An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: The Portland Thorns snag a miraculous last-minute transfer deal: national women's soccer league's golden girl, Brittany S. Pierce.Santana, the club's center forward, struggles to come to terms with Brittany's abrupt entrance into her life and (more appallingly), her blossoming /feelings/ for the woman.
CHAPTER NINE: / It’s such a shame for us to part /
Chapter summary: Santana accompanies Quinn for her first ultrasound, and they talk about love, family, and terrible ultimatums. Brittany, meanwhile, hangs with the crew - Kelly, Laurie, and Tina - and opens up briefly about Artie.
Extract [Read more on ao3]
The Chicago red stars soon open themselves up to another quick breakaway with some shoddy defending. Santana chips the ball toward Brittany, just outside the penalty area. The blonde sprints in and is already pulling back her right foot in preparation for a volley when a defender barrels straight toward her.
Santana watches in slow-motion as the woman collides straight into Brittany from the back. Santana’s eyes widen in horror as she hears a small grunt of pain and sees the blonde crumple to the ground, clutching at her ankle. The defender goes down too, but Santana’s vision has already begun to tunnel.
She rushes straight at Brittany, heart thumping violently in her chest. Brittany’s face is ashen. She sits on the pitch and clutches at her ankle.
“Is it bad?” Santana asks, dropping to her knees next to Brittany. She searches the woman’s face worriedly.
“I’m fine,” Brittany grits out, squeezing her eyes shut in a grimace. Without thinking, Santana reaches out to place a gentle hand on Brittany's shoulder, and the winger's eyes fly open once again at the touch. Santana quickly realises what she's doing and pulls her hand back. Looking away with an inscrutable expression on her face, she turns to call the referee over, who arrives panting slightly from the sprint over. Mike and the medical team follow close behind, carrying supplies and a stretcher. The referee sends the defender off with a straight red card for dangerous play.
She mumbles something under her breath, no doubt something disparaging, but Santana’s not paying attention to any of that - she's too busy watching intently as the medical team bustles around Brittany, pressing and prodding and asking her questions. Santana stands around, refusing to leave. She watches as Brittany is lifted onto the stretcher, face twisting slightly in pain. She follows the team all the way to the sidelines, eyebrows knitted in concern and so intent on the medical team’s brusque, efficient conversation amongst themselves that she’s completely deaf to the multiple shrill whistles - completely unaware that the game has resumed.
It’s only when the coach begins yelling at her to get back on the pitch that Brittany at last rolls her eyes at her from the stretcher.
“Go on, before Sue gets an aneurism,” She says. “I’ll be fine.”
Santana frowns at her. “You sure?” She asks, her eyes flicking worriedly to the winger’s rapidly swelling ankle. “It - you - I-” Sighing, knowing full well how incoherent she sounded, Santana bites her lips and holds Brittany’s gaze.
The blonde just nods wryly. “You’re behaving like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen someone get tackled.”
Santana supposes it’s true - this sort of thing happened all the time: it shouldn’t, but it did. Still, she can’t quite shake the feeling of being slightly rattled, the small cry of pain that Brittany had made as she fell still uncomfortably etched in her mind. “See you after the match then,” She says, rather unnecessarily. It wasn’t as if the blonde was going anywhere, in her present condition.
“Oi! Lopez! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Coach takes a couple of steps towards Santana, looking livid. Brittany’s gaze snaps to the woman, but Santana’s remains fixed on the blonde.
“You gonna be OK?” She asks.
Brittany arches a single eyebrow. “Sprains aren’t usually fatal, you know.”
Santana narrows her eyes at Brittany before proceeding to direct her glare at selected members of the medical team. “Don’t you guys dare fuck up,” She tells them.
Brittany snorts out a weak laugh, and Santana can’t help but feel a small answering flutter in her chest at the sound. “You’re ridiculous.” Brittany says. “Just go. Coach is almost within strangling range, and just so you know - that would definitely be fatal.”
Santana rolls her eyes and gives the medical team a final warning glare before running back toward the pitch, her mind already bent on exacting revenge for the nasty tackle. Tina eyes her as she comes back on. "Britt OK?" She asks.
"Yes, but the Red stars ain't gonna be, once I'm fuckin' done with them," Santana growls. "Fuckin' punks."
Tina huffs a sigh. "I'm...with you on that, but like - please try not to dismember anyone on the pitch itself? I'm pretty sure you'll get a gazillion-match ban and also it'll be really gross."
"No promises," Santana says, scowling darkly as she runs toward the player with the ball. The other woman gulps visibly and quickly scuffs the ball away. It wobbles away pathetically and is easily intercepted by Laurie.
"You'd make a damned good defender, is what I always tell coach," Tina says, slapping Santana on the back proudly. "Such natural intimidation technique."
