AN: woah, okay, another 3am finish on this one guys. So sorry for any errors.
Thanks so much for all the reviews. I'm sorry to all the people I left feeling upset with the last chapter. Angst and drama lead to lovely fluff though.
No content warnings on this one, yay! Although I use the lyrics for a song that is maybe a little dubious. It's appropriate for the year this story is set.
I highly recommend going to youtube and playing Nirvana's Live MTV recording.
I humbly present to you Chapter 10: In The Pines.
I don't know what time it is when Quinn comes in the room and separates me from my whiskey. She holds it to the light and i can see that I've only had a few more sips from it. I've pretty much passed out on my bed and the room is spinning dangerously so it feels like I've drunk much more. It occurs to me that I didn't really eat anything yesterday. I was far too distracted with…something. My alcohol addled mind fails to provide the specific information.
"Hello my friend." I peer blearily up at Quinn. "My friend Quinn Fabray is the best friend in the world." I think about hugging her but my arms are heavy.
"Oh sweetie, you're really done aren't you?" she says with a sad smile.
I realise that Mercedes is in the room when she laughs, "Kurt says she was already half wallpapered after five minutes on the floor."
I stick out my tongue to make an altogether unladylike noise, "Porcelain doesn't know anything about anything cause he's just a…bumboy." I squint at Mercedes in a stern glare that makes her grin. I don't like it.
I pout and then slap at Quinn's arm, "Use your glare at Mercedes for me Quinn. Mines broken."
"Something's broken alright," Quinn murmurs quietly, pushing hair back from my forehead. "Lie down and go back to sleep San. If you're going to be all bright eyed for your Soldier Boy tomorrow, then you're going to have to sleep some of this off."
"Pfft, Sweets is my dearest friend and sh—he will be, even when I'm drunk." I explain the obvious to Quinn. "He is the best friend I have in the whole world."
"And here I thought I was your best friend in the whole world. I'm hurt Santana,"
I feel my heart break for my friend Quinn and tears well in my eyes, "Oh but you are!" I exclaim launching myself to hug her tightly around the waist, "Sweets is my best friend in the world with Wishing places and you're my best friend in the world that I don't talk to. You know?" My voice rises in a high pitched squeak.
"Oh, there's wishing places now?" Mercedes is settling into her own bed, watching us.
I nod my head against Quinn's stomach. "Beautiful wishing places with dancing," I demonstrate the dancing by twirling two fingers across the palm of my hand. It doesn't quite play out how I want because my arms are still wrapped around Quinn but I'm sure they get it.
Quinn's hands are resting on my back, making soothing circles between my shoulder blades and I can feel my eyes drifting closed again.
"Sweets is thoughtful and beautiful and brought me flowers because my hair is pretty." I sigh contentedly, wishing I had my arms wrapped around a different blonde. "But you're okay too Quinn."
Quinn chuckles, "Stop being so sweet Santana, you're going to give me a tooth ache."
— s — — b —
Brittany wakes to a sloping white ceiling that is far too bright for her eyes. Her whole body aches.
She doesn't know where she is or why her bed feels so strange. It's narrow and hard and everything smells like grass and dirt and blood.
"Brent, why didn't you wake me up?" she tries to call out but her voice is nothing but a husky croak.
She lifts a hand to her nose and grimaces at the crusted blood and swollen tenderness.
Her first instinct is to call for her Dad or her brother but she abruptly realises that they can't answer her. She doesn't remember why but it seems important somehow.
She looks down and sees heavy, unfamiliar boots. She tries to jerk her feet away but they come with her and she realises she is actually wearing them. She's also wearing a uniform made of a heavy blue fabric with shining buttons. She's even wearing trousers with a belt which is wholly unfamiliar.
Her heart is thundering in her chest. She looks around the tiny room she's woken up in, suddenly registering the fact that it isn't her bedroom.
She isn't in San Francisco and she isn't in her home. Understanding crashes into her. Her Dad and her brother Brent are both dead and gone. She doesn't live in San Francisco any more. She's in her camp with the rest of her company. Karofsky and the other men who caught and beat her must be nearby. She wonders if they're sleeping.
She pulls her father's dented pocket watch from the haversack under her cot, wincing as the movement causes her scabbard to dig into her. It's still early enough that there is probably no one awake yet except for the Mess cook and his helpers.
Brittany braces with her arms to sit up. Her body feels like one giant bruise. She loosens the last buttons that hadn't already fallen off her jacket but is too scared to lift up her shirt and see the damage to her abdomen. There's blood down her front from her nose and she knows she needs to get clean.
She grabs her clean uniform, her box of soap and the small piece of mirror that she hangs from the tent when pretending to shave. She doesn't look at the damage done to her face, just bundles the mirror up in her uniform and leaves the tent.
The trip to the creek feels much longer than it did last time and she's worried about getting back to her tent before duty call. She hobbles faster and ignores the darkness fluttering at the edge of her vision. She's certain it's caused by the searing pain in her abdomen. Once she can immerse herself in the cool water of Clothier Creek she'll be okay.
She'll be okay.
The bubble of the creek could be in Brittany's imagination, she wants it so much. The trees are dense in the spot she's looking for making it more secluded but also more difficult to get to. She follows the markings she left in the trees, stripping the jacket from her shoulders.
The rushing water gets louder until she's finally standing on the edge of the creek. It's a beautiful spot where the water pools in a deep natural reservoir before continuing down a small waterfall of maybe three feet.
Brittany immediately drops to a dry boulder by the pool, setting her service jacket behind her. She quickly removes her heavy boots and socks, wincing as the fabric comes away with layers of skin that had blistered when she was running through camp the night before. It's an already unpleasant reminder and she dreads seeing the damage to her face.
She distracts herself by dunking her socks in the water to rinse them to a state of relative cleanliness. She wrings them out thoroughly and hangs them from a branch exposed to filtering sunlight. She needs to do the same for her chest bindings but she loosens her belt carefully first, placing it on another dry rock behind her.
She untucks her undershirt from her trousers so she get her hands under and gingerly loosen the bandages from her chest. They're caked with blood from her nose and she understands now why she feels so weak. She must have lost a lot of blood along with receiving the bruises and possibly fractured rib. The bandages uncoil from her chest, sticking to her skin on the last layers and irritating the skin where the texture is permanently etched.
When Brittany bundles up the bandages and lowers them into the cold water, a cloud of murky brown leaches out of them. With a little soap she gets some of the stains out but they'll never be anything close to white. The bandages go over the branch with her socks and she strips off her shirt and trousers while mentally preparing herself for the cold.
Her bruises are going to ache terribly but she knows she needs this. She has to get the blood from her body, she needs to be clean of everything that represents her run in with Karofsky.
— s — — b —
I feel a jolt of panic when I open my eyes and see a tangle of blonde hair in front of my face. My arms are wrapped around a warm female body with my own pressed against it. I try to withdraw my hand slowly but it's suddenly held in a strong grasp.
"Don't San, that tickles." Quinn's croaky morning voice has never made me feel such relief.
She lets go of my hand so I can draw away from her, to the edge of my bed. My back hits the wall and the pounding headache of my hangover hits me back on the wall's behalf.
Quinn rolls over to face me, rubbing at her eyes.
"Quinn, why are you in my bed?" I ask probably already knowing the answer.
"You demanded that the best friend that you don't really talk to sleep riiiight here," she pats the mattress between us.
I roll my eyes, "And you couldn't have refused?" I ask, looking her over to see that she managed to get down to her chamise before getting into my bed.
Quinn follows my gaze, "Oh no, Santana you removed my outer clothes for me. You were rather indelicate too. I hope you aren't as rough with the Tricks," she looks thoughtful for a moment. "Unless that's what they prefer..." she trails off, obviously giving serious thought to the possibility.
"Don't try to think about the kind of fuck I am Quinn Fabray. It'll just hurt your poor pious mind," I try to smirk at her but the effort makes my head pound even worse than before. I settle for shoving Quinn hard, essential forcing her to the floor.
— s — — b —
The water is freezing but manageable as Brittany tries to wash herself clean without aggravating any bruises. None of the marks seem to be raised under her fingers and she feels glad that her injuries aren't any worse. She scoffs at the conclusion that Karofsky hits like a girl.
She releases her hair from its braid and ducks under the waters surface, infinitely glad that the pool is deep enough for her to wade comfortably. The cool water sloshing around her nose feels even worse than it does on the bruises on her body. With careful finger she cleans her face and neck of blood and grime until no more brown is tainting the water.
The pain is lessening gradually and she lets herself drift in the in the gentle current, her undershirt and drawers billowing around her. She'd love to remove both and simply swim naked but the danger of discovery is far too present. The white fabric would not protect her from a keen observer but she hopes that the average soldier would not be looking that closely.
She lets her body sink a few feet beneath the surface and stares up at the canopy of trees shifting above the water. The image is disjointed with the surface ripples and there are narrow streaks of golden, shimmering light where the early morning sum has filtered trough. It's beautiful enough to make Brittany forget about the aches of her body. She watches and waits—she doesn't know what for—carefully storing the images in her mind. She commits every colour, movement and glint of light to her memory like a jeweller commits a precious gem to its velvet case.
She wishes she could bring her friend here. She's certain that Santana needs to see something beautiful in this place. She seemed so resigned to living out her life in Clothier and Brittany understands that she probably will, no matter how it makes her heart ache. If Santana must stay here then maybe Brittany can help her see the beauty in it.
She floats peacefully until her lungs are burn then returns to the surface. She loves the feeling of relief as air returns to her lungs when her body is grateful for just this breath. It's a strange feeling of contentment that runs through her and she holds that feeling for as long as possible knowing the pain from the patchwork of bruises will reappear soon. She puts off leaving the pool for as long as possible; when she starts to shiver she knows it's time.
She clambers back onto the rocks and water streams off her body, tickling down her back and legs to stain the grey rocks to black. She wrings out her long hair and shakes some of the excess water from her arms. She avoids her dry clothes, skirting the pools edge carefully until she finds a small patch of sun. She glances around and listens out for any sounds of intruders. Finding no signs of anyone approaching she strips her undershirt and squeezes as much water from it as she can. She uses the fabric to towel away some of the moisture from her face and body before slipping it back over her head.
Her drawers are a bit more difficult since she isn't nearly brave enough to remove them from her body while out in the open like this. She makes do by gathering the fabric at every available interval and squeezing the moisture from there. It takes a while but it's an appropriate distraction from the persistent pain in her body.
As much as she would like to remain forever by this pool with filtered sunlight warming her skin she has to return to camp. The sun keeps getting higher and the song of morning birds is fading into the hum of daytime insects. She's resigned herself to missing breakfast but any later will get her in trouble. The state of her service coat will be enough to see her reprimanded for sure.
She sighs resignedly and makes her way back to her uniform. The mirror is still wrapped carefully inside. She picks it up, turning it so she can see the sky and trees reflected. She turns it until the reflection of the sun in the water is reflected again in the glass. She likes to think that the light already reflected twice could be reflected a third time in her eyes.
She twists the piece of mirror until it finally reflects her own face. Her gasp is involuntary. The bruises are far worse than she realised.
— s — — b —
I spend the rest of my morning in the midst of mundane routine. We eat breakfast, we clean, Sugar hums incessantly.
"Sugar would you give it a rest?" I ask, dipping my scrubbing brush in the bucket of sudsy water.
"Why would I do that when I know it annoys you so much?" she laughs. Quinn and Mercedes join her.
It's on hangover days that I *really* hate sharing chores with these women. My head is still pounding and the gallon of water I drank with my dry toast this morning is yet to take effect.
"Leave her be," Mercedes scalds through her continued chuckles as she dusts.
"Again, I ask why?" Sugar says, tilting her head to one side as though truly curious.
I growl angrily, "Because I will smother you in your sleep?"
They ignore my mumbled threats as Quinn answers Sugar, "She's just nervous because Private Pierce is going to be in attendance this evening. It's Kitten's season debut after all, maybe she's gotten a little rusty."
I hadn't actually been nervous, just hung over but now I am. "Thanks so much Quinn. I'm really glad you brought that up." I say with as much sarcasm as I can manage.
"No problem San," she smiles at me as I attempt to burn holes into her forehead.
— s — — b —
Brittany can hear the camp before she sees it. As she approaches, the clinking of mess utensils reassures her that she's not too late in returning. She skirts around the edge of camp as quickly as she can with her hobbled stride. Thankfully it's much easier to find her tent in daylight and she's able to deposit her service uniform inside. She resolves to deal with it later.
She flinches when she hears heavy boots running toward her but when she looks up it isn't Karofsky or any of his men coming towards her. It's Sam and he looks upset. She instantly worries that something has happened to Santana. It's a moment before she can remind herself that even if something were to happen Sam wouldn't be the one to find out. His dismissive words last night made it pretty clear that he doesn't approve of Santana or Brent's friendship with her.
Brittany squares her shoulders, ignoring the pain in her abdomen as she stands up straight, "What do you want Sam?"
She realises as she says the words that she is angry with him. It's a strange feeling that she never would have thought could extend to Sam. He's been her only friend since she joined and the idea that they might not be any more is disheartening. She won't forgive him though until he admits that Santana is a good person.
He stumbles to a halt within a few feet of her, shock registering strongly in his expression. "What happened to your face?"
Brittany lifts a hand to her swollen jaw, "Just a run in with Karofsky."
"Just a run in?" he repeats. "Brent, the side of your face looks like you've been hit by a brick."
"Funny, that's a lot like what it feels like," the anger is still simmering in her gut, making her words short and harsh.
"You need to go to Lieutenant Anderson and report him for—"
"No, I don't. This is my problem. I'm not going to run off to Anderson every time I get hassled by some jerk with a bruised pride." It's possible that Brittany's own pride may have been hurt by Karofsky's suggestion that she's been receiving special treatment from the Lieutenant.
It seems strange to consider that she is more angry with Sam right now than the men responsible for her injuries.
"Why do you care anyway Sam? I'm sorry if this is just one more thing that escapes my understanding."
Sam looks down, his hurt evident. It makes Brittany hurt right along with him and her anger cools slightly.
"What do you want Sam?" she asks in an angry breath.
"Look Brent, I'm sorry about what I said. It was out of line."
"It was," She agree firmly. She stands as that confident self she is with Santana when she speaks again in Brent's voice, "My friendship with Santana is important to me and none of your business, Sam."
"But it is Brent. I don't want you to be hurt." he looks obviously at my bruised face. "And it looks like you already have been."
"Santana didn't cause this," She says quickly.
"I know, I know. That's not what I meant," Sam holds his hands up defensively. "I'm your friend too and I don't want you getting attached to someone who might not…share your affections."
Brittany tries to see through her anger and understand where Sam is coming from.
"But she wants to be my friend too," she says slowly.
"But can't you see, she's a girl who," he seems to struggle in finding the right words. "She sells herself for money, Brent. She makes her living from men like you or I who fall for her then shell out our whole pay cheques just to be with her. She is the definition of sin," his voice is earnest in his declarations.
Brittany won't listen to any of it, "No Sam, I don't know what I can say to convince you but you're wrong. Santana is a good, kind, honest person and she wouldn't lie to me."
Sam sighs, resignation clear on his face. "Fine, I guess I can't convince you either." He looks at the ground for several long moments and Brittany patiently waits for him. "I want to be there for you Brent. If that means accepting whatever it is that Santana means to you then…I guess I want to do that." He holds out his hand, "Will you accept my apology?"
Brittany doesn't hesitate to take his offered hand, a smile spreading across her face.
"Now, about Karofsky," he begins.
Brittany frowns, "No Sam, I told you."
"Yeah, I know. You won't make a formal complaint but what did he do to you. Are these bruises anywhere else?" He glances down to her hands. "I'm not seeing any bruised knuckles which suggests to me that you didn't get a chance to hit back. Was it just him?"
Brittany shakes her head, "No there was a group."
"Goddamn cowards," Sam says with surprising venom. "I won't waste my breath asking who else was in on this but I gotta know what they did to you."
He looks so seriously at her that Brittany is compelled to answer honestly. Sam will know how bad it is as soon as she starts walking anyway.
She gestures to her whole left side and abdomen. "He got in some good shots I guess. Lucky for me he hits like a girl," Brittany tries to laugh but can't help the wince when she does.
Sam gives her a thoughtful look, "Hits like a girl?" Brittany nods. "Something like this?" Sam taps brittany with a closed fist right over the possibly cracked rib and Brittany instantly doubles over in pain.
"Ow, you fucking Jerk," she says, not having to force the curse word this time.
"Sorry, but you need to see how serious this is," he says with genuine concern. "You have to see the medic."
Brittany's heart almost stops. A medic would definitely want to take her shirt off.
"No," she says quickly. "I'll be fine."
"You can't train like this."
"Sure I can."
"Okay do a jumping jack for me."
Brittany actually thinks about doing one for a moment. "Dammit," she mumbles finally.
"Exactly, now come with me. We're going to see Anderson so you can at least be put on light duties."
— s — — b —
Rehearsals make me even more nervous. The saloon is all but empty except for the other girls rehearsing and Kurt setting up bottles behind the bar. The first Wednesday Night of the season has been hectic the last two years. With a Company camped on the edge of town Shelby wants everything to be perfect. Especially since plenty of the soldiers have yet to visit us.
Brad is behind the Piano, keeping everyone entertained with his cheerful playing. Lord knows his sparkling wit isn't keeping anyone amused. The man barely says a word past good morning and goodnight. I miss him all the same when he goes to Sante Fe over the winter months. I miss our Wednesday Night performances too.
I was pretty reluctant to even start them at first. Shelby was too and she'd only let the girls put on the shows once a month. After a few busy, lucrative evenings Shelby conceded to once a week. She even sings herself occasionally. It always takes a strong bottle of something to get her on our makeshift stage but when she does, it's incredible. Her voice is something else and I know she must have had training in a past life.
The training that I lack is what haunts me as I step out onto stage and Brad plays the opening chords to my song. It's not a well known song but it's become popular among the Wednesday regulars; It's popular when I sing it.
— s — — b —
Lieutenant Anderson is not impressed when Brittany refuses to put a complaint against Karofsky. He's even more irritated when she refuses to show him her injuries.
"Fine then," Anderson says in exasperation. "If you die of internal bleeding it's not my problem."
"No it isn't," Brittany agrees simply.
"And, I'm to understand that you want me to take no action against any of them?"
"Yes Sir. I'm quite sure that would only make things worse."
Brittany can see a muscle working in his clenched jaw.
"Get out of here Pierce and report to the Mess. You'll be peeling potatoes for the rest of the week. If you survive the weekend, then we'll restart your weight exercises next week,"
Brittany nods, "Yes Lieutenant."
She and Sam leave the Lieutenant's tent, walking together until the Mess where Sam leaves so he can get to the pre-inspection training and Brittany can get to those potatoes.
— s — — b —
With the lanterns lit and a crowd gathering in the Saloon, Santana starts to worry. She scans the crowd for the hundredth time, looking for a familiar slim figure. Brittany didn't mention a time so logically Santana knows not to be disappointed just yet. The fact that there are soldiers in among the growing crowd does not mean that Brittany isn't coming. It doesn't even indicate that she's late; she's just not here yet.
Quinn steps up beside her with a box of chips for the roulette table. "Settle Kitten, he'll be here. Now go dance. You're still relatively young but if that frown becomes permeant no one's going to want you."
"Too bad that stick up your ass is a permanent affliction Fabray or Auntie Tana could share some friendly advice with you too."
I've had to knock back a few requests for dances, finding something extremely important and time consuming to do any time someone approaches. Brad is being accompanied by a violinist tonight and there are a few couples taking the opportunity to dance. I know Shelby would kill me if she knew what I was doing but it doesn't stop me. Brittany will be here soon and I promised her the first dance.
— s — — b —
Brittany hates scrubbing pots almost as much as she hates peeling potatoes. She could swear that the work is even harder than the training she goes through with Anderson's medicine balls but that could just be the bruises on her arms making it more difficult than it needs to be.
She knows it's getting late and a lot of the men have already left for Corcorans. She also knows that it will take her even longer than usual to hobble to Corcorans in her current state.
She hopes that she doesn't miss Santana's song.
— s — — b —
When Mercedes gets up to sing I start to really panic. Brittany said she would be here by now.
There's not really anything to distract me now since the girls who sing are left to focus on getting Tricks upstairs after their performances. I'm not needed behind the bar tonight and most all of the customers are either drinking, gambling or watching Mercedes.
Quinn stands beside me, "I wish we didn't have to follow her. She's too good."
I silently agree. "You know Shelby is pushing the limits even letting a black woman onstage. Harmony is the best sounding white girl so she gets to go last. Mercedes is up first; you and I are just filler."
Quinn shrugs. Her arms are folded and she's gnawing at her thumbnail nervously. I roll my eyes at the disgusting habit.
"Calm your tits Quinn, you'll be—"
Before I can finish my reassurances Quinn grabs my arm with enough force to leave a mark.
"Ow, what the fuck?"
"Rachel is here. With the Major," Quinn looks oddly pale as she looks across the room to where the tiny Brunette is making an entrance.
She's accompanied by the biggest man-child I have ever seen. He towers over the crowd, peering at everyone like he's searching for hidden candy. He looks like he could be maybe eighteen years old but the scrunched crinkles around his eyes place him closer to thirty.
I wonder why I or Quinn would even care, "What's the problem? I assume she wants to see the House in full working order. Tonight is as good a night as any."
Quinn keeps staring across the room and I'm eventually forced to pry her grip loose from my arm to restore circulation.
Finally she relaxes, "Yeah, you're right," she runs a nervous hand through her hair. "Of course. But—Oh God, I'm singing," she turns to me with a look of abject terror.
"Well yeah."
"But she can sing."
"And?"
"Like really sing, like a singer."
"And so can you."
"No," she shakes her head so her hair flicks around her shoulders. "No I can't sing in front of—"
"Hi Quinn," Rachel says, having crossed the room with surprising speed. "I hope I haven't missed your performance."
"I—I er…no you haven't" Quinn stammers.
Rachel actually claps with giddy excitement, the grin on her face all consuming.
"Hello dwarf," I lean around Quinn's frozen form. "Please don't let me keep you," I would usually take this opportunity to wave an offending party off but I am completely distracted when a slim Soldier in Blue walks through the open door.
I ignore Quinn's panicked look as I walk away from her, Rachel and Major Hudson. Quinn's a big girl; she can look after herself.
Brittany is threading her way slowly through the crowd, toward the bar. I know she must be looking for me and that makes me smile. I can't see her well yet but she seems to be walking awkwardly and favouring one side. I think back to my worries last night and swear to string Rachel up if she's in any way at fault.
Once I'm within a few yards I call out to Brittany. She immediately turns with sparkling eyes and a happy smile.
I gasp and my hand goes to my mouth in shock. The side of her face that had been hidden to me is red, black and blue with bruises. Her smile drops when she sees my expression and she hurries to join me in the throng.
"Hey, don't look so sad San," she says taking my hand easily. I feel my heart lift a little when she calls me San and takes my hand but I'm too horrified by her injuries to really appreciate it.
"What happened to you Sweets?"
"Just a little accident," she says, shuffling her feet. She bites down on her lower lip and I know she's withholding something.
"You look like someone beat the living daylights outta you."
She looks around uncomfortably and I scan the crowd, immediately assuming that ever man in the room is guilty.
"Can we talk about it later?" she asks, looking directly in my eyes.
I'm about to argue when I register that she said the word 'later'. As in, she will be talking to me in a time that is later than now. I can't decide how this small detail is important but it is.
"Sure," I nod.
She breathes a heavy sigh of relief, "Would it be too much trouble if I asked for a seat and a whiskey?"
I tilt my head in a question, "A whiskey Sweets?"
"If you'll have one with me?" she confirms.
I smile and guide us back to the end of the bar where Kurt is serving. There are no chairs available at the bar so I glare at a dusty old prospector until he spontaneously realises that he has somewhere else to be.
Brittany hesitates, looking like she wants to offer me the chair. I roll my eyes and force her into it, not missing the grimace of pain as she settles. I remind myself that she'll explain it all later.
There's a new girl up on stage and Brittany turns to watch her sing. I'm instantly nervous again so I get Kurt's attention and direct him to pour us both a shot of whiskey.
Kurt looks at me expectanyl so I wave a vague hand between them, "Kurt, Brent Pierce. Sweets, this is Kurt."
"Back so soon?" he smiles at Brittany.
Brittany nods, "Couldn't stay away."
She gives me that confident smile and I look away shyly, simultaneously hating and loving that she can do that to me.
Kurt deposits our drinks on the bar and rushes off to serve another soldier with dark, perfectly moulded hair. I scoff when I see Kurt doing his creepy 'charm' smile.
I grab the shots and hand one to Brittany who grimaces at the smell of it. I keep in my laugh, tapping my glass to hers and up ending it's contents down my throat. Brittany hesitates long enough that she is still downing her drink when I slam my glass back on the bar.
"Bleaurgh!" she shakes her head back and forth with her eyes scrunched shut. The shiner on her left eye looks awful. A ring of deep red runs along her cheek and I can see the rapidly yellowing bruise closer to her eye.
I take her glass and set it down next to mine. "I'll be back soon okay," I glance over to the girl now singing. "I'm on after the next girl finishes."
Brittany lights up, "Really?"
I nod and smile, my nerves totally gone, "I'll be back soon."
I give her right shoulder a squeeze, hoping she isn't bruised there too. She grins and I know it's fine.
I wind through the crowd to the door behind our stage to get ready.
— s — — b —
A warm hand presses against her shoulder and for a crazy instant she thinks it might be Santana, even though she just saw her leave through a door on the opposite side of the room.
I high male voice whispers in her ear and makes a shiver run across her neck, "I know what your thinking." He slips into a sing song voice. "I know your secret." the young barman says, shifting to stand beside her. He nudges his shoulder against hers.
Brittany gapes at him. "You can read minds?" she asks in absolute awe.
Kurt shakes his head, "Um no. I know what you're doing with our little Kitten." he nods toward the door Santana disappeared through.
"Oh," Brittany says disappointed. "Can you pretend to read minds?" she asks.
"Um no," Kurt looks thoroughly confused. "Why would I do that?"
Brittany shrugs, "It would be pretty wonderful if you could."
Kurt looks momentarily distracted but then he shakes his head, nudging his perfect hair so it's more perfect.
"You're trying to take our little Kitten away."
"But I have nowhere to take her too. My camp is right there," she gestures vaguely toward the door, not sure if the camp is actually that way or not.
The move makes her body hurt a little more. The whiskey was good though and is already making her feel better.
"Can I have another one please?" she asks Kurt politely.
"Um sure," Kurt says in a suddenly understanding voice.
He thinks Brittany is drunk which she isn't. Brittany thinks he is strange which he most definitely is.
Brittany has to talk herself into the next shot since Santana isn't there to do it with her. In fact it takes her three goes. It's not nearly as harsh as the first one and she orders a third when Kurt gets back to her.
He looks like he wants to talk some more but she shushes him because the girl before Santana has stopped singing and left the stage.
When Santana steps up she is glowing.
When the piano begins a rolling melody and Santana starts singing Brittany thinks her heart may actually have stopped.
Black girl, black Girl, don't lie to me
Tell me where did you sleep last night?
Brittany has heard this song before, sung by a man in a variety show in San Francisco. This is no variety show. Santana's voice is dark, warm and mysterious. Brittany is certain that Santana sounds just like chocolate tastes.
In the pines, In the pines, Where the sun never shine
I shivered the whole night through.
Santana makes eye contact with Brittany who can no longer feel the chair beneath her. Santana's voice has removed Brittany from her body so she can't feel a damn thing.
Black girl, black girl, where will you go
Im going where the cold wind blows
In the pines, In the pines, Where the sun never shine
I will shiver the whole night through.
Black girl, black Girl, dont lie to me
Tell me where did you sleep last night?
In the pines, In the pines, Where the sun never shine
I shivered the whole night through.
Santana draws out the word shiver and Brittany is drawn back to herself. She grabs onto the sides of her chair as she feels the note run her body through.
My Husband was a Railroad man
Killed a mile and a half from here
His head, was found, In a drivers wheel
And his body hasn't never been found.
Black girl, black girl, where will you go
Im going where the cold wind blows
Brittany suspects it isn't planned when the piano stops and Santana's voice is left in solo for the rest of the song. Santana glances at the piano guy but doesn't falter as she returns her gaze to Brittany's. The words aren't about either of them but Brittany knows that Santana is singing the song for her.
You called me weak, and you called me the most
You called rita, bring me back home.
The saloon erupts with cheers and Santana is radiant. Brittany is stuck completely dumb and she is sure her mouth is actually hanging open. She snaps it shut and grimaces at the pain that causes. There are tears in her eyes and she quickly ducks her head to blink them away.
When she next looks up, Santana is in front of her, still glowing. She's bounding on her feet like she just can't contain the happy energy flowing through her. It's completely captivating and Brittany wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around Santana and hold her close.
"Are you able to dance Sweets?" Santana's smile dims slightly as she runs her eyes down Brittany's body.
"I want to," Brittany says immediately.
Santana nods, "But you can't."
Brittany starts to shake her head and to her surprise, Santana's smile returns in full force.
"Good," she says simply.
"Oh, so you don't want to—"
"No I do, and we will next time but we can go somewhere else now…" she trails off.
Brittany doesn't quite understand at first but then it hits her. She can buy a night at Corcorans again. They can spend more time together. It's perfect, Santana just didn't want to be the one to suggest it.
Brittany grins as she stands and offers Santana her arm, "Lead the way M'Lady."
Santana grasps her arm immediately and drags her from the chair. Brittany stumbles slightly before righting herself and following in Santana's wake. She glances up to the top floor landing where Ms Corcoran herself is watching the crowd below. They make eye contact and Brittany feels an altogether unpleasant shiver run down her spine at the glare she receives.
The stairs are difficult and Santana has to support Brittany some of the way. Thankfully, the room Santana has chosen isn't too far from the top of the stairs and Brittany is quick to seat herself on the bed. She feels slightly clammy and definitely weak. She had a hearty lunch and dinner so she knows she'll be getting better soon, it's just frustrating for the moment.
Santana closes the door and then whirls on Brittany, "What happened sweets? Why are you limping? Who did this to you?"
Brittany sighs. Apparently now is later. "It was one of the other Privates. He and a few of the others took a disliking to me and decided that this," she gestures to her face. "Was appropriate punishment."
"They beat you because they don't like you?"
Brittany shrugs with a wry smile, "They think me womanish. Plus I beat them in all our horseshoe races."
Santana's lips twitch in a smirk before returning to her serious expression, "So what happens to them now? They're being punished right? Like being beaten with big sticks or having their scrotums removed from their bodies?"
Brittany scrunches up her nose at the image, "No, that's gross. And I didn't make a formal complaint. All that will happen if I do is they'll get reprimanded, put on latrine duty for a month and then come back and beat me even worse."
Santana shakes her head, "Fine then, I'll go turn them inside out for you. See how manly they feel with their sacks half way down their throats."
She's pacing the room, agitated a twitchy.
"Santana?"
"What else did they do to you? Other than your face I mean." her eyes drift down over Brittany's body again.
Brittany hesitates for just a moment before shrugging her jacket off, then tugging her shirt off and leaving just the undershirt behind. She tries not to feel self conscious as Santana's eyes follow her movements.
"There's some bruises where the two biggest guys held me," she points to the bruises on her upper arms. "And the rest is, well," she carefully untucks her undershirt and lifts the hem to reveal the dark bruises that have blossomed like perverse flowers across her stomach and side.
Santana gasps and tears fill her eyes. Brittany is quick to lower her shirt.
"Which one is it? Is he here now?" she asks gesturing to the door. "I'll kill him," Santana says in a sure voice.
"Please don't try anything Santana, I don't want you to be hurt too."
"I can't just sit here and do nothing," she rants, pacing the room.
"Well you aren't really sitting down, so," Brittany chuckles.
"This isn't funny Sweets. I don't know how you can be so goddamned cavalier about this. I want to find that fucker and make him hurt." Her hands are balled into fists as if she's ready to hit someone.
"I'm pretty sure you'd just break your fist on his face. And that won't really make me feel any better," Brittany comments casually.
Santana groans, "It'll make me feel better," she pouts at Brittany's smirk. "Fine, I won't hit anyone."
"Or anything," Brittany says, with sudden concern for inanimate objects like the wall.
"Or anything," Santana repeats, finally standing still. "I have to do something though," she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You can kiss it better then," Brittany jokes lightly.
The breath catches in Brittany's throat when she sees the look in Santana's eyes.
"San?" she asks as Santana unfolds her arms, shifting absently towards the bed. Her expression is almost completely passive as she gets lost in deep contemplation.
"Lie down Sweets," she finally says in a firm voice.
"I don't think this is a good idea."
"Didn't your mother ever kiss a bruise or a skinned knee? Did you ever hug a friend who was sad or scared?" she asks seriously.
"Yes, of course but I don't see—"
"Then lie down." She has that determined look in her eye. "I can't exactly give you a massage in this state but I'm going to do something."
Brittany still doesn't know how she feels about this but she can't see any real fault in the logic. She lifts her legs to the mattress and lies back against the pillows gingerly.
Santana sets herself on the bed beside Brittany where she knows there are fewer bruises.
"Close your eyes," she says, suddenly appearing a little bashful under Brittany's gaze.
Brittany does as she's told. Everything is quiet and still for a moment then with the soft whisper of fabric, Santana moves.
Brittany can feel a warm breath against her cheek and it sends a pleasant chill down her spine. She turns her head so the bruised side is facing Santana more directly.
"Oh, Sweets," Santana says like she's seeing the injury for the first time.
Brittany feels light fingertips run over her cheek then her jaw. When the first kiss is pressed delicately to her temple she knows only one thing. This feels nothing like her mother's kiss.
One kiss then another and another is brushed lightly over Brittany's tender flesh. She looses count some time after the tenth as her body seems to both relax and and become more tense at the same time.
As Santana's lips progress down to press against her jaw she feels a tingling heat erupt deep in her gut and she suddenly understands. She understands what that hot, full sensation in her chest is every time she sees Santana. She knows why every thought in her head leads her back to Santana. She knows why she wants to know Santana and have a friendship with Santana like no one else.
She wants Santana.
Her fingers automatically thread into Santana's hair. She wants and needs to have Santana closer. Santana feels the tug and fulfils the silent request, letting her body fall against Brittany's side.
Brittany makes a conscious effort to release her grip and Santana's lips still against her jaw. Santana pulls back hesitantly and Brittany is nervous. She knows that her rapid breathing is obvious as her chest rises and falls and she knows Santana can feel it as she lies by her side.
Santana shifts slightly to press one more, much firmer kiss against her uninjured cheek. Brittany doesn't know whether it's a deliberate action when her lips land on the very corner of her lips but it makes her stomach flip and her heart jolt.
"Santana?" Brittany doesn't know what she would ask but she's hushed by Santana before any real words can form.
Suddenly, Santana's hand is warm against Brittany's stomach. Brittany's eyes flutter closed as the sensation adds to the fire already burning through her. Santana lifts Brittany's shirt to expose the skin below her navel and Brittany shivers.
The mattress dips as Santana shifts lower on the bed. Brittany's heartbeat must rival that of a mouse. She's sure she'll jump out of her skin if Santana touches her again.
The waiting is killing her but she won't look. She can't see what is happening to her right now. If she opens her eyes she knows that the world will shatter and she'll wake up alone in her cot.
A warm breath caresses the skin of her stomach and she feels that stoked feeling inside her growing. She finally relents and opens her eyes. The world doesn't shatter. Santana is still by her side with tears in her eyes as she looks at the bruises that litter Brittany's skin. Santana closes her eyes and a lone tear escapes her hold. She swipes it away before it can fall to the blood darkened skin and her hand returns to the blankets by Brittany's side.
Brittany wants to take the hand in her own but she can't.
Santana shifts the shirt higher to expose all the flesh below Brittany's first rib. The deep hurt in her expression threatens to tear at Brittany's heart and she still hasn't seen those dark eyes turn to her yet. Santana bows her head and a few strands of her hair tickle Brittany's skin. She moves the hand not supporting her to float over Brittany's abdomen. She doesn't make contact like she did with her cheek but Brittany can feel the heat of it all the same.
Santana withdraws her hand and finally leans down. Her lips press tender apologies against wounded flesh.
Brittany sees stars.
AN: The song was In The Pines by an unknown author. You'll hopefully recognise it as a track on that Live Nirvana recording.