Originally posted at Archive Of Our Own, reposted because I'm an attention whore (lol) and because this AU story was surprisingly popular, for a one-shot that BlackShield prompted on a whim - so popular that it spawned a sequel and now people are asking for more.

Can't thank you all enough for reading.

Now I Know

When Brittany said she wanted to be a gondolier when she grew up, nobody believed her. Well, she sure showed them — that is, if they could only see her now, rowing cute (and not-so-cute) couples down the canal in her gondola, wearing her cute straw hat and red neckerchief, and singing romantic songs.

She didn't even care that she was rowing gondolas in Las Vegas and not the real Venice — the Venetian's indoor canal was, get this, temperature-controlled, which was something that Quinn couldn't say about the real Venice.

Anyway, Brittany usually rowed the four-passenger gondolas, but one of the other gondoliers had a family emergency or something — so after a few phone calls and a harried five-minute meeting, Brittany found herself on a shift rowing the private two-passenger gondolas.

For some reason, nobody wanted to rent the private gondolas that night. In fact, her first and — as she would find out later — only passenger on that shift, boarded the gondola alone. Which, in Brittany's opinion, was worse than no passengers at all, because the whole point of gondola rides is to share them with someone else.

The passenger was a woman, and she looked really mad. Brittany was worried — mad passengers were usually mean to her, especially if she tried to be nice. But being nice was part of her job — if she remembered nothing else from job training, at least she remembered that.

"Hi there," she said softly. She held out her hand to help the woman into the boat.

The woman looked up at her, surprised. After a few seconds, though, she frowned even though she accepted Brittany's help, and folded her arms tightly around herself as she sat down. Obviously she was expecting a dark-haired man to be the gondolier, like most of the other rowers were. But Brittany was blonde and most definitely female.

Something not very nice had happened to this woman, obviously — nobody shells out sixty-four bucks to go on a lonely gondola ride. She was really very pretty, with shimmery dark hair and dark eyes and full lips. And Brittany really liked it when women were pretty. But why was she alone?

Brittany wished she were allowed to ask.

The gondola floated gently down the canal, powered by Brittany's rhythmic forward strokes. Maybe she should sing, so she clears her throat and hums softly to herself to test her voice, before launching into the only Italian (sort of) song she knows.

"Oh this is the night, it's a beautiful night, and we call it Bella Notte…Look at the skies, they have stars in their eyes, on this lovely Bella Notte…"

A few bars into the song, the woman turned around to look at her, and Brittany almost cringed at the thought that she might not be happy about the song and that she might yell at her for it. This very pretty woman was alone, and probably not in a good mood, and so she would probably really hate listening to a love song right now.

But to Brittany's delighted surprise, the woman was smiling. It wasn't a big smile, but it doesn't look like a bad smile. So Brittany smiled back and sang louder. Maybe the song was cheering her up.

"Oh this is the night, and the heavens are bright, on this lovely Bella Notte."

She finished the song just as they floated under another of the bridges on the canal. Brittany smiled wider when the woman actually clapped for her. "You have a nice voice," she said, and she didn't sound angry at all.

"Thanks," Brittany said. The woman had such a pretty smile — well, of course she would. Whoever left her alone here, if that were the case, was super dumb and probably super mean too. "I'm glad you liked it. I want to make this boat ride at least a little fun for you."

"What's your name?" the woman asked. Her voice was honey-rich, with a little bit of roughness in it.

Usually passengers didn't do that, being too wrapped up with whoever was riding the gondola with them, but Brittany didn't mind at all. "I'm Brittany. What's your name?"

"I'm Santana," the woman says, turning away from Brittany and facing forward in her seat. Brittany's face fell a little. Maybe she was still a little angry.

But after a short while, Santana spoke up again. "As pretty as 'Bella Notte' is, I thought you people were supposed to sing real Italian songs." She turned back around and smiled again. "I know an Italian song you could sing — it's not very romantic, but want me to teach it to you?"

Brittany nodded quickly, her smile returning. "I'd like that, Santana. But I'm no good at languages and stuff." She shrugged, gripping her oar tightly. "I almost failed Spanish in high school. The only reason I didn't is because I cheated off of my friend Quinn's tests."

Santana laughed. "It's okay. I'll sing it for you, anyway, and you can tell me if you like it."

"Okay."

So Santana nodded and leaned back in her chair. After a moment, she began to sing.

"Su un campo di grano che dirvi non so, un dì Paperina col babbo passò…"

Brittany's head bobbed in time to the lilting notes of the song. She didn't understand a word of it, but it sounded cheerful and maybe that's what Santana needed. Maybe Santana needed it more than she did, because really, nobody else cared if she sang 'Bella Notte' every night; in fact they thought it was cute and laughed good-naturedly at her.

"That was great," Brittany said when Santana finished, and it was. Santana had such a lovely voice. "But it'll probably take me a long time to learn it. What's it called?"

"Papaveri e papere," Santana said. "It's a kid's song about…ducks and poppies."

"Oh, cool. I like ducks," Brittany said.

"You do? Really?"

Brittany shrugged. "Yeah. My high school friends thought I did, so I decided to like them to make it easier for them to buy Christmas presents for me."

"You can do that?" Santana asked. She sounded really confused. "To like something just because other people think you do?"

"Well, it didn't happen overnight. I had to learn to like them." Brittany smiled at her. "But ducks are easy to like. I guess if someone thought I liked something that I really hated, then it would take me longer to learn how to like it. I might not learn to like it at all."

Santana folded her arms again and kept her eyes on the front of the gondola. She didn't look angry, or happy, or sad. She just looked like she was thinking.

Soon enough, the gondola ride was over. Brittany rowed the gondola up to its dock and helped Santana out. "Thanks for the song," Brittany said. "Hopefully I won't forget what it's called, at least."

"It was my pleasure, Brittany," Santana replied. Now that she had gotten off of the boat, she was back to that annoyed-looking Santana who had gotten on the boat. Brittany felt something deflate inside her chest. If only she could ask why; not that Brittany could do anything to help, but she didn't like the thought of Santana being unhappy, because she was so nice.

Brittany's shoulders slumped a little as she took up her oar again, watching Santana make her way through the Grand Canal walkway and disappear among the clumps of people. This was Las Vegas, so she was sure she probably wouldn't ever see Santana again.

Until she did.

Brittany was supposed to be on her break, but instead she was called into her boss' office. It was the morning after Santana rode in her gondola, and she'd been humming that song about the ducks and poppies all day, and wondering what Santana was doing at that moment.

"Pierce, hand in your walkie."

Brittany snapped to attention at that, remembering that she was in her boss' office now. Had someone finally complained about her singing 'Bella Notte' so much that they wanted her fired? "Sorry?"

"Hand in your walkie. I'm giving you the day off." Her boss held out his hand; Brittany, surprised, slowly removed it and gave it to him.

"But why?"

"You're expected at the Palazzo Lobby in half an hour. Don't forget to change — I don't want to hear about a runaway gondolier roaming the casino."

"But I'm not fired, right?"

"No! I just told you that you're only getting the day off. You're reporting back to work tomorrow at the same time. You are not fired, now get out of here."

Half an hour later, Brittany rushed into the Palazzo Lobby, sweaty and still confused, looking around for any hints as to why she got the day off. The Palazzo was connected to the other side of the Venetian, meaning that Brittany had had to foot it downstairs and across two casinos before she reached the lobby.

While she'd obviously been around the glittering atmosphere of the luxury hotel and resort long enough to get used to it, actually being in it without having to rush off to work was something else entirely. Had the ceilings always been this high? And the floors were so polished and shiny.

She looked around warily, hoping that the mystery would soon solve itself because high school English had proven to her that she sucked at solving mysteries. Brittany hoped it wasn't a prank. Pranks were no fun, especially if she was the one being played on.

In any case, Brittany resolved to lean against one of the polished stone columns and wait — but just as she was making herself as comfortable as possible, Santana suddenly emerged, as if out of nowhere. Brittany froze when Santana caught sight of her.

Santana was smiling widely, and her nose was crinkling, which was really cute and Brittany couldn't help but smile back. Brittany's smile sort of faded a little when she saw how nicely Santana was dressed, with a small leather handbag slung over her shoulder. Brittany used to be a fashion icon in high school, so obviously she knew all about the advantages of the Little Black Dress — tasteful, elegant, versatile, and so on — and Santana, now that she was underneath the daylight, was prettier than ever. But Brittany was now fully aware that she was only wearing her Ohio State hoodie and jeans, which made her feel really out of place even though only a few people in the lobby were as dressed up as Santana was.

"Hi there," she croaked. Santana giggled at her — actually giggled. She didn't seem like she was mad at all anymore. That was good.

"Hey Brittany," she said in that honey voice of hers, and now that she had heard it again, Brittany decided to think of it as raw honey, like the kind bears scoop out of the trees in the wild, not the kind in the plastic bear-shaped bottles in the supermarket. "Can we talk?"

"Uh, yeah." Brittany wiped her hands on her jeans because they suddenly felt sweaty.

Santana saw her looking nervous, and her expression softened. "It's okay. You're not in trouble or anything, I pulled some strings and asked your boss to let you have the day off."

Brittany was awed. "You can do that?" Santana must be really important. Or have a lot of money. Then again, money was important here, so that wasn't surprising.

"Sure," Santana nodded. "I know you probably weren't expecting it, and I'm sorry if you were worried —"

"It's okay. Really," Brittany assured her. "My boss is kinda mean sometimes but that's just the way he is. I'm used to it." She nodded at their surroundings. "So you, um, you wanted to talk?" Santana nodded. Suddenly she didn't look so happy anymore, and Brittany began feeling worried. "Do you want to sit down anywhere?"

Santana shook her head. "No, we can walk."

So they walked outside, which Brittany requested because she didn't really get to go outside much during the daytime unless she was rowing the Venetian's outdoor canal route. They headed south on the Strip towards Harmon Avenue. Santana was quiet for a while as she walked, with Brittany walking alongside, keeping herself between Santana and the street traffic, hands stuffed into her hoodie pockets; Las Vegas wasn't as glittery during the daytime because you couldn't see the lights; in fact it looked really plain under the sun.

It turned out that Santana wanted to explain why she'd been mad yesterday when she got into Brittany's gondola. Santana had come to Vegas with her boyfriend and a bunch of friends; they all went to The Bank that first night, and they all drank too much and one of the friends said something that she shouldn't have.

"Your boyfriend was cheating on you? With one of your friends that came here with you?" Brittany exclaimed, her hands clenching in her hoodie. So someone had made her angry last night. But why? Santana was so pretty and really nice — Santana didn't have to explain why she was in a bad mood to her gondolier, much less make her boss give her the day off — so who would be so awful as to cheat on Santana? It made her sad, really, to think that Santana's friends (or at least one of them) and ex-boyfriend thought so little of her to go behind her back. Maybe Santana was just as mean to them as they were to her — Brittany wasn't completely stupid, she worked in Vegas and so she'd met lots of two-faced people — but technically if Santana really was a bad person pretending to be nice, she shouldn't even be giving the time of day to a resort employee. Like she was doing now.

Santana shrugged. Her shoulders suddenly looked really small in that black dress. "It's not like…I mean, we weren't in love or anything." At Brittany's pout, she quickly added, "It's just that I wasn't sleeping around when I had him around; I expected him to do the same. I should've known better, because when we met he was a total player, and…and so was I. It's just…it was a matter of pride, I guess." She smiled thinly. "And I'm told I can be a evil bitch sometimes."

"But still! That's not fair of him," Brittany complained. "If he was gonna keep being a player, he shouldn't have been anybody's boyfriend." She winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"

"It's okay, Brittany. I broke up with him pretty spectacularly, if I say so myself. Right there in the nightclub. I had him thrown out of the hotel when he tried to apologize."

Brittany looked around warily, as if the ex-boyfriend might pounce on them at any moment. "Is he still here?"

"No, he took the first flight out of Las Vegas. I made sure of that. My friends…they might still be around, but I made it quite clear to them that they weren't allowed to come near me or talk to me for the rest of the trip. I even booked a separate flight out of here and everything, just in case. Maybe I should have just cut the vacation short and gone back home, but a big part of me didn't want to waste the suite and the dinner reservations and all the things I'd planned on doing." She twisted the fingers of her hands together, and Brittany watched her. "He'd even made reservations for the gondola ride and everything. I almost didn't go," she said.

Brittany nodded. "Well, I'm glad you did."

Santana looked at her in surprise, and then she started smiling again. "Yeah, me too." But she was still wringing her hands together. Brittany really wanted to reach out and stop them from moving. "We had all these plans to do stuff together," Santana continued, as they stopped in front of the big golden lion at the MGM Grand. "I didn't think I'd be here and have nobody to do them with." A smirk tugged on her lips. "I thought about picking up a random and showing him a good time. I bet that's what my friends expected me to do. But…" she reached out and bumped Brittany's arm with her knuckles. "When I thought about it, I decided that it wasn't worth trying to have fun with someone I'm not even sure I would like."

"Oh," Brittany said. It made sense.

"I mean, I guess I could have learned to like any random I picked up," Santana said, and Brittany felt herself grinning at the thought that Santana remembered what she had said last night on the gondola. "But I thought it would be better if I spent my time with people I actually liked." Santana looked at her with her dark eyes. They were so warm and Brittany felt like they were heating her up her insides; a heat that was now radiating into her face. The tips of her ears, in particular, were starting to feel really hot. She gulped. "Okay," she said, suddenly feeling much more nervous than she was this morning when her boss called her in, but also really giddy. Could it mean…?

"What I'm trying to say is — I had all these plans but no one to do them with. So I…I wanted to know if you would join me," Santana rushed out.

Brittany almost toppled over in surprise. Santana liked her?

Now Brittany knew she liked Santana. Santana was so nice to her, and so pretty, and taught her the Italian song she'd been humming all morning, and it was a true fact that Brittany had been thinking about her ever since last night. But she certainly wasn't expecting Santana to suggest that she liked Brittany too. she didn't know what to think or say except, "Uh…um…are you sure?"

Santana bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable — "

"No! I mean, yes, I mean…" Brittany pulled at her tousled blonde hair. "That came out all wrong. I want to join you, Santana. I really do." She smiled genuinely, a little self-deprecatingly. "It's just, you see, if you had, like, big plans I'm not sure I'm really wearing the right clothes for it."

"That won't be a problem, Brittany," Santana assured her, and Brittany noticed for the first time how Santana's face looked so relaxed all of a sudden. Like she was finally feeling more than just a little bit happy for the first time in a while.

Brittany beamed. "Okay."

Obviously Santana had the means to do lots of fancy things, like spa treatments and the like, but all they really did was have cupcakes at the Monte Carlo, ride the roller coaster at New York-New York, and attempt (well, in Brittany's case, since she was all hopped up on sugar and soda) to photobomb a wedding at the Bellagio. Santana had laughed and laughed; it was worth the stern talking-to Brittany got from the wedding party. Any "real" plans Santana had made for the day were mostly replaced in favor of getting to know each other, and Brittany was more than pleased with that.

Santana had gone to Columbia and Harvard Law ("Yes, Brittany, just like Elle Woods") and now she worked for Sullivan & Cromwell in New York City. Not that Brittany knew or particularly cared who Sullivan or Cromwell were, but they sounded important, anyway, and Santana sounded really smart and talented if she was working for such important people. Her parents were orthopedic surgeons and lived in Cincinnati.

"I'm from Ohio, too," Brittany said. "Lima."

"Really? Small world."

Brittany nodded sagely. "It's a small world after all," she sang softly.

Santana chuckled. "Anything but that!"

"Do you want me to sing the coconut song, Scar?" Brittany asked innocently. Without waiting for Santana's answer, she sang, "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts, diddly-dee, there they are a-standing in a row…"

"You are such a dork," Santana exclaimed, slapping Brittany gently on the shoulder. Brittany grinned shyly back at her. They were now walking arm-in-arm back down the strip, with Santana's hand resting in the crook of Brittany's elbow. Brittany was happy that Santana was comfortable with her enough to do that. "Have you had the chance to see any of the shows around here?"

Brittany nodded. "I took my roommate's boyfriend to see the Jabbawockeez at the Monte Carlo," she said. "We're both dancers — well, he still is. Dancing is kind of a past life for me. I love it, it's been a part of my life for a long time, but it's not something I wanted to do for a living. I don't want to associate it with work."

"But wouldn't it make work more fun if it was something you love to do?"

"That's what Mike said too, but work wouldn't be work if it was like that. I'm kinda weird like that."

Santana nodded slowly. "So…you became a gondolier?"

"Yeah. It was a childhood dream of mine. I saw a travel documentary on Venice when I was little. I guess it was one of the few dreams I had as a kid that I didn't forget about or want to let go of." Brittany cocked a wry grin. "My friend Quinn told me that of all the things I wanted to do when I grew up, rowing a gondola was probably the least worth remembering."

"What a bitch," Santana remarked. Then she added, "Sorry. I just…I think it's awesome how you follow your dreams instead of doing what everyone else thinks they should do. I — I'm not like that."

Brittany wanted to say that she hadn't really thought of it that way — mostly she thought that if she hadn't succeeded in becoming a gondolier she might not ever have met Santana. That thought seemed a lot scarier and sadder than it should have been. Without really thinking, her other hand reached to cover Santana's hand, the one still resting in the loop of Brittany's arm.

Santana looked up at her, surprised — in reasonable heels she was still a bit shorter than Brittany was — but she didn't get mad or uncomfortable. She just smiled warmly and Brittany realized that her toes were tingling. Maybe it was because they'd been on their feet a lot today, but it didn't feel painful at all. "I have dinner reservations back at the Venetian," Santana said softly. "Would — would you like to join me?"

Brittany gulped. The moment Santana asked, she almost blurted yes without thinking, but. 'Reservations' meant it was definitely going to be fancy, and — "I don't really have anything to wear. I mean, I could go back home and change, I live outside of the Strip, but I c…"

"Don't worry about that," Santana assured her. "We'll go to my room and find you something to wear."

Santana was booked at the Palazzo, which was an "all-suite" Las Vegas hotel — meaning that her room wasn't just any old room. It was a real fancy suite — and one of the highest upgraded ones at that, with a huge separate living room and everything. In fact, Brittany stood in the marble-appointed foyer with her jaw hanging open at all of the luxury for a long moment before she even made it into the actual living space. Santana looked embarrassed. "I hadn't exactly planned on having all of this to myself," she admitted sheepishly.

"Good thing I came along, right?" Brittany said without thinking (again), and then she felt herself blushing (again). Because that could be misunderstood in so many ways.

Santana was smaller than Brittany was, that was a fact, but other than being a little short, her clothes fit well on Brittany, for the most part. They really made her boobs pop, which was kind of fun because her boobs were pretty good boobs, if she said so herself. Santana also decided to change — but this time the dress she was wearing was decidedly less modest than the one she'd worn running around the Strip with Brittany. And while Brittany really liked her own chest, Santana's was as close to perfect as any she'd ever seen — although maybe it was just because Santana really knew how to wear dresses to her advantage.

Brittany tried hard not to stare, but then on their way to the elevators she noticed that Santana was casting shameless glances at her boobs. She giggled. "I know you're staring."

"What's the point of looking beautiful if people can't stare at you?" Santana retorts flirtatiously. Brittany gawks at her, and then they both start giggling. After a moment, Santana's laugh died away, replaced with a gentle smile. "You really do look great."

"I was a fashion icon in high school," Brittany nodded. She winked. "But I think tonight you look prettier than me."

Santana's blush was a faint, dusky red color that could only be seen under really bright light. Brittany grinned at her and held out her arm as the elevator door whisked open. Santana shook her head and chuckled, but took Brittany's arm in hers anyway, placing her hand in the crook of Brittany's elbow, just as it had been all afternoon.

They rode the elevator down to the tenth floor. Brittany realized that they were going to Bouchon, which she already knew was pretty well out of her price range. This could very well be a once-in-a-lifetime event. When the maître d' asked for their names, Santana said, "Puckerman, party of two." Puckerman must have been the name of the ex-boyfriend, Brittany realized, and felt another embarrassed flush rising to her cheeks. She realized that she didn't even know Santana's last name, and yet here she was assuming that Puckerman wasn't it. Well, Santana certainly didn't look like a Puckerman, she consoled herself.

If the maître d' knew, he didn't even bat an eyelash; he merely said, "Right this way," and beckoned for them to follow him into the dining room.

"You know the movie Ratatouille?" Santana asked once they were seated and given the menus to 'peruse at their leisure'.

Brittany nodded. "My little sister loves that movie."

"Well, the head chef here is the voice of that guy in the movie who asks the waiter if Gusteau's has anything new to offer," Santana told her.

"Really? I didn't know that. That's so cool." Brittany fiddles with the napkin. "My favorite Pixar movie is WALL-E."

Santana smiled at her from across the table, her chin propped in her hand like she'd been staring at Brittany for a while. "I kind of expected that to be your favorite."

"Why?"

"I don't know, I just did."

"What about you, Santana? What's your favorite Pixar movie?"

Santana dropped her gaze into her lap. "I guess I liked Up."

Brittany made an "aww" noise and giggled. She was still a little bit surprised that she and Santana were so comfortable with each other now, even though they'd only known each other for less than twenty-four hours. It must have been fate or something, she didn't know. "Well, I kind of expected that to be your favorite."

Santana laughed. "And why do you say that?"

"I don't know, I just did," Brittany parroted, and Santana rolls her eyes playfully.

The waiters didn't wear roller-skates, but that was all right — Brittany pretended that a rat made her dinner anyway. Brittany was a messy eater by nature, so she had to try her hardest not to spill things or smear sauce all over her face. It was okay when it was just cupcakes, but it wasn't okay when it was potato purée & French prunes. As hard as she tried, though, sauce did drip down her chin too quickly for her to mop it up. Santana was so nice about it, though; she didn't stop smiling through the entire meal, and Brittany could tell it was a real smile because of the crinkle in her nose and at the corners of her eyes.

The wine helped, Brittany thought — not that she knew what good wine was supposed to taste like — but it made her feel warm and comfortable, although she knew that too much of it would give her that sleepy buzzing feeling in her head. She didn't want to fall asleep during dinner; that would be so embarrassing.

Santana ordered the caramel custard for dessert; when it came, she pushed the plate towards Brittany to let her have first taste. Brittany scooped up some custard, but instead of eating it, she held the spoonful out towards Santana."You try, first."

"It's okay, Brittany," Santana said, shaking her head, but Brittany pouted and didn't budge.

"Come ooon," she whined, and Santana gave in, rolling her eyes as she let Brittany feed her the spoonful of custard. "Good, right?"

"My turn," Santana replied, using her own spoon to scoop up some of the dessert and offered it to Brittany, who opened her mouth really wide to receive it. Santana laughed softly at her, the sound fading throatily as Brittany playfully licked Santana's spoon. She probably wouldn't have done it if Santana (and the wine, probably) didn't make her feel so comfortable and happy and fun.

Santana cleared her throat. "This is on me," she murmured, the smile melting but not completely fading. Brittany opened her mouth to protest or something, but Santana shook her head.

They didn't linger after dinner; instead, Brittany found herself taking Santana's hand as they waited for the elevator. The wine was probably still working, of course, but only now did it really hit Brittany how easy it was for her to be around Santana. It didn't need wine to feel natural, she'd felt this feeling all day and the whole atmosphere of the day she'd spent with Santana was enough to convince her.

"Let's go back to the room so you can get your clothes," Santana said. Brittany nodded.

When they returned, Brittany discovered that Santana had hung her clothes neatly in the suite's closet when she hadn't been looking. While that shouldn't have touched her as much as it did — seeing her slightly ratty hoodie keeping company with the elegant coats and things made her feel kind of floaty. Like she was on the verge of discovering something wonderful but she didn't know what it was.

Santana told her that she was going to take a shower, and that Brittany was free to leave if she wanted to. "Thanks for spending the day with me," she said.

"But you like, paid for everything." Brittany scratched her head. "Well, except the Dr. Pepper I drank. Anyway, I should be the one thanking you. For being so nice to me. It's, like…I don't think I'll get to eat such nice things again and wear such pretty clothes, and stuff. I'll definitely remember it. Forever," she said earnestly.

Santana's cheeks flushed that lovely dusk-red color again — even though not all the lights were on, now that Brittany knew where to find it, she could see Santana's blush easier. "You're welcome," Santana mumbled shyly and closed the bathroom door behind her.

Brittany sighed and set about taking off Santana's clothes and putting her own clothes back on. She hoped, belatedly, that she hadn't stretched them too much, as she folded them as neatly as she could and laid them on the armchair next to the bed. Now what?

She supposed that Santana probably meant to dismiss her just before she went into the bathroom, when she said Brittany was free to go. But Brittany didn't want to leave. Not yet, even though she had to go row gondolas again tomorrow. Santana didn't say she had to leave.

Brittany walked out of the bedroom. She looked around at the living room for a moment, and then sat down on the couch. At the very least, she should say a proper good-bye to Santana when she was done with her shower — because although she was lucky today, she might not be so lucky to see Santana again tomorrow, or after that.

It wasn't really that late at all — Brittany worked much later than this hour — but her head still felt a little fuzzy. Maybe she should drink some water; a quick glance around revealed two unopened water bottles sitting atop the dining table. For a while, she debated with herself whether it was okay to drink Santana's water, but right at the moment she decided that it might be okay and reached for one of them, Santana emerged from the bathroom and walked into the living room, wearing only a towel and her hair all wrapped up in another towel. Apparently she hadn't counted on Brittany standing right in her line of sight, because she shrieked and clutched the towel tighter around herself.

Brittany shrieked too, mostly because Santana's shriek startled her. "I'm sorry! I just…my head was feeling kind of fuzzy from the wine so I thought I could have some water," she said, pointing to the water bottles like it was their fault.

"Oh — well, yeah. Help yourself." Santana paused. "You said your head felt fuzzy? Are you okay? Do you need to lie down?"

"N-no," Brittany stuttered, sitting heavily on the couch with her newly acquired water bottle. Quickly, she untwisted the cap and took a long swig. Santana wasn't naked but the towel wasn't very big either, and Santana's skin tone was so very even and perfect and her legs were long and nicely proportioned.

Santana went back to the bedroom to change, and re-emerged in a Columbia University t-shirt and sweats. Her hair was still damp from the shower. "Sorry I yelled. I didn't know you'd still be here."

"Sorry about that," Brittany mumbled, clutching the water bottle. "I just wanted to say a proper good-bye. Before I go back to work and you go back to New York."

Santana looked at her intently. It wasn't angry, or happy. Just…intense. Like there was some kind of burning fire behind her eyes. When she didn't say anything, Brittany decided that she might as well get it over with, and stood up. "Thanks, Santana. I'll…I guess I should wish you good luck or something. And I really hope you get new friends, friends that make you happy and won't cheat on you," she rambled, not knowing where good-bye could possibly fit in. Before she knows it, "I'll miss you," tumbles out of her mouth instead.

"Brittany," Santana breathed, seemingly rooted to the spot as Brittany inched towards her.

Brittany swallowed. Since when did mere friendliness become so difficult for her? It shouldn't have been, not in this case: Santana had been so sweet and nice to her, and Brittany liked to think they were friends, so why was it suddenly so awkward and uncomfortable? Like she was going to cross a line if she was her normal, carelessly friendly self?

"I — I think I want to give you a hug," Brittany mumbled. "It's the least I could do." Santana finally smiled then, and opened her arms enough to let Brittany step in between them and wrap her own arms around Santana's shoulders. Santana was a good hugger, flattening her palms comfortingly against the small of Brittany's back. It was really nice. So nice, in fact, that Brittany let herself relax and nuzzle her cheek against Santana's once, twice.

Santana stiffened, and Brittany cringed. Uh-oh. Brittany cursed softly and removed her arms, trying to step away in order to apologize for making Santana uncomfortable. But Santana's arms didn't release Brittany, like she expected them to. In fact, they squeezed a little bit tighter. Confused, Brittany looked down to see Santana pressing her face against the material of Brittany's hoodie. "Santana?"

"If I told you," Santana spoke, her voice muffled by the hoodie; it made her sound small and lonely, "that I didn't want you to leave, would you stay?"

"Um, sure." Brittany wrapped her right arm back around Santana and let the other one hang at her side, just in case. "Yeah, I would."

Santana lifted her head then, and Brittany gasped a little when she saw how wet Santana's eyes were. They still burned intensely, but with liquid fire. Tears. "Santana, what's wrong?"

Santana shook her head. "I want…" her voice trailed away and she buried her face in Brittany's shoulder again.

Brittany let her free left hand trail across the tense muscles of Santana's arm. "What do you want?"

Hesitantly, Santana looked back up again with those glossy brown eyes, and before Brittany knew what had happened, Santana pressed the tip of their noses together, and then left a small, lingering kiss on the corner of Brittany's mouth.

Brittany almost swallowed her tongue at the sensation. Santana's mouth was so soft, she completely forgot that maybe Santana shouldn't have done that — all she wanted was to feel it again. Before Santana could pull away, she blurted, "You can do it again, if you want to."

Santana hesitated; as if to show her it was okay and that she didn't mind at all, Brittany leaned in quickly and kissed Santana. It was chaste and quick and Brittany actually felt herself pouting because it was over so soon. She wanted to do it again, but she couldn't. Not if Santana didn't say it was all right.

"Okay," Santana said, and she withdrew her arms. But before Brittany could ask what she was doing, Santana grabbed her face and pressed their mouths together firmly.

Brittany grunted and pulled Santana into her, twining her arms around Santana's waist. Santana's hips ground involuntarily into hers, and she wheezed, pulling away. "What's happening?" she panted.

"I don't know," Santana whispered, but her hips were still moving and Brittany knew. This, she knew.

"Do you want it to happen?" Brittany asked. She did, at least the kissing part. Santana was so sweet, and now to find out that she was a really good kisser — well, that was just wonderful.

Santana pulled away just enough to look Brittany in the eyes. Her expression opened up in amazement, like she was seeing something really awesome — Brittany wondered what it was that she was seeing. "It stays here, right? In Vegas?"

Brittany nodded, her mood dipping somewhat. Having worked in Las Vegas for a reasonable amount of time, she knew people used that excuse to do things here that they would never do elsewhere. Like whatever they did here, even if it was bad, didn't matter. So maybe this didn't matter to Santana either.

She sighed heavily and looked away. It didn't seem so fun or sweet anymore.

"Britt — Brittany," Santana murmured, laying a soft hand on Brittany's cheek. "I didn't mean it like that."

"How did you mean it?" Brittany frowns, her lower lip jutting out.

Santana sighed. "I wanted to spend time with you today because I like you. And I didn't want to be alone with all of these fancy things…and no one to share them with." Her voice stumbled a little bit, "I kind of don't want to be alone now, either."

Brittany relented, and nuzzled her face into Santana's neck. "I like you too. And I don't want you to be alone."

"It's just…who knows what's going to happen after this? After tonight? I'm going back to New York and…and you'll go wherever life takes you, but what I meant is that I just want this memory to stay here, with you. I don't want it to disappear."

"Me neither," Brittany said. "But I want you to take it with you, too. It shouldn't be a bad memory. It shouldn't be something that you want to leave behind."

Santana looked down at her feet, her toes barely touching Brittany's socked ones. She took a deep breath. "Yeah. Okay."

"Don't be afraid," Brittany dropped her voice to a calming whisper. "I know what you want. I'll try my best." Her hands stroked smooth circles into Santana's back, pressing Santana's body flush against hers.

"Brittany," Santana whimpered. A slight tremor ran through her body and Brittany immediately swept Santana up and off her feet before her knees could have a chance to fail her.

Santana had dimmed the bedroom lights before she came out to the living room, so the brightest lights came from the blazing neon signs from the Strip, throwing all of their glitter through the window. Brittany laid her on the bed and perched on the edge of the bed next to her, running her fingers tenderly across the lines and curves of Santana's face.

"I don't know why I want this," Santana whispered, closing her eyes. Brittany caught a falling tear on her thumb. "I thought I would be okay. I'm sorry."

Brittany didn't really understand what that meant, but what she did understand was that Santana was feeling really lonely right now. She didn't know why, but she suspected that maybe all of her friends back in New York were like her ex-boyfriend and the others who had come here with her, so part of her didn't want to go back at all. That would be really sad. "Don't be sorry for needing a friend," she replies, stroking Santana's beautiful dark hair.

"But —"

Brittany climbed onto the bed and lay next to Santana, still stroking her hair. "I know what you mean." She kissed Santana's cheek. "Do you still want this?"

Santana swallowed hard, and nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," was the quiet reply.

Brittany nodded. "All right," she said, and crawled over so that she was lying on top of Santana, whose back arched eagerly in search of more contact. They kissed again, Brittany taking gentle control of the movement of her mouth against Santana's.

They kissed and kissed until the air grew hot and syrupy around them, and Brittany sat up to pull her hoodie off because she hated sweating in her clothes, and because she knew the change in the air meant that this was actually going to happen. Santana followed her lead and wriggled out of her shirt — and then froze when she realized what she'd done: given Brittany a pretty good view of her boobs. If not for the dimmed lights, it would have been a even clearer view. But Brittany didn't care.

Her hands glided over Santana's breasts, thumbing gently at her nipples until they rose stiff against the pads of her fingers. Santana was already panting heavily from the stimulation, and probably from trying so hard not to make too much noise. The rest of her body squirmed under Brittany's, her hips already beginning to rut against Brittany's stomach.

Brittany swallowed. Santana's desperation was really turning her on, too. In order to distract Santana from her own impatience, Brittany pulled off her shirt and unclasped her bra, tossing them aside.

It worked. Santana's body stilled as she gawked at Brittany's chest. Her surprise gradually melted into a sort of hungry look, but she still cautiously reached for Brittany's breasts, like she wasn't sure she was allowed. Brittany nodded her approval, and Santana took it, grasping Brittany's breasts in her hands and squeezing gently. Brittany let out a gurgling moan at the firm touch and pressed her body down onto Santana's again.

This was so nice. She kissed Santana's neck and then began suckling her way down, across Santana's clavicle, the top of her breast, and then to Santana's sternum.

"Britt," Santana mumbled, tangling her fingers into blonde hair. She let out a strangled whimper when Brittany kissed her breast, and then sucked the nipple into her mouth. Her other hand played with Santana's other breast, palming it gently so that it didn't feel left out, and then moved to start pulling Santana's sweats off.

As Brittany did so, Santana's hands wandered away from Brittany's breasts and moved to stroke her sides, which was okay because that way Brittany could focus on pleasing Santana without distractions.

By this time Santana was pretty much naked and had unconsciously spread herself wide open, and Brittany lifted her head and licked her lips. Santana's body was really awesome and therefore required all the concentration Brittany had; everywhere her hand went met firm, taut muscle that softened like fresh clay under Brittany's touch. Her hands flattened against Santana's stomach, stroking gently. "Santana?"

Santana grunted in response, her eyes fluttering open. Her body quivered against the rumpling sheets as Brittany crawled up a little to loop her arm around Santana's waist and pull her up a little, propping her on the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Santana breathed heavily. Brittany rested their foreheads together. She wanted to ask if Santana had ever done it with a girl before, since obviously her most recent sex had probably been with a guy, but Brittany supposed that maybe that was probably not the nicest thing to say right now. Pointing it out would likely make Santana very uncomfortable, which was the last thing she wanted.

Santana's eyes were so dark, like black holes except they didn't eat up all the stars around them — the stars were still there in her eyes, dancing on the edge of their collapsing galaxy, completely unafraid even though the rest of her body was. Brittany felt something twinge in her chest when she realized those stars were the lights trapped in Santana's tears, which were stubbornly refusing to fall.

"Beautiful," Brittany said. She saw Santana stiffen at that, so she lay back down and nuzzled Santana's neck in order to soften her, pressing kisses to her shoulder and neck. Then, she unzipped her jeans and pushed then down to her knees — Santana's eyebrows quirked at Brittany's X-Men underwear and an amused smile flitted across her face. Brittany grinned back at her, pleased to see Santana relaxing.

"You're such a dork," Santana murmured, practically the same thing she'd said to Brittany that afternoon, except her voice was different. More subdued. She leaned up a little and kissed Brittany, catching Brittany's top lip between her own for a brief second before settling against the pillows again. Brittany laid her hand on Santana's lower abdomen, feeling it tense in anticipation. Santana's eyes quickly shuttered as Brittany moved her hand lower, her breath beginning to speed up again. Her head lolled back onto the pillows as Brittany's hand swept down her boyish, narrow hipbones — and settled at the vertex between her legs, drawing tight, firm circles. Santana moaned, a high-pitched moan that ignited something — something wild in Brittany's brain, and she pressed her hand a little harder, causing Santana's body to jerk violently from head to toe. "Britt," Santana whispered, the sound almost gurgling in the back of her throat. Her eyes flickered open long enough for Brittany to smile encouragingly at her. "Please."

Brittany was certainly not new at this — she was experienced, although sometimes she wondered if it was okay to be proud of that, especially if some of that experience came at the cost of being with people she didn't really like in the first place. But she liked Santana, so in this case she supposed the experience was a good thing. If she could make Santana feel good, and better — "Here," she whispered against Santana's neck, which was pumping out ragged breaths, "Hold on to me." She used her other hand to coax Santana's arms around her shoulders, one at a time, until Santana was loosely hanging on to her, their foreheads and noses pressed together again as Brittany let Santana sink onto her fingers.

Things went incredibly fast after that. Their sweat-slick bodies never lost contact, held firmly in place by Brittany's arm — rowing gondolas did wonders for her arm strength — Santana wriggled and whimpered under her as her body swallowed Brittany's fingers with every push. Brittany kissed all over her face and contented herself with watching as that beautiful dusky red color spread like watercolors across her body. "You're so beautiful, you feel so good," Brittany encouraged, because Santana did, and Santana began to sob. Brittany felt that twinge in her chest again. "San, Santana," she coaxed. "It's okay. I got you."

Santana's entire body tensed again and then suddenly Brittany felt herself being squeezed — like a stress ball, or an orange — as Santana's body pulled her in and she came so violently that Brittany could see her eyeballs rolling frantically under her closed eyelids. Her scream only came halfway out her throat before it collapsed and died under the pressure of her orgasm, leaving her a heaving, boneless mess in the pool of sheets.

Brittany waited for a moment before releasing Santana and cautiously moving to cuddle her, ready to draw back at any moment if Santana refused to let her. But Santana didn't, and Brittany released a long, relieved breath that she didn't know she'd been holding. "You were so good. So beautiful," she whispered into Santana's ear after Santana's breath had evened out into a post-coital doze.

She let herself drift for a while — Brittany didn't know for how long — until Santana startled her by sitting bolt upright in bed. "San?" she asked, her voice trying to shake off its grogginess.

Santana's eyes darted to her at the sound of the unintentional nickname. "Brittany," she mumbled. Her shoulders relaxed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Brittany shook her head. "I'm fine. You should lay down, it's not daytime yet."

"Are you okay, though?" Santana asked. Her hand reached out and touched Brittany's uncovered thigh — Brittany's jeans were still tangled around her knees and calves. Her touch was warm and unexpected, and Brittany squeezed her legs together, suddenly remembering the slick wetness between her own thighs.

"I'm totally okay, really," Brittany croaked, feeling embarrassed because Santana probably felt how warm her skin was getting under her hand. "You don't have to, I'll be fine."

"I want to," Santana said softly, her voice kind. "May I?"

Brittany shifted her legs and let Santana roll her gently onto her back. She nodded. Santana was being nice — that was so like her, really — and she should give Santana that opportunity to let that part of her shine through. She took Santana's other hand and kissed her palm, before placing it on her chest.

Santana's face melted into a helplessly fond smile. "Dork," she murmured, leaning close to kiss Brittany firmly.

"Only for you," Brittany flirted, placing her hands on Santana's thighs as she straddled Brittany's hips.

Something flashed in Santana's eyes. "Britt," she whispered, like she couldn't quite believe what was going on. Brittany grabbed her face and kissed her until she was smiling again.

"Yeah," Brittany nodded, as Santana swallowed and hooked her fingers into the waistband of the X-Men underwear.

Santana's body was like a blazing hot coal, burning pink prints into Brittany's pale skin that didn't fade even when Santana finally rolled off of her and let Brittany pull her into her side, her hands stroking and squeezing Brittany's arm muscles. Brittany had always had good arm strength even before her gondolier career, but she was so amazingly proud of them now that she knew Santana liked them. "We should sleep now," she mumbled into Santana's neck. "I have to go to work tomorrow. I think my boss doesn't expect me to punch in until, like 9 or something."

Santana lets out a sigh, and it sounds so frail that Brittany immediately regrets talking about work. She pulls Santana closer and kisses her ear and cheekbone, not letting up until Santana nestles into her again.

"We'll sleep." Santana agreed, and she closed her eyes.

Brittany woke up first — this usually happened because she woke herself up from moving around in her sleep so much, but this time she woke up because nature was calling really loudly and Santana's arm was lying on her bladder.

"San," she murmured, wiggling a little to shake Santana gently into consciousness. "Santana, I gotta get up."

Santana made a noise of protest. Her eyes fluttered open and then closed. "Where you goin'?" she mumbled, as Brittany slid out of the bed. Brittany leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"To the bathroom. I gotta pee." She pulled on her discarded hoodie, which was conveniently lying on the floor near her feet, because while they could be naked in bed together, they obviously hadn't quite reached the point of being able to walk around naked in front of each other.

When Brittany re-emerged from the bathroom, the clock read 6:24, which wasn't early enough to justify going back to sleep. She was surprised to see Santana already out of bed, yawning and dragging the bed sheet around to cover her boobs, and the coffee pot already on its merry way to boiling. "Here you go," Brittany said, holding out the fluffy bathrobe that had been hanging in the bathroom.

"Thanks," Santana said, her voice still gruff from sleep and other things. She slipped into the bathrobe and let Brittany take the bed sheet from her and toss it back onto the bed.

Brittany turned and wrapped her arms around Santana from behind, her hands covering the knot at the front of Santana's waist.

"I leave this afternoon," Santana said quietly.

Brittany presses a kiss to the back of Santana's neck. "So you're going to check out some time this morning, right? Do you need help packing or anything?"

Santana craned her neck to look at her. "Don't you have to go to work?"

"Eh, I can still get some things done before then."

Brittany was happy that Santana was still this emotionally soft in the morning; for a moment she had been worried that Santana might regret everything despite Brittany's attempts to make her feel comfortable about it as possible, and not be as nice. But it seems like Brittany had done well, which was good because she really liked Santana and didn't want to leave her on a sour note.

They drank the coffee together; Santana even tore open the little packets of sugar and cream and added them for Brittany. Brittany was glad she made the coffee so that she would be awake enough to go to work. Santana had done so much for her over a short period of time, and Brittany vaguely wondered if she would ever get to repay Santana. Or if Santana would let her. Santana did let her roll up some of her folded clothes and pack them in her suitcase. It felt kind of funny; like she didn't seriously feel like Santana was really going away and that they might not see each other again. Like she felt, somehow, that they would see each other again soon.

"I should go," Brittany said, glancing at the clock which told her that she had half an hour to punch in.

"Yeah," Santana said. Her voice sounded like she didn't care — in fact she hadn't really talked to Brittany while they were packing except for a few short words. Brittany knew that Santana was starting to close herself off again, like she was a store or something, so that robbers couldn't get in. Brittany wondered whether Santana thought she was a robber or a guest.

Santana walked her to the door, but before Brittany could say anything, Santana handed her a piece of paper.

Brittany unfolded it carefully to find a series of digits scribbled on it. "Is this your phone number?"

"Uh-huh." Santana nodded. "Just…if you wanted it."

"I do want it," Brittany said. She smiled widely, folding the paper and stuffing it into her hoodie pockets. Maybe Santana wasn't going to close herself off completely to Brittany after all.

"Okay. Go on now, you gotta get to work," Santana said, pushing her shoulder — not hard, almost affectionately.

"I will see you again," Brittany assured, now feeling a lot better about the situation. She leaned in and slung an arm around Santana's shoulders, pressing a hard kiss to her lips. "I will."

It's better than saying good-bye, she thought as she made her way back towards the elevators, casting glances over her shoulder at Santana, who stood in the doorway of her suite until Brittany turned a corner and couldn't see her anymore.

Brittany had accidentally left her cellphone in her work locker — not that she had noticed having been with Santana all day yesterday, pretty much — and her roommate Tina had sent her at least ten worried texts. She quickly fired off an "I'm okay don't worry" text back before Tina called the police or something, and then — just in case she lost the slip of paper later — she carefully inputted Santana's number.

Her routines After Santana weren't very much different from the routines she had Before Santana, except for her humming the ducks and poppies song on her breaks, and perking up at every flash of dark hair that seemed even the tiniest bit familiar.

Of course it wouldn't be Santana. Her very first text to Santana (hope u have a safe trip -B) was answered with an equally short text (back in NY safe. thx) and therefore Santana was back in New York and not very likely to be hanging around.

Sometimes — or quite often — she would think about what she would do if she saw Santana again in the hundreds and thousands of people who passed through the Venetian each day. It was different almost every time, but there was one thing Brittany was sure of. Whatever she was going to do when she saw Santana again, she would need more time together than they'd been given now.

One day, she decided to tell her roommate Tina about Santana — not everything, of course, because some things should definitely be private — but surely Brittany couldn't be expected to hold it all in. Santana was too awesome.

However Tina (who worked as a craps dealer at the Wynn and thus worked almost the same hours as Brittany did) was less enthusiastic than Brittany hoped she would be. "You met someone while rowing gondolas? Sorry, Britt, I don't see your point. People meet people all the time here. What's so special about that?"

"She is special. Because you know I've been thinking about it, and I think I wanted to row gondolas so bad when I was little because somewhere deep down I was meant to meet her," Brittany declared.

Tina gawked at her. Brittany knew that Tina would normally find this all very cute and romantic (have been raised on Korean melodramas by her halmeoni), but apparently she was in the wrong mood or something. "You can't be serious. She's probably more or less forgotten about you."

"No she hasn't. She texts me twice a week. I counted. Every Thursday evening and Saturday morning. Tells me something that's just happened to her, like 'pigeon bitch just stole my bagel' or something."

Her roommate's eyes bulged. "You serious? Huh. Never heard of that happening before."

"It happens," Brittany said drily. "Like when Mike would text you every other day after you two met for the first time at Quinn's party. And I tell her stuff about my day too, like about that crazy guy that tried to jump into my gondola yesterday with people in it. Except he fell into the canal instead and security had to fish him out."

Tina's eyes narrowed. "You didn't tell me about that."

"You were working late and came in at like 3 in the morning. I was asleep, so how could I have told you? But I texted Santana almost right after it happened, so."

"Fine." Tina folded her arms. After a short while, she asked, "Do you think you'll see her again?"

"I want to." Brittany looked down at her feet. "But the only way I'll see her again is if I keep chasing my dreams. Which means I have to leave Vegas."

"Um, duh. I could've told you that," Tina muttered.

Brittany shook her head adamantly. "It's not just about leaving to find her, Tina. Because if I only looked for her, I might not find her. The only road that'll lead to her is through fulfilling my dreams. So yeah, rowing gondolas? It seemed kind of dumb and stupid to Quinn and I bet a lot of other people thought the same thing, but it led me to her. And now that I've found her, I've gotta keep moving on with my dreams if I want to find her again."

Tina looked absolutely confused, and disgruntled at the fact that she was indeed very much confused. "You sound like someone out of a Disney movie," she said.

"Awesome. That means I might have a Disney ending."

As it turned out, Brittany's new line of pursuit was motorcycling — or rather, the riding and the fixing of them, which she was familiar with (although a bit rusty) because of her stint in amateur motocross competitions as a teenager. The time she didn't spend at work or at home, she spent at a motorcycle rental place a mile outside of the Strip, or at a Harley-Davidson dealership in Las Vegas proper. It was only a start; a very long start, and Tina made it very clear that she thought the idea was terrible. But Brittany's belief that this would work, that it would lead her back to Santana, ignored all of Tina's disapproval.

The two texts a week from Santana came steadily for months, until — one March morning, after almost two years of this — nothing. And then continued months of nothing from Santana went by after that. When Brittany told Tina, worried and flustered at Santana's radio silence, Tina shook her head. "I hope nothing happened to her. But you don't have any way of finding out why she stopped. Anything could have happened."

Brittany swallowed. "Someday I'll know," she swore. "If I just keep on it…"

"I'm sure it's nothing bad," Tina tried to reassure her. She might not have thought that Brittany's plan was at all smart, but she wasn't heartless.

The opportunity to leave Vegas presented itself in the form of someone who knew someone who knew Brittany's boss at the Harley dealership, offering Brittany the chance to travel to Los Angeles and take a job customizing motorcycles for rich clients. Apparently her years of working on bikes at the rental and the dealership had gotten her highly recommended by some famous actor tourist who rented a Harley from one of them (she didn't remember who and didn't quite care). This, she felt, was her chance. Tina, now realizing that nothing would stop Brittany from this pursuit, called in her dancer boyfriend (an LA native) to help Brittany get situated there.

And so it went. Still no Santana, but what else could Brittany do but keep plugging on? She'd spent (almost) a decade working to realize her dream of rowing gondolas just for (almost) 24 hours with Santana. At the rate she was going, however, Brittany couldn't help but hope that the odds were in her favor.

Soon enough, though, the days all began to melt together as she took on her new job in Los Angeles, so that she lost count of how many days it had been since she'd moved there. She supposed that she wasn't that good at arithmetic after all (geometry was more her thing).

One morning, Brittany was called out to the front of the fancypants motorcycle shop she now worked at to look at a Kawasaki being brought in for customization. The assumed owner of the Kawasaki — a nice-looking guy with a crazy Justin Bieber mop of blonde hair — was talking really loudly with someone."'Scuse me," Brittany called, "if one of you owns this bike I'm about to perform surgery on, you'd better tell me so I can get going on it, I've got a waiting list of bikes all waiting for their organs. Every moment counts!"

She turned around to grab a clipboard and didn't see who the blonde guy was talking so loudly to; not until she looked back up and saw Santana standing only a foot away from her.

"Oh my God," Santana breathed. "It's you."

Brittany dropped the clipboard.

Without even thinking about it, she wrapped her arms around Santana and lifted her up off the ground in the beariest bear hug she could possibly give (not being a bear herself). She wasn't aware that Santana was gasping I'm sorry I'm sorry over and over again for a long minute until she put Santana down. "Wait, what are you sorry for?"

Santana's eyes were wild with apology, but she was still so beautiful with her hair and her face and her lips just the way Brittany remembered them, and of course Brittany conveniently forgot about the blonde guy staring at them on the other end of the room. Santana certainly didn't seem to care.

"I lost my phone, like the fucking idiot I am," Santana admitted softly, so softly that Brittany had to dip her ear close to Santana's lips to hear, "and I realized that I hadn't memorized your number. God, I'm so stupid. So stupid — I should have gone looking for you. But I let things get in the way."

"I don't care." Brittany hugged her tighter. "I — Tina thought — well, I thought too, for a little while, that something bad happened to you. I don't care if you forgot about me, or if you put other people and other things first," well, she did care a little, but Santana looked so sorry that she couldn't care too much, "I'm just glad you're okay. Are you okay?"

The blonde guy cleared his throat. Without batting an eyelash, Santana said, "Sam, could you go outside for a minute?"

"But I —"

"Yes, guppy face, I will fucking buy you lunch. Dinner if I have to. Now scram."

Sam rolled his eyes and scrammed, and then Santana turned back to Brittany. Brittany cocks her head towards the door. "Was I interrupting you and Sam when I came in?"

"No, you weren't." Santana leaned her head against Brittany's shoulder, and added pointedly, "He's gay and has a boyfriend." Her hands had somehow moved to clutch at the material of Brittany's oil-stained work shirt. "Sorry," her voice soft and rich again. "I'm okay. Yeah, I'm okay now. I swear, I didn't forget you. How could I?"

Brittany nodded in understanding. "Okay. But why are you here? I thought you lived in New York."

"I moved out here about a year ago. Got a job with Gibson Dunn." Santana's fingers toyed with the fabric they held so tightly. "You…you're living out here too, right?"

Brittany nodded giddily. "I got this job not too long ago." She craned her neck to press her lips against Santana's forehead. "I knew it'd lead me to you. Didn't I tell you we'd see each other again? I knew we would."

"How?" Santana asked, lifting her head. It doesn't surprise her that she didn't believe they would. Nobody thought like Brittany did, but she's okay with that as long as she was always proven right. Like now.

"I spent like almost ten years working my way to a point where I could meet you," Brittany explains softly. "What's a few more years waiting until I could meet you again? And," she said, as Santana smiled at her with amazed eyes and then laid her head back down on Brittany's shoulder, "I don't know but I'm pretty sure that this time, we'll have a lot longer than just twenty-four hours to spend with each other."