October 12th, 2008

It takes her a few days to open the letter.

She leaves the envelope sitting on the pile of clothes where she found it. She doesn't know how it got there, because she's spent nearly all of her time in her room since Brittany left, and she knows that she couldn't have possibly snuck in after what happened. Yet there it sits, "For Santana" in beautiful blue script on the front, mocking her.

She doesn't open it at first. And when she finally does, ripping it out of its envelope after several sleepless hours of staring and longing and hate, she's almost surprised by how short it is. It's only a page long (one lousy fucking page), with small cramped handwriting covering each side, and anger grips at her chest as she throws the letter onto the dresser, suddenly intent on not reading it.

She knows there's not enough room for the all words she needs to hear on one page.

She's surprised she lasts as long as she does, not reading it. Then again, Santana has always been stubborn. Brittany once told her she thought it was cute, and that is something Santana has never really understood. Then again, she always thought she understood very little about Brittany. Especially now.

It's three days later, during dinner, when her resolve finally breaks. Everyone has been avoiding the subject of Brittany altogether in the weeks since she's left - they all know Santana is likely on a particularly short fuse no one wants to ignite.

Puck cracks the joke offhandedly at dinner, not realizing that Brittany's name has slipped out of his mouth until the whole table falls silent.

What Santana does next surprises everyone. She doesn't snap. She doesn't yell. She doesn't cry. She doesn't say anything at all, actually.

Everyone stares at her, but instead of reacting, she focuses her eyes on her food and continues to eat. Someone coughs uncomfortably, someone whispers. No one really says anything for about a full minute, the room filling with sounds of people chewing and forks scraping across plates.

Eventually conversation starts back up, but Santana isn't paying any attention by then. She finishes her food, pushes her chair back, and leaves. Puck looks as if he's about to go after her, but Quinn puts her hand over his knee, stopping him.

Her eyes are dry when she reaches her room, and she picks up the letter, barely giving herself time to sit down on the bed before she begins to read.

Santana,

I've spent so much time thinking about what I want to say to you in this letter, but I can't seem to come up with anything that will make you forgive me. I know you feel like I lied to you, and I'm so, so sorry for that. I would say I never meant to deceive you, but that's not really true and I think we both know that by now. I can honestly say, however, that I never meant to hurt you. It was the last thing I ever wanted to do, and I know that's exactly what I ended up doing.

There are so many things I wish I could make you understand, but I know I'll probably never get the chance to. When I left, I know you thought I was betraying you, but I promise that's not at all what happened. I know it's a lot to ask right now, but you'll just have to trust me.

I also know I'm probably making you angry by writing this letter. If I can't explain what's happened, then why am I even bothering to write to you? Why am I hurting you by trying to make you understand? Why can't I just let you hate me?

It's because I'm selfish. I'm stupid, and selfish, and I love you, and I'm so scared that you'll hate me after all of this. I just want you to understand how sorry I am. I know you won't forgive me, but I just need for you to know. I don't want you to hate me, because you're the only person who's ever cared for me the way you do and I'm terrified of losing that. Even if I never get to see you again, I can't stand the idea of going through my life knowing that I made you hate me. You're my best friend, Santana. You're my first genuine friend I've made in my life, and I hate to think I've ruined that.

I wish I could say more, but I can't. I'm having Tina bring this to you, and then we're leaving and not coming back for a very long time. There's so much at stake here. I wish you could know. I know you'd help us if you understood. I wish this letter could contain all my secrets, all my reasons, and that you could read it and run away with me.

So I need this letter to not only say I'm sorry, but to say goodbye. I'm sorry for what I did to you, I'm sorry for running away, I'm sorry I hurt you, and I'm sorry for writing this.

I'm sorry I have to say goodbye.

I'll be thinking about you forever,

Brittany

She stares at the paper blankly for a few minutes, flicking her finger over the corner repeatedly and watching as it bends, a crease forming. She drops the letter, following it with her eyes as it falls slowly to the ground.

She rests her head in her hands and, for the first time in weeks, she lets herself cry.

April 12th, 2007

Brittany rattles the door to her apartment, trying to get the key to turn in the lock. Poncho dripping, umbrella tucked beneath her arm, she yanks on the doorknob with a frustrated groan. She has exactly twenty minutes to change into her uniform and grab some dinner before work, and their broken door acting up is exactly what she does not need right now.

"Stupid freaking— yes!" The lock finally clicks into place and she bursts into her apartment as soon as the knob turns. She kicks off her rain boots and hits the switch on the wall, but the overhead light only flickers for a moment before dying, leaving her in the dark.

Brittany frowns. Mental note: Replace the hallway lightbulb, right after fixing the lock.

She's just finished hanging up her rain coat, still trying to remember their ever-growing list of repairs, when she hears it. A low creak, from somewhere inside the apartment.

She pauses, holding her breath.

She knows it's silly, because Sam left for work over an hour ago and the door was locked tight when she arrived - but suddenly, she can feel it. She's not alone.

"Hello?" she calls out, with too much of a quiver in her voice. Brow furrowing, she tries again: "Is anyone here?" There - a little steadier this time around. She knows her chances of intimidating anyone are doubtful at best, but she'll have a much better chance against an intruder if she could at least speak without sounding like she's scared out of her mind.

Mustering her courage, she swings her umbrella forward like a sword, holding it as steadily as she can despite her trembling hands as she walks slowly into the apartment.

"Hello?" she says again, proud when the word comes out without the slightest waver.

She moves slowly towards the kitchen first. She looks under the table and checks behind the curtains and even considers opening the pantry before deciding that any robber worth being afraid of definitely wouldn't be able to fit inside their small cabinet space.

She turns to leave and investigate the rest of the apartment when a grey blur suddenly jumps in front of her, and she has to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop herself from shrieking.

Meow.

Her heart is still racing, but Brittany can't stop herself from smiling at the sight of her cat perched regally on the counter, his long tail swishing back and forth.

It was just Lord T all along. Brittany laughs in spite of herself.

"Jesus, Tubs! You scared me," she says, putting her umbrella down on the counter and reaching to scratch behind the large grey feline's ears. He purrs low in response. "Here I was, getting all worked up over noth—"

There's a loud thump from somewhere in the apartment, and the umbrella is suddenly in her hands again.

She briefly considers calling Sam, but she knows he never keeps his phone on when he's at work. Besides, he would probably tell her she was being dramatic. He'd come home to check on her anyway, because that's just the kind of brother he is - but then he'd be leaving work early, and they really can't afford any missing paychecks right now. They need all the money they can get if they don't want to fall behind on their rent again.

You can do this, Brittany, she assures herself as she leaves the kitchen, green umbrella brandished in front of her. It's all in your head. There's no one in your apartment. You're just being silly.

She's halfway down the hallway to her bedroom when she hears another creak coming from the living room.

"Hel... Hello?"

There isn't an answer. She swallows nervously before taking a cautious step forward, eyes probing the shadows for another streak of grey, despite the fact that she can still hear Lord Tubbington purring from the kitchen. "LT? Is that you?"

"Guess again."

She spins just in time to see a dark shape flying toward her - and then the wind is knocked out of her lungs as he crashes into her, sending them both flying toward the couch. Thrashing wildly, Brittany shrieks, flailing her umbrella and managing a few solid knocks on the top of his head -

before she notices her attacker has dissolved into familiar laughter.

"Sam!"

He doesn't stop laughing, even when she shoves him off of her and onto the ground.

"Oh god, Britt, your— your face!"

"You— argh!" She's trying very hard to look angry, but this somehow only makes him laugh even harder. "Sam! That was - that was mean!" But really, it's impossible to be mad when he's smiling like that, and the laughter bubbles out of her before she can stop herself, the adrenaline escaping with it. She closes her eyes and flops back against the couch, feeling the tension drain from her muscles.

"Uh, Britt," Sam says suddenly. Her eyes fly open; he's staring at the umbrella still clutched tightly in her hands. "You've got a little…"

"Oh, shit!"

The green umbrella has now blackened and is smoldering. She jumps up and rushes to the kitchen, trying to fit as much of the umbrella in the sink as she can. Smoke fills the air when the water hits the burning fabric, and Brittany backs away, coughing.

"Dammit!" She looks out the kitchen window with dismay, where the rain is still pounding against the glass pane. "That was my only umbrella."

Sam grins at her from the doorway. "Admit it, I got you good." He's still laughing, and Brittany wants so badly to be mad at him, but the fading adrenaline has left her giddy. She finds herself smiling as she nods, surrendering.

It's a game they used to play when they were kids. The rules were never set in stone, but it pretty much amounted to them trying to scare the living shit out of each other at every opportunity that presented itself.

Sam always won.

"You got me good," she acknowledges, and Sam pumps his fist in victory. She rolls her eyes, trying to pretend like she's not still smiling. This doesn't get past Sam, of course.

"You should try to, y'know— not light things on fire when you get scared." He's only teasing, but the smile immediately falls from her face.

"Yeah…" She sighs, eyeing the smoking remnants of her umbrella in the sink. "I'm trying."

"I know." Sam nudges her good-naturedly. "You'll get the hang of it eventually."

Brittany doesn't respond. She's been "gifted," as her brother likes to call it, for as long as she can remember, but she's not even close to getting a handle on it. It only likes to show up when she's really angry, or afraid, and even then, she doesn't see the point. What good is trying to tame supposed superpowers when they only let you summon a little bit of water, or produce a flame with all the ferocity of a wet match?

She shuts the water in the sink and gives her umbrella a hard shake, setting it aside. It's only then that she really notices Sam's appearance. His sleeves are a little ripped on the bottoms, and his clothes look as if they've been splashed with mud on one side.

Brittany frowns. "Wait a second. What are you doing home? You were supposed to be at work a half hour ago. And why are you all…" She reaches forward to swipe away a piece of hair clinging to his forehead, "… wet?"

"I, uh - guess I wasn't paying attention," he explains, smiling sheepishly. "I landed in a puddle after I kind of, uh, ran into a mailbox."

Brittany's eyes widen - familiar panic. "What? Did you break it?"

"Wow, thanks for the concern, sis," he deadpans, and she shoves him gently. "I'm fine, thank you. And no, for your information, I did not 'break it.' I may have left a small dent, however," he adds, and she rolls her eyes.

"I'm glad you both survived."

He laughs before going serious again. "The chain on my bike snapped in half when I fell on it. I can get it fixed tomorrow, though," he says quickly when he sees her concern, but it doesn't help. She knows Sam needs his bike for work, and if he can't fix it, he'll be out of a job. If he's out of a job, their budget will get really tight, really fast. Brittany could probably pick up a few more shifts if need be, but then she'd be working practically nonstop.

If Sam says he can get it fixed, though, she trusts him. Sam's always been honest with her, even when it means bearing bad news.

She touches his arm, and notices for the first time that he's shivering. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just a bit cold. The rain really picked up again when I was about two blocks from home."

Brittany frowns. She's never understood why Sam could practically get hit by a train and come out unscathed, but a little rain could turn him into a shivering mess. If he's so strong, why can he still get the common cold?

But there will always be things she won't understand about these stupid "gifts." She shakes her head and brings herself back to reality. She should be leaving for work, but she has a few more minutes before she'll really be running late, and she knows that if she doesn't take care of Sam, he won't take care of himself. And they really, really cannot afford for Sam to get sick right now.

"Sit down. I'll heat you up some soup before I have to run."

She tries to make him take a seat at the counter and relax, but he goes and grabs the bowls and spoons anyway. Brittany takes a can of soup and a box of cereal out of the pantry.

"I can get it," Sam says, reaching out to grab the can from her. She pulls it away, holding it out of his reach.

"Don't be silly." She rolls her eyes, suppressing a smile. "Don't you want me to get better at it anyway?"

Focus. She takes the wrapper off, focus, cracks the lid, and focuses all of her attention on the can of soup between her fingers. She feels the way her fingertips - focus - push against the metal of the can, concentrates on the sensation, the subtle warmth that radiates from her hand without any effort.

Focus, she repeats, to the point where the word itself is almost a distraction. She thinks of warm summers, of hot chocolate after playing in the snow for hours, the heat the soup will create as it travels down her throat.

She feels her hands getting warmer. It's a pleasant warmth, a tingling feeling. Energy.

Focus. She pushes, forcing the energy from her hands into the metal and the soup inside. She lets it stay there for a few moments, focus, until it's steaming, and puts it down on the counter. Her pride is hampered by her annoyance with how useless it all is. Super Brittany, the greatest Soup-Warmer of the century. Almost as useful as their broken stove.

"Sorry," he says, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He's staring at her hands, and it's making her uncomfortable. "I know you hate…"

"It's okay," Brittany says before he can finish. "It's just soup."

She pours herself a bowl of Lucky Charms. She only has about five minutes left now, and she really doesn't want to be late again. Her boss has never complained, but she can see the way the other employees look at her when she comes in after everyone else. They think she gets special treatment, and Brittany doesn't like that. She works hard, and doesn't want anyone to think less of her - especially for something as silly as tardiness.

Sam is digging into his soup. "What time does your shift end?"

"Eleven," she replies through a mouthful of cereal. He raises an eyebrow at her.

"You know people usually eat that with milk, right? And for breakfast?"

Brittany shrugs, not wanting to remind him that she doesn't feel like having any more leftover pizza from his job (it's beginning to give her a stomachache, they eat it so much) - not to mention she's given him the last can of soup. "Just because I'm eating cereal at night doesn't make it not breakfast, Sam."

He laughs, shaking his head as he opens the fridge. "I, uh—I won't be home until late tonight, so don't wait up." He doesn't look at her as he says this, head buried in the fridge as he hunts for a drink.

"Got a hot date?" she asks, jokingly — not because Sam isn't handsome enough to get a date, but because, despite her efforts, he barely speaks to anyone outside of their small apartment.

He barks out a short laugh but still doesn't look at her, kicking the fridge closed behind him.

A bad feeling starts to settle over her, and Brittany narrows her eyes. "Sam?"

He turns to face her, placing a carton in front of her. His mouth opens, and then closes again - Brittany can see him searching hard for an excuse.

She sighs. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't do this anymore."

"We didn't agree, Brittany. You told me how you feel, and I respect that - I do." He takes a deep breath. "But I'm sorry. I can't let that stop me."

A rare rush of anger passes through her. She doesn't want to tell him what to do—Sam is Brittany's older brother, as he has no problem reminding her whenever she tries to lecture him. So she grabs the first thing she sees, a magazine laying out on the counter, and flips through it quickly, eyes not focusing on anything in particular as she turns the pages. Ignoring him.

A few seconds later, Sam lays a cautious hand on her shoulder.

"I'll be careful, sis. I promise."

The pages stop turning.

"I just… I don't understand why you need to do this," she says tensely, trying to keep the anger from her voice. She doesn't know why she's so angry with Sam, but she doesn't want to figure it out, either. She just doesn't want him to go.

"I don't need to, Britt. I want to. I want to help these people. I don't need this, but they need me."

She resists the urge to roll her eyes, knowing it would hurt his feelings. Sam is always saying things like that: well worded phrases that just sound meaningful, even if she doesn't always understand what they mean. "They don't need you, Sam. That's what the police are there for."

He shakes his head. "We're special. We can help in ways the police can't. Why can't you see that?"

"Because we're not, Sam," she says, finally slamming the magazine down on the counter. "We're not special; this isn't something to be celebrated. You walk around talking like this is some sort of blessing, like I should feel honored that I'm the way I am."

"Maybe you should! Maybe if you weren't so angry all the time you could see that this," he gestures between them, "is a good thing!"

"A 'good thing?'" She stares at him, incredulous. "Sam, you can't be serious. He tortured us. He nearly killed us. He practically ruined our lives!"

He scoffs at this, and Brittany feels something tighten in the back of her neck, her anger tensing the muscles there.

"Ruined them? Brittany, do you remember what kind of 'lives' we had? He didn't ruin our lives. There was nothing left to be ruined. We were nothing. We still would be nothing, if it wasn't for what he gave us."

"What he gave us," she repeats, her voice flat. "So what, now he's your hero or something? He saved you from your big, bad, boring life with me?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. I'm just saying that we're worthsomething now. We have a purpose."

"You've always had a purpose, Sam."

He snorts, shaking his head. Her eyes soften as she looks at her brother, noticing how his shoulders sag and he's no longer making eye contact with her.

"Don't be like that," she says, quietly now, all the anger fading from her voice. "That's not true."

He stares at the ground for a few long moments. "Britt," he says softly, "I barely made it through high school. I make minimum wage delivering pizzas. You're my only friend. Helping people, saving them… it gives me something that I could never dream of having otherwise. I mean something now." His voice is low, and it pulls at something deep inside Brittany's chest.

"You've always meant something," she says. And when he raises his eyebrows, she says, quieter, "You mean everything to me."

He sighs. "Britt…"

"No, Sam. Don't you get it? All those things, they apply to me, too. I'm not smart, and I'm not talented. I got lucky, I have a job that pays more than yours does, but it's not because I'm special." She takes a shaky breath. "You are the only thing that makes me special, Sam. You're my brother, my best friend, and I love you, and…" her voice quiets as her eyes begin to sting. "You're all that I have. If I lose you, I have nothing."

"Brittany," he says softly, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around her. She pulls herself tightly into his chest. "You aren't going to lose me."

"I'm scared," she mumbles into his shirt. "What if you get hurt?"

"Maybe if you came out with me, you'd see there isn't anything to be scared of."

"Maybe," she sighs, knowing the argument is over.

"Nothing is going to happen to me," he promises as he pulls away, looking her in the eyes. "Hell, I'm pretty sure nothing canhappen to me."

She smiles a little at this, and he rubs her arms comfortingly. "Try not to be too late, okay?"

"I won't be. You, however…"

"What?" she asks, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. His eyes flick to the clock behind her, and she follows them there.

"Shit!" Brittany snatches her bag from the counter. "I'm late for work!"

"When are you not?" he calls after he as she runs towards her bedroom.

"Shut up, Sam!"

She bursts out of her room not thirty seconds later, donned in her work clothes and a hastily made bun. She finds her shoes underneath the living room table, and nearly falls over trying to pull them on as she stumbles towards the door.

"You love me," Sam's voice follows her into the hall.

"I do." Brittany shrugs into her raincoat. "And you love me. Which is why you're going to keep in touch all night so I won't have to worry about you, right?"

"Right," he says, grinning from the kitchen doorway, and she flings her arms around him for a quick hug.

The house she's working in tonight isn't terribly huge, at least when compared with the mansions she often finds herself in for this job. The people are who live here are obviously wealthy, though. The place is three or four stories tall (it's hard for Brittany to tell with all the damn modern architecture), with a large pool in the back yard. There are too many rooms for her to remember on the first floor alone, and Brittany can't help but feel a bit more appreciative of her small, simple apartment a few miles away.

The guests are sitting down to dinner when the power goes out.

A few people gasp, and one woman lets out a loud squeak. After the initial shock wears off, however, the surprise dissolves into laugher. That is, until they realize that their only sources of light are the two candles lit on the table and one flashlight. The bay windows don't afford much light with the rain still pounding against the glass, night falling in the cloudy sky.

Brittany's boss, Karen, calms the guests quickly. Brittany and her co-workers somehow manage to serve dinner using only the flashlight as their guide, and everyone is content.

"Pierce!"

Brittany, who is busy covering up a tray of chicken francese, looks up to see Karen approaching her. "Yes, ma'am?"

"You don't have to call me ma'am, Pierce," Karen chuckles. Brittany likes Karen. She's soft, and she has a slightly southern tinge to her voice.

"Have you seen Tony?"

Tony is the other waiter working that night. They've never been particularly good friends, but he's nice to her and he does his job well, so she likes him better than most of her coworkers. At least, he doesn't seem to judge her the way the others do.

"I think he went to the store to get some candles, ma'am."

"Pierce, you don't have to call me – never mind." Karen sighs. "Listen, I need you to do something. The woman hosting this shindig is about as drunk as they come. She fell over a few minutes ago looking for a flashlight. Broke one of the heels on her shoe clean off."

"Did she find any flashlights?" Brittany asks hopefully. Karen shakes her head.

"No, 'fraid not. Now listen. I need you to go up the stairs, take your first right, and go in the second door on your left. You follow?"

Brittany nods, trying to commit the directions to memory.

"Good. Now, when you're in that room, walk straight ahead until you hit the closet. Open the door—it's one of those sliding ones—and find her some shoes, preferably without the heels this time. You got that?"

"Upstairs, door, shoes." She nods. "Right."

"Good," says Karen, and Brittany turns to leave. "Oh, and Pierce? Be quick about it, I don't want to be alone down here with these folks for too long."

"Yes, ma'am!"

It takes Brittany just a few steps too many to realize that she should have placed her hand against the wall, feeling for the first turn off in the dark. She hopes she hasn't missed it, and walks, dragging her fingers along the wall to her right, until her hand gropes darkness. She turns, muttering, "second door on the left" under her breath. It only takes a few seconds more to discover that there isn't a second door on the left, just another hallway.

Is that supposed to be there? She isn't sure, so she just keeps walking, letting her hands guide her in the dark.

She's on the third or forth wrong turn when she hears it: a loud scraping sound echoing down the hall.

Maybe her mind is playing tricks on her. She's still all jittery from the power outage, just like the woman downstairs who nearly fell off her chair when the lights went out. Everyone else is still downstairs at the party. There's no one else up here.

Still, a part of her knows this isn't right. She knows she heard that noise.

"Hello?" she finds herself calling out for the second time that day. The sound bounces off the walls, and even though she tries to strain her ears to hear a response, all she can hear is the loud chatter coming from downstairs.

She thinks, if only just for a moment, that she sees a flash of light underneath a door, but then it's gone. She swallows thickly and realizes it's the door she's supposed to be going in.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

She waits a few long moments, but there isn't another noise, or a flash of light. Just your mind playing tricks. She takes a deep breath to steady herself, and pushes the door open.

The room is dark, and though she can make out the shapes of some of the furniture, that's all there appears to be in the room. But despite the fact that she can't see much, she can still feel it: she's not alone.

There's someone else. Heat, radiating from across the room, prickling at the surface of her senses. She can feel the air around her, room temperature - and she can feel where it shifts, spiking several dozen degrees around the body of another person.

She's tempted to call out again, but decides that anyone hiding themselves in a dark room isn't likely to answer her. Instead, she begins to walk slowly towards the other person, trying not to breathe too loudly or make any noise. The closer she gets, the more certain she becomes that there is someone else in the room with her - directly in front of her, not a few feet away.

And then it disappears.

The door shuts loudly behind her - Brittany jumps, barely stops herself from crying out - and then she's being shoved back against the wall. A scream catches in her throat as someone's arm pushes against it. A bright light is shining into her eyes, and a body is pressed against hers, keeping her from moving.

"Oh," comes a voice lighter than Brittany expects. Her attacker suddenly pulls away, and the bright flood of light stops assaulting Brittany's vision.

Brittany blinks several times. Her hands now freed, she rubs her eyes, trying to regain her vision. Slowly, a dark shape comes into focus in front of her - and it isn't a big, bad, scary man with a knife or a gun.

It's a girl.

She's no older than Brittany herself, if she had to guess. She has dark hair and dark eyes, dressed in a hoodie and jeans - looking as out of place as Brittany feels. She doesn't seem dangerous at all. In fact, she's smirking.

"Sorry," the girl says, as though she's just bumped into Brittany on the sidewalk instead of shoved her forcefully against a wall in a dark room and shoved an arm against her windpipe. "I thought you were somebody else. Unless you are here to try to stop me, in which case, I should just warn you… that's a very bad idea."

Brittany must not seem very threatening, though, because the girl just turns towards the dresser and begins to rifle through a box, shining her flashlight across the room as she does it. It's in complete disarray, with clothes strewn all over the floor. She's surprised she made it as far into the room as she did without falling over.

"Stop you?" Brittany asks, dazed.

The girl looks up from her box and shines her flashlight past Brittany. "I've lost something. I'm just… trying to find it." By the time Brittany turns around to see what the girl was looking at, the light is gone, focused back on the floor between them.

The girl obviously isn't a guest, dressed in her dark hoodie and pants. Brittany would probably get fired if she left her to her own devices in the master bedroom. Taking a deep breath, she tries to look authoritative and says, "Well, you can't be here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Is that so?" The girl stops what she's doing and looks at her. Something in her gaze shifts as she stares; Brittany shivers before she can help herself. "And who—"

"Brittany?"

Brittany whirls around, and there's Tony, standing in the doorway, a flashlight in his hand. Brittany feels a rush of relief that she isn't going to have to be the one to kick this mysterious girl out. She turns around, maybe to grab the intruder and make sure she doesn't run away, but—

But the girl is gone, nowhere to be seen.

"Are you alright?" Tony asks in his soft voice. "I thought I heard voices."

"Yeah, I'm…" Brittany tries to find the words to explain, but ends up stammering instead. She scans the room, but the girl doesn't seem to be anywhere. It's as if she's disappeared into thin air.

"It was me, I was… talking. To myself. Uh, because I'm afraid of the dark."

But Brittany can still feel the girl's presence, there in the room with her. Heat, disturbing the bedroom's lukewarm air. But Brittany can't tell where in the room she is, and she doesn't want to seem even crazier around Tony by looking for her.

Even though Tony seems to have come to that conclusion on his own, from the strange way he's looking at her. "Oh." He frowns. "Okay, I'll just…" he holds the flashlight to her, and she quickly grabs it. "I'll leave you to it, then." And then he's gone.

The room is silent for a moment after Tony closes the door, and Brittany focuses on the energy she can feel radiating off the girl. She clicks on her flashlight, spinning around to try to pinpoint where the girl has gone, but something is throwing her off.

She thinks she hears muffled laughter behind her, and turns quickly towards the closet.

"You're still here, aren't you?"

"Yep," comes the reply, directly in her ear. Brittany does scream this time, though she claps a hand over her mouth to muffle it before it escapes and the whole party hears her. Not that Brittany thinks that would be such a bad thing at this point, because she's pretty sure this mystery girl is up to no good.

That, and there is obviously something odd about the girl,because, except for Sam, Brittany has never seen anyone move that fast before in her whole entire life. It's like she simply... disappeared.

And that's when it hits her.

The girl has powers.

"Jesus! You're… you—you can…" Brittany manages to make out, eliciting another laugh from the girl.

"Yeah, I am, and I can," she replies, cocking an eyebrow. "And if you know what's good for you, you won't say anything to anyone. In fact, you'd probably be better off forgetting this ever even happened."

Holy shit.

"I— you… but—" Brittany stutters, but the girl is getting impatient.

"All right, this is obviously getting us nowhere," she says, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Tell you what. You take a few minutes, gather your thoughts. I'm going to keep looking."

She walks passed Brittany towards the dresser. She flicks her fingers tightly against her palms, and the drawers fall out, banging as they go.

So that's what I was hearing earlier, Brittany thinks, watching in awe as the drawers fly out of the knows she should be concerned that a burglar is making a mess of her client's bedroom, but she's never met anyone who has powers like hers. And this girl is using them differently than Brittany does, or even Sam. The way she conducts herself is... calculated, precise. Practiced.

"What are you looking for?" Brittany asks after watching the girl sift through a few of the drawers. It occurs to her again that she should probably be stopping this, but this girl is obviously has a handle on her abilities. Brittany couldn't stop her if she tried.

And besides - she doesn't want to try. For the first time in her life she's watching somebody else, someone who isn't her or her brother, do something that should be completely impossible; she can't tear her eyes away for a second.

The girl flicks her wrist and the closet slides open.

"Nothing you need to know about," comes the cool reply from inside the walk-in closet moments later. By the time Brittany gets to the closet door, the girl is shoving something in her jacket pocket.

"Can I help you?" the girl asks, quirking an eyebrow at Brittany's unexpected proximity.

"Oh. Yeah, actually!" Brittany remembers suddenly. She reaches over the girl's head and grabs a box of shoes from the shelf, peeking inside to make sure they're the right kind.

"Shoes," she says meekly, holding the box up for her to see. The girl squints at her, as if she can't decide how to react, before a small smile forms at the corners of her lips.

"I can see that," she replies. "Well, now that we've both got what we came for…"

With a few quick strides she's at the window, throwing it open. Rain begins to fall through the opening as the girl swings one leg outside. Brittany thinks to tell her that it's too high, they're on the third floor and she can't possibly safely get down from here, but holds her tongue. Somehow, she doesn't think this girl needs her help.

"It was nice to meet you..." the girl trails off.

"Brittany," she supplies, instinctively.

"Right. Brittany. Well, then," the girl nods, smiling.

Brittany blinks.

She's gone.

Woah.

Sam shrugs off his coat as he walks in the door, hanging it up on the rack. It stopped raining sometime after nine, thank god, but the damn black hooded jacket seemed to have soaked up enough water to keep him uncomfortably damp for days. He'd have to see if Brittany would mind doing something about that, since their dryer has been broken for weeks and he doesn't have the time (or money) to fix it.

He's surprised to see that his sister is still up, sitting on the couch, when he walks into the living room. She usually passes out right after work, and Sam feels a pinch of guilt knowing that she probably wasn't able to sleep knowing he was out in the streets.

"Sorry…" he starts. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

He expects her to be mad, but she shakes her head, smiling.

"No, it's fine!" she replies cheerfully. She pats the space next to her. "I actually wanted to ask you something."

"Oh?" he asks, taking a seat on the cushion beside her.

"Are you going out again tomorrow night?"

He squints at her, trying to determine whether or not she's trying to start another argument. When all he sees is a childlike interest that's just so damn Brittany, he nods.

"I was planning on it," he says cautiously. "Why?"

Because there are other people out there like us, she thinks, grinning, and feels the curiosity tugging in the back of her mind.

"I think I want to come with you."

A/N: Hi! I uploaded this a while ago, but I took it down when I thought I wasn't going to have time to work on it anymore. I'm re-uploading it now, so I apologize if you've read this before. It's new and improved, though, so I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Thanks to my sister, ladyoflilacs, for betaing. :)

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