Resuscitation
A ficlet prompted by lovely Miss Mia.
***
“Oh!”
Santana froze—shocked awake like someone had stuck her with a needle.
“Britt—oh god,” she whispered. Brittany was quaking, quick as a hummingbird’s wing; her hand had stiffened like a claw around a fistful of Santana’s shirt. “Baby—baby, wake up.” She cupped Brittany’s jaw and kissed hasty constellations in her hair.
Brittany’s eyes snapped open. Her breath rose and fell like a spooked rabbit’s.
“Santana,” she gasped. “Oh, San, you’re—“ Her face seized, and then she shattered into wracking sobs.
“Shhh.” Santana kissed her palms and her wet cheeks as she shook. “Shh. It’s okay, baby. I’m here.” She began to kiss her fingertips: each, carefully, from her pinkies to her thumbs. “I’m right here. You just had a bad dream.”
God, Lauren, everything you write is gold.
