Those Who Lift Each Other

by lls-mutant

When the Cylons attacked, the kids of New Directions were on board the Cybele, on their way to the All-Colony Show Choir Competition. Now they're members of the Fleet, being chased by the Cylons and trying to deal with the day-to-day struggles of a life after the worlds end.

2. It's Time To Be A Big Girl Now

Puck slammed a paper down on the table. "Look at this," he ordered.

"What are we looking at?" Finn asked. Brittany leaned over the table to see a few sheets of paper folded together, the print arranged into what looked like articles. She wondered how Puck had gotten a copy of the Muckraker.

"It's what's they're calling a newspaper right now," Puck said. "Guess the captains are getting sick of all the questions. But that's not what's important."

"What is, then?" Finn asked, picking up the paper, his forehead wrinkling like he was in deep thought. His eyes widened. "No way. I didn't realize there was a whole ship of convicts in the Fleet."

"Really?" Brittany asked. "My father threatened to send me off to a convict once, after he caught me with Craig Jacobson."

They were sitting in what everyone now just called the cabin; the passenger cabin that had been converted to a dining hall and common area. The seats were still arranged in small groups, but now more tables had been found and people had started hanging posters and artwork on the walls in an attempt to make it look less like a transport vehicle and more like a home. New Directions had essentially claimed one little alcove as their own, and most of them were sitting there now. Brittany was curled in a seat with her feet tucked under her. Puck's eyes disturbed her greatly right now.

"Not convent," Quinn said. "Convicts. They're the ones that did the water drilling a few weeks ago, right?"

"Yes, but that's not what I'm talking about" Puck said impatiently. "That," he said, jabbing his finger at an article. "Finally. A call for new recruits for the military. Not just people who know how to fly, but people without any experience at all. A chance for us to kick some toaster ass. You guys are in, right?"

"In what?" Finn asked.

"In the military!" Puck said. "What do you think? That we're going to sit around on this frakking ship being cargo hauled to Earth and doing nothing? It's time to get out there and give those frakking toasters exactly what they deserve." The kids all looked at each other. "What?" Puck demanded. "There is no way you're all are gonna be complete pussies about this, are you? Haul yourself up by the balls and fight."

"Kind of lacking in the balls department," Santana said dryly, and then shrugged one shoulder. "But then, so are you, so whatever. I'm in." Brittany stared at her questioningly, but Santana slid her eyes away with a smirk and a shrug that meant she didn't think it was a big deal. But it was a big deal. Brittany knew that. She wasn't sure what she thought of the idea yet, but she knew it was big.

Puck nodded. "What about the rest of you?" he said, glaring around at all of them. Tina looked away, and Sam shifted uncomfortably. Rachel opened her mouth and then shut it again without saying anything. Mercedes picked up the paper and pressed her lips together. Brittany kind of agreed with them- Puck looked flat-out scary right now. "I can't believe this," Puck said. "There's no way you guys can not think about this. Kurt?"

Kurt made a face. "Because the Gemenese military has always been so accepting of homosexuals."

"But this isn't Gemenon, idiot," Puck said. "There's none of that 'don't ask, don't shout it from the rooftops' bullshit."

"I'll think about it," Kurt said dryly.

"Think about what?" Mr. Schuester interrupted, sounding a lot more cheerful than anyone else.

"Puck just has some ideas," Finn said, taking the paper and shoving it in his back pocket. "What's going on, Mr. Schuester?"

Mr. Schuester had a woman with him. She wasn't a tall woman, and had dark skin like Simon and hair that was cut so short that Brittany wondered if she'd seen the same article that Puck had and was here to convince them all to enlist. "This is Sarah Porter," Will explained. "She was the Dean of Aslanis College."

The scowl left Kurt's face, and he sat up excitedly. "Aslanis? In Illumini? That was where I was going to go."

Sarah Porter's eyes raked over him, and her resultant smile was tight. Brittany wondered if she thought that Kurt's bright yellow sweater was inappropriate for an apocalypse. "You and five thousand, six hundred and ten others," she said, and Kurt cringed. "I'm sorry," she backtracked stiffly, "but you are probably the sole surviving member of that entering class."

"Right," Mr. Schuester said awkwardly, and then clapped his hands together in an obvious effort to change the subject. "Anyway, guys, Ms. Porter wanted to meet you all."

Ms. Porter tore her eyes away from Kurt and smiled at them all, and her smile changed her face from stern to soft and pretty. Brittany liked her smile- it reminded her of her first grade teacher, the one that had always given Brittany a few extra animal crackers at snack time. "That's right. Captain Xu has told me about your group," she said. "As I'm sure you know, we've been trying to get news to the ships in the Fleet more efficiently. To that effect, we have started several regular wireless broadcasts, and we're trying to get a television broadcast as well."

Rachel gasped eagerly, half rising to her feet. "You want us to sing for the Fleet?"

Ms. Porter nodded. "I'd like to include a short program that we can use on the broadcasts once we have a working network. It would be an excellent addition to what we've got."

Singing. For the entire Fleet. Brittany sat up a little straighter, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She couldn't believe it. Her mother always talked about silver linings in clouds, and Brittany knew that this was one of them. Everything suddenly seemed a little brighter, a little more hopeful.

"What do you think, guys?" Will said, smiling widely.

Rachel's grin went from ear to ear. "Mr. Schue," she said breathlessly, "did you even need to ask?".

***

Ms. Porter sent a green shuttle that reminded Brittany of a minivan for them to come over to Cloud 9, an immense luxury liner that had recording equipment on it. Brittany wished they could see more of the ship, but they were whisked down the halls and into a room with a stage without the chance to look around. The stage was about half the size of the one at McKinley, and there were no seats, which Brittany assumed meant people would dance.

"Very big-band style," Ms. Porter said, nodding with satisfaction.

"Looks good," Mr. Schuester agreed. "Not too different from our own auditorium, is it, guys?" It totally was, but Brittany nodded anyway, because it seemed like that was what Mr. Schuester wanted to hear.

"What they want are happy, hopeful numbers," Ms. Porter explained, now addressing them all. "What I want is something optimistic, youthful, and wholesome. You all are representing what is left of Gemenese culture to what is left of the Twelve Colonies. Our Colony has always been known for its faith and its devotion to the Sacred Scrolls. Others are going to be looking to us to lead them in their faith in the Gods and on this journey to Earth."

Rachel's hand shot in the air. "Mr. Schue? May I take this moment to suggest that we bring out some of the old standards? They are recognizable, well-received-"

"And conveniently feature all of your solos," Santana pointed out. Brittany snickered.

Ms. Porter was looking Rachel over. "Which might not be a bad thing," she said. "That's exactly the sort of face we're looking for. Let's start there."

For Brittany, the day passed quickly. It might be tedious work, with a lot of repetitions of the same songs, but it was work, and it was much better than sitting around on the Cybele all day. Even better than singing was getting to dance again. The Cybele was so cramped that dancing was impossible. But with this much space, it was like flying, almost, even if Brittany couldn't open up and really dance like she wanted to. At one point she caught Mike's eye, and she saw the same feeling reflected on his face. They smiled at each other, flushed and sweating and happy from the movement. One of the songs they did was "Valerie", which was easily one of Brittany's favorite songs that New Directions had ever done. Between getting to dance and Santana's amazing vocals, it was just hot. She even caught Ms. Porter's foot tapping along with the beat, and she knew that, once TV existed again, she was definitely going to be on it.

Awesome.

It was an exhausting day but a good one. In fact, it was the best day that Brittany had had since the attacks. She was disappointed when it was time to get on the small shuttle to head back to the Cybele, but she settled in a seat next to Santana, right in front of Ms. Porter. She peered out the window, looking at the ships. This was a different view of them than she ever got in the Cybele, and they did look pretty against the stars.

"Your group is really extraordinary," she heard Ms. Porter tell Rachel as they flew across the Fleet. "I've never really even heard of show choir, but I'm sure you would have done wonderfully at your competition."

"Yes," Rachel sighed. "It was too bad that we were denied the opportunity to compete, but I think that, with the songs we wrote two days before we left and the talent in our group, we would have won. As it is, I consider us the All-Colony Show Choir Champions."

"You know," Ms. Porter said, "There's a lot of organization to be done in this Fleet. A lot of things are changing, but one thing that will remain is the structure of our democracy. We're reforming the Quorum of Twelve."

"Ms. Porter is probably going to be the Gemenese representative, Rachel," Mr. Schuester put in.

Brittany leaned over to Santana. "It sounds like they're propositioning her," she whispered.

"Huh?" Santana had been far away. She looked back over her shoulder and shrugged. "Right. No one would proposition that."

Brittany peeked back. Mr. Shuester was sitting by the window, with Ms. Porter next to him and Rachel next to her. In the row behind them, she could see that she wasn't the only one eavesdropping; Kurt was listening with a very interested expression. Brittany waved.

"You're a very talented girl," Ms. Porter continued. "And from what your teacher tells me, you were an excellent student. I'm looking for a personal aide. Would you be interested?"

"Told you," Brittany whispered to Santana.

"Ms. Porter," Rachel said carefully, "I'm very flattered that you're extending this opportunity to me. But the theater has always been my first love."

"The theater doesn't exist anymore," Ms. Porter said gently.

"No, of course, not right now," Rachel said. "But it will, someday. And I need to be ready for that day. What you're offering me is fantastic, it really is, and I see that… but I feel that I need to find a place in this Fleet that's closer to my dreams."

"Well, consider it," Ms. Porter told her. "And let me know."

They were coming up on the Cybele. It had looked so big when they got on it on Gemenon. Now that Brittany had seen some of the other ships in the Fleet, she realized it really wasn't that big. It was kind of old and beat up, and it wasn't as impressive as the wheelie ship or as interesting as the ship that looked like it had three dinner plates on top. It was just squat and boring and nothing interesting. She wished she didn't have to get back on.

They were all filing out of the shuttle when she heard Kurt's voice. "Ms. Porter," he began. "If I may?" She didn't answer, but she must have nodded or something because Kurt rushed on. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Rachel, and her answer. If you are interested in a personal assistant, I would be delighted to take on the job. I was accepted at Aslanis, and I am extremely organized and punctual. Not to mention, I could bring a certain… flair to both the job and possibly even to you, if you so desired. After all, politics is largely perception."

"It is," Ms. Porter agreed, giving Kurt that look again. "And I'm sorry, but you're just not what I'm looking for." She turned away, leaving Kurt staring after her with an open mouth. "Rachel, get in touch with me if you change your mind. I'm over on the Faru Sadin." She hurried to catch up with Mr. Schuester.

Brittany looked at Kurt, who suddenly looked very sad and very young. She patted his shoulder sympathetically. "She didn't ask me, either."

He looked at her from the sides of his eyes. "And she probably wouldn't, if she knew more about you," he said bitterly. Then he shook his head. "You'd think such trivialities wouldn't matter at the end of the world, but apparently, they do." He flounced off.

Brittany stared after him, and then shrugged. Kurt always took things personally.

Santana came up beside her and linked her arm through Brittany's, pulling her away. "So," Santana said, with something of a purr, "Puck's idea."

"He suggested a threesome again?"

"No," Santana said, half-affectionate and half-impatient. "The military. Galactica. You're coming, right?" She led Brittany out of the tiny docking bay and into the corridor of their cargo pod. The narrow passageways seemed a lot more cramped than they had before they'd been over to Cloud 9. Brittany stared at them rather than really thinking about what Santana was trying to say.

"I don't know," Brittany said, when Santana started getting that don't ignore me or you will pay look. "I was just squeaking by with my grades."

"What, like Puckerman's the genius of the century?" Santana scoffed. She pushed open the door to their compartment. "They're looking for people who can follow orders and who can keep up with the physical stuff." Brittany's doubt must have showed, because Santana sighed exasperatedly. "You can do it, okay? You survived over two years of Coach Sylvester. You think the Colonial Fleet's got anything that can make her look scary?"

Brittany laughed, and Santana closed the door. She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around Brittany's waist, and Brittany had been right- this was the best day since the attacks happened. It felt good to be kissing Santana again.

It felt good to fall down on the nest of blankets that Brittany had essentially made as a bed, to have Santana beside her and running one hand through her hair and the other hand up her side. Brittany just closed her eyes and gave herself over. It was fantastic, and while they were together like this, Brittany felt whole and alive.

Afterwards, they lay naked and sweaty on the blankets, close together and hands still wandering over bare skin. "If this is your way to convince me to come over to Galactica, I might do it," Brittany murmured.

Santana froze. "Forget it," she said. "It was a stupid idea, you going."

"What?" Brittany asked, propping herself up on her elbow. "I thought-"

"It's the military, Brittany," Santana said. She sat up and reached for her bra. "Look, I've told you over and over, I'm not ready to come out. I can't take it."

"You heard what Puck told Kurt," Brittany said. "It's not Gemenon. The other Colonies don't have a problem with it."

"Yeah, well, I find that pretty hard to believe," Santana said. "People like treating other people like shit, and they'll find any reason to do it." She shrugged. "That's what I do, anyway."

"You could stay here," Brittany suggested, a lump forming in her throat. Santana didn't want her there, because of what people might say. Even now, that still mattered. Although there was something else in the way Santana's hand brushed over Brittany's arm as she reached for her shirt… something more. Something protective. "Stay with me," Brittany begged.

"And let the toasters win? Please. Puck's right about that." Santana pulled her shirt on. "Come on. I need a shower, and Mike and Tina are going to be banging the door down soon anyway if we don't let them in here."

Brittany sighed and moved to get her own clothing. Silly her for thinking the end of the world would change Santana's mind.

***

When Brittany looked out the windows of the Cybele, she could see the Galactica, looking like a huge whale among a school of smaller fish. She'd liked to look at the Galactica, because even as battered and old as it looked, it was fierce. It had teeth. It was kind of like New Directions in a way- once the bottom of the heap and now something special and amazing.

She wondered how she'd feel when she looked at it when Santana was over there. Would it be even more special because of her, or would it be terrible and rust-tainted for breaking them apart? For breaking them all apart, because Puck was going, too?

Brittany honestly didn't know what the answer was going to be.

***

It had taken several weeks, but the compartment the kids of New Directions had claimed was finally cleared of crates. Brittany had wondered why it had taken so long, but apparently the crates had to have someplace to go, first. It took a few more days to get approval, but eventually Mr. Hummel had been able to build a frame of sorts to make bunk beds. Now he had finally gotten his hands on some crates and torn them apart to actually make the bed part, and had informed Sam and Finn that they were helping. Brittany had come along too, because it was her bed, and some part of her felt like she should have something to do with the process. Besides, she liked Mr. Hummel.

"Okay, Brit. Hand me the five-sixteenths crescent, will you?" Burt said.

Brittany studied the tools spread out before her. "This one?" she asked, handing Burt the wrench.

"That's it," he said, and Brittany smiled up at him. He was standing on a ladder, tightening bolts as Finn and Sam struggled to hold a heavy piece of wood up above their heads.

"Hurry it up, Mr. H.," Sam gasped. "This is heavy."

"I'm moving." He did, too. Brittany couldn't help but be a little bit fascinated at how quickly he used the wrench. "There. Let it go," he ordered. Finn and Sam both dropped their arms with simultaneous groans, and Burt leaned on the board. It didn't move. He climbed down the ladder so he was back on the floor. "Who wants to test it?"

"Not it," the guys both said in unison.

"I will," Brittany volunteered. She climbed up the ladder and half-jumped over onto the platform. It creaked a little, but it supported her weight. Burt made a few noises that sounded very satisfied.

"Great," he said happily. "Finally. Something is going right for a change." Brittany caught his eye and they smiled at each other. He could look really scary, but when he smiled he looked sort of like a teddy bear.

Sam leaned back against the wall and wiped his forehead on his shirt. "And we only have how many more of these to do, Mr. H.?"

"Fourteen," Burt sighed. "But the next two we do will be easier. They won't be up so high. And we've got the framework in."

"I thought there were sixteen of us," Brittany said, surprised.

Burt looked up at her. "There are."

Finn frowned. "I don't think we need all fifteen," he said slowly. "You know Puck's going over to the Galactica."

"Santana, too," Brittany said.

"Frak, you're right."

"You… might want to wait a while," Finn said tentatively. "See who else is going."

Burt looked at him sharply. "Who else is thinking about going?" Finn didn't answer. "Finn?"

Finn looked down, his hands shoved in his pockets. "I didn't say I wasn't going to," he muttered.

"Yeah, but I did," Burt jumped in. "You're crazy if you think you're going. Your mother will kill you."

"For fighting Cylons?" Finn asked.

"For going into the service. If you don't think that's gonna bring back a world of memories and issues for your mom, you've got a lot less sense than I thought you did," Burt said firmly.

Sam looked up at Brittany, his eyes wide. Brittany was happy she was up out of firing range. She was pretty sure Mr. Hummel could shoot laser beams with his eyes.

"You're not really thinking about this, are you, Finn?" Burt pressed.

"Well," Finn looked to Sam and then Brittany for support. Sam shrugged. "Yeah, a bit," Finn finally said.

"If you really want to argue this out, we'll do it later," Burt said, tipping his head at Sam and jerking a thumb back at Brittany.

Finn turned to Sam. "Come on, man. Help me out. You're going, right?"

"Um-"

"See?" Burt cut in before Sam could fully answer. "Look, Finn. I get it, okay? You're mad and you want to get in there, and I don't blame you. A part of me wants to do that, too. But you are just a kid and we are a family, and if you go over to that ship, you know that your mother isn't going to handle it well. She already lost your dad to war. She doesn't want to lose her son as well."

Finn looked away.

"Now come on," Burt said, pointing to the stack of boards. "We've got thirteen more beds to finish."

Thirteen. It was less work, but Brittany liked it better when it had been fifteen.

***

Brittany was glad when Burt told them it was time for lunch. They'd put up four more bunks, and her arms were sore and the boring sameness of the room was driving her nuts. She wondered if there was any paint… anything that could liven up the stark gray walls and the gray pipes that made the framework for the beds. She was engrossed in the idea of the idea of glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling when they made it to the cabin. They got their food and sat down with the majority of New Directions.

"Okay," Puck said, thunking his plate down next to Brittany. "Galactica." Brittany winced at the word. "The training starts in a few days. Who else is in?" When no one answered right away, he looked around the table. "Finn?"

Finn sighed. "I'm game, man. But I've got parents to convince."

Puck turned on Kurt. "Well, if the two of you-"

"I'm not going," Kurt said.

Although no one else besides Santana had said they were going, Brittany realized no one had said they weren't going yet, either, and everyone stared at Kurt like he'd grown two heads.

Puck's gaze darkened. "You'd better have one hell of a reason, Hummel."

Kurt shrugged and buttered his roll primly. "Honestly, Noah, I don't have to justify myself to you. But since you insist on asking, can you honestly see me in the military?"

"I told you," Puck said through clenched teeth, lowering his voice and looking around at the tables, "that gay shit isn't going to be a problem. Adama is Caprican and the other Colonies don't care-"

"That's not what I meant," Kurt cut him off. "It's simply a matter of suitability. The military is a conformist environment where you need to be able to follow orders without questioning. I am a drill sergeant's worst nightmare."

Brittany laughed because Kurt was right, but she was the only one who did.

"Frak that!" Puck said. "So you have to give up your goofy outfits and shoot when they tell you to! You frakking lost Blaine-"

"Leave Blaine out of this," Kurt ordered, his voice like ice. But Brittany noticed that Kurt was fingering the soma bracelet around his wrist. She had noticed it before and just assumed it was another Kurt-like accessory, like the straightjacket he owned. But it wasn't, and Santana was noticing, too.

"Wait a minute," Santana said. "That's what this is about, isn't it? It's about Blaine."

"It's not-"

"It is!" Santana accused. "Blaine was a Saggy, and now that he's gone you've got some stupid notion that you need to stick to their whole non-violence shtick. Next thing you know you'll be rattling chicken bones and burning pigeon feathers instead of going to a doctor."

"First of all, I'm an atheist," Kurt said, rolling his eyes. "So Scripture's got nothing to do with it. Second of all, Blaine wasn't that type of Sagittaron. His family got the hell out of there because it was such a shithole and no one would do anything about… it…" Kurt trailed off, his eyes lighting up.

"What?" Sam asked.

Kurt shook himself. "Oh, nothing," he said in that light voice that meant he was lying and was definitely up to something. After all, that was generally when Kurt was the most fun. Sam looked like he was going to press him, but was interrupted by a breathless Rachel coming into the cabin from the control room. She looked like she had good news, and Brittany's heart sped up a little.

"I just got off the phone with Ms. Porter," Rachel said, shoving Puck aside and commanding the attention of the group. "They loved it!" She looked at them all with an expression that reminded Brittany of an excited chipmunk. "It's going to be on the schedule."

"Great!" Tina said, obviously relieved at the change of subject. "When?"

"I… don't know," Rachel said, and took a deep breath. "They don't have one yet. They're still establishing a… progressive scanning cathode tube ray… something."

Artie's head hit the table. "I can't even count how many things you just said wrong," he moaned. "In fact, I'm not sure what you were even trying to say."

"Me either," Rachel dismissed it cheerfully. "The point is, we're going to be on TV! It's happening! We're going to be stars in the Fleet!"

Brittany did a little fist pump. "Yay!" she said softly. This was it. Rachel was right- their dreams really could still happen, even now. And even better, this was something they could all do togethe. Suddenly, the cabin seemed cozy, not cramped, and Brittany looked around the table at her friends, smiling. But once again, no one else seemed to have her reaction. They were quiet.

It wasn't a unified silence. Tina looked happy, and so did Sam and Mike. Quinn was smiling like she was above it all, but that was how Quinn always smiled. Brittany was pretty sure Quinn had a cat somewhere in her family. And Mercedes looked thoughtful. But Puck was glowering and Finn was frowning, and even Kurt wasn't looking at Rachel. And Santana was flat out scowling. It dulled Brittany's happiness a little, and she had the feeling that this wasn't going to be so easy.

Rachel clapped her hands together, as if the silence meant everyone agreed. "Okay," she said. "I think we need to start working on another set list. If this one is as successful, then we're going to be asked to do more. If we're really lucky, they'll ask us to do a weekly show! We could be like the Massie Marsupial Hour!"

"I love that show," Brittany agreed, nodding.

"You're kidding, right?" Puck asked Rachel.

"Well, no," Rachel said. "I know it's quite laughable and the music is ridiculously trite, but it is extremely popular. But once they have the network up, they're going to need something besides news to put on it."

"Rachel," Mercedes said, in that firm-but-gentle voice that reminded Brittany of a teacher. "We've just had all of the Colonies destroyed and the Cylons are still after us. I think that becoming stars… it's just not going to happen."

"No," Rachel said, shaking her head. "This is our chance to make all our dreams come true. This is our chance to do what we all love, and to be stars. This is what we've always wanted."

"Rachel's right," Brittany heard herself saying. Santana stared at her like she was crazy, and Brittany couldn't blame her. Brittany was agreeing with Rachel of all people. It was a sure sign that the end of the world was happening. Well, that and all the bombs going off and the people being dead. But Puck immediately dismissed it.

"Screw what we've always wanted," he said. "It's not good enough anymore."

***

Brittany had been relieved when Burt had shown up to inform her, Finn, and Sam that it was time to get back to work. That relief lasted all of two bunks, when Sam managed to drag his arm along a pipe and tear it open. Burt pulled off his over shirt and wrapped it Sam's arm, but the blood soaked though quickly.

"We'd better get you to Simon," Burt said.

"I'll take him," Brittany offered. She draped an arm around Sam's shoulder and led him out of the room.

Sam was really pale as they made their way through the corridor and into the next cargo pod. Brittany was beginning to worry that he was going to pass out on her and then she'd end up dragging him by his ankles like a cave woman or something. (Which might be kind of kinky if Sam didn't have blood gushing out of his arm.) But then, Sam was kind of pale anyway. Maybe the big lips drained the blood from his face.

Simon had set up a small office. There were medical supplies lined up neatly, rows of little bottles, and a tray of instruments. The back of the office was a curtain; Brittany wondered what Simon was hiding behind it. Maybe Simon was a puppet and there was a puppeteer. But what was really surprising was the fact that Quinn was sitting there.

"Are you sick?" Brittany asked her. Quinn didn't answer.

Simon went for Sam immediately. The blood had soaked all the way through Burt's shirt, and Simon peeled it off carefully. "Okay," he said, his voice calm and soothing. "This isn't bad. Take a seat. Sam, right?"

"Yeah." Sam's eyes were blurry.

Simon guided Sam to a chair and put his arm up on a table. "Quinn, get the anesthetic. This wound isn't bad: it's local, and while it's deep enough to require suturing, it's relatively small. It's still bleeding, though, so let's use the xylocaine with epinephrine." Quinn nodded and picked up a bottle and syringe.

"Wait," Sam said, snapping back to lucidity, "is she going to do this?" Brittany didn't blame him. She wasn't sure she'd trust Quinn not to stick a needle all the way through her arm if she was pissed at all, either.

"She's going to do the injection and the cleaning," Simon said. "I'll do the sutures."

"But-"

"There are only so many doctors in this Fleet," Simon said, frowning. "And no way of training more, aside from on-the-job training." He moved back and let Quinn step in. "Go ahead," he ordered her.

Sam tensed, but Quinn just smiled a little. "Relax," she said. "It will be okay." Her hands were steady as she put the needle into Sam's arm. Sam winced, but he didn't die, so Brittany figured she must have done okay.

Brittany didn't really want to watch the blood and gore parts as Quinn cleaned the wound and Simon sewed it up, so she watched Quinn's face. Quinn had never, ever talked about being a doctor. But she looked interested instead of repulsed, and when Simon quizzed her as he worked, she was able to answer every question. Even Sam seemed impressed.

"Why didn't you tell us that you were becoming a doctor?" Brittany asked Quinn when Simon led Sam behind the curtain to lie down and Quinn began cleaning up.

"Because I'm not becoming a doctor," Quinn said. She gathered up the bloody gauze.

"You're working with him," Brittany insisted. "He's teaching you."

"Yes," Quinn said, with something like a huff. "But that doesn't mean I'm becoming a doctor. When we find Earth, I'll be able to do… something else."

"What else?" Brittany asked, curious. But Quinn ignored the question, focusing on her job.

"I like being around Simon," Quinn said suddenly, as she wiped down the table. "He's a living miracle." Brittany blinked at her, and Quinn sighed. "Giana," she said impatiently. "His wife. That he'd be on the Cybele and she'd be on the Galactica and they'd manage to find each other again in all this… it's proof that the Gods are still looking out for us."

"Then why couldn't Lauren find Puck or Blaine find Kurt?" Brittany asked.

"It doesn't work that way," Quinn scoffed, and then softened. "Not everyone is going to get a miracle. But just being around someone who did… it reminds me that it can happen. And when we find Earth… maybe life can be good again."

Oh.

Brittany wandered back through the narrow corridors. Her watch said that it was only two-thirty on Gemenon, and it was three forty-five on the Cybele. The image of Quinn working on Sam's arm kept coming back to her. Brittany knew that she didn't want to work with blood and guts like that, but for some reason, she felt a little jealous, and she couldn't put her finger on why. Maybe because Quinn was always just so certain, even when her life was falling apart.

She suddenly remembered Mr. Hummel probably wanted to know how Sam was. She wondered if he knew what Quinn was doing and how he'd react to that. He probably wouldn't like her working with a puppet. She was so lost in thought on how to tell him that she didn't realize that there were people shouting until she walked into their compartment.

Burt was standing on one side of the small room, Finn on the other. Puck was standing next to Finn, arms crossed and red in the face. They were all upset. Brittany had heard bickering and arguing, but this wasn't either of them. This was fighting. It turned her stomach even more, but she inched into the room anyway.

"Look," Burt said, obviously trying to control his temper and just as obviously failing, "I'm just saying that everything is still really raw and you guys are not in the place where you can make a rational decision! You kids don't know what war is really like, the way it fraks you up."

"Are you kidding, Mr. Hummel?" Puck shot back before Finn could answer. "These frakkers destroyed everything! Don't you get that? All that's really left is to blow their metal asses out of the sky for what they did to us."

"I'm not saying that there's not a place for revenge, okay? But they've blow up a hell of a lot of people, and I don't really like the idea of you kids putting yourselves out there to be more canon fodder. This President Roslin is right about one thing- we got our asses kicked, and our only hope is to run."

"Bet you wouldn't be saying that if it was your family that was dead," Puck said angrily.

"I had a dad, two sisters, and a brother back on Gemenon," Burt said. Brittany looked at him sympathetically. She'd had two sisters and a brother, too.

"But your kid is still alive!" Puck insisted, but Finn pulled him back.

"Can you let me say something?" Finn demanded. "I'm the one that's got to convince him." Puck glowered but took a step back, and Finn turned back to Burt.

"You know what?" Finn said to Burt. "You're right. President Roslin is right. War's over. We lost." He spread his hands. "And if the Galactica was trying to take on the Cylons- hunting them down- I wouldn't go, okay?"

"Dude, you'd really-"

"Shut up, Puck," Finn said. He turned back to Burt. "But that's not what they're doing. They're protecting people. And yeah, I've got a mom still. And a dad, and a brother. And there aren't many people that can say that anymore. But that's what makes it so important to me. I've got something left to protect. And it I can do it- if I can keep Mom and you and Kurt safe- I'm gonna go do it. My dad wasn't afraid to die to keep his family safe, and neither am I."

Normally, Brittany thought that Finn was a dork. But right now, she wanted to hug him.

Burt looked away and mopped a hand over his face. Finally, he said, "How many times did you practice that speech?"

Finn flushed. "A lot."

"Kurt help you with it?"

"Yeah. He knows I'm going, if that's what you're trying to ask."

"Is he going, too?" Burt asked. "This how I'm finding out?"

Finn shook his head. "Kurt's not going."

"He's a frakking coward," Puck began, but Finn turned on him.

"Shut up, okay? I know you think everyone should go, but they aren't all going to, so back off. And Kurt's got plans of his…." Finn trailed off and glanced at Burt. "I mean, Kurt's got his reasons."

Burt closed his eyes. "Do I even want to know?"

Finn shrugged. "You will eventually."

Burt shook his head. He suddenly looked very tired. "You get to tell your mom," he said.

Finn looked abashed. "Yeah," he said. "I know."

Burt sighed. "Guess we're down to twelve beds, then." Puck clapped Finn on the shoulder, grinning.

Finn didn't smile.

"Come on," Puck said to Finn. "We need to get your name on this list."

Finn looked back at Burt, who shrugged helplessly. "Go ahead," he said wearily. Finn opened his mouth to say something, but Burt just looked so… so angry. So sad. Finn shut his mouth, nodded, and left the room with Puck. Burt watched them go.

"Are you all right?" Brittany asked, when Burt didn't say anything.

"Yeah," he lied. He looked down at the tools in his hands, and then over about Brittany. "What about you?" he asked her. "Are you going over to the Galactica, too?"

Brittany shook her head. "I don't think so. Are you?"

He laughed a little. "I don't think so. I'm good with cars, but I don't know the first thing about space craft."

"They can't be that different," Brittany said.

Burt looked a little amused. "They are," he said. He sat down on one of the platforms. "Besides, there's still Carole and Kurt on this ship, and neither of them are going over." Brittany nodded and sat down on one of the beds. Burt sighed and sat down next to her, still playing with his wrench. "My first wife died of cancer," he told Brittany. "I spent as much time with her as I could before she died, but it still wasn't enough. When you love someone like that, when they're family, it's never enough."

Brittany nodded. She knew exactly what he meant.

"One man isn't going to make that big a difference," Burt said. "Not to all of humanity. But my family… it makes a difference to me. I've still got them, and I'm not letting them go. Not yet."

"So it's okay not to want to go?" Brittany asked.

Burt looked at her and smiled grimly. "Yeah," he said. "It's more than okay." He sighed. "Come on," he said, standing up and tossing his wrench back to the toolbox. "Let's get some more of this done."

***

Burt got called to another part of the ship, and the bunks had to wait again. Brittany spent the rest of the day with Mike and Tina, who seemed to have attracted all of the kids under ten.

"It's fun, actually," Mike told her as one kid hung off his bicep and another tried to tickle him. "Overwhelming, but they're the only people that laugh these days."

"Captain Xu even gave us a compartment as a playroom," Tina said. "We're going to paint it up, and see if maybe Mr. Hummel can attach some of that scaffolding to the walls. Give the monkeys a chance to climb."

Brittany always thought she liked kids. Maybe she still did. But after spending an entire afternoon with the brood that Mike and Tina were attached to, she wondered how they could possibly put up with it. It was like dealing with the glee club at top volume while trying to do a Cheerios routine. She couldn't understand how Mike and Tina seemed so frakking happy with what they were doing.

"What other choice to we have?" Tina asked. "It's better than a lot of things."

Once, she would have thought the same way. Brittany wondered what exactly had changed. Maybe because it was the end of the world, after all.

***

Even though some of the bunks were finished, Brittany stayed in her little nest on the floor. It was familiar and she'd gotten comfortable, and she didn't want to leave that little security. The others had drawn straws for who got the first bunks, but Brittany had refused. She was happy here. The dim light of a night light was near her head. The door to their compartment opened, and Carole crept in. Brittany wasn't at all surprised when Burt got up to greet her. She heard them kiss. Carole had been gone all day; Brittany had heard something about a refinery ship.

"I brought cocoa down," Carole said quietly. "Are the kids asleep?"

"I think so." That was Mr. Schuester. "They're at least quiet."

"Which says so much with teenagers," Coach Sylvester pointed out wryly. "It's when the little zit factories are quiet that you need to be worried, William."

"I would be worried, Sue, if there weren't sixteen of us in the room," Will said. "How was the Daru Mozu, Carole?"

Carole sighed heavily. "It's not an engine plant, that's for sure."

"Why are they putting you on a tylium refinery ship, anyway?" Brittany heard Sue ask. "I know the Carina has a salvage and repair shop, wouldn't you and your acid washed coveralls be sent there instead?"

"That's what I thought," Carole said. Brittany peeked over to see Carole shrug. In the dim light, the four adults were little more than silhouettes as they sat huddled together on crates drinking cocoa. It reminded Brittany of sleeping in the back seat on long car trips, and her parents' hushed conversations in the front. It made her feel safe. "But what they're short on is people who know how to manage shift work and lines." She sighed. "They're trying to work a third shift in. The schedule is crazy."

"Are they bringing in more workers?" Burt asked.

"Yeah." Carole sipped her drink. "Sam says he wants to come over," she said finally.

"Over?"

Carole shrugged. "I'm going to be on 16-8 schedules," she explained. "Four days on, three days off. They need line workers, and Sam said-"

"I don't like the idea," Will broke in. "Sam could be more than a factory worker."

"And what," Carole said stiffly, "is wrong with being a factory worker?"

"There's nothing wrong with it," Will backtracked. "It's just…"

"Would you like a shovel, William?" Sue asked. "Or should I just give it to Carole so she can hit you over the head with it?"

"I-"

"No, I do know what you mean," Carole relented. "You think I didn't want more for Finn?" She sounded bitter. "But when it comes down to it, it's not going to be our decision what these kids do."

"Not our decision, but our responsibility to help them," Burt said. "There are gonna be a lot of people willing to take advantage of these kids because they're young and they're stupid when it comes to the world. We've got to look out for them."

There was more said- a lot more. A lot of talk about protection and children and how young they all were and how they weren't kids any more. She heard Sue's gravel, and Carole's warm tones, and Mr. Schuester's familiar voice. They all helped, but it was Burt's voice that soothed Brittany the most and lulled her back to sleep.

***

Over the next two days, they got all twelve bunks together. (When she saw it, Brittany finally figured out that the reason it was twelve and not thirteen was that Burt and Carole planned on sharing the large bottom one. Of course. She wondered why they didn't offer that set up to Mike and Tina, too. It would have been less work.) The wooden platforms on the walls and the pipe frames made their room look like a storeroom.

She lay on her top wooden bunk that night, staring up at the ceiling. Puck, Santana, and Finn were all going over to the Galactica. Quinn was working with Simon. Kurt had some plan that no one knew. Brittany wondered what else people were going to do.

She liked the idea of them all performing. It was comfortable. It was familiar. But if Puck and Santana and Finn and Quinn and Kurt all had their own plans, would it split them up? Just a few weeks ago, Finn had said it would be to the end. That they'd be family.

Brittany liked the idea of family.

She turned over, wrapping her arms around her pillow. She couldn't think of her real family, the ones that she had left back on Gemenon. It had been over three weeks and she still wanted to cry every time she did. She'd wonder why it wasn't getting better, but the truth was she didn't want it to get better. She didn't want to think about them being dead, and not even buried properly. She hoped the gods would understand why she hadn't put the coins on their eyes and burned the sacrifices, and would take them to Elysium anyway.

At least she still had Santana. In secret and behind closed doors, but she still had her. She was still alive. For now.

She didn't want to go to Galactica. The idea of picking up a gun and shooting it… something about that bothered her, even if those Cylons were really toasters. (Although she'd seen their pictures published in the paper and posted on the wall, and she had no idea where you were supposed to put the bread in- they looked so human. But even the mechanical ones didn't seem to have the little slots.) Deep down, she knew she wasn't going to go, even though Santana was.

Brittany had her new bed, but she didn't sleep well at all that night.

***

Her watch said 3:14 when she heard Burt say, "I wish you didn't have to go." His voice was low and soft.

"I wish I didn't have to, too," Carole said. "Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine. It's just… who knows how much time… no. I'll be fine. I'll miss you, but I'll be fine."

"And I'll be back," Carole said, her voice shifting lower. "We'll be okay."

She heard them kiss. They had no idea anyone was awake. Brittany decided to be polite and buried her head under the covers.

She heard an alarm go off at what must have been 5:30. Not a loud one, just the beeping of a wristwatch. Brittany peered down and saw Artie pulling himself out of his bed and into his wheelchair.

"What are you doing up?" she hissed down at him, looking over the edge of her bunk.

Artie looked up. "Did I wake you up?"

"I couldn't sleep," Brittany admitted.

Artie looked sympathetic. "I know," he said. "I couldn't the night before. I think I slept last night because I had to." He wheeled over a little. "Come down and have breakfast with me?"

Brittany nodded and scrambled down the ladder. She rifled through her bag and came up with a clean shirt and pants and changed into them. She didn't bother to turn away from Artie; he'd seen her naked plenty of times before. But she did notice he looked away. It was sweet. Brittany had always liked that about him.

They made their way through the corridors, but when they got to the ladder leading up to the cabin, Brittany froze. "How are you going to get up there?" she asked.

Artie grinned. "You haven't seen this yet?" he asked. "Check it out." There was a small platform like a swing tied back next to the ladder. Brittany hadn't noticed it before. "Giana and Burt made it for me," Artie said as he freed the swing. He moved himself out of the chair and onto the seat of the swing, and then nudged his chair over to a corner. "It's a pulley system. Watch."

There was another rope, a really thick one. Artie began pulling on it, and the swing he was sitting on rose up. Brittany's mouth fell open. "Artie!" she called as he rose up. "That's amazing!" His laugh was her answer. Brittany climbed up the ladder after him. When she got to the top, he was in another chair.

"I know, right?" he asked as they made their way to cabin. "It's great. I don't have to have anyone carry me up and down the ladder anymore, and I should get some great guns." He flexed.

They got their food and sat down. It was kind of nice to eat here without all the others from New Directions, but then Brittany realized New Directions only had a few more meals where they'd all be together. She frowned.

"What are you doing up so early?" she asked Artie. "You're not going over to Galactica too, are you?"

"Me?" Artie snorted. "No. Although Puck did try to convince me that the Fleet would take me. I don't think he was really thinking about all the implications, though. Just about shooting Cylons."

"So what are you doing instead?"

"We're getting a shipment of televisions in today off one of the freighters," Artie said happily. "I'm supposed to help hook them up in a few rooms. Turns out there aren't many people on board who can do the wiring without electrocuting themselves."

He looked so incredibly proud of himself that Brittany couldn't help but smile. "That's great," she said, and she meant it. But it also pinged something inside her. "You know," she said, a little sadly, "Puck never even got mad at me for not going. Actually, he's never even asked me if I'm going."

"Do you want to go?" Artie asked. Brittany shook her head. "Well, then. Why worry about what Puck's saying? Just enjoy not having him growl at you." He shrugged.

Artie had a point, and Brittany knew it. But at the same time, she thought she might, too. But she couldn't articulate it, and so she dropped the subject. Artie did, too, and they sat talking about other things as other people filtered in, bleary-eyed and quiet. Artie was trying to explain how the wireless and television signals went through the Fleet and Brittany was completely lost when Rachel barged up to them.

"Have either of you seen Kurt?" she demanded.

"Kurt? No, why?" Artie asked.

"He's not in his bed, and I've been looking for him," Rachel said. "I have something I need to do, and Kurt is the best person to come with me."

"What are you doing?" Brittany asked.

Rachel bit her lip and looked around the cabin, which was stupid because no one was listening to them. But she leaned in and lowered her voice. "I have a meeting over on Cloud 9 with some people who have seen our segment," she said. "They're in charge of the broadcasting when it starts."

"Why isn't Mr. Schuester handling it?" Artie wanted to know.

"Because they didn't call us, I called them," Rachel hissed. Like she'd get in trouble for it. She looked at her watch. "I really wanted Kurt to come with me."

"I'll come with you," Brittany offered.

Rachel stared at her like she'd grown two heads. Which was ridiculous, because it was Cloud 9, and Brittany had only gotten to see the hallways and the room they'd filmed in last time. Finally, Rachel sighed.

"All right, but if we find Kurt, he's coming with me, not you. Let's go."

***

Cloud 9 was an amazing ship, and this time, Brittany got to actually see a bit of it. They had to come over when the shuttle brought them, and as a result were three hours early for Rachel's meeting. Which meant, Brittany discovered, three hours of listening to Rachel Berry tell her what to say (or, more accurately, what not to say). But Brittany tuned her out and headed for the part she most wanted to see- what was under that glowing dome that you could see from outside.

The answer, she found out, was a garden.

She and Rachel stood on the edge, blinking in the light that felt like sunlight and looking at the real grass and the real flowers and a sky that wasn't real but sure looked it. Even Rachel stopped talking for a minute, her mouth hanging open in delight. "It's beautiful," she whispered. Brittany closed her eyes and inhaled. The smell of grass and flowers was amazing after almost a month on a small ship with recycled air.

Here and there, people were moving around. Gardeners taking care of the plants, people getting ready for the day. She could smell cut grass, and was suddenly reminded of playing in the backyard with her sisters and brother, running through sprinklers and swinging on the jungle gym. She used to hang by her knees off the monkey bars, and she remembered how hot the slide got under the summer sun. The four of them used to set the sprinkler right by the jungle gym so they could make the slide into a water slide. The memory was so vivid and so close that she couldn't breathe.

"Are you okay?" Rachel noticed, when Brittany didn't agree to whatever it was she was saying.

"Yeah," Brittany lied. "I'm fine."

She managed to pull herself together, but the memories of her family kept coming at her. She saw a purple flower and remembered picking it for her mother, she smelled the sharp spicy scent of the woodchips and remembered her brother throwing them at her, and when she took off her shoes and put her feet on the grass, her father was right beside her again, holding her hand. It hurt, but for the first time, Brittany felt like they were really close to her again, right there and loving her. She didn't want to let them go.

They walked through the paths until Rachel said it was time. It was hard to leave that garden, but Brittany didn't realize how hard until they were out of the fake sunshine and into the walls. Cloud 9's walls weren't like the Cybele's, all dingy and gray, but they still made Brittany feel trapped.

Rachel led them through a maze of hallways, giving Brittany the impression she was lost and didn't want to admit she didn't know where she was going. But eventually Rachel knocked on a door, and a voice from inside called, "Come in."

"Mr. Ishinhall?" Rachel said, clasping her hands behind her back. "I'm Rachel Berry. From New Directions."

Mr. Ishinhall smiled and stood up. He was a tall, thin man in short sleeves with dark hair that was gray at the temples, large eyes, and white teeth flashing against light brown skin. He was sitting at a table a heavy-set man with darker skin and heavily-lidded eyes. That man's eyes skipped over Rachel and landed on Brittany, and one eyebrow quirked up in interest. But Brittany had been given very strict instructions by Rachel to pay attention and keep her mouth shut, so she turned her attention back to Mr. Ishinhall. To her surprise, she found that she was actually nervous. She hadn't realized how much she wanted this to work.

"Right. New Directions. This is the group I was telling you about, Phelan."

"The Gemenese kids?" Phelan didn't seem all that interested.

"Yeah. So," he turned back to Rachel, "did you talk to your group?"

Rachel quailed a little. "I tried," she began. "There's a little- but hardly insurmountable- problem. A few of them are going over to the Galactica."

"Hmmm."

"But we can get them to come over, can't we?" Rachel said hurriedly. "We can get them out of training long enough to-"

"You don't know much about the military, do you?" Phelan drawled contemptuously.

Rachel flushed. "Well, no, but…"

"Which ones are going?" Mr. Ishinhall said, and Brittany thought he sounded kind. Like maybe it could work if the right ones were staying.

Rachel obviously came to the same conclusion. "Puck- he has the mohawk- and Santana. She has the long dark hair." She looked so anxious for approval, but at the same time, she stopped one name too early.

"And Finn," Brittany said, when Rachel didn't name him. Rachel turned around and glared at her, but Brittany shrugged. What was the point of hiding it? He was going to find out anyway.

"Finn's the tall one with the great voice who sang lead, right?" Mr. Ishinhall looked at his notes. "And Puck plays the guitar."

"Yes. But so does Sam," Rachel quickly added.

Mr. Ishinhall shook his head. "Look, Rachel, I'll lay it on the line. I think we could get away with losing one or two of them. But the big appeal I saw from the tape was the entire group. The individual numbers were nice, but what's really going to pull an audience in is the group numbers. And if you're missing a quarter of your group, you're missing too much. I'm sorry." Brittany's stomach twisted, and she tried to make herself say something. Fortunately, Rachel beat her to it.

"You're sorry?" Rachel asked, horrified. "You mean… please, Mr. Ishinhall. We can make this work. If they knew- I can convince them, I can-"

"If you can get them, I'm willing to see what we can do for an hour-long show each week, to start." Mr. Ishinhall shrugged. "But that's the best I can do. At least right now."

Rachel swallowed hard. "What about… what about other opportunities?" she asked. "Wireless? Or solo work? Or… or newscasts! You want to start distributing news, you must need newscasters!"

"You're a singer," he said, amused.

Rachel became even more earnest. "I'm not just a singer, Mr. Ishinhall. I'm an actress, too. I can effectively convey one hundred and forty-seven different emotions, I can cry on demand, and my enunciation is impeccable. I don't get stage fright, and I'm always ready to report, no matter what the hour."

Brittany's eyes widened. But then, she realized, it shouldn't be a surprise. Rachel wanted to be a star, and she was going to be if the rest of New Directions was with her or not. "I have some journalism experience," she said, because really, it was a good idea, even if Rachel Berry thought of it.

Mr. Ishinhall raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"She had a gossip talk show on one of the v-world channels," Rachel said dismissively.

"And I wrote for the paper," Brittany said.

"The high school paper called the Muckraker," Rachel added. Her smile became more determined and fake. "Mr. Ishinhall, from what I heard there are only two legitimate journalists left in existence, and they wrote for second-rate publications. You're going to have to train up anyone that you have reporting news and interviewing the people of influence in the Fleet, so why not start with someone who is aware they need training and has the earnest look that you need for someone reporting fluff pieces that will up the Fleet's morale?"

Mr. Ishinhall looked at his watch and sighed. "All right," he said. "We'll do a quick read-through." Rachel squealed and bounced on her toes. He snapped his fingers, "Brianna?"

"Brittany," Brittany corrected.

"Why don't you go first?"

That shocked both her and Rachel.

Brittany followed Mr. Ishinhall out of the office and two doors down, stunned. "I didn't know I was going to-"

"Well, that's part of news," Mr. Ishinhall explained. "I was in advertising, but you hear things."

Brittany nodded.

He took her into a small room and pointed to a desk. "I'm not going to give you a script," he told her. "I want you to report on something- something you've seen in the Fleet. I want to see how you do on the fly."

Brittany sat down awkwardly at the desk. She felt confined behind there, like she was trapped. She shifted awkwardly in the chair. It didn't look anything like the chairs and desks she remembered seeing on news shows in Lima. The desk was a table, and the chair was a folding metal chair. The metal was cold through the fabric of her pants.

"What should I talk about?" It was a lot easier to interview people.

"Tell me about something."

Brittany cleared her throat. "I'm Brittany S. Pierce," she said, "coming to you from the Cybele. Or Cloud 9, I guess. It's been a month since the Cylon attack. The Galactica or the Colonial Fleet or Commander Adama or someone has just asked for new volunteers for the military. And they're getting at least three.

"I know Puck is going to kick ass in the military, because Puck is a bad-ass. He'll be great with a gun. And Finn will do okay, too, because it's other people telling him what to do and he doesn't have to make decisions. And I know Santana will win the war single-handedly and everything… but I don't want her to go. Not because I'm afraid she'll die, because she won't, but because I don't know what I'll do without her. It's bad enough that Charity and Lord Tubbington are gone, and if you leave me alone with Rachel, I'm pretty sure I will go insane. I might even start dressing like her."

She realized that she'd gotten off topic and snapped her mouth shut. She looked at Mr. Ishinhall, who sighed.

"Very emotional and moving," he said. "But not quite what we're looking for." He was gentle as he said it, but Brittany understood. You're not smart enough for this job.

Well, she hadn't really wanted this job anyway. She'd just tried for it because she felt at home on camera and because Rachel was being annoying.

She shrugged. "Your loss."

He smiled. "It is."

She traded places with Rachel, and sat in the quiet office with Phelan. For a moment, she just enjoyed the silence- the first she'd had since Rachel had interrupted her and Artie at breakfast. Then she noticed Phelan watching her.

"Are you looking for a job?" he asked.

Brittany blinked. "I guess. Something to do, anyway."

He grunted. "I saw the show," he said, gesturing vaguely at Mr. Ishinhall's desk. "I saw you dance. You were good."

"Thank you."

"You're also a very beautiful girl."

"Thank you."

Phelan rubbed his hand over his chin. "If you want a job," he said, "I can give you a job. You could earn a lot of cubits at once, for very little work." He leaned forward. "Have you ever had sex?"

"Of course," Brittany scoffed, and then frowned. "Although not with anyone as old as you."

Phelan's grin widened. "It wouldn't be with me," he said. "But I could set you up with people. Lots of people, from the looks of you. They'd pay you, and you could pay me a small… finder's fee." He leaned forward. "You could even stay on Cloud 9. I haven't been over to the Cybele, but I'm sure it's a lot nicer here."

"It is. What about Rachel?"

Phelan snorted. "You see me hiring Rachel?"

"She has all the sex appeal of a baby unicorn." Brittany agreed. Phelan made a face, but Brittany didn't notice. She was too busy thinking. "But all my friends are over on the Cybele," Brittany pointed out. "We're like a family."

"So much so that three of them are leaving for the military?" Phelan asked.

Ouch.

Brittany opened her mouth to respond, but they heard Rachel's excited voice coming from the hall. Phelan handed her a card. "Think about it," he said. "And when you decide, call me. But don't mention this to Ben, all right? I don't want him making you a counter offer." He winked.

Brittany smiled back.

Rachel came back in, smug and happy. Brittany might have rolled her eyes, but for the fact that someone wanted her to work for them, and not Rachel. Even if they couldn't get this TV job, and even if Rachel got her reporter job, Brittany had an offer, a way to be wanted in the Fleet.

She might have a place after all.

***

Mr. Schuester, Carole, Burt, and eleven of the twelve members of New Directions were crammed into the small compartment that was serving as their room. It was better now that there were bunks, Brittany thought, and she could stretch out next to Santana as Rachel took the floor. Brittany watched her with a sort of resignation. She hoped Rachel could convince everyone, but she probably wouldn't be able to. No one ever really listened to Rachel without someone backing her up. And although Brittany intended to try, she had the feeling that no one ever listened to her about anything serious, either.

"Think about it," Rachel gushed breathlessly. "Our own show. An hour a week, guaranteed! This is our chance! It's really happening! We really made it!"

"I can't believe it," Tina said, squeezing Mike's hand. His grin was just as wide as hers. "We're really going to do this!"

"I'm not," Puck said, arms crossed as he leaned against a ladder. "Look, Rachel. Singing and dancing? It doesn't do anything."

"Yes it does!" Rachel shot back. "It's… it's culture! Fighting the Cylons is great, Noah, and I really respect what you want to do, but this has always been my dream, and I finally have a chance to accomplish it! I am not letting anything- Cylons, nuclear holocaust, or any of you keep me from getting to the top!"

"The top of what?" a voice from the doorway said.

Rachel spun. "Kurt!" she practically shouted. "Where have you been?"

Kurt, looking as smug as Lord Tubbington always did after Brittany let him lick the empty ice cream cartons, sauntered into the room. He was dressed up, Brittany realized, actually wearing a skirt, tights, and his (admittedly incredibly awesome) knee-high boots, along with a gray shirt that looked like it had seatbelts sewn to the front. It was a combination he'd worn before, and Brittany had to admit one of the most annoying parts of the end of the worlds was listening to Kurt complain about having to wear the same outfit more than once.

"Where have you been?" Burt echoed Rachel.

Kurt arched his eyebrows. "I had an interview," he said. "And I got a job."

"A job," Burt said cautiously. "Do I even want to know?"

Kurt sat down, legs crossed and holding on to one knee, trying to look casually superior. "Starting tomorrow, I am the personal aide of Mr. Tom Zarek."

Finn smiled. "Awesome, man!" he said holding up a hand for Kurt to high-five. "Told you he'd go for it."

"Wait. Tom Zarek?" Burt asked. "Like, over on the Astral Queen Tom Zarek?"

"That's the dinner plate ship, right?" Brittany asked Santana quietly. Santana nodded, her dark brows knit together as she listened.

"I think Kurt's going to get to blow up something before you guys are," Sam said darkly.

"No," Burt said. "You are not going on a ship of a thousand convicts every day! Are you insane?"

"I am not insane," Kurt said, all offended, "and I will not be blowing anything up. If you haven't been following the Fleet's sorry excuse for news, Mr. Zarek is almost definitely going to be chosen as the Sagittaron representative to the Quorum of Twelve."

"It doesn't matter what he's going to be," Quinn said, "it really matters what he's been. He blew up government buildings, Kurt! He's a terrorist!"

"So people can't change, Lucy Caboosey?"

"There is a huge difference between changing and reforming," Quinn said icily. "Besides, he refused to even apologize. He hasn't shown any remorse over what he's done. He hasn't changed at all."

"I'm well aware of the history," Kurt said. "Believe me, I listened to Blaine for several hours on the subject. And he told the story quite a bit differently than you do. According to him, Zarek is one of the only people to rise up and fight for the rights of the Sagittarons. And, as backwards as I consider most- if not all- of the general beliefs on that godsforsaken rock, I certainly understand the plight of those oppressed by society for not fitting into what is considered the norm. Which is exactly what I told him."

"Oh, you did not tell him that you understand how it feels to be Sagittaron just because you're gay," Mercedes moaned, cradling her forehead in her hand.

"No," Kurt said primly, "I told him I appreciate that he fought for people whom the government would otherwise ignore, and may have let it drop that a certain Gemenese candidate refused to even consider me as an aide because of my sexuality." He smoothed his skirt down over his knee. "I added in the fact that my boyfriend taught me Sagittaron-"

"Blaine was ten when they moved to Gemenon," Mercedes pointed out. "And he was glad they did!"

"He still knew the language," Kurt said. "And he was glad because they had rights on Gemenon, which is more than Caprica ever gave Sagittaron."

"We're getting off the point," Rachel said, completely frustrated. "The show! We need to make a decision! This is our opportunity, and we may never get another one! This is our chance to be stars!"

"Stars of what?" Kurt asked. "Fifty thousand people?" Rachel gaped, and Brittany couldn't blame her. Because if there was anyone she thought would be all for this, it was Kurt. And looking at his face, Brittany knew that he wasn't.

"But you've always wanted…" Rachel trailed off.

"I kind of thought you'd be remodeling clothes," Mike put in. "You've probably got a chance to be the fashion designer of the Fleet."

Kurt looked at Finn for support, who gave him a grim smile in return. "Look," he said to the group, and it was the most sincere Brittany had ever heard Kurt sound, "I love music. I love fashion. But they don't matter right now. They're…." He looked like the words he wanted to say physically hurt him.

"They're still important," Rachel said, before Kurt could force himself to say it. "I can't believe that they're not."

Kurt looked genuinely pained. "There are other things I need to do right now. I… I can help. I can't go onto that ship," he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction that Galactica was. "I can't swear to follow orders. It's just… I can't. But I can do something. Something important. Something that makes a difference. And that's really what I've always wanted- to make a difference."

"But…" Rachel tried, but she was wilting, too. Without Kurt, they could forget convincing Finn, and then Puck, and looking next to her, Brittany realized Santana wasn't going to be swayed, either.

"Rach," Finn said gently. "I'm sorry. But I'm with Kurt. Look, a show- that's gonna take a lot of time. There's choreography and there are costumes and there are songs for each week…."

"But what's wrong with that?" Rachel asked. "We've spent so long on this ship doing nothing."

"Not all of us," Quinn said.

Finn nodded. "There are places for us, more than just singing and dancing. And I'm sorry, but mine is over on Galactica, protecting everything I've got left."

Next to Brittany, Santana's breath stopped. Brittany fumbled for her hand, and Santana squeezed it tight before detangling her fingers and moving away a little.

"We could take a vote," Tina suggested.

"A vote doesn't matter," Puck said. "I'm going to Galactica no matter what everyone else decides."

"Same here," Santana said, and Brittany bowed her head.

"I'm sorry, Rachel," Finn said. "But the show isn't going to happen. Not like this."

Rachel looked around the room, tears in her eyes. Brittany wanted to hug her, because she felt the same way. They were supposed to be a family. But Finn and Puck and Santana were joining the Fleet, Kurt and Sam had jobs on other ships, and Quinn spent all her time with Simon and Artie with the radios. They weren't a family anymore, not like this.

Brittany decided she was going to take up that job offer of her own.

***

The only thing was, she wasn't sure how to make the call. Her cell phone still didn't have a signal, although Artie said that they were going to be working on that, so ship-to-ship communication would be easier. She thought about asking Artie anyway, because maybe he could get her some time on the radio, but she had a suspicion asking Artie would be more complicated than that. She looked at the card Phelan had given her again. He was over on a ship called the Prometheus.

That didn't make any sense. He said if she worked for him, she'd work on Cloud 9.

Either way, Brittany studied the posted shuttle schedule right inside the docking bay. There was one last shuttle tonight, although she'd be stuck over there for the night. Which, if she was really going to start working by having sex, would make sense, right? Lots of people liked sex at nighttime.

Of course, the stars were always out and it was always dark outside, so maybe people were wanting sex all the time? It was almost as bad as eggs for dinner.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Brittany turned around. Coach Sylvester was watching her, one hand on her hip and her sloppy babies expression on her face.

"I have an interview," she told her.

"An interview."

Brittany shrugged. "Like Rachel. And Sam. And Kurt. They all have jobs off the ship."

"Right. We'll ignore the fact that Baxter Sarno doesn't actually have a job yet, Fishlips got shanghaied by Mama Willow instead of someone seeking him out, and Porcelain sauntered onto a ship of sexually deprived convicts in a kilt and bondage gear and risked a thousand and one prison jokes. Where the hell do you have an interview?" Brittany didn't answer, but she didn't need to. Sue snatched the card from her hand. As she read it, her face paled a little bit. "What the hell are you thinking?"

Brittany shrugged. "It's a job. Everybody's got to do something."

Sue's glare was even. "Do you have any idea what sort of job this is?"

"Sure. It's sex. I'm good at sex."

That hit Sue, and Brittany could see it. Coach Sylvester hadn't expected her to know what the job was really for. Well, Brittany wasn't stupid. She knew. She just didn't see anything wrong with it, that was all. "It's even legal," Brittany pointed out.

Sue opened her mouth and then shut it again. Then she grabbed Brittany by the upper arm and pulled her out of the docking bay and into the corridor outside. "I should tell Schuester about this," she said, her voice low and taut and angry, "but he'd just frak it up when he tried to explain to you why it isn't a good idea to do this. So as it is, I'm gonna do the honors. I've met this Phelan and this?" She held up the card between two fingers. "This isn't prostitution. This is sexual slavery.

"You probably think that if you go over there, you'll get this sweet little job where all you have to do is lie on your back and let some decent looking guys and some reasonable looking girls frak you. And sure, that'll happen some. But you don't get to choose who. So when the four hundred pound loser with no concept of hygeine comes knocking, or that eighty old grandma with dentures, you've got no choice. If they've got the money, you're going to do it them. Because this Phelan? He'll make you do it. He'll beat you and threaten you and if you don't do it, he'll frakking kill you. Is that the kind of job you want?"

Brittany shook her head.

"And just to drive the point home further, I'm sure there's got to be something that you don't want to do. Not just a person, but some sex act that you don't wan to do. And you're going to have to do it. You take this job and I swear to you that you'll be dead or wishing you were inside two months."

That sounded horrible. "But back on Gemenon-" Brittany began.

"Wake up, Aspasia. This isn't Gemenon anymore. And just because the entire Fleet's already been through hell doesn't mean that they're all pure and kind and good. You fall for this and you're going to get screwed. And I mean that literally and figuratively. Get your head out of the clouds, stop trusting people so much, and grow up, you got it?" Brittany nodded. "Good," Sue said. "There's no one around to take care of you anymore, you got that? You need to take care of yourself." She threw the card back at Brittany. "Make the right decision, but if I hear you're over on the Prometheus, I'll drag you back myself." With that, she spun away and left.

Brittany stared at the card mournfully. It wasn't that someone like Phelan existed or offered her a job that bothered her, it was that she really thought she'd had a place, and the truth was she didn't. She had nothing.

She tore the card up and threw it away.

***

She ran into Burt by accident, when she decided to go down to an unconverted part of the cargo pods just to be alone. Burt was sitting on a crate, twirling the wedding band on his finger.

"Are you all right, Mr. Hummel?" Brittany asked.

He looked up, obviously surprised to see her, and the sadness left his face. "Yeah," he said. "I'm fine." He looked closer at her. "What about you?" he asked. "Heard you went over to Cloud 9 with Rachel. You've got to be pretty disappointed about the show."

"I am," Brittany admitted. There was something about Burt Hummel… Coach Sylvester had said not everyone in the Fleet was kind and good, and Brittany supposed that must be true. But Mr. Hummel was the kind of man you could trust. "I wish they weren't going."

"You and me both, kiddo," he said. He studied her, and then moved over on the crate. "Have a seat."

"Thanks."

"So… which one's bothering you?" he asked, like he didn't already know.

"Santana," Brittany sighed. "I just wish…" for a moment she thought about not saying anything, because Santana didn't want anyone to know, but this was Mr. Hummel. He'd get it. "I love her," Brittany admitted. "She loves me. But… you know what you were saying about spending the time you can with the people you have left?" He nodded. Brittany shrugged. "She won't. She's… afraid."

Burt nodded. "I get that," he said. "People… you ever get any of those calls?" Brittany stared at him in confusion, and Burt sighed and pushed his cap back. "Yeah. Those calls scare the shit out of me."

"But we're not on Gemenon anymore."

"After a lifetime of being there," Burt said. "Don't get me wrong. I get why you're upset. Believe me." He chuckled a little. "Me, I shouldn't be, either. They were both going to go to college, and they were both moving out of the house. Carole worked a lot of crazy shifts anyway. When you think about it, nothing's changed. But I still don't want them to leave this ship."

"They'll be okay," Brittany tried to reassure him.

"Yeah. But it's me that might not be." He smiled to take the sting from that, to show her he was sort of joking. He didn't need to smile. Brittany knew exactly what he was feeling.

"Guess we just stay here then," she sighed, "being protected."

"Yup," he said with a nod, "guess so."

The two of them sat in silence.

***

The kids going off to the military couldn't take much, but then, they didn't have much to take. Brittany sat on Santana's bunk, watching her pack.

"I'm going to miss you," she told her.

Santana didn't look at her. "I know. I'm going to miss you, too. But I didn't say that." She folded a bra. "You're not going over to Phelan, are you?"

"No."

"Good. Because I'd have a gun, but I'm pretty sure I'd get discharged for killing that fat pig." She put her bra in her bag.

"Santana… about other people…."

Santana's head snapped up. "What about other people?" she said. "There's always been other people, Brit. You know that."

"I know. But now, with the way things are-"

"All the more reason not to get attached." Santana finished putting her underwear in and zipped her bag. "Frak whoever you want, Brittany. I'll be doing the same. And when I get leave and come back here, it will be me and you."

Brittany wanted to argue it, but there was that look in Santana's eyes, the one that meant that no matter what Brittany said, Santana wasn't changing her mind. And over the past year, Brittany had learned that pushing Santana on this particular subject only made things worse. So she nodded. "All right."

"Come on," Santana said. "Everyone's waiting."

There wasn't room down in the docking bay, so New Directions was saying goodbye to Puck, Finn, and Santana in the passenger cabin. Brittany didn't want to, but she didn't want to let her leave without saying goodbye, either. She was so lost in thought that she didn't realize that something was up until they were in the cabin. The group was really quiet, like they were stunned.

Mercedes was standing there, her chin high, clutching her bag as well.

"I don't believe this," Tina said as Brittany and Santana got closer. "You're going? Why?"

"Because of what Kurt and Finn said last night," Mercedes said. She turned to Rachel. "Look. You're right that we shouldn't give up on singing and dancing and all that. It's more than just an amazing dream. It's who we are. But right now, it's in danger. We're all in danger. And as much as I want that life, it just doesn't exist anymore. I thought about all those Sagittarons who don't stand up to fight, and what happens to them. And when someone does, he can't even make a difference because people stayed quiet for too long. I don't want to be that person, who lets the Cylons take what's mine and not fight. I'm going."

"That's my girl," Puck said proudly, slinging his arm around Mercedes' shoulder. "She's got guts, unlike the rest of you cowards."

Mercedes glared at him. "First of all, get your arm off me," she said. "I'm not your girl. And second, I'm not going because of anything you said, and you can stop guilting everyone else. I'm going because it's what I want to do. Now shut up."

Finn checked his watch. "The shuttle's gonna be here soon," he said. "We'd better get this going."

"Wait," Rachel said. "We have to… there's got to be-"

Finn nodded. "One more song for the road," he said. Then there was music again, for one last time.

***

"It's not the last time we'll ever sing together," Finn said as he climbed down the ladder. "We're not going to die over there, and we'll get leave."

"You might not die over there," Mercedes said. "I have a feeling I'm regretting this already."

"Not me," Puck said. "I'm ready to kick some Cylon ass."

"I can't wait to see you wet yourself the first time you face down one of those tin cans," Santana said.

Nine of them crowded into the tiny docking bay. The four military kids, with their bags. Kurt, with a satchel slung over his shoulder and an excited expression. Carole and Sam, both of them holding emptier bags for their four-days-on shift, and glummer demeanors. And Brittany and Burt, the only two who rated private good-byes.

The Raptor arrived first, and Brittany knew with a certainty that she hated that Raptor as soon as the airlock hatch opened. A woman in a flight uniform climbed out, her eyes scanning over a checklist. "Hudson, Jones, Lopez, and Puckerman?" she said.

"That's us," Puck said, grinning.

She glared at him. "You will answer with 'yes, sir'," she informed him. "You have one minute to say your good-byes and get your asses on that Raptor. Any stragglers will be doing pushups from here to lunch time."

One minute. She heard Finn saying his good-byes and Carole trying not to cry, and Mercedes and Sam hugged. But all that Brittany could focus on was Santana in her arms. "Stay safe," she whispered, hugging her desperately because now it was so real. "Come home to me."

"I will," Santana whispered back.

"Move it, maggots!" the woman shouted. Santana pulled away, gave Brittany one more smile, and then hustled onto the Raptor. Faster than it seemed to have come, they pulled away into the airlock, and the hatch closed. Brittany could hear the engines on the other side of the door, and the other end of the airlock opening, and then… nothing. They were gone.

The little dock seemed a lot emptier now, the engines covering the echos of their voices. Burt caught her eye, and Brittany gave him a small, grim smile. His smile back looked exactly the same.

Carole wiped her cheeks, and Burt put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. Sam did the same thing to Kurt. But there wasn't a lot of time before the airlock hatch opened again and a different shuttle came in. This one was small and beat up and painted bright blue, with Colonial Movers on the side. The man who looked out had shaggy bangs and a mustache. "Where y'all going?" he asked.

"Daru Mozu," Carole said, pointing to herself and Sam.

"Astral Queen," Kurt added proudly.

"Get in. Anyone else?" The man looked around the docking bay. Brittany shook her head. Burt hugged Carole and said a few quiet words to her, and Brittany waved to Sam. Burt released Carole, and then hugged Kurt.

"I'll see you tonight." Kurt told him.

"You'd better be home," Burt warned him. Kurt smiled and got on the ship.

Then that shuttle was gone, too, and Brittany and Burt were alone in the docking bay. It was oddly silent. Burt put his hands in his pockets, and Brittany shifted.

"You okay?" he asked her.

Brittany nodded. Strangely, there was a lump in her throat and she couldn't speak.

"Yeah. I feel the same way," Burt said. "Come on. I could use some help, if you haven't got anything better to do."

Brittany nodded again. "All right," she said, and her voice managed to work. Burt smiled at her and clapped her on the shoulder.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go."

***

It was quieter in the New Directions room with six people gone. (Kurt did come back at night, and in fact finally admitted that Zarek insisted on it. Whether it was to protect Kurt from a thousand sex-starved convicts or because Zarek didn't want to keep hearing about how his look needed updating and that he should wear his pants a little tighter was up for debate.) Sam and Carole at least left a lot of stuff on the Cybele, but the kids that had gone to the military hadn't. Brittany moved down from her bunk to Santana's. It felt she was a little closer to her that way.

They got three televisions hooked up in the ship. You had to go up to the cabin to watch, but Brittany didn't really mind. There wasn't much on, anyway.

Until one night when there was.

"It's on!" Rachel squealed, pulling them all into the cabin. "The stuff we taped! It's on!"

They crowded into the cabin, watching the screen eagerly. It was a short segment, only a half-hour, their choreography was rough, and they had tempo issues on one of the songs, but Brittany had to admit they looked good. She wondered if Santana had seen it. Rachel sighed wistfully.

"Don't press your nose to the screen," Mike said. "You'll get smudges on it." He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back.

"We should have…" Rachel began, and then shook herself. "I know why, it just seems like such a waste."

"It is," Brittany agreed, resting her chin on her hand.

Afterwards, Kurt wouldn't let them turn the set off. There was an interview series with the Quorum representatives that had already been elected. Brittany had little interest, but she was surprised at the actual sight of Zarek. Kurt actually hadn't mentioned that Zarek was good looking- she'd kind of assumed he had a shaved head, a scar down one stubbled cheek, and a scowl. She wasn't expecting shiny, feathered hair, a well-tailored suit, sculpted features and a charming smile. (And Kurt could only be responsible for the first two.) He was talking to an elegant blonde reporter who smiled at him and the camera simultaneously.

"That's Playa Palacois," Rachel hissed as they watched the interview. "She gets all the good assignments." Rachel had been taken on as a cub reporter, but so far, she'd only been given research to do.

"Shut up," Kurt ordered her, leaning closer. Playa had already congratulated Zarek on his election, and had gone through a brief statement about his goals as the Sagittaron representative. "This is what I wanted to hear," Kurt said, although no one really cared. "She's going to ask him about the other representatives. I can't wait to hear what he has to say about Sarah Porter," he said viscously.

"You are still Gemenese, you know," Rachel reminded him.

"Yes, but-" Kurt began, but his head snapped back at Playa's voice.

"You hired a Gemenese kid as your aide, am I correct?" Playa asked. The way Kurt's eyes widened, Brittany could tell he had not expected that question. But Zarek obviously did.

"No, Playa, you're not," Zarek said, his eyes twinkling. "I hired a Colonial kid as my aide." Playa laughed, and Zarek leaned forward. "Your point, however, is actually the same one that I want to make. Yes, despite the traditional animosity between Sagittaron and Gemenon, I hired a young Gemenese man as my aide. Because if this Fleet is going to continue, if humanity is going to thrive, the lines that separate us must be questioned. It can't be about our colony of origin, about which god we worship, about our histories. It can't be about what we did on the Colonies, what our careers were, what our past was. We must look to what each person has the potential to become."

"Like how a terrorist can rise above his past to sit on the Quorum," Playa swiftly interjected.

"Or how a school teacher can gain enough power to become President of the Colonies," Zarek agreed. "One way to ensure our future is to break down the walls and erase the lines that have been formed for us throughout history. So an Aerilon voice is as important in the Quorum as a Libran one, a Sagittaron can lay aside his differences and work closely with a Gemenese, and the people must realize that the default setting does not need to be Caprican to be valid."

"He's playing with you," Burt told Kurt. "You don't have to be some sort of genius to see that you're being used."

Kurt shrugged. "I don't doubt that that's part of his motivation, but I think I'm capable of doing the job."

"Didn't say you weren't. Just… watch yourself. He's after power, you know."

Kurt looked at Burt evenly. "I know."

Brittany's eyes widened. She missed the rest of the interview because she was so busy watching the Hummels, but the truth was she didn't really care. The interview was boring.

"Hey guys?" Artie wheeled over, trying not to smile. "I just got a call. You're never going to believe from who."

"Who?" Mike asked.

"President Roslin. Well, really Billy Keikeya made the call, but it came from her." Artie looked excited. "She saw the broadcast, and she wants New Directions to perform at the Colonial Day celebration."

"We don't have all our members," Rachel muttered.

"I mentioned that," Artie said. "Billy said he'd heard, and that Roslin said she'd put in to get the others on leave for the celebration and three hours before. She really wants us to sing there."

All twelve of them, together again. It had only been a week, but it seemed like the best news Brittany had heard in a long time.

***

The hours of that week seemed extremely long. Brittany spent almost all her time helping Mr. Hummel with his projects. With materials flowing more freely around the Fleet, he had a lot of work remodeling cargo pods and installing more plumbing. On the bright side, that led to Brittany learning a few new interesting curses, because plumbing hadn't been his thing. On the not-so-bright side, she had three new burns, a cut on her left leg that had almost required stitches, and had managed to super-glue her fingers together.

But it was worth it when she saw Santana again.

"You look amazing," was the first thing Brittany said to her. Santana didn't look any different, except that she was wearing the weird double tanks that the military wore, along with dog tags and green cargo pants and heavy boots, but she looked great anyway. She grinned at the compliment and returned Brittany's hug, but there was no time to say anything else. Brittany wished they had longer than three hours.

Three hours and three songs. There was no time for catching up or exchanging stories. There was just time for choreography and rehearsing, especially since President Roslin had been specific in that she wanted group numbers. Mr. Ishinhall was right about their appeal, it seemed.

Rachel was thriving under the pressure, ordering them all around like Mr. Schuester wasn't there. Finn was laughing at her, and so was Puck, although Brittany noticed that Puck had dark circles under his eyes. Mercedes and Kurt had to be yelled at several times to pay attention and stop talking, and Sam nearly fell asleep on his feet. But somehow they got everything together.

It felt good to stand on a stage again, all of them together. It was wonderful to sing, to have all those faces watching them. Brittany hadn't realized just how much she agreed with Rachel and had wanted New Directions to stay together and perform until that moment. But in three short songs it was over, and although the applause thundered in their ears, their little family was broken up as soon as they were whisked backstage.

"Get your asses in gear!" a soldier was yelling. "Playtime is over, kids, and your asses need to be back on the Galactica right now!"

The last Brittany managed to see of Santana was Santana looking over her shoulder at her, mouthing something Brittany couldn't make out.

Five minutes later, Zarek had caught Kurt's arm. "I need you to circulate," Brittany heard him say. "I've been hearing rumors about Gray being upset with Roslin for nominating Baltar instead of him for the vice presidency, and I want to find out who's saying what." Kurt immediately disappeared, headed out into the political gossip whirlwind that was the Colonial Day party.

Rachel was still accepting compliments, Mike and Tina were dancing. Sam was sitting in a chair, eyes glazed, looking like he was ready to head back to the Cybele and sleep for a week, and Artie and Quinn were talking to each other in low voices- Brittany caught something about the supplies on the Cybele. Everyone had their place, everyone had their mission. Everyone knew what they were doing, except Brittany.

Brittany stood against the backdrop of the little white lights that had been put up for decoration, feeling completely alone.

***

The morning after a party was always the worst feeling in the world, but this was worse than Brittany had ever felt. Because last night, for a moment, everything had felt right, and this morning she was just lost again. She had no idea of what she was going to do, no idea what she was meant to be doing.

The compartment was quiet. Carole and Sam had left for the Daru Mozu again and everyone else was at work, doing what they'd chosen. Doing what people wanted them to do. No one really wanted her to do anything.

The door opened, and Brittany looked up. Burt poked his head inside. "There you are," he said, and then frowned. "You okay?"

Brittany had never been serious about Kurt. He'd been a notch in her bedpost (sort of) and nothing more. But it occurred to her that if things had gone a little differently, she could have been this man's daughter-in-law. She shrugged. "I'm all right."

"Yeah." He stepped all the way in. "Quiet in here." She nodded. "Not sure I like it so much," he said, and then shot her a quick look. "Doesn't look like you do, either."

"Not really."

He nodded a little. "Well, then," he said, when Brittany didn't say anything. "We've got a big job today, and if we don't get moving, the people in Cargo Pod A are going to be coming down on us pretty hard."

"We?"

"Well, yeah," Burt said, tipping his cap back on his head. "You're my assistant, right?"

Their eyes met, and she saw that same feeling of being left behind and at odds with this world reflected back at her. She nodded. "Yeah," she said, standing up. "I guess I am."

"Come on, then," Burt said, putting his arm around her shoulders. "You and me, we've got work to do." He gave her a little hug and then dropped his arm and picked up his toolbox.

Brittany followed him out of the compartment, smiling.