*Looks Meek* Hello. I really can't even say anything right now other than: I'm so sorry! But sometimes life just gets in the way. :/

I will be continuing this, but I honestly can't promise you any quick updates right now. Maybe once next semester starts I can a little more regularly.

But thank you to all of the people who still follow this and have still continued to leave reviews; it is very much appreciated.

Input on 3x06: Everybody's doing it so I have too as well. I've never liked Finn, and this goes back all the way to season one. And you can't use that 'well it's cause you support femslash pairings.' No. I have equal love for femslash and male/female pairings. I was actually a huge Fabrevens shipper. But I have never liked Finn. To me he's always been hypocritical and indecisive; childish and selfish among other things. He can cheat(cue kissing Rachel twice in season one while he was with Quinn) but can't be cheated on. Cue Rachel kissing Puck in season 2. Now Quinn getting pregnant I can completely understand him upset. Different story. And he also is all about teamwork when he's the 'leader' of New Directions, but when someone tries to be a leader as well(Sam in season 2 and now Blaine) he gets a little defensive and threatened. So no, I've never been big on his character. I love the actor, Cory, to death. Awesome guy. I just hate the character he portrays. Now I do love Santana. She's a bitch and she admits it. Admittedly though, she can't seem to take what's fired back at her. I've noticed this. But there's two different levels of hurting someone. A line to be crossed. She insults Finn constantly, which I have to admit is a little amusing. I don't like him, so sue me. But I can understand where his charatcer might be hurt by her words. BUT, there's a huge difference in insulting your physique and outting someone. I don't think he meant all of Ohio and everyone to find out television wise, but he certainly should have properly thought out the consequences before calling Santana out in the hallway where everyone could hear. That itself wasn't very nice. I think he deserved the slap that was coming. He needs a wake up call, seeing as he has seen Kurt at McKinley and him coming out of the closet and the consequences. But then again, he was mysteriously absent whenever it came to standing up for him.

So all in all: Santana needs to be able to take it if she dishes it. But Finn did overstep some boundaries. He deserved the slap he got. Okay. That is all. If you don't agree then just put agree to disagree and don't leave several paragraphs of why I'm wrong.

Warnings: A little Brittany/Quinn in this chapter. It will NOT turn into a pairing. Just gonna explore a little of the Unholy Trinity/Santana and Quinn rivarly dynamic. Just throwing that out there. And a little Santana/Sam, because we are going towards the Sue Sylvester Superbowl Shuffle and through Blame It On The Alcohol. But with my own twist, of course. And it was hard writing a bad-guy Santana in this chapter after 3.06, but I need it for the story.

Hope you like. Reviews appreciated and constructive criticisms welcome. I'm very rusty on my writing so forgive me.










Chapter Four: One Step At A Time

At first it was the hardest thing she had ever attempted to do.

Because although she enjoyed Mike, Sam, and Quinn - when she wasn't acting like her brooding, detached self - as friends, it just wasn't the same as her friendship with Santana. One was for one of the more obvious reasons; the other was because ever since Junior High they had been attached by the pinkie.

And that's why it was incredibly difficult for Brittany and her current cold-shoulder to her best friend; whether they had been depressed, scared, or even the least bit angry at each other, they always reached for each other at the start of the day as if it were second nature to them. Which the blonde surmised that it genuinely was. And walking through the doors of Mckinley only to have Santana just nod at her and continue on her way, well, it was absolutely heart-breaking. It caused Brittany to uncharacteristically frown and suddenly wonder why she felt as if something had gone completely off-balance; like a routinely ritual was suddenly broken in less then a second, making you feel as if you're blinking in shock and just wondering what happened to make you break that routine.

Except the fact that Brittany certainly did know.

She had rejected Santana yesterday in the classroom. And the brunette had yet to text, call, and now refused to lock their pinkies together. And now that the dancer thought about it, it kinda sorta pissed her off. Why did Santana always get the right to act normal and nonchalant when something actual does transpire between the two of them; she knew the dark-skinned girl would never confess to that. Why does Santana get to play games and call the shots on who she gets to fuck around with? Pardon the pun. Couldn't Brittany actually call the shots just this once? Apparently not, because Santana had broken that unspoken rule and now Brittany was outright avoiding her.

It almost made her physically ill that this entire situation had caused more drama than it was worth.

It almost made her feel as ill as seeing her placement dummy being shot halfway across the football field.

Oh! And it combusting into tiny pieces.

She ignored the crazed rants of Sue Sylvester and her megaphone, instead choosing to survey the beautiful skies of Ohio; slightly obscured, due to the still falling pieces of the dummy still tracking its way onto the well-kept grounds of the football field.

And she felt an inane amount of fear bubble up within her; kind of like when she got tummy aches and had to deal with the resulting Tums. It made her blue eyes dim in slight fear and her fingers between to twitch in the confines of her Cheerio's letterman. And Brittany wasn't stupid. She saw - along with everyone else - the completely maniacal grin on Sue's face, and she knew that the woman would stop at nothing to have her tallest Cheerio blasted out of the very unsafe confetti cannon. She would probably even feed some stupid story that had to do with baby cannons and a contract.

But her fear must have presented itself quite obviously across her face, because she was a little startled when a soft and familiar hand wrapped itself around her own. She didn't need to turn her head to the side, because she knew exactly who it was; she also felt another familiar presence on her other side; her captain.

Brittany shook her head, only vaguely noticing the other cheerleaders walking off the field. "I'm so dead."

She could detect her own quiver, and suprisingly it was immediately Quinn that provided the immediate reassurance. A hand - much lighter than Santana's own - gently placed itself on her shoulder comfortingly, and she leaned into it slightly as it began to squeeze. She was slightly suprised when she felt Santana's hand pulling away from her grasp, and she turned to look at the unreadable face of her best friend.

"It's not a big deal, Britt. She'll fix it up and we will win Nationals."

She could even feel Quinn's incredulousness from the tighter grip on her shoulders, and she felt slightly better knowing that at least the shorter blonde certainly thought it was a big deal. And Brittany felt more than a little hurt by the offhand comment that was supposed to be reassuring. And she felt the momentary warmth that had gripped her when Santana approached had all but faded with that one single - unintentional - jab. And the slight hurt and building resentment only blossomed even more so when her darker-skinned counterpart just examined her nails in a nonchalant manner.

She bit down on her lip hard and she leaned more toward Quinn's body; the shorter blonde in question was subtly glaring at Santana and giving Brittany a soft, affectionate look. The perfectly manicured nails dug into her shoulder almost subconsciously, and by now Quinn was glaring at the cannon.

"I'll talk to Mr. Schuester about this. There's no way him and Figgins will let this happen."

Oddly enough, Brittany no longer cared about potentially being blasted into a million splinters, because the way Santana suddenly just shrugged noncommittedly and turned around and walked off, she reckoned that it would actually feel a little bit better than this.




And then it was just hard.

Because when said one that you have feelings for totally disregards you, than it gives you enough leverage and momentum to push yourself out of their clutches.

A part of Brittany only wished that Mr. Schue hadn't stopped the confetti cannons a few weeks back, because it would have been easier to just break her that way. She got it, she really really did. Santana liked to play games with anyone and everyone; it was the guilty attractive trait that drew the blonde in like a moth to a flame. But when it came to the blonde herself, she most certainly didn't like it one bit. It absolutely killed her to know that Santana had unconsciously turned this all into one of her games. Because even though her best friend was indecisive, not even she could just chalk down into simpy that.

The girl couldn't just admit it or say, 'relationship or no relationship?'

And over the pass few weeks it had gotten a little out of control, one might say. On one hand it helped Brittany realize that it just might be a never-ending saga that involved her being a lost puppy dog and Santana being a dictator, and that ever so slightly helped her on her way to getting over Santana and her games. But on the other hand, it was just so painful and harsh and confusing; Brittany felt like she had those flu pains where she couldn't move and it made her body ache all over, but only this time it included her heart as well.

It just wasn't fair, because she honestyl felt as if she didn't know her best friend anymore; it hurt her more when she caught the faintest glimpses of the girl who once pushed Puck to the ground in the sixth grade for making fun of Brittany's duck dress. She used to love that girl. She still did, but it was growing harder to with every single second. Because she oddly used to love Santana's mood swings and continuous touches, and now she just wanted all of that to stop and never come back out again.

Thank God for Mike Chang and dancing, or else she would have probably broken down and started crying.

But she didn't. She followed his effortless twirls and almost sensual hip thrusts and continued to lose herself on the stage floor, the bright lights casting their constantly moving glares onto the magenta curtains behind them. Brittany didn't necessarily know why they were doing this, but she had never really needed much reason to dance. And although Mike was exactly the same in that aspect, she couldn't help but feel as if a part of him was doing this for her benefit. Mike always had that sweet, subtle way to cheer her up.

She genuinely appreciated it.

She panted as she finally came to a stop, and she could see Mike bending over and stretching his right leg in her peripheral vision.

"So...how pissed are you?"

She could feel herself stiffening unintentionally. She would like to say that she was suprised by Mike's blunt question, but that would be an outright lie. The receiver and dancer may not talk all that much, but he was certainly to the point and unapologetic when he did tend to speak. It was actually quite nice. He didn't sugarcoat shit.

"I'm pretty mad, Mike," she frowned.

She could feel his eyes on her as she trapsed slowly towards the edge of the stage and glumly sat upon it, her long legs dangling off. She knew she would end up having this conversation with someone, and who better than her best friend? Well...best friend without benefits. Because Mike had been friends with Santana almost as long as she had, and while he had specifically warned her off any romantic feelings for the girl, he had also been one of the very few to get Santana to talk to him. They weren't as close as the two of them were, because her and Mike actually talked to one another, but him and Santana had this weird silent connection thing.

It was almost like Quinn and Rachel's...except, well, less unicorn.

She could hear his heavy breaths as he plompt right beside her on the edge, silently reaching for his backpack and pulling out a bottle of water, which she happily accepted.

"Have you talked to Sam?"

She shrugged, and tried to ease her inner guilt. "I may have yelled and he just stayed quiet."

Mike just surveyed her without judgement and nodded his head.

"You two need to eventually work it out. I'm not supporting what happened at all; I don't think it was right in terms of friendship. But the three of us are Amigos, Britt-Britt."

Brittany sighed forlornly and took a sip of water, just looking over all of the empty seats; she wondered what it would be like if an audience just came and watched them dance. No singing, no pain, and no backstabbing friends fucking up any of the non-existent routines. She could actually imagine herself smiling and forgetting everything that was happening; just dancing with Mike and gaining applause. She wouldn't have to be able to sing beautifully like Rachel, or be a delicate alto with the wit and smarts like Quinn, or be the smoky rasps of Santana with the saucy stage presence. She could just be Brittany; she could just dance with Mike and be at the center of the stage for once.

She stood up abruptly. "I guess I'll talk to him tonight."

Mike raised an eyebrow. "At Berry's Trainwreck Extravaganza?"

Brittany nodded and pursed her lips. "If he can detach his mouth from Santana's long enough to hold a conversation."

Mike made a noise of discontentment in the back of his throat, but he made no move to defend Sam. He just clambored to his feet and joined Brittany once more in stretching. And she knew that she probably wouldn't talk to Sam tonight, but she wanted to placate a slightly distraught Mike. She knew he was only trying to be a friend and make them call a truce; he just didn't understand it to some point, because he had Tina and she was sure that he would understand if it were him in her position.

Santana and her weren't official; everyone and their blind mothers knew this. But still, to have a friend that you relied on and who actually watched your struggle at getting over your closest friend only to start dating the person you were trying to get over was a big party foul in her book. She's made out with half of the school, yes, but she had never told anyone that she had always made sure that they were single. Brittany wasn't Santana. It made her internally cringe when she thought that, because she had never said one cruel thing about Santana, even to herself. But maybe it was time to accept that the latina had flaws; big ones, at that.

Maybe it was just time to admit that something beyond friendship just wouldn't work between the two, no matter how much she wanted it to. But still, she wasn't quite ready to face that or have a conversation with Santana just yet. As much pain as it caused her, maybe it would be a good thing if Sam stayed attached to the fiery girl all night.

Because then Brittany could just breath. Oh! And drink her ass off.

Which is exactly what she ended up doing.

She was the first to reach all of the wine coolers, besides Puck, of course. And while a few seem to be coasting and relaxing their way into their drunkiness, Brittany was already way ahead of them. She was already wasted and the party had only started an hour ago.

It had probably been the - very uncomfortable - body shots that Santana had her do. Brittany drunkenly scowled when she realized that that was the only interaction that the two had had all night long. Dammit. But she could feel her chest constrict and her insides burn - which had absolutely nothing in relation to the alcohol - when she noticed Sam and Santana making out on the couch. It made her eyes involuntarily search out for Mike; he seemed to be enjoying a bottle of tequila with Tina and Artie.

She could feel the loneliness start to settle in the pit of her stomach and all she wanted to do was talk to someone.

Rachel seemed to be almost as drunk as Brittany, swaying in her hideous green dress; she thought she heard Santana call it an abomination earlier that night. But the blonde didn't know if Santana was talking about the dress or Rachel herself. She found herself rolling her eyes when the small girl draped herself over an uncomfortable looking Finn, who was holding a red cup in his hand and taking slow and cautious sips. Kurt was chatting eagerly with a seemingly zoned out Blaine, who actually seemed to be more drunk than Brittany.

At least she wasn't the only heavy drinker at this one party; people would ask questions that she didn't exactly want to answer.

And as she finally made her way over to a bored Quinn she could hear Santana begin to sob in the background; great, that meant she was drunk. She really didn't want to deal with a drunk Santana tonight, and was actually feeling quite sorry for Sam at this point in time. But when she surveyed Quinn's sad hazel eyes and the lonely aura that surrounded the girl, she felt remorse travel up through her. God, Quinn lost her boyfriend to Santana and had to deal with Finn following her around. Admittedly, Quinn shouldn't have cheated on him, but still.

There was a reason that Quinn did things the way she did; she never went through with something without reason. She would never attempt or begin to understand the shorter blonde, but she was still her friend. Her and Santana were the only Cheerios who had ever treated her like she was an equal; they never called her stupid or gave her a single ounce of that fake sugary sweetness.

So all in all, she respected her and valued her friendship with Quinn; it was distant at times, but maybe Brittany appreciated the wall that the former captain never tried to broach.

In turn, Brittany never tried to cross lines with her, either.

But she could feel happiness swell up when Quinn shot her a small - albeit - genuine smile; she quite ungracefully sat herself close to the smaller blonde, accidently spilling a bit of rum out of her cup and wincing when it hit a part of the couch. She heard Quinn sigh softly and start dabbing at the spot gently with a napkin in her hand; she didn't seem to mind, because she continued to smile at Brittany.

The dancer thought she muttered a, 'Hey, Q.'

She felt herself leaning her head on Quinn's shoulder for some much needed comfort; maybe the former captain needed comfort herself, even if it was hidden behind an icy mask. She felt a bit of hurt blossom in her chest when Quinn stiffened slightly, and it was then that she remembered Quinn's slight intimacy issue. The shorter blonde had always been tense when Santana and Brittany went to hug her; it was a complexity that not even Brittany's imperceptive self could ever read into. Quinn was like a rubix cube and Brittany had yet to find the right combination of matching colors.

She felt nimble fingers grasp her shoulder awkwardly and squeeze; she was incredibly astounded when she felt a head rest gently on top of hers and settle there almost comfortably. It was actually nice. But at the same time, it made Brittany's chest ache with the realization that it was an almost obligated show of friendship to bound the two and reaffirm reassurance. If the two of them weren't so lonely and miserable and heartbroken than she could bet Lord Tubbington's smokes that her and Quinn wouldn't be hugging it out now. Plus, Quinn was an angry drunk and she really must be feeling bad if she was allowing Brittany to cuddle against her. It had only been thirty minutes ago that the shorter blonde was chucking her red cup at Puck and raging about body issues and inward scars; outward too, if the cursing about stretchmarks was anything to go by.

She thought she heard a sniffle on the top of her head, and she felt her brow unconsciously furrow as her long arm went to wrap around Quinn's waist awkwardly.

"I-It's okay, Quinnie," she murmured, trying to soothe the temperamental blonde.

It was rather humorous. As much as Quinn and Santana had their differences - which was a massive understatement - and constant bickering battles, personality wise they were alike in many ways. They both had an intimadating presence, and they were the only two in McKinley that could strut down the hallways and make everyone shrink back in fear. Brittany only received that by association. But Quinn and Santana, they were both complicated and grade A Alpha entities that could swarm over the chessboard and wittingly knock out every player in the game until they took each other down; it was also whoever they happened to be currently battling with, as well.

"Santana's such a bitch," muttered Quinn, suprisingly nestling further into Brittany.

Brittany giggled and pulled her closer, removing her head from Quinn's shoulder and turning to face her. Her smile dropped slightly when she noticed the blonde's hazels focused to where Santana and Sam still resided, pecking each other on the lips; Sam would continously do it even more so and his face would stretch in panic when Santana's face contorted in the effort not to cry. Brittany would honestly laugh if the burning sensation in her stomach and the sudden urge to punch something didn't overwhelm her entire being.

Quinn's lips were pursed and her upper lip trembled almost imperceptively.

Brittany was at a loss for words, and she honestly didn't know how to comfort someone like Quinn. Mike and Santana were second nature, but Quinn had always been that distant third and it almost made Brittany nervous whenever she was alone with the blonde and didn't quite know what to do.

So she felt somewhat relieved with Rachel's cry of, "SPIN THE BOTTLE!"

And Brittany would love to blame the alcohol in this situation.

Because sitting in a circle with a bottle in the middle wasn't unfamiliar to Brittany; neither was kissing half of the damn circle. But oh well, this was a party and they were drunk. She wouldn't remember this in the morning; if she somehow did, than she wouldn't remember this in the morning. That's how she rolled, to avoid the awkwardness at any given cost, even fake memory loss.

But she wasn't quite counting on what happened next; she couldn't forget this if she tried.

The bottle had spun so fast that it almost launched off the checkerboard; it made a drunken Blaine giggle hysterically and a now angry Santana to snap, "Watch it!"

Brittany was almost dizzy watching the bottle continuously spin; she honestly hadn't meant to grab ahold of it with such eagerness. That's why she blamed it on her drunken state. And as it finally began to slow and relieved groans were heard throughout the room, the blonde unwillingly felt her breath hitch when it almost stopped on a strangely intense Santana; the dark-skinned girl was clenching her hands together and her dark almond eyes were flickering from the bottle onto Brittany. And the dancer wasn't stupid. She knew Santana was just waiting for an opportunity to kiss her again, and it made her feel quite contrite when she realized that she wouldn't mind the bottle landing on Santana. But it made Brittany inwardly frown and beg for it not to; she was attempting to get over her best friend and kissing her would certainly not help her mission at all.

She must put selfishness aside and not fall back into Santana's clutches; she had been there enough and had choked to death in her efforts to turn the girl into something she wasn't: girlfriend material. She refused to let that line be crossed anymore, for her own sanity above everything else.

But she felt the air shoot out of her body when the bottle kept weakly spinning and landed two spots away.

'Oh, shit.'

She chanced a look at Santana, and she wished she wouldn't have.

Her best friend looked startlingly furious; her eyes were blazing and her full pink lips were downset in a mixture of distaste and complete disapproval. Behind the anger and all the fury and the apprehension in Brittany's chest, she could see the insecurity in Santana's eyes spring up when she looked between Brittany and the person that the bottle had landed upon. Santana was shaking her head and looked ready to be sick, and Brittany wondered if this what she looked like when she noticed Santana and Puck; now Santana and Sam.

It was a look of disgust, but it was underneath all of that that made Brittany feel a bizarre adrenaline hit and a brazen feeling of selfishness and revenge.

It was unmatched jealousy.

...and Brittany loved it.





Muhuahuahuahua! I already have part of another chapter written for this. And I know who it is! (Sing-song voice)

Don't hate me!