Author's Note: Well would you look at that! I'm back! It's been forever, so I'm a little rusty. Anyway, here's a little something for you all to enjoy! The title came straight from my noggin, but Coldplay's 'Fix You' can be an inspiration as well! Enjoy!

When in the moment of it, there is absolutely nothing worse than lying in bed for hours on end trying to fall sleep but failing miserably to do so. If not incredibly annoying, it's also downright frustrating. Unfortunately for one Brittany S. Pierce, that was exactly what she was experiencing. Her brain just would not shut up. It kept talking to her, bringing up things she didn't want to think about and replaying memories like moving pictures in her head. She didn't want to deal with any of it, though. It was late, she was tired, and she just want to sleep. It had been hours since she had first lain down. She tossed and turned in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, scrunched her eyes shut to try and make it darker, counted sheep to as high of a number as she could get without getting distracted by something or another, but it seemed that she just couldn't fall asleep for the life her.

There was one thing in particular that was bothering her, though, more-so than everything else on her mind. It plagued her thoughts even when she tried to distract herself. It left her feeling pensive and worn-down and if anything she just wanted to completely forget it altogether and go to sleep.

But she knew it wasn't that easy. This wasn't something that she could easily forget. This was something that could come back to haunt her—something that she hated herself for (even if it had been a mistake)—something that could ruin her everything.

After one last turn of her long, lanky body, and an unsuccessful attempt at counting sheep (that had somehow turned into wooly ducks), she sat up in her queen-sized bed in a huff. Reaching for her phone on her nightstand, she punched the first number on her speed-dial and pressed the phone to her ear.

She needed to talk to someone. Anyone. But she couldn't wake her family. She would feel guilty for that and that was the last thing she wanted to feel in that moment. So who better to call than her best friend and one Santana Lopez?

Santana would talk her through this. She might not have been the most ideal person to call in this situation, particularly since Santana was often grumpy when she was prematurely awoken from her slumbers, but she had a way with words when it came to comforting and reassuring Brittany and she always knew exactly what to say to make things better.

However, Santana did not answer her phone and Brittany closed her cell with sigh, not bothering to leave a message. She turned and took one last look at her bed. There was no way she was going to try to fall asleep again. It just wasn't going to happen.

Well, if Santana wasn't going to pick up her phone, she'd have to go with plan B. Plan B wasn't necessarily the easiest course of action, but Brittany was absolutely determined to talk to Santana, even if the thought of it made her a little anxious.

She gulped nervously before pulling on the fuzzy slippers that were on the floor by her bed. Moving as quietly as she could, she exited her bedroom and moved about her house, not wanting to get caught in the process.

Brittany rested her hand on the doorknob and let her long, thin fingers turn the knob as she slowly eased open the door. She leaned forward and peered into the room, trying to make as little noise as possible in case the inhabitant of the room was asleep.

"Santana?" She whispered, albeit loudly enough so that the noise would be audible in case the other girl was in fact awake.

The room was as still and quiet at it was dark, but Brittany stepped inside anyway and shut the door behind her as quietly as she could. She then preceded to tiptoe across the room, her steps light and silent, as only a trained dancer such as herself could do. Upon approaching the bed, she came to a standstill and let her gaze wander the motionless body in front of her.

Santana's eyes were closed softly and she wore a gentle, calm expression on her face. Her thick, dark hair fell loosely around her face and billowed across the pillow beneath her head. Brittany had to physically stop herself from reaching out to tuck a strand behind the sleepy girl's ear.

She looks so peaceful.

Apart from when the two were alone together, Brittany was constantly subjected to a scowling Santana. Seeing her look so at ease was both comforting and relieving. Although Brittany didn't necessarily dislike Santana's hard, bitchy exterior—no, Santana did in fact keep it real and could indeed be quite hilarious—seeing her smile and laugh was always so much better. That attitude had saved her on a number of occasions, though. Santana always stuck up for her no matter what and she could dish out a kick-ass insult or comeback to put you right back in your place to boot, and for that she was appreciative of it. However, Brittany was certainly far from dumb, and she recognized that this persona was a defense mechanism—a sort of wall or shield that Santana had built to protect herself. Although what exactly Santana was defending herself from, she had yet to entirely decipher. What bothered her most about Santana's harsh personality was when she used it in Glee club. Brittany did indeed love everyone in Glee club and the cliché held true: Glee club was a family and that family included Santana, who had even openly admitted to enjoying it. What Brittany didn't understand was why Santana was so constantly set on berating that family and tearing them down. On the occasion that Santana did let her guard down during Glee, Brittany couldn't help but feel like a kid on Christmas morning. The instance always prompted a warm, fuzzy feeling to radiate through her lanky body and usually resulted in a bright, big, toothy smile, (and eventually later to Sweet Lady Kisses as a form of reward for a well-behaved Santana). Unfortunately, a true smile or even the lack of a scowl was a rare occurrence that usually didn't surface unless the two were alone together. So Brittany was grateful to be able to see her best friend in such a calm, peaceful state without Santana's knowledge of her own presence.

Snapping herself out of her thoughts, she remembered why she had come and leaned down ever-so slightly so that she was closer to the sleeping beauty.

"Santana..." she whispered for the second time. The girl's foot fidgeted under the covers out of the corner of her eye, but aside from that rapid movement Santana continued on with her comfortable slumber.

"Santana!" Brittany hissed between closed teeth.

Again she received no response. If there was one thing Santana was truly great at, it was sleeping like a rock.

She pressed a hand to a toned bicep and squeezed lightly. "San!" She said, this time above a whisper.

As soon as the word had escaped her mouth, she felt the bicep trapped in her grip abruptly flex itself. As quickly as she was able to recognize the motion, though, the muscles unclenched and Santana let out a muffled groan.

The body shifted itself in the bed and the girl's eyelids slowly drew back after a slow exhale escaped her lips. Santana's eyes sleepily rested on the tall blonde standing next to her, glassy and foggy from sleep. After a few short moments, she furrowed her brow and upon regaining conscious awareness, she quickly blinked a few times in succession before jolting upright and letting out a startled yelp.

"Jesus! Shit, Brittany!" She yelled in a hushed whisper, using the girl's entire first name rather than one of the usual abbreviated nicknames. Santana was sitting up in bed now, the blankets thrown off of her upper body and twisted around her legs.

"Hi," Brittany whispered back.

"You scared the fucking shit out of me!" She put a hand over her chest to emphasize her exasperated breathing. "What the hell are you doing here?" She leaned over and checked the clock on the bedside table to the left of her. "It's the middle of the fucking night!"

"You didn't answer your phone," Brittany stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, maybe because I was sleeping!" Santana countered, putting extra emphasis on the final word.

"I see that now, but I thought that maybe you lost your phone or dropped it in the toilet again."

"That was one time!" She retorted, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

Brittany ignored the remark. "I was hoping you were awake."

"Well I am now..." Santana mumbled under her breath.

"What was that, S?"

"Nothing. And anyway," she shook her head, "how the hell did you even get in here? My window's locked."

"I know where your parents keep the spare key," Brittany stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Britt, I don't even know where they keep that thing."

Brittany shrugged.

"But why are you here?" Santana prodded, considering she had been snubbed of an answer the first time she asked.

"I couldn't sleep."

Santana exhaled a loud sigh. She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath. "So let me get this straight," she began, "you snuck out of your house, walked a mile to get here—in the dark—and then broke into my house, all just so you could tell me that you can't sleep?"

"I used a key, so technically I didn't break in."

Santana raised an apprehensive eyebrow. "So is that a 'yes'?"

"Yep." Brittany nodded her head. "You didn't answer your phone, so my only other option was to come tell you myself." She shrugged nonchalantly.

Santana looked the girl up and down. Brittany was dressed in a pair of cotton short-shorts, a loose t-shirt, and her bare feet were partially covered by a pair of slippers. Her hair was tied up in a loose, messy bun. She smiled anxiously at Santana, who couldn't help but notice that it literally looked like Brittany must have climbed straight out of bed and left her house, not bothering to change or adjust her appearance in the slightest. Had she not been a little miffed at being awoken from her peaceful slumber, she would have found it quite adorable.

Santana let out a sigh, unable to resist her best friend and that endearing smile that covered her face. She pulled the blankets back a little and scooted over to the far side of the bed and patted the spot next to her. "Alright," she conceded, drawing out the word a bit. "C'mere, you. You must be freezing. It's cold outside."

Brittany let out a little squeak of excitement and bounded up and down a few times before kicking off her slippers and climbing in next to Santana. She situated herself beneath the sheets and blankets and sidled up next to Santana so that they were sat just a few inches apart.

"So why can't you sleep, huh?" Santana prodded Brittany's arm playfully.

Brittany chewed on the bottom of her lip thoughtfully. "I don't know. I was just thinking about stuff and couldn't fall asleep."

"Like what? What kind of stuff keeps my Britt-Britt up at night?" Santana comfortably snaked an arm around the girl's torso and pulled her against her body so that their sides were flush with one another. To her surprise and for having just walked outside in the chilly, Fall night air wearing little clothing, her body was relatively warm.

Brittany was silent.

Santana waited for a few quiet moments until she was sure that she would get no answer. She glanced to her right to see Brittany's eyes glued to the ceiling. It wasn't that blank stare that Brittany often sported when she zoned out. Rather, her pupils seemed to dance around the whites of her eyes, almost as if she was drawing patterns and shapes into the ceiling.

Santana's expression fell a little and a pang of concern began to sweep over her. "Britt, is something bothering you?" She touched the girl's wrist reassuringly.

Brittany continued to worry her bottom lip between her teeth, but she eventually pried her eyes off the ceiling to quickly glance at Santana before readjusting her gaze to stare at the wall across the room. She let out a tiny sigh that was so quiet that Santana wasn't sure if she had actually heard it at all.

"I don't know...I mean, I guess..." Her voice was low and barely above a whisper.

The fact that Brittany refused to look at Santana sent a chill down her spine. She frowned and tried to match Brittany's gaze across the room, as if inspecting the wall for whatever could possibly be more important or interesting than herself in this very moment. She hated when Brittany was so aloof. They were best friends for God's sake—relationship complications aside. What could possibly make Brittany so uncomfortable as to avoid her line of questioning? And more so, why did she feel such an aversion to straight up telling her what was on her mind? Isn't that what best friends are supposed to do? If anything, Santana felt a little offended that Brittany would withhold something from her, particularly something that appeared to bother her to the point where she felt unsure as to whether or not she could even confide in her own best friend. However, she quickly shook it off upon seeing the distorted look of worry on her friend's face, realizing that if there was indeed something really bothering Brittany, that that was not okay—not if she had anything to say about it.

"Hey," Santana whispered softly. She gently took Brittany's chin in her fingers and angled it so that they were facing each other. She then preceded to tuck a strand of blonde hair out of her face and behind her ear. "You know you can tell me anything, B. Right?"

"Well, yeah—"

"If you tell me I can try and make it better." She offered Brittany a small, encouraging smile as she tightened her hold around her torso in a pseudo-hug.

"I don't know about this time..."

"Are you doubting my innate, magical ability to cheer my favorite blondie up?"

"Oh, no, it's just—this time I don't think there's anything you can do. Even with your superpower."

Santana furrowed her brow. "Britt, what's going on?"

"You're going to be mad," Brittany mumbled, looking down to avoid Santana's piercing gaze.

"You know I could never really be mad at you."

"Mhm." Again, the answer was mumbled and half-hearted.

Santana sighed at Brittany's continued aversion to her questioning and her stubborn determination to avoid telling her what was bothering her. "You didn't come here because you couldn't sleep, did you?"

Brittany turned again to face Santana. "Kind of...I just feel really guilty, and I don't want you to be mad at me, and I really want to be able to go to sleep, and I also kind of really sorta just wanted to see you." She threw her arms around Santana and buried her head against her shoulder. "Please don't be mad at me!"

"Brittany," Santana said slowly, "what did you do?"

It was silent for a short moment before Brittany finally blurted out, "I-accidentally-told-Rachel-you-were-lebanese-and-then-I-told-her-about-us!" The words came out quickly, strewn together to sound like one long, jumbled word rather than a coherent sentence.

Santana's heart skipped a beat. "I'm sorry, what?" She asked, shaking her head and hoping that she had heard the blonde wrong. "And a little slower this time, please."

Brittany swallowed forcefully before removing her head from Santana's shoulder and meekly stating, "I accidentally told Rachel that you're a lesbian and that we have—feelings—for each other." Upon getting the final word out she unwrapped herself from Santana, turned around, and quickly slipped as far she could underneath the sheets, covering her head with a pillow as a shield to hide from what she could only presume would be an angry, raging Santana, who at any second would go off on a fiery rampage.

Brittany had seen Santana angry before, plenty of times at that, albeit that anger was never directed at herself. Much like an angry Coach Sylvester, when provoked it was best to duck and run for cover because not only would Santana: A) Kick your ass, and, B) Slash you with her vicious, vicious words (which included both English and Spanish variations), but she also had a bit of a reputation for kicking, throwing, and generally going into 'bull-in-a-china-shop' mode and devastating a room. To put it bluntly, Santana was capable of going bat-shit crazy and it was not a pleasant site to see.

However, the attack never came. Instead, the room was dead silent and absolutely still.

Santana looked like a deer caught in headlights with her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. She hadn't believed her ears the first time and had hoped that she'd simply imagined that she'd heard some of the worst words she could possibly ever hear. But Brittany had confirmed it and now it seemed like her worst fear, something that often was the cause of tantalizing nightmares, was becoming a reality.

Inside her chest her heartbeat felt erratic: first it would speed up along with her adrenaline, pumping rapidly and reverberating into a pounding in the back of her skull, to the point where it felt like at any second it would beat out of her chest, but then the beating would almost instantly vanish to where she could no longer feel anything but the absence and tightness that one feels when their heart skips consecutive beats.

Her palms were quickly growing clammy and sweaty, and she soon came to the realization that her entire body was shaking. She tried to stop it, tried to get a hold of herself, but her mind was racing a million miles a minute and she couldn't focus enough to regain control.

This can't be happening. This can't be happening. No. No, no, no, no, no! Not now. I'm not ready. It's not supposed to happen like this. No one was supposed to know. How much would a plane ticket to New York cost? There's always Tribeca. Oh God, Brittany, why did you have to say something? And Berry at that? Jesus fuck, she'll tell everyone. No, this can't be happening to me!

She wanted to scream, and cry, and throw things, and cuddle up with Brittany who would whisper soothing things into her ear to comfort her all at the same time. Her emotions were running wildly about, pulling her in all different directions and she didn't know which one was the appropriate one to be feeling. Should she be angry? Scared? Sad? All of the above? Was it, dare she even say it—a good thing? Maybe this was a step in the right direction—

No, dammit! You're not ready to come out. People aren't supposed to know yet. This is going to ruin everything! Everyone is going to find out and then you'll be eaten alive. Your reputation will be over. You'll be over.

At the lack of outburst, Brittany slowly poked her head out from underneath the pillow to study Santana's reaction. She was visibly shaking and her eyes and expression were blank, as if she were lost in her own little world.

"S-S-San-Santana?" She stuttered over the name and bit her lower lip apprehensively as she waited for a response. When she did not receive one, she slowly pulled herself up and tapped the trembling girl lightly on the shoulder. "San, are you okay?"

Upon feeling the touch on her shoulder, Santana was yanked from her thoughts and brought back to a worried-looking Brittany. She looked sullen and frightened, her body language conveying her own disappointment in herself as she hunched her shoulders and clasped her hands together against her body.

"Are you mad at me?" Brittany whispered.

Santana took one more long look at Brittany, surveying her up and down before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

Alright, S. You are Santana Motherfucking Lopez. You've got to stop moping and crying about it. Suck it the fuck up, the damage is done. Now do something about it before it gets out of hand.

"No, I told you, B. I can't ever be mad at you," she finally replied.

"But I—"

"Did you mean to?"

"Oh, well, no..."

"Then I'm not mad."

"Okay." The word was whispered.

"Just tell me one thing. When did it happen?"

"Today, after school."

"Perfect." At that, Santana hopped out of bed and began quickly moving about her room. She went over to her dresser and changed into a pair of sweatpants before locating her shoes and hastily slipping them on her feet. She was going to fix this.

"San, what are you doing?" Brittany sounded more confused than normal, her voice laced with animosity.

Santana ignored her question. "Get up and put some shoes on. Change your clothes if you're going to be cold—you can borrow whatever you want. We're going out."

Brittany slowly got out of bed and approached Santana's closet. She chose a sweatshirt and slipped it on over her t-shirt. She began looking around the room for her slippers, all the while keeping an eye on the bustling Santana who was gathering various items, including her car keys, and throwing them in her purse. She watched as Santana grabbed her phone, dialed a number, and held the phone to her ear.

"Who are you calling?" Brittany asked wearily.

"Berry. We're going to go pay her a little visit."

Brittany exhaled heavily. "Santana—" she began, in hopes of talking some sense into her strung out best friend, but she was quickly cut off.

"I'm going to fix this," Santana stated sternly. Aside from an almost undetectable waver in her voice, Santana had seemingly regained her composure and sounded just as determined as ever.

The phone continued to ring against her ear. Bitch, answer your damn phone! To her dissatisfaction it went to voicemail and Rachel's prerecorded rambling filled her ear.

Angrily, she hung up. "Fuck! She didn't answer."

Brittany looked at Santana as if she'd said the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. "Well of course not, San. No one answers their phone in the middle of the night. Everyone's sleeping."

Santana's jaw dropped as she stared at Brittany.


"But you—earlier—I—" She sighed and massaged her temples in an attempt to relieve her growing stress-headache. "Never mind. C'mon, let's go."

Thanks for reading and hopefully you enjoyed it! Remember, reviews make for happy writers and happy writers put out chapters faster! And now for some shameless self-promotion: feel free to follow me on Tumblr! Link on my FF profile!