agentb81 (agentb81) wrote,

Fic: The World is a Stage - Part 23/?

Title:  The World is a Stage 23/?
Author: agentb81
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana, Brittany/OC
Rating: 15 - R
Word Count: 2700
Disclaimer: Glee is copyrighted and belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Use of other personalities is not a reflection of their real lives and is completely fictional.
Summary:  Sort of AU/Future fic, the lives of Santana and Brittany in their early twenties.
Spoilers: References to Seasons 1 and 2.
A/N: This is a continuation from the apparently cruel cliffhanger I left you with! I really hope you're not disappointed . . .

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15 / Part 16 / Part 17 / Part 18 / Part 19 / Part 20 / Part 21 / Part 22


“Hey. Good morning.” The blonde welcomed with grin.

“Hey.” Came the tired reply.

“What’s up?”

“I got a text to say she finished work, but I don’t think Santana came home last night Quinn.” Brittany replied with a frown.


“Maybe you’re worrying about nothing Brittany.” Quinn said.

“Santana text me to say she was coming home, she tweeted pretty much the same, except she didn’t call anyone beautiful and she didn’t type kisses.” Explained the dancer, “Why would she do that and not come home?” Quinn pondered the question, Brittany was right, Santana could be a lot of things, but a liar was not one of them and she always kept her word. In light of recent events, this new piece of news was unsettling to Santana’s assistant.

 “She may have got back to her trailer, lay down for a minute and fallen asleep. It’s happened before.”

“Really?” Brittany asked hopefully.

“Sure.” Quinn said with a smile, trying to convince herself that was all that had happened. Brittany picked up her cell phone and hit speed dial.

“It’s going straight to voicemail.” The blonde dancer said with a frown.

“Her battery could have died.” Quinn sighed. It would be a long morning, and she knew she had to find out where Santana was without worrying Brittany. The first thing she was concerned about was how. Brittany gulped down the rest of her coffee and slammed the mug on the work surface. Wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. She made a beeline to the door in which she had just appeared. “Where you going?” Quinn called after her.

“Shower, then clothes, then I’m going to the studio and surprise San.” She said with a smile before she disappeared into the hallway. When Quinn was sure she was out of earshot she pulled out her cell phone.

“Hey babe, Santana’s missing, I need your help.”




The banging was unrelenting. It was like a jackhammer was going off inside of her head. She was slowly regaining consciousness and groaned as she attempted to lift her head. Initial thoughts that flooded through her pointed toward one crazy hangover, it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, however her stomach wasn’t churning, which usually went hand in hand with the incredible headache. Opening her eyes, she first saw her legs, drawn at the knee. Attempting to lift her head again, caused the crick in her neck to send a wave of pain through her being. Santana scowled and wiggled her body slightly, straightening the kinks in her back, however, the way she was sat had her sensations numbed. She moved to stretch her legs, only to find they were confined, bound at the ankle. It was then when the memories came flooding back. She dared a glance upward. She met the glare of her captor. The pounding continued, Santana broke the gaze, realising the sound was coming from outside. She opened her mouth, before any sound escaped the hoarse throat a hand was covering it. The banging stopped, a muffled voice was heard through the walls, shouting from the other side.

“Santana!?” Santana’s eyebrows rose. ‘Puck’ she thought. It was now or never. She closed her eyes tightly and bit the hand of her captor, the hand retreated with a yelp and resulted in an angry fist across the Latina’s face, she barely had time to think, ‘not again’ before she found herself yelling at the top of her lungs.

“Puck, help!”




Several hours earlier . . .


This was a not a situation she thought she would ever find herself in. Santana tugged at the coarse material that had her hands bound together. The Latina hung her pounding head, the throbbing reminded her of a hangover following a heavy night of drinking. She groaned as she felt her brain pulsate against her skull.

 “Stop it, pleeaaase.” She begged. “You’re killing me.”

“Oh Santana, you’d know if I was killing you.”

The Latina huffed before she sighed in defeat, her shoulders slumped and her head fell forward, closing her eyes, willing the pain to stop. Images of Brittany flooded her mind, the blonde bouncing around, dancing and singing happy songs. The pictures faded to black and the scene before her came to the forefront of her mind. She was in her trailer, her own trailer, it was dark aside from the trickle of light from a studio lamp outside.

“Brittany will be worried.” She said quietly. 

“Brittany.” There was a pause. “You really think I care?”

“Why are you doing this?” Santana asked.

“I have my reasons.”

“You’re psychopath!” the Latina blasted.

“A psychopath.”  Santana rolled her eyes at the repeated statement made by her captor. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a very nice person.” Santana spat, her eyes trained on the floor before her. “Actually, you know what? I think if you were going to do something you would have done it by now.” She began, gaining confidence as she spoke, “I don’t get it, really, you lure me into a false sense of security by actually being nice, I knew I should have been suspicious, but alas, I’ve had no fucking sleep for nearly twenty four hours. You offer me my own water that I gratefully took, because well, I just nailed an Oscar worthy monologue and I was a little thirsty.” Santana paused a moment, she was rattled and a little out of breath from the speed of her speech.

 “I don’t like your tone.” The captor stated.

“You don’t like my tone. Oh please don’t hit me over the head with a cushion again, my hair might move.” She snarled, “And you know what? I know you drugged my water, I can tell by my slightly cloudy judgment, the fact you’re irritated and you didn’t gag me? And now you’re afraid to come anywhere near me. I mean who drugs someone so little that your victim has to help you move them? I do however, applaud the knots on these bad boys, well done you.” The Latina said with a trademark smirk, referring to the makeshift bonds at her wrists and feet.

“I’m warning you.”

“And don’t even think about putting your studio recorded album of Les Mis on Berry, because my CD player is bust.”

“Santana, may I remind you that I am the one holding you captive?”

“You really don’t need to Berry. You suck.” Santana replied. “And can I remind you that holding me captive in my own trailer was not the brightest idea you’ve ever had.”

“Why do you keep repeating everything I say?” Rachel asked.

“It’s to emphasise the absurdity of your words.” Santana spat. Rachel was perched on the bed at the opposite end of the trailer. “You didn’t answer my question Berry. Why are you doing this?”

“I did answer your question, I told you I have my reasons.”

“Oh come on dwarf, was it you who made the silent phone calls and turned over my trailer?” The Latina asked. Rachel looked nervously away from the other woman. Santana sighed and rolled her eyes. “Is this some sort of retribution for something? Cus seriously? It’s kinda lame.”

“You’ve already made that perfectly clear Santana.”

“Is this about Bryan? Or Brittany? Or jealousy of my talent? Because I would totally understand that. But really? This whole kidnapping thing – and FYI, if I could, I would have used air quotation marks, right there. Anyway, this is twisted and stupid, exactly what are you hoping to achieve?”

“I just wanted to show you that you’re not above everybody else Santana.”

“I know that Berry. My feet are firmly on the ground, I haven’t gone through the last five years of heartbreak and emptiness to think I’m indestructible. I’m not, ok? I’m like every other human being, I have feelings. The reason I’m so good at my job? It’s because all my life I’ve had to pretend to be someone I’m not and for a while in high school, I actually believed it, the lines became blurred and yeah I was a bitch, but I was a Cheerio, I was trained that way. It took Glee club and Brittany to help me realise who I really was and when she left me, that was it, I had to start pretending all over again, especially when my career took off, so forgive me for having feelings Berry, just because I don’t wear them on my sleeve does not make me any less of a person, I just deal with it differently.”

“I . . . I didn’t know, I’m sorry.” Rachel offered in way of apology.

“That was kinda the idea.” Santana snapped.

“You always seem to get what you want. Even when Brittany came back married, you still got her.”

“Yeah, thanks to you.” The Latina chuckled at the irony. “I still don’t know why you did this, it doesn’t make sense. Was this some sort of elaborate plan to spend time alone with me Berry?”

“No!” Rachel squealed, “It’s because I’m jealous ok? I’m jealous that you’re more successful than me and you didn’t give a damn about Glee club or anything but yourself in high school.”

“Seriously? Am I going to have to give you that speech again?” Santana said, an impromptu yawn taking over. “I cared about Glee club, I loved Glee club, it made me feel like me, helped me realise the important things in life.”


They sat in silence for a while, Santana’s head placed back against the wall of the trailer, she felt her eyes close, the tiredness taking over, she didn’t have time to think as sleep consumed her. Rachel had laid down on the bed, thoughts swirling through her mind, so many questions. She was angry with herself. What had led her to this? It had been a trait that she deplored in herself, the fact she was able to resort to absurd tactics to get ahead. She was one of the most selfish beings she knew and while she tried to justify it a lot of the time, she thought she had outgrown such outlandish actions. Since school Rachel Berry had learnt to control the emotions that led her down such paths, having constantly being the victim of her own downfall. However, working so closely with former high school colleagues had her running around and thinking like a sixteen year old again. It was something she could not afford to do, particularly if she wanted to make it in this business, she had to keep her wits about her. Yet here she was, the most ridiculous thing she had ever done could almost certainly ruin her whole career. What the hell was she thinking? Oh right, act first, think later. Typical Rachel Berry.




Puck had been banging on the door to Santana’s trailer for a good while, he was ready to give up, but Quinn’s nagging voice in the back of his mind had spurred him on. Rolling his eyes at the mental image of his girlfriend wagging her finger at him he sighed.  Cramp was taking over his hand, he broke for a moment, shaking it to rid the pain. Trying a new tactic he opened his mouth and yelled through the door.

“Santana!?” he held his ear close to the door and could hear a scuffle from the inside. A moment later, he heard all the confirmation he needed to break the door down.

“Puck, help!” As he continued to kick at the door he smirked at the irony, he had spent so much time during high school up to tricks like these and had vowed to Quinn when she relented to let him be a father to their daughter that he would change. This rocked though, Puck was on the verge of being a hero and it encouraged him further, putting more effort into every kick. Just as he was about to tire, the door gave way, caved under the pressure of the heavy work boot. Puck burst through the open door way and stumbled into the trailer. He stood, jaw slack, he was dumbstruck by the sight that befell him.

“It’s not how it looks.” Rachel said, her hands up in defeat.

“What the fuck kind of kinky games are you into Berry?” he asked. Santana rolled her eyes, ‘typical response from Noah Puckerman right there’ she thought.

“Help me up damnit!” ordered the fiery Latina. Puck found movement in his feet and helped the actress out of her constraints.

“I gotta say, didn’t think you had it in you Berry.” He chuckled.

“Don’t you fucking dare breath a word of this to anyone Puckerman.” Santana warned.

“How the hell did this happen?”  he asked.

“It’s a long story, I ache like hell,” Santana began, she allowed Puck to help her to her feet, “and I need a fucking tetanus shot.”

“What?” shrieked Rachel, “You’re the one who bit me!”

“Exactly, I don’t want to catch rabies or something.” Puck laughed at Santana’s statement, it took him back several years when they were sat on the maroon plastic chairs of Glee club.

“Seriously though dude, you ok?” he asked Santana. “You have one angry bruise forming there.” He pointed toward her face where Rachel had hit her. The shorter brunette winced, it was not her intention to hurt Santana, however she had reacted instinctively.

“Sure, I just have to live with the fact Rachel Berry held me hostage in my own trailer. My ego right now is about this big.” She held her fingers closely together, squinting her eyes for emphasis. “About as big as Berry.” Puck threw an arm around his friend.

“At least she didn’t dent your wit.” He said. “What do you want to do about her?” two pairs of eyes glared at the theatre star. Suddenly Rachel Berry felt more self conscious than she ever had. Santana folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head to the side.

“Right now? Nothing. I just want to see Brittany.” She said. “I’ll deal with you later.” She hissed at her colleague. “Where is she?”

“She and Quinn are on her way. Quinn called ahead, they were worried when you didn’t make it home.” Puck explained. Santana sighed, since Brittany came back her life had been more complicated than ever. She smiled as she thought of the blonde dancer.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She muttered.

“I’m sorry what?” Puck asked with a frown.

“Oh, nothing.” She replied, “Come on, let’s meet our girls at the gate.” She said, taking Puck’s hand and dragging him through the broken door of the trailer and down the steps. “You’re err, gonna have to get that fixed.” She said to a passing maintenance guy.

“You going to tell Brit?” Puck asked.

“Nah.” Santana said, “Not yet anyway, she can do without the stress.” As they rounded the corner, she saw two blonde figures walking toward them.

“She’s going to notice the shiner on your face.”

“Oh crap.” Santana huffed, “The studio are gonna be all over my ass.”

“I think you’re going to have to rethink your strategy here Lopez.”

“The only strategy I’m thinking about right now is . . . umpf” she was unable to finish her sentence as an over excited blonde had run and jumped at the Latina, burying herself in the arms of her lover.

“I missed you San.” Came a muffled voice.

“I missed you too babe.” Santana replied with a wistful smile. Today was another day.


To be continued . . .

Tags: brittana, brittany/santana, fanfiction, glee, the world is a stage

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