Chapter 1

"Please, Brittany! You know I can't drive. It's just this once, I promise." Rachel Berry, Brittany's best friend since she could remember, has been plaguing her, relentlessly, for the last hour. The reason? Pop star sensation Santana Lopez. Rachel is obsessed with her, owning every single album of the singer, and Brittany has no idea why. How could you be so crazy about someone you don't even know?

Besides, she has seen the tabloids, a different girl every other week prancing around with the singer. She's a player and thinks the world revolves around her just because she's famous. Needless to say, Brittany is not a fan.

So no, Brittany is not giving in to her best friend's pleas to take her to some club where the pop star is giving a private concert, which she has no idea how Rachel found out about, now that she thinks about it, and, honestly, doesn't really care.

"Why don't you ask Mercedes or Tina?" Brittany asks for what feels like the hundredth time, already knowing the answer, but hoping the girl will give up and leave her alone.

"I already told you why. Mercedes is working tonight and Tina is going on a date with Mike." Rachel explains exasperatedly, whining like a little kid. Brittany groans, her body tired and exhausted from her classes, her muscles complaining, pleading her to lay down so they can relax. As she tries to go into her room Rachel stops her, barricading herself between her and the doorframe. "Please, Britt. I'll do anything."

Brittany sighs in defeat, knowing full well that her best friend won't give up until she says yes. She tried for an hour to persuade the girl in front of her otherwise, but she failed miserably, and god knows she doesn't want to go for round two for another hour, she just doesn't have the energy right now. "Fine." Rachel shrieks in excitement, the sound unpleasant as it pierces her ears. "But I don't want to hear another word about this Santana Lopez anymore. No more favors regarding her."

"Deal." Rachel jumps in joy, a wide grin plastered on her face as she encircles Brittany in a tight hug, thanking her repeatedly.

What did I get myself into?, Brittany sighs.

Brittany is so regretting her decision right now… She has been sitting in her car for over an hour, time spent thinking of every single way to kill her best friend. She's pretty sure there's an ass print on her seat that's going to stay there forever. She doesn't even feel her ass anymore, that's how long she's been waiting.

Rachel tried to convince her to go with her, but that was never going to happen, she was in no mood to go clubbing. She spent the whole day dancing, her feet were killing her. She had a perfectly comfortable bed at home, just waiting for her, but Santana Lopez had to throw a concert and fuck up her plans. She just wants to go to sleep for god's sake.

She tried dozing off in the car, but no matter how much she loves her car, she knows it's old and not at all comfortable. It was a graduation present from her grandma and she's had it ever since.

She chances a glance across the street, her eyes glued so intently to the main entrance of the club, obscured by numerous parked cars in front of it, that she's sure she'll burn a hole through them.

Still no sign of Rachel.

"That's it." She's done waiting. She gets out of the car, locking it behind her, and chances a glance to both sides before crossing the street. She curses internally when she sees the line of people trying to get into the club, luck is definitely not on her side today.

She's going to kill Rachel.

She sighs in frustration, turning around, ready to make her way back to her car when something catches her eyes, a poor illuminated alley and, almost at the end of it, a door leading to the club. She knows it's a long shot, the door is probably locked, preventing outsiders, like her, from getting in, but she's going to try anyway. She's desperate.

She looks around to make sure no one is paying her any attention, which of course no one is, and walks at a fast pace towards the door, praying for it to be unlocked as she grabs the handle.

And then it happens.

The cold metal collides with her head hard, throwing her off balance as she feels herself falling to the ground, her ass meeting the cold pavement. Lucky night indeed.

She feels someone kneeling beside her. "Did I just hit you?" The worry from the culprit's voice does nothing to quell the anger rising in Brittany. Her head hurts like hell right now, it feels like someone is pounding in there with a hammer, and she's sure she'll have a bruise on her ass tomorrow. Just great.

She looks up, her hand in her head as she tries to alleviate the pain, and comes face to face with the culprit. "No, the door hit me by itself." She replies sarcastically, glaring at the girl in the process.

"Oh, this is not good." The girl mutters under her breath, worried, looking around hoping no one saw the accident. She doesn't spot anyone, thankful for the single post shinning a faint light upon them.

Brittany gives the woman an incredulous look. "For me or for you? Because right now it feels a lot worse for me."

"This is really not good." The girl continues, ignoring the blonde's previous comment.

"Wait." Brittany says more calmly, recognition washing over her as she finally takes a good look at the person kneeling beside her. "You're Santa–"

Santana's eyes widen, panicked, and she's quick to interrupt her, putting a hand on her mouth, silencing her. "I'll give you free tickets for my next concert if you don't scream my name." She says in one breath.

Brittany pushes her hand away, clearly annoyed at the action and even more at the offer. "I don't want to see your stupid concert." She brings her hand back to her forehead and flinches, the pain seeming to increase at every passing moment. "Ow."

"Okay, I need to get you to a doctor." Santana pulls herself up, hastily, the sound of a car fast approaching them ringing in her ears. Relief washes over her when she notices it's her best friend. "Take my hand. Let's go." She helps the blonde stand up, carefully, not wanting to cause more pain than she already has, and guides her towards the car.

"What about Rachel?" Brittany asks suddenly, remembering the girl is still inside the club.

Santana looks at her, puzzled, forehead scrunched up in confusion. "Who's Rachel?"

"My best friend. She's up in the club." At least she thinks she is, if not she would've called by now, wondering why Brittany's not in the car.

"Woah woah, what happened?" Quinn, Santana's best friend and manager, inquires, looking at the pop star for answers as she approaches the two girls, noticing how the unknown girl clutches the left side of her forehead, pain evident on her face.

She already feels the judgment sipping from Quinn's voice, but technically this was not her fault. Yes, she hit the blonde with the door, but how was she supposed to know she was behind it? She's not a psychic for god's sake.

She will deal with Quinn later, now she has a more urgent matter on her hands, literally. "Help now, questions later." Santana rushes out, handing the blonde to Quinn and making her way to the driver's side. "Just get her in the car." Quinn glares at her, but does what she says, her head swamped with a million questions. She leads the girl to the passenger's side, opening the door and helping her get on the seat, carefully as to not bump her head, closing the door once she's settled.

"Who is this?" Quinn finally voices one of the million questions dancing around in her mind, looking inquisitively at Santana through the open window.

Santana stops in her tracks, seatbelt halfway pulled, and chances a look at the girl beside her, realizing just now she doesn't even know her name. "What's your name?"

"Brittany." The blonde looks at her annoyed, rolling her eyes and regretting the action almost instantly, the pain on her head intensifying.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Brittany." Santana smiles at her politely, a smile that quickly falters at the glare thrown her way.

"Oh, I can think of nicer ways." Brittany states seriously, a scowl taking over her face, directed at the girl beside her. If she didn't like the girl before, she sure dislikes her even more now. She suddenly feels her stomach turn, queasiness washing over her, her headache forgotten as she feels the contents in her stomach trying to make their way up. "I'm not feeling so good." She's able to mumble before emptying her insides through the open window… right onto Quinn's shoes.

Santana looks at the scene in disgust, the smell taking over her nostrils. She can see Quinn fuming at the blonde, who seems to be trying to prevent herself from throwing up again, her face pale.

"You have got to be kidding me." Quinn exhales, frustrated, positioning her glare upon Santana. "These were my favorite shoes."

"I'll buy you new ones." Santana promises, mostly to calm her best friend down, throwing her an apologetical look before directing her gaze back to the pale blonde beside her. "Car keys." She extends her right hand, palm up, waiting for the item she requested. Brittany looks at her confused, not understanding why the singer wants her keys, but not debating about it either, the pain on her head already enough as it is. She hands her the keys, which in turn Santana hands to Quinn through the open window on the passenger's side, swapping them with her own, clasped in Quinn's left hand, earning her a confused look from the girl. "Just make sure her friend Rachel gets home okay."

And before Quinn can protest, the Latina is already driving away.

"Follow the light with your eyes." The doctor instructs as he moves his little flashlight from one side to the other, slowly. He's probably in his 30s, Brittany notes. "Well, I did a thorough exam and the CT scan was normal. Everything looks good". He says reassuringly, turning the light off and putting it back in the front pocket of his medical coat.

"So, she's okay?" Santana suddenly appears between the curtains, relieved at the diagnosis.

"Out." The doctor says to her pointedly while the blonde just rolls her eyes at the singer. Santana huffs in annoyance but returns to her previous position, closing the curtains behind her. "There's no sign of head trauma and I'm absolutely certain you don't have a concussion." The doctor proceeds.

"Then why come I threw up?" Brittany asks, confused, wondering what caused the sick feeling in her stomach just a couple minutes ago.

"Maybe it was something you ate or maybe it was a reaction for meeting that doofus." He gives her a smile, his words half serious and half joking.

Santana reappears between the curtains once again. "It's a curtain John, I can hear you." She points out, annoyed.

"No, no you can't." He says dismissively, waving his hand at her to get out.

Brittany notices the interaction between the two and frowns, puzzled. "You two know each other?"

"Yeah, he's my sister's husband." Santana explains, rolling her eyes in the process as the doctor's lips rise to form a non-enthusiastic smile.

Brittany chooses to ignore that piece of information, not wanting (or caring) to pry further. "So, I can go now?" After the long night she had, Brittany just wants to fall in her fluffy bed and have a long and peaceful sleep.

"Yes, but I want you to put an ice pack on that bump until you get home." The doctor instructs, excusing himself to go get some ice, leaving the two of them alone in an awkward silence. Santana avoids eye contact at all costs, looking all around the room, stopping her gaze on the blue curtain she opened just a few minutes ago. Now she just wishes she had stayed behind that curtain, the silence leaving an uneasiness in her.

The sound of a phone ringing breaks the heavy atmosphere in the room. Santana's glad for the interruption, the silence was starting to become unbearable.

Brittany furrows her brows and looks at her pointedly. "You're going to answer that?"

Santana throws her a confused look, but soon figures out what Brittany means as she feels her phone vibrating inside her pocket. "Oh right." She says, breaking out of her reverie. "Just…" She trails off, gesturing with her hands to tell her she'll be right back, before closing the curtains behind her. "Hello, mom?" She hears her mother's frantic voice and her eyes widen, a round of questions spluttering out of her mouth hastily. "What? Who? Where? Now?"

This was not good, her producer was in her house right at this moment, the same person she had promised she would keep a low profile for a while to, avoiding parties or scandals at all costs. I don't think he would consider this particular predicament she's in as keeping a low profile.

This is so not happening right now.

"Okay, just stall them. I'll be right there." She rushes out to her mother before hanging up.

"That might be a problem." John says, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, with an ice pack in his hand.

"Why?" Santana asks while putting her phone back in her pocket.

"My waiting room is filled with big guys with big cameras."

Seriously?, she groans. "The paparazzi found me?!" Santana curses internally, taking a deep long breath in hopes to calm herself down, her brain working furiously to come up with a solution. An idea springs to her mind almost instantly. "John, what kind of car are you driving?"

A chuckle leaves his lips, almost certain of where she's getting at. "Nothing you would be interested in. I'm still paying out six years of medical school."

"Perfect. How about a trade?" Santana suggests, pleads is more accurate, but she'll never admit to that. She takes her keys from her pocket and dangles them in the air, trying to persuade John with the action.

"No." He refuses, shaking his head with finality.

"It only happens once." Santana tries again, dangling the keys closer to his face. She's desperate to get out of there as soon as possible.

"Okay." He agrees easily, realizing just now that she's basically offering him a brand-new car, a really good car might he add.

Santana sighs in relief as he rummages through his pockets, pulling out his keys and offering them to her. She takes them without second thought, along with the ice pack he was holding, and throws him her keys before making her way towards the girl behind the curtains.

"We have to go." She says in one breath, her voice laced with urgency, as she rips the curtains open and throws the ice pack at the blonde, making Brittany jump in the process.

She grabs it before it can fall to the ground as her mind tries to work out what the singer just said. "What?"

"We have to go… now." Santana repeats, a little impatient as she grabs her hand, the one not holding the ice pack, and yanks her to her feet, pulling her out of the room with her.

Brittany doesn't even have time to thank the doctor as they pass by him like two lightning bolts. She tries to throw him a smile that conveys as a thank you, but she's pretty sure all she mustered was a grimace.

Santana looks at her left, spotting the numerous paparazzi in a distance, waiting for her to appear, just like John said. Right it is then, she thinks as she turns to her right, going through the corridors almost in a jog, looking at her surroundings from some sort of exit.

She finds it, at least she hopes it's a way out as she opens the door and descends the stairs, Brittany in tow, their hands still clasped together.

The stairs lead them to the parking lot and Santana thanks the gods, never once slowing down her pace as she roams the lines of cars, searching for John's. Well, hers now, she guesses. She suddenly stops in her tracks, almost making Brittany crash into her, when she founds it.

"You have got to be kidding me." She mutters under her breath, eyes unbelieving, at the sight in front of her, at the piece of crap in front of her. The car is probably a hundred years old. It's rusty, the painting worn out, a piece of metal is barely hanging on at the back of the car, it's a disaster.

Brittany takes the opportunity to take a much-needed breath and to release her hand from Santana's grasp. She glares at her, definitely not pleased with the singer for dragging her along like a puppet.

Her gaze turns from Santana to the object she's so fixated on and her eyes widen, perplexed. "I'm not getting in that."

Those words break Santana out of her trance, brain kicking back into gear as she moves towards the driver's side. "Don't be such a baby. Just get in." She unlocks the car and opens the door, which, due to all the rust, creates an unpleasant and penetrating sound to resonate and echo through the parking lot.

"Are you kidding me? That thing is going to fall apart at any second." Brittany says, incredulous with Santana's suggestion. Her eyes roam the rusty vehicle, some pieces dangling under it catching her attention.

"Well this thing is the only ride you got. So, if you want to get home, I suggest you get in." Santana gives the girl a pointed look, disguising, as much as she can, the uncertainty she feels about the car.

She opens the door and settles on the driver's seat, the seams of it a little ripped, she notes as she tries to get comfortable on the hard cushion. She puts the keys in the ignition and, apprehensive, slowly moves them to start the car. She almost jumps when the engine lets out a loud roar.

Brittany huffs in frustration, wondering how the hell she got to be in this mess as she reluctantly enters the passenger's side and closes the door with more force than it was needed.

Santana puts the car into gear as soon as the blonde is settled and drives out of the parking lot. There's an awkward silence filling the small confinements of the car, if you even can call it that. Santana concentrates on the road while Brittany looks out the window, head resting against it and left hand holding the ice pack on the affected area on her forehead.

A small explosion resonates from under the car, making both girls jump in their place, Brittany's grip on the ice pack slipping a little.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Brittany asks, eyes wide with fear.

"Pretty sure." It's Santana's strained reply. Total lie.

Another exploding sound makes its way through the car, causing Brittany to release a surprised shriek. "I'm pretty sure it's not." She counters back, readjusting the ice pack on her forehead, the cold material not helping to quell her nerves.

"Just calm down, okay?" Santana says, eyes never leaving the road, trying to relax the girl beside her.

"I don't want to calm down. I want to go home, okay?!" Brittany is fed up at this point, the night's events catching up to her, fatigue washing over her, as she throws the ice pack angrily at Santana, hitting her right shoulder before falling to the middle console with a thump.

Santana hisses in pain and at the cold chilling her skin. "Ow! What is wrong with you?!" She chances a glance at the blonde, a glare plastered on her face, clearly not amused at Brittany's childish antics.

"What is wrong with me? Nothing. I'm just looking forward to having a really annoying headache in the morning and, on top of that, no sleep." Brittany is being sarcastic, that much Santana can tell.

"Oh, is that why you're so crabby?" The singer points out, a trace of annoyance laced in her voice.

"I am not crabby!" Brittany argues back, crossing her arms defensively.

"Oh, not crabby. Defensive." Santana rectifies, noticing the girl's posture.

"I am not defensive!" Brittany sends her a glare.

"See? You disagree with everything I say." Santana points out, rolling her eyes in annoyance at the girl's behavior. This girl is impossible.

"Do not!" Brittany protests, her voice rising a little, her blood boiling with anger.

"Do to!"

"Just take me home!"

"I will!" Santana yells in frustration, tired of this banter with the blonde. But there's something she needs to do beforehand and she's sure Brittany is not going to like it, not one bit. "First we need to make a tinny tiny little stop." She says in a lower tone, cautious, already feeling the glare thrown her way.

"You have got to be kidding me." Are the first words that leave Brittany's mouth as they pass through the threshold, her eyes roaming her surroundings, pictures of Santana can be seen hanging on the walls. "You live here?" She asks, incredulous and with a little judgement. Why would someone need a house this big to live in? It's insane.

"Yeah, why?" Santana replies nonchalantly, not noticing the tone of disapproval or just choosing to ignore it.

She thought about leaving the blonde back in the car (don't judge her), but she couldn't risk anyone seeing her by any chance, so here they are. And it's exactly for that reason that she finds herself grabbing her hand for the second time that night and pulls her up the stairs, despite Brittany's protests.

"Where are we going?" The blonde huffs, frustrated, tired of being dragged around all night.

"I just…" Santana trails off, releasing her hold on the girl when they reach the end of the stairs, and chances a look around for prying eyes. She's thankful no one from the party downstairs has ventured to this part of the house.

"Don't know where to hide me?" Brittany finishes it for her, not really surprised. Of course the celebrity wouldn't want to be seen with someone like her, someone regular, with no status whatsoever.

Santana looks taken aback by her statement, returning her gaze to the blonde's eyes. They're blue, she only now notices. "No, I'm not hiding you." She says, not entirely truthful. "I just don't want these particular people to see you right now."

"Because I'm not a movie star." Brittany states, eyebrow quirked at the singer.

"No, it's because I don't want anyone asking questions and neither do you." Brittany frowns at her questioningly so she elaborates, in a voice resembling that of a reporter's, at least in her mind it is. "Who is she? Where did you meet her? Are you two dating?"

"Dating?" Brittany was definitely not expecting that one.

"Yeah, they make stuff up." Santana says with a simple shrug, accustomed with the way the paparazzi work. "Come on." She grabs the blonde's hand, once again without her consent, and leads her through the corridor. Brittany doesn't even have time to gather her surroundings before she's being pulled inside another room. "The guest room, be my guest." Santana lets out in a rush, finishing with some hand gestures.

"Do I have a choice?" Brittany asks rhetorically as she takes in the room, knowing full well she's going to be stuck there for a while.

"Not really. I'll be right back." She makes her way to the door in a fast pace, her producer probably growing impatient by the minute, not knowing her whereabouts, and her mother is certainly running out of excuses to tell him. She stops right in her tracks by the door, turning around to look at the other girl. "Just… stay." She pretty much orders, the last word coming out authoritarian, as she gestures with her hand to make her point across. The last thing she needs is the blonde roaming around the house and someone catching wind of her. She would never hear the end of it.

"Woof." Brittany replies sarcastically, rolling her eyes at the singer's retreating figure. She wonders how long she'll need to be stuck in this room, rolling her eyes when they land upon the big flashy sign on the far wall with Santana's last name. How she missed that on her way in she has no idea. She is sure it can be seen from space. She has no idea why Rachel is so infatuated with her. She's arrogant, annoying, careless and so full of herself.

Suddenly, a faint sound of a melody starting reaches Brittany's ears, shaking her from her thoughts. She scans the room, trying to pinpoint where the music is coming from, eyes stopping on the balcony door. Curiosity gets the best of her and she finds herself walking towards it, her feet having a mind of their own along with her hands, which work their way to open the balcony's doors.

She steps outside, her hands taking hold of the railing as her eyes search for the source of the music. It isn't hard to spot Santana among the crowd of people, sitting on a stool with a guitar in hand, singing as she strums a beautiful tune. She can't deny the pop star has a beautiful voice. There's so much passion in every single note she belts out, it leaves Brittany entranced, the traces of a smile appearing on her face without her even noticing.

Santana glances her way, surprised to actually catch the girl there watching her intently. She smiles at her briefly before returning her attention to her guests. The action breaks Brittany from her reverie, her mind rebooting as she makes her way out of the room, intent on going home and forgetting this crazy night ever happened.

She walks down the stairs, stopping abruptly at the end when she notices a few people chatting by the front door. Luckily, they don't seem to see her. Unfortunately, it means she's going to have to find another way out. With a groan she turns on her heels in search of another exit.

She finds a door as she rounds the corner and, hastily, makes her way through, hoping it will lead outside.

It doesn't.

Instead she's met with four different cars, all very expensive, she notes as she walks by them. Of course she had to own more than one car, Brittany thinks with an eye roll.

"Hey, where are you going?" Santana asks, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and startling the blonde in the process.

"Anywhere but here." Anywhere was better than being confined in the same space as Santana Lopez.

Santana frowns, confused. "What did I do now?"

"You said you would take me home. When?" Brittany looks at her pointedly, tired and annoyed, the bags under her eyes more visible by the minute.

"Just pick a car, I'll take you home."

Brittany looks at the overly fancy cars before returning her gaze to the girl in front of her, standing by the door. "No."

"Fine, we'll walk." Santana huffs in frustration, shaking her head at the girl's antics. She doesn't understand the girl's need to disagree with everything she says, it's driving her crazy. "Where do you live again?"

"Hollywood." Brittany says, arms crossed in front of her chest.

Santana lets out a mocking chuckle. "Oh great. We'll get there… on Tuesday." She quirks her eyebrows at the blonde, trying to get her point across. She smiles victoriously when a faint defeated 'okay' slips from Brittany's mouth. "Okay?" Santana asks, just to make sure she heard her correctly, not used to this cooperative side of the girl.

"But here are the rules." It was too good to be true, Santana thinks to herself. "You drive me straight there, drop me off and then you come back to your fabulous life." She says with a hard stare directed at her.

Santana sighs, making her way to the nearest car, her red convertible, and opens the passenger's side door for the blonde, gesturing with her hand, in a mocking manner, for her to get in. Brittany, on the other hand, ignores Santana's antics and walks towards the least flashy car in there, the blue one beside the convertible, settling in the passenger's side.

"What is the purpose of that? I don't get it." Santana huffs in frustration as she pushes the door closed. "Why does she do this?" She mutters to herself with a slight shake of her head, annoyed at the blonde's stubbornness. Soon it will all be over, she repeats to herself, reassuringly. She only needs to survive this ride.

She sighs...

They drive in silence for a while, pretty much like their other two rides of the night, awkward and uncomfortable, neither one of them making eye contact. The heavy atmosphere is making Santana uneasy. She even starts to wonder if she has gone deaf with how silent it is. The girl beside her looks unfazed as she gazes out the window. If she's uncomfortable she doesn't show it.

But Santana can't take it any longer, she needs something to cut through this ambience. An idea pops into her head and, immediately, she puts it into action, her fingers working to turn on the radio, the sound that it emits welcome to her ears as she sings along to the tune.

"Really?" Brittany turns to her with an 'are you serious?' look, the reaction making the once singing Santana shut her mouth, confused.

"What?" Santana says, brows furrowed. "I thought you would like it."

Brittany snorts, confusing the singer even more. "Let me guess… You thought I would be dying to ride in a car with Santana Lopez as she sings to one of her big hits? A fan's dream come true." Santana smiles, cocky, knowing full well the blonde's statement to be true. Everyone would be dying to have something like this happen to them, a little private concert just for them by none other than Santana Lopez herself. She doesn't pick up on the tone of sarcasm those words were uttered though as Brittany continues. "There's only one problem though." She pauses, giving the singer a pointed look as she delivers her next words. "I'm not your fan."

Santana's smile falls immediately, her face blank. "You don't…" Her voice cracks up a bit, so she clears her throat. "You don't like my music?"

"No, I like your music. I'm just not crazy about you." Brittany clarifies, emphasizing her point.

Santana's lost, the statement leaving a bittersweet feeling in her gut. "But you don't even know me." She reasons, stealing a glance at the girl before her eyes focus again on the road ahead.

"Precisely." Brittany replies like it's obvious.

Santana's thrown back, her brain short-circuiting, this new information so foreign to her. She never once has come across someone who didn't like her, but here is this girl claiming otherwise. This is completely uncharted territory. "You know, I think if you did know me you would really like me."

If Brittany hears her words, she doesn't show it, ignoring them completely when her house comes into view. "Oh, turn here." She says happily, pointing out the window. She's finally going to get some sleep and put this wretched night behind her.

Santana doesn't look too happy at being ignored, but refrains from saying anything else as she comes to a stop in front of the blonde's house.

"Thanks for the ride." Brittany says, politely, catching the singer off-guard, who's not used to this non-angry side of the girl.

She opens the door, welcoming the night air as it cools the warm bruised spot on her forehead, to make her way out, but Santana is quick to stop her in her tracks, grabbing her arm, gently, to hold her in place.

"Look, Brittany, I just want to say I'm sorry." She says, her voice sincere and apologetic as she bores her eyes into ocean blue ones.

"Noted. Are we done now?" Brittany replies, a little harsher than she intended, pulling her arm free, the fatigue and headache she's feeling starting to take its toll on her.

"Y-Yeah, I guess we're done." Santana says, taken aback by how fast the blonde switched moods. She'll never understand this girl, of that she's sure.

"Good." Brittany utters before exiting the vehicle, never taking a glimpse back as she walks towards her front door, Santana following her every move from her position. She only breaks her stare when Brittany disappears behind the door.

What a night, she sighs as she goes to turn the keys on the ignition to start the car.

Unfortunately, luck is not on her side tonight.

A flash of light, from behind, prevents her from doing so, blinding her, her eyes trying to make out the culprit from her rear-view mirror. "Oh great." She mutters under her breath, sliding down on her seat so as to not be seen as a black van, that she recognizes oh so well, drives by her, parking just a few feet down the street.

Damn paparazzi. How did they even find her? How is she going to get home without them spotting her? She can't risk them seeing her, a juicy story about her sure to make the front-page tomorrow if they do. Her producer would kill her if that happened, her label would drop her in a second like he had warned. This was her last chance, no more reckless behavior or else her ass would be fired, simple as that. She can't let that happen.

She knows she can't spend the rest of the night out in the open, they are sure to spot her car if they venture out of the van and she knows they will eventually. She's a sitting duck.

Her gaze falls upon the house she's parked in front of and an idea strikes her, not the best one she had, probably the worst really, but it's the only one she's got right now. She opens her door slowly, careful not to alert the paparazzi of her whereabouts, and lowers herself a little as she makes a run for the front door, knocking on the door lightly and hoping the blonde hasn't gone to bed yet. She sighs in relief when the outside light is turned on, Brittany appearing before her a few seconds later.

The annoyance is evident on the blonde's face at seeing her there. "Go away."

"Look, I'll give you five thousand dollars if you do me this favor." Santana rushes out in one breath, chancing a look over her shoulder to check for paparazzi. There are none, thankfully.

"It's not a favor if you pay for it." Brittany points out.

"So, is that a yes?" Santana asks, hopeful, her eyes boring into blue ones with urgency.

Brittany has no energy left to keep bantering back and forward with the singer so she relents with a displeased "Fine", knowing if she helps her she will be off her back sooner and for good this time, she hopes. "What do you want?"

"I need a place to stay tonight." Santana requests, cautious and a little desperate, otherwise she wouldn't be asking refugee from someone she barely (that's an understatement) knows.

"What?" Maybe agreeing to this was a bad idea. She can blame it on the lack of sleep later.

Santana already expected this reaction, but pushes again, not accepting a no for an answer. "Just hear me out, okay?" She says calmly, chancing another look behind herself. Still no one in sight, good. "The paparazzi followed me, well us, here and now I need a place to hide until they go away." She elaborates, quickly, before offering another solution as she spots something from the corner of her eye. "I can stay in the garage and sleep in my car."

She's definitely going to regret this later, Brittany knows, but she's exhausted and not able to think clearly at this point. "Fine. I'm going to open the garage and you just drive your car in there."

Nope, that would not work, at all, Santana notes, the noise and the lights would get the paparazzi's attention and she cannot have that happen. "I can't just turn the engine on, it's going to make noise." She reasons. "We're going to have to push the car into the garage."

Brittany's sure her hearing is betraying her. "We?"

"It's part of the favor, which you said yes to." Santana reminds her, ignoring the glare being thrown her way.

"I didn't say y–" The rest dies in her mouth as she gets pulled by a tanned hand, clasped around her wrist. She's having a sense of déjà vu right now.

Santana drags her towards the garage door, tasking her with opening it while she goes to her car to advance the task at hand. Every muscle in her body contracts as she (tries to) pulls her car onto the driveway, a bead of sweat already forming on her forehead, all the while checking for any type of movement from the black van a couple feet away.

Brittany walks towards her at a slow pace, reluctant, as Santana beckons her over. She positions herself behind it while Santana stays outside the driver's side, steering and pushing the car at the same time.

The car is moving at an excruciating slow pace and both girls can feel the burn in their bodies, frustrated at how long this is taking. "You know, you could help a little." Santana says in between breaths, her shirt starting to stick to her body.

"Oh, this car wouldn't be moving if I wasn't pushing it." Brittany counters back, huffing as she glares at the singer from her spot. Her muscles cry out in pain with every push. She's surprised she has any strength left in her after everything.

After what feels like an eternity, they finally get the car fully inside, both taking much needed gulps of air, trying to regain the oxygen necessary in their lungs.

"You will be out of here before morning, right?" Brittany asks as she makes her way towards a shelf on the far corner of the garage, coated with cardboard boxes.

"Yes. Hopefully no one will ever know that I was here." Santana says, her eyes never leaving the street ahead, watchful of any sign of movement.

"I'll know." Brittany says with an eye roll, throwing a blanket at the pop star's head. As much as she dislikes her, she's not going to let her sleep trembling with cold, even though she deserves it.

"Thank you. Thanks a lot." Santana says, her voice laced with sarcasm as she pulls the blanket from her head with a displeased grunt.

Brittany smirks, pleased. "So, is all this really necessary?"

"Yes. Clearly you don't understand. They're everywhere." Santana explains, annoyed at the situation she finds herself in, pointing outside to emphasize her point.

"Paranoid." Brittany singsongs, drawling out the word, mockingly, not understanding what all the fuss is about, but not caring either to inquire further.

"You know what? Just forget it." Of course she wouldn't understand, she thinks.

"Love to." Brittany says simply, rolling her eyes at the girl for the millionth time that night. It must be a new record. "Anything else?"

"No, I'm cool." Santana gestures to the blanket now secured in her arms.

Brittany snorts with a shake of her head at the singer. "Yeah, so cool that you're sleeping in your car." She turns around to leave, but a hand stops her in her tracks. She sighs, impatient, as she looks back to be met with brown eyes fixed upon her own, a crooked smile appearing on Santana's face. "Stop doing that!" Brittany says, frustrated.

"What am I doing?" Santana's confused, but amused also, feeling the way the blonde's arm twitches under her hand.

"Oh, you know exactly what you're doing." Brittany sets her arm free, a scowl appearing on her face, tired of Santana Lopez, the famous pop star, and her games. "In fact, I bet you do it all the time. You give girls that…" She gestures with her hands in front of Santana's face, that damn smile never fading, irritating her even more as she continues her rant. "That look and expect them to fall for you. Well it's not working for me so get over it." She finishes, not giving the girl a chance to reiterate as she walks out, closing the garage door on her way.

Santana, on her part, follows the retreating figure with her eyes, amused, until she's out of sight and the door shuts completely.

What a night, she thinks again as she walks to the backseat of her car.

What a night indeed.

A/N (April 6th, 2020):

Yes, I'm alive and finally back, guys! I can't believe it's been 6 years already, I'm so sorry!

So, a few things:

- I decided to rewrite this story, because the writing was terrible. Don't know if it'll be much better now, but I can only hope. You'll be the judges!

- Like I said in the beginning, this story won't be long, probably 8 chapters.

- I'll publish a new chapter every week (on saturdays or sundays), so you don't need to worry about waiting another 6 years for this.

For those who followed this story from the beginning, I'm so sorry for the wait and thank you for sticking around. I hope you like how it all unfolds.

For those who are new here, I hope you enjoy the ride.

As always, don't forget to review, follow and favorite. I like to see what you guys think.

Thank you so much for reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or StarStruck, I'm only responsible for the shitty writing I put you guys through.