Let's go."

They pulled on their jackets and changed into boots, before heading towards the parking lot.

"Brittany, Santana, wait a second!" They stopped at the voice behind them. It was Emma, hurrying across the lobby. "I was going to text you, but someone said that you were here." Emma told them once she had caught up. "Jesse St. James has asked to meet with the two of you this afternoon. He said it was about publicity opportunities. Does two o'clock work?"

Santana glanced at Brittany who looked at the time on her phone. They would need lunch and at least one shower, but they had a few hours before they'd need to come back. "That's fine," Santana said with a nod.

"Excellent." Emma said, making a note on the planner that she was carrying. "And Santana, it won't be announced officially for another few days, but Will just got a message that the federation is planning on sending you to Worlds with Quinn Fabray. Congratulations!" Emma gave her a genuine smile, before her phone started to ring. "Excuse me, I have to take this," Emma said. "Congratulations again, and Will said he'd be back next week."

Emma went out the door, presumably up to her office, and Santana turned to look at Brittany, her mouth slightly open.

"Did she just say—" Santana asked, stepping towards Brittany.

"Worlds." Brittany's grin was huge and infectious.

"Worlds!" Santana repeated, throwing her arms around Brittany's neck in a hug. Brittany locked her arms behind Santana's back and spun her around, and Santana couldn't help the shriek of laughter she let out.

"Come on, let's go home," Brittany said, setting Santana down and steadying her with a hand on her elbow. "There is a shower that I need to visit with you."

Santana laughed and followed Brittany out the door.

* * *

><p>Ninety minutes later, they were laying on Brittany's bed together with damp hair, splitting a dish of apple slices between them. The blankets had been partially kicked off the bed, and only the sheet was draped over them.<p>

Santana took another bite of apple. "We have about fifteen minutes before we have to get ready to the rink and meet with Jesse," she said.

"Mmmmph," Brittany groaned into the pillow she was laying on. "I'd rather finish this apple and then take a nap with you."

Santana shook her head with a smile. "Well, I'd rather just stay in bed with you, too, but we have to go meet with him. I'm sure Sue is paying him a lot to do his job." She paused for a minute while she chewed thoughtfully. "What do you think Emma meant by publicity opportunities?"

"Probably a lot of Jesse 'My Dick is Heaven' St. James _blowing_ his own horn and then maybe an interview."

Santana rolled her eyes to keep from giving Brittany an approving snort of laughter, because, after all, Jesse was helping them out a lot and they kind of needed him. Brittany grinned anyway, like she could tell what Santana was thinking.

"I just think—" Santana shook her head. "I mean, why else would they send me to Worlds?" A little bit of the shine had worn off the thrill of knowing she had been chosen, and Santana was starting to feel like she had a more realistic grip on the situation. After all, no one who had scored as low as she had should earn a spot to Japan. Even with being the third alternate, there were still three people who had proven they had done a better job than she had. It was obvious to her, and it going to be obvious to everyone else as well.

"Um, triple axel, triple lutz entry, that i-spin, your—"

Santana cut Brittany off with a quick kiss. "I know. And thank you, Britt, for always being my best fan. But I didn't prove any of that when it counted, and you know it. It wouldn't make sense for them to send the third alternate unless some horrible accident happened to everyone in between or unless they wanted to capitalize on the attention we've been getting."

Brittany sighed. "You're right," she admitted reluctantly. "Even though I want to go on the record as saying that you totally could have gotten the gold medal at Nationals and definitely skate at a level that is deserving of this spot."

Santana pressed another soft kiss to Brittany's mouth. "It just kind of sucks to know that I'm getting this because of a terrible thing that happened to us. I would have rather just earned it."

"I know," Brittany said, lacing her fingers with Santana's and pulling her close. Brittany kissed Santana's nose and cheeks and forehead, her mouth moving gently over each part of Santana's face, until their lips finally met again. Santana tilted her chin up, fitting their mouths together more firmly. There really wasn't anything to say that could make Santana feel better. No matter what, they had still been outed on an international scale, their private lives were now at least a little bit public, and weird and uncomfortable things like being bumped to Worlds were still happening. But Brittany's arms around her back, Brittany's mouth on hers, those things made everything seem manageable. "How much time until we need to get ready?" Brittany whispered against her lips.

"About seven minutes," Santana murmured back.

"I'm going to kiss you until then, okay?"

Santana's kiss turned into a smile. "Yes."

* * *

><p>"Okay, Santana?" The director said, waving her over. Santana skated to the rubber mat where he was standing with various crew members and a camera. There were a few more cameras set up around the ice. Santana still had plenty of room, but it was a little nerve-wracking. "Are you warmed up and ready?" Santana nodded. "Great, I'm going to have you head back over to Jo at the edge over there," he pointed to a woman waiting with some makeup at the boards. "She's going to do some touch ups, and then we'll get ready to shoot, okay?"<p>

"Sounds good," Santana said, before skating over to the boards. The makeup woman, Jo, had already done most things before Santana had gotten on to warm up, but now she smoothed over any areas where Santana had started to sweat. Santana closed her eyes and tried to relax.

It had turned out that the "publicity opportunities" that Jesse had for them were commercials. Or two commercials, one each, and a print ad. Once he had gone on about his connections and how lucky they were to have him and how he had turned the tide of the press to work with them instead of against them, he'd finally gotten around to details. Jesse had worked a deal out with Apple and their new sport headphones for Santana, with Oreos and their latest campaign effort for Brittany, and a Levi jeans ad for the both of them. He had been very clear with them that the contracts were for these ads only and were not full sponsorships and that he didn't want them thinking they were at that level yet, but they would still be good publicity for them.

Santana still wasn't quite sure what she thought about it. On one hand, it was this incredible opportunity. She had never really imagined that someone would want her to represent a brand in any way, even if it was just a singular commercial. It was almost overwhelming, and even after a whole night to process with Brittany, she still wasn't sure that she had really come to terms with it. But, on the other hand, it was another thing that she was being given because of this horrible outing that had happened to her. She didn't earn this on her own merit; she had been given it because one of the most personal aspects of her life had been broadcast across the globe.

"All done," Jo said, stepping back and checking Santana's face. "You really didn't sweat anything off anyway," she added with a smile.

"Thanks," Santana said, smiling back. Jo had done her make up earlier while she was talking to the director about the kinds of things he wanted once they got on the ice. He had told her that the commercial would be more or less a montage of her skating and that he didn't have anything in particular that he wanted from her, just big tricks that would look good in slow motion.

Santana had already recorded a voice over track in a little sound booth that they had set up in the lobby of the New York rink where the commercial was being shot. It took longer than she had thought it would, considering it was a just a few sentences about the headphones and how well they worked. They had then dressed her in Nike clothing, black pants and a silvery tank top, explaining that Nike was one of their partners, before sending her off to Jo. Santana had been grateful for her—the soothing, calm way that she applied makeup to keep Santana from washing out under the lights had relaxed her where she might have started to get nervous.

Now, as Santana stepped back onto the ice, she was warmed up and ready, but she still had to take a few steadying breaths. No matter how she got this deal, it was a commercial. It was her first chance to really show that she could live up to this person that they wanted her to be, and her first chance to really be introduced to people outside of skating, who probably only knew her from photos where she was kissing Brittany.

Santana pushed that out of her mind. Right now, she just needed to focus on doing the best job that she could, and she couldn't do that thinking about everything that had happened. Santana skated back out to the mat. "Ready?" she asked.

"We are. Are you?" the director asked, his tone more kind than anything else.

"I certainly hope so," Santana said, trying to give her most easy going grin.

"Then great. Can we start with a few spins?"

Santana nodded, skating out towards the middle of the cameras, winding up with a few back crossovers and then stepping forward onto her left foot. She brought her arms and right leg in, pulling slowly, drawing her arms towards her chest and then up as she tightened her leg. The result was a perfect scratch spin, where the whole world blurred with the speed of Santana's spin. She held it for several seconds, until her rotation began to slow down, and then she stepped out, gliding out backwards on the outside edge of her right foot. Santana looked over to the director. "How was that?" she asked, unable to read his face.

"Great," he said, blinking a little bit. "Wow. Are you dizzy?" Santana laughed and shook her head. "Really? Awesome. Could you do another spin? Your choice!"

Santana nodded and set up for a layback. As she pushed her hips forward and let her head and upper body drop backwards into the spin, she felt her nerves start to relax a little. As long as she focused on the skating, this wouldn't be bad.

* * *

><p>Brittany adjusted the fuzzy deerstalker hat perched on her head and shook out her arms and legs. It was still freezing outside, especially with the breeze whistling through Rockefeller Center. Jesse had secured Brittany a commercial with Oreo. Brittany had been apprehensive at first. She didn't want to broaden the exposure of what had happened to them, but Oreo had had a lot of great marketing success in the past few years. It seemed like the advertising team was with it, making smart, funny ads that were kind and quick-witted at the same time.<p>

Their current campaign was called "Good at Any Speed". Brittany had seen the latest spot a few weeks ago, before she had headed off to Sochi. The commercial had featured well known NASCAR driver Artie Abrams and an adorable little boy. The voice over had announced, "Whether you're two-time Sprint Cup winner Artie Abrams—" with a shot of Artie's Oreo car hurtling down the track, "—or just starting to cruise in your first car—" as the camera panned to a little boy pushing himself along in a tiny ride-on car. "—Oreos are the snack for drivers of all ages." The ad had finished with a shot of Artie and little boy grinning as they shared Oreos, with the slogan, "Good at Any Speed".

It seemed that they were more or less sticking to the same script. Brittany had almost asked why they hadn't asked a speed skater to do the commercial, but she bit her tongue in time. After all, Jesse had probably worked hard to get her this gig, even with all of his pretentious talk, and she didn't need to give them any kind of idea that would take it away from her.

The director did seem to want something a little fancier than just skating fast, which Brittany was happy about, and she laid out a little piece of complicated choreo with a split leap in it, to give the director or editor or whoever something to choose from for the commercial. She had just finished filming a few different runs of that and now Brittany was watching them work with the little girl. She was a little unsteady on her feet, but determinedly shuffling along. Brittany gave her a thumbs up.

The little girl was adorable, and Brittany couldn't help but think that she was the spitting image of a six year old Santana, from the adorable gap-tooth, dimpled smile and the tanned skin, right down to skinny little deer legs and dark hair peaking out from under her teal hat. Santana had a considerable amount more skill skating at six than this girl did, but it wasn't hard to imagine that this was Santana. Or even, someday—

"Brittany!" The director called, looking around. Brittany waved from where she was leaning against the boards. "We're ready to set up the last scene. Over towards that bench." Brittany nodded and skated that way, glad for the interruption of that thought, but also weirdly excited to get to share some Oreos with this adorable girl.

* * *

><p>"Where is that diffuser?" the photographer shouted, looking around. "This light is way too harsh. I'm getting a huge glare off the snow!" Santana looked around, shifting a little nervously amongst the piles of fake snow that were, as she had seen, very carefully positioned in front of this backdrop. She was on the set for the photoshoot set up for Levi with Brittany. After a night in a hotel way nicer than anything she had stayed in before, both of them had arrived at some studio space in New York and immediately been dressed in jeans, Santana, a light colored pair to offset her dark vest and white long sleeve, and Brittany, a dark pair to go with the maroon, oversized sweater they had picked. Santana had actually been impressed at how well the stylist did, picking out clothes that fit both them and their general style after only a few moments of looking at them.<p>

"Are you okay?" Brittany whispered, reaching out to tug on the collar of Santana's black puffy vest.

Santana sighed. "Yeah," she murmured after a moment.

"How many times do I have to tell you you're a shitty liar?" Brittany asked, her grin seeping into her voice. Santana couldn't help a smile in return and she stepped a little closer, slipping her hands under the hem of Brittany's sweater.

"Probably at least a few more."

Brittany shook her head and reached her hands back to hold Santana's. "What is it, honey?"

"I just still hate how we got these," Santana said, shaking her head. "I mean, you totally earned something like this, but I put in this horrible performance and get outed to the whole world and then some ridiculous media relations guy spins it all, and we get a couple of commercials or whatever and it's like I'm getting a reward for putting up with having someone try to destroy our lives." She shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "I don't love the thought of putting pictures of us out there. I feel like we're putting more attention on ourselves and inviting more people into our lives."

Brittany thought for a moment, swaying slightly with Santana and watching a couple of guys try to adjust a defuser to soften the light a little. "I don't think I see it that way anymore," Brittany said. "I mean, yes, you didn't have an Olympic performance that deserved a commercial. I will give you that, without me going into a long thing about how you totally could have." Brittany looked down to meet Santana's eyes. "But you know as well as I that there is some kid out there in her figure skating club who has a crush on the girl she does axel class with and now she has you and me to show her that yes, it's possible to fall totally in love with the way that this girl attacks the jump and folds in and pulls out and the beautiful curve of her back in her landing position, and still be okay." Santana squeezed Brittany's hands a little tighter, feeling by the heavy, hungry look in Brittany's eye that it wasn't some imaginary teenager's axel she was talking about. "But right now, the only image of that she has, is one where our right to speak for ourselves was taken away and splashed across the globe for whoever wanted in. Why not give her something better to look at? And something else to know she could do?"

Santana stared up into Brittany's eyes for a moment, just feeling the way that every little molecule in her whole self was completely in love with this amazing woman. "You are such a genius, you know that?" she whispered, her voice warm and reverent.

"Okay, are we ready?" the photographer asked, shifting her camera. Santana looked at Brittany, and they both nodded. "Okay, let's do it!"

Over the next hour or so, the photographer guided them into a lot of different positions and set ups, each of them cute and romantic, without being overbearing or sexual. As it became clearer that the photographer's vision was in line with their own values, Santana and Brittany relaxed more and more, and by the end, everyone felt like they had some good shots.

* * *

><p>"Fancy meeting you here."<p>

Santana warmed all over as she heard a familiar voice behind her, and she looked up as a grin bloomed on her face. She had been lying on Brittany's couch with an ice pack on her knee, waiting for Brittany to get home from one of her dance classes. The night before, Santana had finally gone back to her parents' house after almost a week of staying with Brittany, either in her apartment, or—for a few days—in a hotel in New York. "Hi Britt," she said, moving to get up.

"Come here often?" Brittany asked with a wink, stopping Santana and lifting up her legs to sit with them across her lap.

Santana laughed and shook her head. "As often as I can," she said. "When does Mike come back?"

"At the end of the week, after closing ceremonies," Brittany said, stroking her hand across Santana's shin, carefully avoiding her knee. "Are you okay?" She asked after a moment.

"Yeah," Santana said, shaking her head, "Just a little bruise. I caught a funny landing on one of my run throughs. Thought I'd get some ice on it before it turned completely purple."

"Was it the free skate?" Brittany asked, reaching out to massage Santana's foot.

"Yeah." Santana sighed. "Will is going to be back after closing ceremonies, too, and I know he's just itching to mess with the elements, but if I'm going to be handed a spot at Worlds, I have to at least try to show that I could have earned it, you know?" After they'd had that fight, there were a lot of things that Will might do to the program, including stripping the elements down, which Santana knew was a mistake. She could be competitive, if only she could get her head into the game. But even today, with just about no one in the rink, not even Will, with no pressure on, it had just felt off. The program didn't sit well on her, fitting like a dress custom made for someone else—pinching in some places, too loose in others, and causing Santana discomfort.

"I don't know what to do about it," Santana said. "Nothing works to fix it. Even when it's good, it's obviously nowhere near great." She had a few run throughs, at the beginning of practice, where everything clicked and she stayed on her feet, but it still wasn't the show-stopping program that she needed.

Brittany was quiet for a moment as she switched feet and worked on the arch of Santana's right foot. "What if—," she said, breaking off for a moment. "What if, like, you just made a new one?"

"A whole new long program?" Santana tossed the ice pack off her leg and curled up so she was leaning against Brittany. "But there's only like a month until Worlds."

"Maybe not a totally new one. I mean, we could use the base of this one, so that you wouldn't have to do quite as much work to learn a new one, but, yeah, basically." Brittany could clearly see the uncertainty in Santana's face, because she reached up and smoothed her fingers through Santana's hair. "I mean, you said it yourself, you need something that shows you deserve to be there, and I think we both know that Will's Romeo and Juliet tragedy-fest isn't going to give you the connection that you need. So let's get something as ready as we can, and we'll, like, show it to Will, and hopefully he'll keep his shirt on enough to actually consider it. We can even let Will make the final call if that makes you feel better."

Santana thought about it for a moment. "With new music?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure we have something that'll fit better between the two of us." Brittany was really getting excited about the idea, and the way that her bright blue eyes shone and dreamy depth of her grin was infectious.

"Do you want to, like, pick out the music and help choreo it and everything?"

Brittany looked bashful for a moment, and Santana had to resist interrupting her with a kiss. "Well, I mean, if you want, I could, or we could, like, pick out some music and go talk to one of the junior coaches, or—"

"No," Santana said, starting to smile with her growing excitement for this idea. "I want you."

Brittany actually blushed which was too adorable for Santana to resist.

A moment later, they pulled apart from each other and Brittany reached for her computer, sitting on the floor near the couch. "Okay, we can start going through music."

"I trust you, Britt. Why don't I make some dinner and you pick out what you think will work? If you've got anything to show me, we can do it after dinner is done?" Santana slid off the couch and leaned down to give Brittany a soft kiss. "Thank you," she murmured, before heading off to the kitchen, feeling a lot lighter.

* * *

><p>Brittany leaned in toward her computer screen, dragging the box a little closer, and then clicking play again, listening intently to the transition. She wanted this to be perfect because Santana was trusting her. Brittany inched the box back a tiny amount and then listened again.<p>

Santana had made dinner while Brittany had looked through her music library and a few websites, looking for something that jumped out. It wasn't going particularly well at first. Everything was either overused or childish or just plain wrong. Brittany was starting to regret her optimism when she clicked play on the next track. As soon as the music started, Brittany could see a program forming in her head. She quickly hauled the computer into the kitchen and played a little bit for Santana. The smile on Santana's face, the deep dimples that meant she was truly happy about something, was enough to seal the deal for Brittany.

The rest of the time until dinner was ready Brittany spent cutting together music, pulling from all over the soundtrack to make a complete story. She wanted to give Santana something she could really feel and put out there.

Santana finished dinner before Brittany finished her music, so it was put on hold for a little bit. Brittany was glad for the break anyway, and her stomach was starting to growl. After the food was gone, Santana insisted that she clean up and let Brittany get back to it, so Brittany had.

She was fiddling with the last transition now, trying to fit on a piece that would bring resolution to the story that she had been trying to build, but something was a little off. Brittany trimmed the clips one more time and crossfaded them a little more, letting the two pieces bleed into each other. She dragged the cursor back to before the transition and press play once more.

The music flowed easily through, from one piece to the next.

Brittany sighed in relief and brought it all the way back to the start. If she closed her eyes, she could just see Santana, dress sparkling under the lights, as she took her opening position. She was going to look so beautiful skating to this music.

Santana always looked beautiful on the ice, though. Brittany always thought that Santana had this grace and maturity to her, even when they were skating as kids. There really wasn't anything wrong with Santana as a skater, no matter what she seemed to think. It was just a whole lot of bad luck: being stuck with Noah Puckerman for a partner, someone who couldn't and wouldn't grow at the same rate as her; having to switch to singles. Even the problems at Nationals this year came from the bad luck of a coach who only did half of his job, preparing Santana physically but not mentally. Santana was the best person Brittany knew. She deserved so much better.

A hand on her knee startled her out of her thoughts. "The kitchen's clean," Santana said, coming to sit down. Brittany lifted her arm, letting Santana tuck herself into her side. "How's it going?"

"All done, I think," Brittany said, pulling the headphones down to rest around her neck, unplugging them from the computer. "If you like it, I mean," she added, as she fiddled with the mouse on the screen, trying to get the track back to the start, though her fingers weren't cooperating quite as well as she'd like as her heart picked up, knowing Santana was about to hear the music and could totally hate it. "If you don't, you can, like, totally tell me, and I'll come up with another one. I hope you like this one because I really like it. But that doesn't meant that you have to of course—"

"Britt," Santana interrupted. "I'm sure that I'll love it. I loved that clip you played. Go ahead."

Brittany looked down for a moment, taking in the sweet, deep trust in Santana's beautiful brown eyes.

She pressed play.

The sound of violins, violas, and cellos filled the air of Brittany's small apartment, building a slow gentle introduction, a feeling of stasis and longing for something new echoing through the notes. The music faded into a quick country step. Brittany watched as Santana began to grin, the smiling growing as the music sped up. It was going to be so much fun. The bouncy tune went faster and faster until it suddenly ended. There was a moment of silence before the strings turned frightened and urgent, building into a mournful tune, now longing for something held and lost. It grew and pulsed in its own way, grief piling on with each rise and fall of the music. Santana lost her smile and watched Brittany's computer, as the track played past. The urgency reached its peak and settled down into quiet finality, and, underneath the rest, a note of hope.

The last note of the strings faded away, and Brittany waited, almost holding her breath. She hadn't been able to tell what Santana was thinking since the big shift in the music, towards the middle.

"Do you—" Santana started, turning her eyes up to look at Brittany. "Do you really think that I can pull that off?"

Brittany's heart broke. "Yes, I do," she said firmly, reaching out to lace her fingers with Santana's. "In fact, I know you can. And not just because I'm going to help you. Okay?"

Santana let out a little breath. "Yeah."

"Do you like it? Should I burn it onto a cd?" Brittany asked.

"I love it," Santana murmured, squeezing Brittany's hand gently. "I'm just—I can't even tell you, Brittany, how much it means that you put this together that you think I can do this. I love you."

"I love you, too," Brittany said, feeling her ears warm with the happy flush that still seemed to come over her whenever Santana complimented her.

"Do you want me to make the cd, Britt?" Santana asked.

Brittany grinned. There were many, many things that she could do very well with a computer, but for whatever reason, it always seemed to go wrong when she tried to make a cd. As a skater, there had been hundreds of them over the years. Brittany had made cds of the wrong track, ones that turned out blank, ones that would play in the computer but not at the rink, and even one that started off fine, but somehow cut to a completely different song in the middle. It was easier that this point to just let Santana do it.

Brittany handed the computer over. "There are a couple of practices tomorrow that we can use. I think we can probably get it all choreographed tomorrow, and then I'll help you smooth it out until Will gets back."

"Thanks again for doing this, Britt," Santana said, pausing her work on the computer to give Brittany a quick kiss.

"I'm happy to," Brittany said softly, feeling in her heart how true it was.

* * *

><p>"Okay," Brittany said, juggling the papers in her hand and attaching them to her clipboard. "We're going to try to keep most of the elements the same as the other program to help." Santana nodded, looking so adorably serious that Brittany couldn't help but crack a smile. They were the only two in the rink at the moment, so Brittany had hooked up the cd player to the sound system and had the remote in her jacket pocket.<p>

"We're going to start a little more down on the end," Brittany said, skating towards the boards on one side. About a third of the way down the rink, she stopped. "Opening pose, whatever, we'll come back to it okay?" Santana nodded again, and Brittany smiled and started the music. The slow strings started again and Brittany listened moving a little to the music. She could feel Santana's eyes on her. Yesterday, she had felt nervous, worried that Santana might hate everything that she came up with, from the music to the choreo, but after night of sleep and listening to the music what seemed like several hundred times, Brittany was ready. Santana watching her felt warm and safe, and Brittany was so excited to build something just for her.

After a few seconds, Brittany nodded and paused the music. "So, arms up, for the pose, somehow, and we're going to bring them down, and come around the corner like this." Brittany demonstrated the careful, gentle arm movements she was talking about, taking the corner backwards, with her head and chest lifted upwards, exuding that tender longing that they had heard echoing in the music last night. "And then into back camel-back sit right here as the music lifts a little," Brittany did an easy upright spin, more for emphasis of the idea and location, then really demonstrating what she wanted. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Santana said. They both skated back to the spot that Brittany had started at before. Santana struck an opening pose, her arms over her head, the right bent to touch the elbow of her left. As the music started, she followed Brittany's directions, completing the footwork and then sweeping herself into the spin, a back camel, spinning on her right foot with her body parallel to the ice and her left leg extended, before scooping that leg and her body down into a tight sit spin position. Brittany nodded, impressed. She knew that Santana was totally capable of picking up choreo quickly and executing it well, but it was amazing to see happening in front of her. There was still some work to be done with expression, but that was to be expected. Santana had spent a long time locking down all of her feeling and skating with all of the technical prowess that she could muster, in an environment that wasn't always supportive of the way that she felt feelings. It would take a little more time for her to really give into the music.

Brittany marked down what they had worked out so far as the music played out a bit. "Great. The lutz is going to be next."

* * *

><p>Several hours later, after hammering out the basic shape of the whole program and inserting each of the elements that Santana needed, as well as a break for lunch, they were back on the ice, to smooth things out. They had added features to the spins, like a catch-foot position in Santana's first camel spin, which would help bring up her difficulty and get her bigger points for those elements.<p>

The jumps, Brittany knew Santana could do. They were all the same ones from the program that Will had put together, and Brittany had seen Santana nail that a million times. Brittany had told Santana to just mark the jumps for now. There was no reason for her to beat herself or her joints into the ground, when they were just getting the flow for this new program.

The hardest part, besides the general emotionality, was the footwork sequence. Those were always hard to learn. Brittany knew it sometimes took her several days to fully memorize the footwork steps, to know exactly what was going to come next, and to do it smoothly and cleanly and with emotion. It basically needed to become muscle memory.

But they only had a handful of weeks before Worlds, and only a few days before Will would be back. Brittany and Santana both knew that the program needed to be close to perfect in order for him to approve switching. Between the external factors that made it necessary to learn the footwork quickly and easily and the internal factors of the music and story they were trying to create, Brittany had the idea of pulling steps from one of the dances they had learned when they were younger. It had been a while and the steps couldn't be exactly the same, but it would give Santana a little bit of muscle memory to start from. The music at that point repeated, but faster, and it would give Santana the ability to show quick, sure, deep edges, turns in both directions, and increase in skill, without having to memorize quite so much in the way of new footwork.

For a while, they drilled the footwork sequence, slowly at first, and then faster, tweaking it here and there, adding a different set of complicated steps near the end of each repetition. Soon, Santana had it well enough to be able to keep up with the music.

"At this part," Brittany said to Santana, standing at the boards, playing with her fingertips, "it's like you've finally met someone who makes everything narrow down to this, who makes your heart leap and jump and speed and just wakes up every part of you." Santana's tender smile and deep eyes made Brittany's ears turn red and the corners of her mouth turned up a little, but she had a point to make, so she kept going. "When it cuts to the dark music, that's gone and it feels like it's never coming back, okay? So, with your face and your body, you need to go from this—" Brittany held her hand up high, her head lifted and shoulders back, her posture and face expressing the shining joy that she wanted to see from Santana, "—to this." Brittany dropped her hand low, and with it went everything else, her shoulders, her face, everything coming down to access that feeling of despair. "I know that you know what it all feels like. You just have to let other people know that, too."

Santana nodded, her face serious and that deep line appearing between her eyebrows again. Brittany reached out with the hand already tangling with Santana's fingertips to smooth her thumb over the inside of Santana's wrist. "Hey, we're just starting. We'll get there. I know you can do it. But you don't have to do it perfect right now."

"Okay," Santana said, nodding more firmly, her voice more resolute.

Brittany cued the music up to the right place while Santana skated over to the start of footwork sequence, starting it as soon as Santana gave her the nod that said she was ready. Brittany leaned against the boards as she watched. Santana's movement was good, great even, considering she'd been working on this new sequence for just one session on the ice. If she had been watching this as a girlfriend and not a choreographer, she would have gotten lost in the way Santana pointed her long legs and the way her tight, black pants hugged every curve and dip of her lower body, as she drew herself into these graceful, joyful moments.

But, watching Santana and focusing on the fact that she needed a competitive program by the weekend, Brittany could see that they weren't quite there. It was still stiff, like Santana was trying to remember what a person looked like when they were happy or sad and apply those pasted over the movements that she was doing. Brittany wasn't sure, but she thought she saw echoes of Will and the way that he had Santana choose specific movements to convey the emotions of her piece.

The footwork section ended and Santana continued through the marking of her next jump before stopping. Her shoulders slumped down as she skated over. "That was awful," she said, reaching for her water.

"No, it wasn't," Brittany insisted, setting her clipboard down for a moment. "I think I'm trying to make you an arboreal fish, and that's just not fair of me. Let's run the whole program one more time, and then the footwork a couple of times, just to cement both of those in your mind, and then we'll be done for the day, and we can go take a bath."

Santana practically melted in front of her at mention of a bath, and Brittany grinned at her. "Is the bath my reward or yours?" Santana asked, gliding forward to close a little bit of the space between them.

"I think we both earned it, don't you?" Brittany said, closing the distance and pressing a soft kiss to Santana's lips. They were cold from the hours they had spent in the rink, and Brittany had to stop herself from kissing them warm again. Instead she tapped the flat of her clipboard against Santana's butt. "Alright, let's do this. I wanna get my bath on."

With a brilliant smile, Santana headed down to the end of the rink.

* * *

><p>Later, neck deep in warm water, cradled protectively in Brittany's arm, Santana could feel the difference between a day with Will and a day with Brittany. The only reparations she was having to make were physical, warming cold body parts and easing mild muscle aches. There was no crying in Brittany's arms, no psyching herself up for the next day, no lists of reasons why she loved skating she was needing to run over and over as she sat and soaked. Not for the first time, Santana wondered if she should start looking for another coach. The chances of finding someone who could give her the attention she needed without changing her skating or living situation was unlikely. But skating was her career, her livelihood, her future. If she wasn't doing the best thing, what was the point of doing any of it?<p>

It was a hard conversation to have, even with herself, and with a month and a huge competition still left in the current season, Santana didn't think it was one that she could afford to have now. Instead, she turned her head until she could press a soft kiss to the inside of Brittany's elbow. "Hey, sweetheart?" Santana murmured.

"Mmm, yeah?" Brittany mumbled, shifting a little as she woke from a half-doze, sending a thrill deep through Santana's belly as Brittany stroked her hands up over Santana's sides.

"What did you mean by an arborist fish? I can't figure it out," Santana admitted, resting her hands over Brittany's and lacing their fingers.

"Oh, you know that quote? About everyone being smart but if you try to judge a fish by how well it climbs a tree, it's going to think that it doesn't know how to do anything at all?"

Santana felt her heart thrum in her chest, feeling almost too big for her chest with how much she loved Brittany. "Yeah, I know that one," she managed. It had always been an important quote to Brittany, something Santana had reminded her of a lot before they moved to using tutors.

"Well, I think Will's way of having you express those emotions is, like, a fish climbing a tree, basically. Like, you're trying really hard, honey, but it's not right to make you try that hard. There are different way, ways that are probably better ways. And I just want to find a way that will work."

Santana was still for a moment, her breath caught in her chest at the sweet ache of how much Brittany loved her. It was overwhelming in the very best way. Slowly, Santana turned so she was kneeling between Brittany's legs, facing her. She stroked at the soft, flushed skin of Brittany's cheek and swept her long, blonde hair, damp and darker at the bottom, over her shoulder. Then, Santana leaned in and pressed her lips to Brittany's. She kissed her slowly at first, finding Brittany's top lip for a moment, before sucking gently on her bottom lip. The water splashed, loud even over Santana's so-full heart, as Brittany raised her arms, crossing them over Santana's back to draw her nearer.

They stayed that way for a while, kissing in a deep, languid way, painting their love for each other across lips and cheeks and necks and back to lips, until Santana leaned too far forward, her knee slipping slightly on the bottom of the tub. She suddenly found herself face planting into Brittany's chest. Santana had barely come to a stop before she was laughing, and, as soon as she knew that Santana was okay, Brittany joined in.

"Okay, that seems like a sign," Santana said, pushing herself up and standing to climb out of the tub, the cool water sloshing around her calves as she did. "It's probably time to go to bed."

"I like that plan," Brittany said, leaning forward to let the water out of the tub before climbing out after Santana. "Will there be more kissing?" She asked, reaching for her towel as she watched Santana dry off.

Santana grinned and threw her towel at Brittany. "I guess you'll have to find out," she said, giggling as she ran out and dove into the bed. She could hear Brittany behind her, tripping as she tried to turn off the light, hang up the towel, and follow all at once.

It had been a really good day, and it was looking like a really good night.

* * *

><p>The music stopped, and Santana skated for the boards and picked up her water bottle. "Was that any better?" she asked.<p>

Brittany tapped her bottom lip with the end of her pen. "It was," she said after a moment, the gears obviously clicking along in her head. Santana had been working on emotional expression for almost an hour now. Brittany had talked her through the story over their breakfast that morning, and Santana could feel it when Brittany spoke. But it was still hard to put on the ice.  
>"It was better," she repeated, snapping to full attention. "I just am still feeling like I haven't told you exactly the right thing yet." They stood in silence for a moment, Santana sipping her water and Brittany thinking, tapping her pen the whole time. Finally, she set both the clipboard and the pen down and pulled out the remote to queue up the music again.<p>

"Got it?" Santana asked, unable to help but smile at the grin on Brittany's face.

"Think so." Brittany skated out a little bit, tucking her hands back in her jacket pockets. Her grin was too cute for Santana to even stand.

"Where do you want me, smarty-pants?" Santana asked, biting her lip a little bit to not give away how absolutely radiantly happy Brittany made her feel.

"The lead up to the lutz, but you can mark it. And just be ready for the dance sequence, because I'm going to be there."

Santana didn't quite know what Brittany meant, but she skated down and took her place at the end of the rink. As Brittany started the music, Santana started down the side of the rink, bringing her leg up in a spiral and coming down to tap her right leg into the ice. She spun three times on the ice and then pushed out into her landing position. She rounded the corner, ready to go into her step sequence, when Brittany suddenly stepped into her path. Santana started for a moment, afraid to crash, but Brittany just grabbed her hand and they launched into the steps together, Brittany taking the leading role and fitting in with Santana's steps perfectly.

After her initial moment of shock, Santana could feel the smile growing on her face and the rest of everything—the rink, Will, Worlds, what happened at Nationals—everything receded for a moment, leaving her with the joy of watching Brittany grin at her, their gloved hands slipping a little bit as they tried to keep pace with the final set of steps. Brittany spun her into the twizzle at the end, a quick traveling spin that closed out her sequence. The extra flick that Brittany gave her made Santana travel another rotation or two past her usual stopping point, but she still managed to stop in time with the music.

Santana looked up to give Brittany a smile before she started on the next part of the program. But Brittany wasn't there in front of her. The smile dropped from Santana's face and she looked around, her heart plummeting at the suddenness of it all.

"See," Brittany's voice came from the barrier, and Santana let out a sigh. She must have sprinted away as soon as Santana went into the twizzle. Santana skated over as Brittany stopped the music. "You have all of those feelings inside of you. You already know what they feel like, and because you have the biggest heart of anyone I know, you know what they feel like in a big way that fills you up. You just have to trust that other people will be able to feel it, too. Trust that it's okay to show them. Trust me." Brittany reached out and laced her fingers with Santana's, pulling her a little closer. "Okay?"

Santana couldn't deny, when Brittany talked like that, she felt like she could do anything in the world. "Okay," she said, her voice soft.

"Mark the jumps one more time, and if we think it's pretty much there, we can add them in." Brittany squeezed her hands gently. "Ready?"

Santana nodded. She was. She understood it now.

This time when she skated out to her starting spot, she relaxed into the starting position and closed her eyes. As the music started, Santana opened them, following the choreography that Brittany had set, but trusting the story, opening up that part of her to share. It was easy to do with Brittany, and it might be harder later, with other people watching, but Brittany had always deserved the deepest, most secret parts of her heart. She could open up and show her.

As she skated, she lived the story with her body, putting herself into the role, and letting go, letting Brittany be the love that she felt, instead of some nameless Romeo who'd never been able to get into her heart. When she danced, Santana poured the joy of Brittany into every movement. When that moment ended, suddenly, abruptly, painfully, Santana remembered what it had felt to be on the plane ride home from Russia, how terrified and alone and grief stricken she had felt. She opened up and put her heart into every moment.

When Santana hit her final pose, she held it for a second, breathing hard into the white noise hum of the rink. Slowly, she stood up fully, before finally making eye contact with Brittany. There were tears brimming in Brittany's blue eyes. "That was it?" Santana asked, coming closer, nervous, but knowing it was true all at once.

"That was it," Brittany said, her voice full of pride as she pulled Santana in to kiss her.

* * *

><p>Santana tried to take a couple of deep breaths to settle her nerves. For the past few days, she had been working so hard on perfecting her program, and she had never felt better in her life. There was the occasional popped jump, but that was just part of skating. Emotionally, Santana had never connected more to a piece, and she knew she owed a lot to Brittany. After all of that work, though, now was the time when she had to prove it.<p>

Will was back, leaning against the boards, with a look on his face halfway in between impatient and curious. She hadn't really told him much about what she was doing, just saying that she wanted to show him something. Brittany was behind him, standing in the announcer booth in the middle of the side. She gave Santana a thumbs up, and Santana nodded and settled into place.

The music started and Santana followed the first few steps of her program, arms sweeping down as she skated around the corner. Her heart was pounding, but she suddenly remembered watching Brittany do this for the first time only a week ago and the nervous part of her eased into place, just as she kicked her leg into the camel spin. Santana reached behind as she bent her leg, grabbing her blade in a catch-foot position.

So much had happened since the last time Santana had skated for Will. Santana barely felt like the same person she had been two weeks ago when they left for Sochi. Or, maybe, that wasn't exactly right. At this moment, Santana felt more herself than she ever had before. And that realization, exactly in the middle of her set up for her lutz, helped shove away the last bit of nerves she had, just as she landed the jump perfectly.

Santana put every bit of herself and her love for Brittany into the program. The more that she got used to it, the better it felt to let everyone see this vulnerable little piece of her. Brittany was the best thing in her life and expressing that through the sport she loved just made it so much better.

It seemed like seconds before Santana was hitting her last pose, letting the last note of the piano ring in the air. Then, she relaxed out of the pose and skate over to Will. Brittany came out of the announcer booth and stood beside him. Santana had to resist reaching out to hold her hand. Looking at Will's face, Santana could already tell this wasn't going to go her way and she deflated a bit.

"That was nice, but it's just way too late to change programs. We'll start work on the Romeo and Juliet tomorrow."

"But this one is ready!" Santana protested, despite her better judgement. "I landed everything, I didn't miss a step in the choreo sequences, I know my expression was better than anything it has ever been before. We have a month to iron out any of the last bumps."

Santana let her words die out as she saw Will's face harden a little bit. "I said no. The Romeo and Juliet program has worked for the rest of the season. We can look at this one for next year." His voice was firm and dangerous.

"But it hasn't worked—," Brittany started to protest.

"I don't remember you joining the coaching staff, Brittany," Will snapped, cutting her off. "I'm not interested in wasting my time fighting with the two of you. When you're ready to act like the adults and professional athletes that you're supposed to be, feel free to come find me." And Will stormed away.

Santana and Brittany watched him go, then Brittany sighed and turned towards Santana. "I'm sorry," she said with a pout, reaching out to curl her fingers around Santana's arm. "I wish that went better."

"Whatever," Santana said with a half shrug. "I'm going to do this program, Will can decide if he wants to coach me in it or not." She was surprised how much she actually meant that.

Brittany studied her face very carefully for a moment. Santana could almost feel her checking to see if Santana looked as calm as she seemed. "He's probably just going to go vent to Emma," Brittany pointed out after a moment. "And then she'll talk sense into him and you'll be back on the ice with this tomorrow."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Santana said with a sigh.

"Do you want a milkshake?" Brittany offered, tucking a lock of hair behind Santana's ear.

The short laugh that burst out helped Santana shake the bad feeling that had settled over her. "No, I actually think I'm okay. I'd rather go make lunch with you."

Brittany grinned. "That sounds like a plan.

* * *

><p>Brittany had been right. The next day, Will came back and asked for Santana's cd and Brittany's choreography papers. After watching Santana run through a few times, Will switched her double axel and her lutz-toe lop combination. Santana had to admit that the resulting program was a little easier on her legs. The program seemed to grow on Will as they worked on it, until he seemed actually excited as Worlds approached. Brittany was working just as hard with Mike, and they spent most of their nights at Brittany's apartment, to be a little closer to the rink.<p>

It hardly seemed like any time had passed before they were boarding the plane to Japan. The practices went by in a blur, so different from when they had been in Russia only a few months before. There was less time to get ready, fewer distractions around them. In no time, the competition had started. Pairs short program led it all off and Brittany and Mike did very well again, placing fifth in the short program. The next morning, they did even better in their free skate, nailing every element and landing themselves in fourth place. Later that evening, Santana skated her short program and finished in fourth place, behind a Japanese skater, Quinn, and an Italian skater.

Two days later, Santana was taking her place on the ice, last skater in the group and the competition, just after Quinn. Her name was announced and a cheer, somewhere between polite and enthusiastic, rose up from the crowd. Santana took a deep breath, smoothing her hands down the sparkling white surface of the costume she had loved but never be able to wear before, and skated to her starting spot. Before she struck her opening pose, she glanced over to the boards where Brittany was waiting. Brittany tapped her heart a couple of times and blew her a kiss. Santana nodded and struck her opening pose.

The strings rose, and Santana gave herself over to the skate. She floated around the corner, her arms fluttering down. It seemed like she barely had to push off the ice to launch herself high into the flying entry and then catch that crisp backwards edge perfectly that allowed her to get herself into a beautiful catch-foot camel spin. With the music, Santana transitioned into a tight sit spin. She pulled herself out of the spin and stroked around the end of the rink, before dropping her upper body down and extending her right leg high above her. As she approached the opposite corner, Santana snapped her leg down and her body up at the same time, launching herself into a high, perfect lutz.

The music picked up into the step sequence, and a huge smile broke onto Santana's face as she brought her arms up and danced, remembering what it had felt like to have Brittany there when they were practicing this a few weeks ago. Her blades were quick and sure on the ice, twisting back and forth. She could hear the audience start to clap along with the music. Santana reached the twizzle, the last part of the step sequence, and nailed it.

The sudden shift of the music shocked the audience, Santana could feel it, remembering what it had felt like to get that slap in the face, the aching fear as she realized how different things would be, and she projected that through every bit of her body. Her movements carried her into the next jumping pass. Santana leaped forward off her toe pick, turning around a quick two and a half times to land her double axel, immediately picking down with her left foot for a triple toe loop, and then again. The last time she could feel a little give, a little slip in her take off, and the tilt in the air. Santana did all she could to save the jump, her muscles straining to stay upright. In the end, it wasn't anything more than a hand down and she managed to stay on her feet.

The next move was a spin almost immediately after. Santana pushed herself into another back sit spin, trying to check in with herself while she spun. She gritted her teeth for a moment, changing feet into a front sit spin. This was supposed to be as much Brittany's moment as hers, and she couldn't mess it up. Brittany was always telling her that she deserved these things, that she could do well, and damn it, for once, she wanted to prove her right. Santana rose up into her last position, an upright catch foot spin, before pushing out.

The music surged ahead again and Santana went with it, attacking her double axel with everything she had, landing it perfectly clean. Only a few steps later was the triple lutz-triple toe loop combination, and Santana put herself completely into that jump, too.

Her blade practically whispered, the landing was so clean.

That was her last jumping pass and the crowd cheered their approval.

Santana pushed into the last choreographic pass, stretching herself into a beautiful spiral and then a series of turning steps as the music slowed. Finally, she found herself back near the center and Santana pushed into her final element. She started with a broken leg spin, crouched low like a sit spin, with her free leg trailing out to the side. She pulled the same leg up as she spun, until it was straight over her head in an i-spin. Santana released her leg, using the extra momentum to keep her speed up as she dropped back into a layback spin. Then, finally, Santana brought her arms and legs in, slow and tight, building herself into a fast scratch spin. With the last notes, Santana glided out and hit her pose.

The crowd roared, but all Santana saw was Brittany's smiling face.

The time between finishing a program and getting her scores never seemed so short. Santana felt like she'd barely put on her guards and sat down when her scores were announced. Her one almost-fall had cost her advancing any high in the standings, but she had held firm in her fourth place spot and, after the nationals she'd had, fourth was an amazing place.

* * *

><p>When they got back to their room in the hotel, close to midnight Santana went into the bathroom to wash off the hairspray and make up. Brittany busied herself with unpacking Santana's bag and changing for bed. Fifteen minutes later, Santana came out again and sat down on the edge of the bed, a comb in her hand, though she didn't bring it to her hair.<p>

"Honey?" Brittany said, softly, "is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Santana said, transferring the comb to her left hand and listlessly pulling it through a few strands of dark, wet hair.

"Let me," Brittany offered, taking the comb and starting to work it through Santana's long hair. "You're still a shitty liar, but we don't have to talk right now if you're tired. It's been an overwhelming day."

"No, that's the problem," Santana said, keeping her head still so that Brittany could brush her hair. "It wasn't overwhelming. I mean—" She broke off for a minute and then reached back to still Brittany's hand, so she could turn and face her. "I loved skating the program that you made for me. It was the best that I've felt out on the ice since—I don't know—since we were like twelve. But, it was my best day ever, and it still felt like something was missing. I don't know what. But I could feel it and—" Brittany dropped the comb and reached for Santana as tears came to her eyes. "Why doesn't it make me happy like it should?" she asked.

"I don't know, sweetheart," Brittany said, smoothing her hand over Santana's back. "We'll figure it out, okay? All summer, you and I will figure it out. It'll be alright. I promise, it'll be alright." Brittany hoped she could keep her promise.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I want to thank you for your patience. Since the last chapter, I started grad school and had knee surgery, so writing has been a lower priority than I would like. There are a lot of costumes and music for this chapter, so please check out my tumblr at sadiered dot tumblr dot com. Feel free to direct any questions to me there, as well, even if you don't have a tumblr, because I'll answer any questions I get over there.<p> 


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