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Glee Fic: I Can't Let You Disappear 1/??
lea michele
glittergron
Title: I Can't Let You Disappear
Author: Me (glittergron)
Pairings/Characters: Girl!Sam/Girl!Blaine.
Rating: PG-13.
Type: Genderswap, femslash.
Summary: Blair hadn’t said she loved Sam in years. Every time she tried to, it sounded far too intense and transparent. Yes, she loved her. Painfully so, to the point of obsession.
A/N: I have my own head!canon regarding these two. Blair Anderson and Samantha Evans are quickly becoming my two new favourite characters to write. Oddly enough, I don't normally ship Slaine. I'm a femslasher at heart, after all. But, idgaf to be honest. This is my beautiful crackship, and I can't let it go. Hopefully I can convince some other people that it's not total insanity.
Chapters: 1 | 2 |



Blair fell in love with her best friend when she first heard her sing. Their friendship had been built on the back of coincidence; after bumping into each other in the nurse’s office on their first day of 2nd grade. Sam with grazed knees from climbing too high on the jungle gym and slipping, Blair with a tickle in the back of her throat that immediately had her worried she’d lose her voice.

Sam, with her knotted blonde hair and her wide smile, had passed the nervous young girl a piece of paper and a blue crayon. “You can write on that if you lose your voice,” Sam reassured her with the unshakeable knowledge of a six year old. “And you get to eat ice cream until you feel better.”

Blair felt better after that. The two had left the nurse’s office with their arms linked together, two children happy to find a friend. A week later and they were inseparable. Sam would run around and yell and laugh while Blair just followed behind with a giggle, because she was quiet where her friend was loud.

It was a balance, they were opposites, until they realized what they had in common was their love of music. Blair sung any chance she got. She’d perform for her parents, and for Sam, the only times her voice could really be heard above others.

And once in the backseat of Mrs. Anderson’s car, Sam opened her mouth and let lyrics tumble out. With solid pitch but shaky nerves, because she was encroaching on Blair’s talent. Her friend’s voice was the one people raved about, was the voice that won competitions, and Sam was a tomboy who preferred kicking a soccer ball.

Mrs. Anderson had looked up in surprise, gazing in the rearview mirror as Sam sung along with the song on the radio, tapping the beat with small hands on her knees. Blair had joined in, leaning close to her friend and letting her head drop onto Sam’s bony shoulder.

Blair fell in love then, without a doubt, and when she was fifteen and struggling to define how she felt about Samantha, she’d speed back to that memory of this little girl anxious to be revealing something about herself for the first time. And she’d know.

Sam wasn’t some scrawny blonde anymore, not now that she was a freshman in high school. Blair was more than aware, maybe to the point of obsession, that her friend had become beautiful. It wasn’t necessarily in the way she acted or behaved, because at her core she was still her father’s daughter and loved football and cars and grass stains on her jeans. But it was there, in the way she reacted to good news with a smile that could outshine the stars, constant in the tickle of her soft hair whenever Blair leaned too close and was lost in the scent of strawberries and gold.

She’d become dizzy at the proximity, still quiet and unable to express to her friend why her palms would sweat when she went to hold her hand. If Sam noticed, she didn’t say anything about it. Friends was a comfortable place to rest, even if during sleepovers when they shared a bed Blair would scoot to the farthest side away from Sam and leave a cold, empty space between them.

When they were kids they used to slide under the blankets and flick on a torch, legs up and knees pushed into the down of the blankets to hold them up like a tent. They’d giggle and tell stories and cast shadows with their fingers in front of the torch’s light, up until Mrs. Evans would come in and tell them to quiet down.

Fifteen years old was a far cry from eight and completely comfortable with linking fingers. The affection between them dwindled further and further every day, and the less she saw of Sam the more exposed and raw Blair felt. She was scrubbed hard with a wire brush, and every swallow was sandpaper against her esophagus because she hadn’t realized before then how much she relied on Sam.

She still sang, but it was listless and without heart, and when Sam would come over and spend another night of awkwardness and tension the last thing Blair wanted to do was sing.

In the darkness, void of giggles and shadow puppets, Sam once rolled over to stare at the back of Blair’s head in the gloom. The house was quiet, the door shut, light from a street lamp outside shining a murky yellow glow through a gap in the curtains.

Blair’s shoulders were hunched up, the blanket tucked hard beneath her chin, and Sam could tell she was awake just from the rigidity of her posture. In sleep Blair became boneless, which was why sometimes she woke with one foot tucked beneath Sam’s leg and an arm slung up across her eyes.

“Blair,” Sam whispered in the dark. She witnessed the line of the brunette’s back jolt, barely, only noticeable if you were watching. “I know you’re awake.”

“What is it?” Blair hissed back after a moment of silence, contemplation, heavy with thought as one of them tried to understand and the other insisted on backing away.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, shuffling closer in the bed. She’d had the very same Queen-sized since she was a kid, bought specifically because Blair was pretty much a permanent fixture in the Evans’ household. Practically a part of the family. She’d been there after all when Sam’s brother and sister were born; and similarly Sam had been waiting outside on Blair’s front lawn the day her parents’ divorce papers were filed.

“Fine,” Blair replied, turning slightly so she was staring up at the ceiling but not enough to truly acknowledge Sam.

“Blair, you know I love you,” Sam said softly. Blair stiffened slightly, hauling one arm up to grind the heel of her palm against her cheek, surreptitiously wiping at her eyes. “Why don’t you ever talk to me anymore? Are we still friends?”

“Of course we are!” Blair exclaimed, struggling to keep her voice at a whisper. “Sammy, don’t even say that.”

“Then why have you been acting so weirdly around me?” Sam asked, her tone so dejected that it caused a domino effect in Blair. Guilt turned her stomach sour, she rolled over so quickly the bed springs squeaked in protest at the movement, and then she stopped because the slant of light sneaking through the window had fallen across one half of Sam’s face and turned her into something surreal.

Her blonde hair was down and loose and messy, one lock straggling on her cheek, the rest spread out on the pillow like a halo. Blair loved Sam’s hair; in the day it was bright and golden and sunlight. At night it was silvery pale like the moon.

“Did I say something wrong?” Sam continued nervously when Blair didn’t respond, which dragged the brunette from her staring.

“You didn’t do anything,” Blair told her, under the blankets her hand inching forwards like a nervous tic, as though she was going to grasp Sam’s hand like, she would have done if everything about her friend didn’t fire confusing synapses in her brain. “I’m just confused about stuff right now, Sammy. You’re perfect, okay? It’s me.”

Sam fell silent as she digested this cryptic statement, and Blair could practically see the cogs working as something fell into place. She winced because she wasn’t meant to explain to Sam this strange feeling, but they’d opened up a dialogue and a spark in Blair told her it would be okay.

“What’s wrong, B?” Sam asked quietly. “You can tell me.”

“I can’t.” Blair’s voice was pained as she said it, so unwilling to admit that just being around Sam was hard. That she hated it when she talked about boys and dating, that her jealously flared every time Jason Brice leaned against Sam’s desk during Homeroom and smirked, his shaving rash becoming hideous disfigurements in Blair’s head. He wasn’t good enough to flirt with Sam. No one was.

Sam caught on to the strain in Blair’s tone and sat up in the bed, shoving her legs out from under the blankets and off the side of the mattress. Blair couldn’t catch her breath when Sam stood up and padded across the room in the dark.

The outline of Sam, dressed in cotton shorts and the Rent t-shirt she’d borrowed from Blair a long time ago, was only just visible but Blair had studied almost every inch and curve of her friend. Her long legs, her slim hips and her cinched, small waist, the soft swell of her breasts. God, as Sam turned and picked up her duffel bag, Blair could practically see the press of her nipples against the cloth of her shirt.

This was why sleepovers were becoming impossible. Sam’s state of undress, her proximity, and her smell on the pillows in the morning.

“What are you doing?” Blair asked, her cheeks flushed and hot as she tried to steer her thoughts away from her friend’s body. Why had she thought about her nipples? It was getting to be too much.

“I brought something,” Sam answered, digging around in her bag until she finally found what she was looking for. She withdrew her hand and waved around the plastic DVD case, groping for the television remote sitting on Blair’s desk.

She aimed it at the bulky grey TV and turned it on, the bright screen filling the room with light all of a sudden. Blair blinked and squinted as she watched Sam stick the DVD into the player and mash a few more buttons until the blizzard static on the screen became the beginnings of a movie.

“What-” Blair started, gasping when Sam came jumping back up to the top of the bed, jostling Blair as she got back under the covers. Sam was sitting up slightly, moving the pillows so she could lean against them, so Blair pushed herself up with her elbows, wearing a slightly suspicious look.

“You said you wanted to see those new Star Wars movies,” Sam explained, pressing play on the remote. “They’re nowhere near as good as the first ones, but I like Natalie Portman so I guess they’re okay.”

“Sam, I don’t know,” Blair said, confused at this shift in atmosphere. Sam seemed unfazed by the almost conversation they’d had, which for some reason annoyed Blair. Maybe she could’ve told her what was going through her head, but if Sam was just going to ignore it, what was the point. Movie nights had been common with them, but that was when they were still on the same level. “I don’t know if I want to watch it right now.”

“Look,” Sam began gently, “I know you’re going through something right now, and even though I want to know what’s wrong, I won’t push you. I just thought you needed a distraction. I love you, B. When you’re ready, I guess you’ll tell me what’s going on.”

Blair’s eyes stung with tears for a moment. Despite all the confusion, Sam was still her best friend. Still understood things about her no one else could. “Thanks, Sammy…” Blair murmured thickly, sniffing. Sam smiled, then shifted closer to Blair before turning her attention to the movie.


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