Ahh guys you kill me with all your responses. And guess what happy writers do. In my case, I write ten thousand word chapters. To all the annons/guests, I'd love to know who you are but I can't when you don't sign in?
HappyTrick: You are so Fetch. I'm so glad you're enjoying.
Macazubieta and Diana: In The Pines was written in like 1870 which is just amazing. Now I really just want to hear Santana sing it on the show. It would be awesome. Or any Nirvana song really.
I'm so glad that you guys are liking confident Britt. This Brittany I'm writing here is the Brittany that won Senior class president with pixie sticks and topless Tuesday; the same girl that supported Santana through her very public outing even while dealing with her own; (headcanon)this Britt choreographed and taught Nationals winning routines for Glee and Cheerios. I can only hope to do her character justice.
Okay, now that scene which pretty much wrote itself from Britt's perspective took me a bit longer to figure out from Santana's. Her motivations eluded me for a while there. Apparently she kinda Snixed out. I like to think of San's yelling/rage place as running right alongside her passion/sexy place. Also Snix's idiosyncrasies of vocabulary got away from me a bit here. Lots of rewrites had to happen. Plus, two and a half thousand words of unadulterated teasing is harder to write than you might think.
Check out my tumblr which I'm starting to add fic relevant posts to. I'm sure I'll end up posting little sneak peaks and things too ;). It's dancetyd dot tumblr dot com
When I bring Brittany into our room I'm still experiencing the euphoria that comes from singing in front of a crowd. My body is humming. The wednesday night crowd is always stimulating but i'm usually forced back to sense when i return to the saloon. When I find a Trick. Tonight with Brittany, I'm caught in this perpetual state of visceral responsiveness. In short, I have taken leave of my senses.
When brittany shows me her injuries the torrent of emotions I'm already experiencing are simultaneously overwhelmed and compounded. I'll kill the sonovabitch who hurt my friend so badly. The anger and euphoria condense hotly in that expansive part of my chest and direct my actions from there.
My body moves me across the floor. I'm pacing as my whole physical self demands action be taken. The rage that is so easily sparked has been justifiably and violently provoked. I'm ready to break faces. If only Brittany would let me. She sits calmly on the bed and watches me pace as though I amuse her greatly.
She teases me while wearing that calm, confident smile and the stirrings demand my attention. Brittany eventually talks me out of causing anyone harm. But I'm still humming. That visceral responsiveness is still in effect.
"You can kiss it better then," she's joking of course.
But she says it with that smile and it suddenly seems like the best and only option available to me. Why wouldn't I kiss her better? It makes perfect sense. I have a course of action. There's a quiet part of my mind that agrees with Brittany when she says this could be a bad idea. On the other hand. The stirrings that demanded blood just moments ago have shifted back to euphoria again. I feel overwhelmed. Drunk on it all.
I pause, just to listen to the thundering of blood in my ears and the staccato rhythm of my heart. That visceral response demands I take action.
My eyes skate over Brittany's poor bruised face and for the first time in my life I let go and just allow my body to guide me. It commands my voice and I find Brittany lying against the bed, trust evident in her gaze. I remove her cap and ask her to close her eyes. When she does so without question I feel a pulse run through me.
I kneel on the bed beside her still form. My left hand supports me at her side while my right shifts to gently caress over her bruised cheek. Being this close is like seeing her for the first time and I feel my heart clench. The once flawless skin has been abused so badly. I can see a trio of marks that could be from the knuckles of an oversized fist on the edge if her temple. I withdraw my hand and lean forward.
As I press my lips to the reddened skin of her cheek everything slows down. The anger completely disappears from my body and all that is left is the euphoric, effervescent warmth that stokes my heart and draws me closer to her. Every kiss is soft and reverent as I take infinite care not to hurt her any further.
When she presses her fingers into my hair my whole body responds as I arch up like a cat into her touch. Her blunt nails run along my scalp and I fall easily into her side, barely remembering to be careful of her bruises. A heat radiates from Brittany's torso that fills me with a throbbing energy. It fills me with a warmth that makes me feel every connection in my body from skin to heart to the hidden sensations I have no words to describe
I lose count of my kisses as I lean over her but I figure I never put a limit on them anyway. If I can't hurt the man responsible for Brittany's injuries, I can at least do this.
Delicate kisses become feverish and wet as I press my lips, open mouthed along the line of her jaw. I can taste her skin; the tense stirrings coil tightly in my chest, deep in my gut. When Brittany's fingers grasp at my hair the sensation is indescribable. My thoughts are a jumbled mass and I worry(but not really) that my thoughts may never come straight again.
Suddenly her hands are gone. I can once again think linearly. My mind reconnects fully with my body. I discover that my heart is pounding and a tingling runs under my skin like it did just after my song. I'm sure Brittany must be able to feel it with the way I'm lying against her side.
I look her over and see that her eyes are still closed. She's breathing deeply, her chest moving rapidly beside me. I see her throat twitch as she swallows. She looks a lot like I feel right now but she's lost that edge of pain that had pulled at her features earlier. I can't make the bruises heal any faster but I can at least alleviate some of the pain. I feel a small smile tug at my lips.
As I hesitate a minute frown starts to tug at the corner of her lips. I'm sorely tempted to press another kiss(just gently) to her mouth. The thought makes my stomach flip. The sensation joining the hum that continues throughout my body.
I lean forward again. Her lips seem so soft and I consider running my fingertips over them just to see(just to feel). I settle for kissing the corner of her mouth where that frown is pulling at her expression. I press more firmly than before, acknowledging the beautiful skin on the uninjured side. Her bruises will fade.
Brittany's says my name but I shush her calmly. We don't need words.
Brittany shifts slightly and I register that the stiff leather of her belt is pressed against my hip. I can only assume that it must be pressing even harder against the bruises in her abdomen. Remembering the awful blemishes on her stomach—even worse than the black eye—threatens to bring tears back to my eyes.
My hand shifts to her stomach where the skin is hot through her shirt. I pull the fabric back and I can see the dark stains under her skin. Brittany gives the faintest gasp and I know my attention should shift. I remove my hand and shuffle down the bed.
Looking up from my new position I see that Brittany still has her eyes squeezed shut even her hands are balled into fists; one is by her side, the other is pressed into the pillow by her ear.
I finally look down to see her bruised abdomen up close. The narrow strip of flesh I've so far exposed is an absolute mess of discolouration. I think I'm crying but I don't let any tears land on Brittany's skin.
I move her shirt higher and what I see hurts my heart in a way I haven't experienced since my father died. I know Brittany is watching so I dip my chin so she won't see the pain in my eyes. I also shift my left hand closer to her right. She can take my hand if she chooses. My right hand drifts across her body without touching her. I read her flesh like a holy manuscript.
I withdraw my hand and finally press a healing kiss to her abdomen.
Her body shifts as she arches into my touch.
The near-silent sound of the metal shifting in her belt buckle prompts a question.
"Is the belt hurting you?" I ask finally brushing my fingertips over bruises that I can see disappear under the waistband of her slacks.
She doesn't answer straight away. I look up to see her eyes are still scrunched closed and she's biting her lip. There's a strain in her neck, like she's holding a tense posture even though she's lying down. I watch as she swallows again then gradually lowers her chin in a slow but definite nod.
"Can I—" I swallow the nervous lump in my own throat. "Um do you want—can I undo—that is, would you rather it not be there?"
Her face burns red but she nods again, this time with a more confident bob of her head. I act quickly but carefully, loosening the belt without adding any more pressure.
I slip it from around her waist and drop it from the side of the bed. I don't particularly care that it clatters to the ground, my whole focus is on Brittany. I won't leave any bruise undiscovered and it's the ones that disappear under her waistband that fill me with anxiety. The way that Brittany talked about the beating(the awful beating) makes me think that she doesn't fully grasp how much damage a man's fist can do to a woman.
I slip my fingers under the waistband of her slacks at the sides. She responds immediately, lifting up so I can tug her slacks down until they rest low on her hips. Thankfully the bruising stops not much lower than her belly button.
When she shifts subtly beneath me I realise my fingers are still tucked into her waistband with my forearms resting on her thighs.
— s — — b —
Brittany sighs as she feels the belt loosen and Santana carefully tugs it from around her waist. The buckle tinkles brightly on it's way to the floor and Brittany can concur with it's happy sounding assessment of the situation.
Santana's warm, gentle fingers slip below the waistband of her slacks and her heart skips a beat for the hundredth time. She lifts her hips automatically and Santana is quick to tug the fabric down to settle a few inches below her naval. Her eyes remain shut as she takes deep steadying breaths through her nose. She feels the heat of Santana's arms against her thighs and those delicate fingers are still against her hip. She can't help the small shift in her posture as the sensations make her stomach clench.
Brittany is sure Santana will move away from her at any moment now. The single, sweet kiss was already enough to spark a tingling pulse connecting her heartbeat to her groin. Every minute pressure causes a fresh pulse and Santana is oh so close to her.
And then.
Oh, and then Santana does move but it's only to gain the leverage she needs to lean in and kiss the skin over the ribs on Brittany's left side.
The kisses progress across her skin as if there hadn't even been a pause. They burn across every inch; each one soft, wet and delicate. Brittany can barely resist the growing need to cant her hips up at shift of pressure. Santana moves methodically across her skin and Brittany can imagine that she is being worshipped; every healing kiss is a prayer; the fingertips running up her sides are a holy vow.
Brittany is losing her breath and her control. She wants to pull Santana to her but she knows she can't. Every overwhelming sensation is killing her in the most delicious way. It's like Santana is teasing her knowingly and Brittany revels in the impossible possibility that Santana might want her just as much she wants Santana. It's a beautiful thing to imagine but it causes her heart to ache. Santana wants to be her friend, nothing more. Santana is her friend. Her actions, though indescribably affecting are born of friendly caring. Santana herself compared her actions to those of a mother or a friend. Brittany's only conclusion is that Santana's notion of physical familiarity is far different from her own. No matter how this effects her, Brittany can't let her control slip.
When Santana's lips press wetly against her hip Brittany has to grasp at the blankets underneath her to keep from pushing her fingers back into Santana's hair. When a kiss lands on the sweep of skin between her hips corresponding with a soft stroke of fingertips against her sides Brittany almost breaks. The twitch in her abdomen is the only evidence of the way her hips would cant up if she allowed them to.
When those fingers return to her hips and those hot, wet lips reach the edge of her exposed skin Brittany reaches the edge of her sanity.
— s — — b —
"San—Santana. Can we just stop for a—just for a second?"
I shift away from her, my cheeks flaming as I realise where my wandering lips had progressed to. Brittany is breathing hard and a blush burns her face, down her neck and out to the tips of her ears.
She looks me square in the eye, "I am definitely feeling better."
I nod and look down at my hand, picking at a loose thread in the bed cover. I can't really hear much noise from the saloon which would tend to suggest that it's pretty late.
"Do you want to sleep?" I ask. "Are you tired?"
She looks at me like I am completely insane for even suggesting she might be tired.
"What? It's late and I know you start your days early right?"
"Yes, yeah I guess I do. But I'm not really tired right now. Are you?"
I'm not. "We could just talk for a while?" I ask, suddenly completely unsure.
My performance buzz is almost gone and Brittany's presence has become a calming one now that I'm not lying across her.
"Tell me about San Francisco," I suggest hopefully. "It sounds so much more exciting than Ohio."
Brittany chuckles and I'm glad to see the smile spread so easily across her face. It isn'tthat smile but I still feel the warmth in my chest.
Brittany tells me about growing up in a big house on Rincon Hill and how her father made a name for himself as a shrewd money man. Some number of his investments went particularly well meaning that Brittany had grown up in a rather affluent household.
"I hardy saw him really. It was just me, my brother and my Mom," her eyes dim.
"What happened to her?"
She sighs and I think she might not answer me, "Tuberculosis," she says simply. "I was eight years old."
She was so young. Like I was.
"So your father raised you?"
Surprisingly she shakes her head, "No, he hired a nanny to look after me. My brother was old enough to go to boarding school. I wasn't quite as smart as he was and I hadn't gone so well at school so Holly was my teacher as well as… everything else."
"Holly?"
Brittany nods, "My nanny. She was like my mother, my teacher, and my best friend all in one," a smile quirks her lips and I feel a jolt of something turn inside me. "She was only a little older than me. Maybe seventeen when she first arrived."
"Arrived from where?"
"You know I was never really sure." She turns to rest on her side with her chin resting against her palm. Her gaze becomes unfocused as she remembers. "She had the strangest accent and she spoke a few different languages. She used to say she came from Paris and then it would be Moscow and then Berlin," she laughs. "Always somewhere wonderful."
I smile with her smile. "She sounds incredible."
"She is," she sighs. "She taught me to dance."
— s — — b —
Brittany knows she wants to share everything with Santana but the remembering makes her heart ache. Even the happy memories make her feel sad.
Santana stifles a yawn and suddenly Brittany feels terrible. She wonders how long Santana had been feeling tired but not saying anything
"I'm sorry San. You're tired and I've just been talking at you non stop."
She shakes her head through a more obvious yawn, "I'm not tired. And I like listening to you."
"I like talking to you too," Brittany admits.
Brittany won't let her be exhausted though and she realises that she probably needs rest herself so she can recover properly.
"We both need rest," she says calmly, reaching down to unlace her boots.
Santana looks ready to argue so Brittany takes her hand. The contact causes an echo of the pulse to run through her body but she ignores it, kicking off her shoes and letting them thud to the floor.
She sighs, "Please lie with me." She meant to say something more casual and her cheeks burn.
Santana doesn't notice though because her eyes are focused on their joined hands.
She nods. "Okay Sweets," she says, her cheeks growing darker as well. Brittany won't let herself believe it's for the same reason.
Brittany untangles their hands so she can lift her arm in an invitation for Santana to lie against her. She knows that she is risking her own sanity by holding her friend so close but it's a sacrifice she's willing to make. Santana lies down then curls up securely against Brittany's side with her head on Brittany's shoulder. Santana curls her arms up against Brittany's ribs. She figures the awkward position is so she won't be tempted to throw her arm over Brittany's bruised waist in the night. This idea makes her smile and she doesn't resist the urge to press a kiss into Santana's hair.
Santana's breath is warm against her neck and Brittany allows the regular pattern lull her further into drowsiness. Just when Brittany is sure that Santana's asleep the girl in her arms mumbles something like goodnight then presses a gentle, wet kiss against her neck.
A shudder so violent passes along Brittany's spine that she worries she might have disturbed Santana with the movement. She holds her breath. She listens to Santana's deep, steady breath and knows she's asleep.
Brittany might never sleep again.
— s — — b —
I've never slept through to the morning bell before but I guess there's a first time for everything. With Brittany's arms wrapped around me and our legs tangled I could stay here all day. I feel so safe and comfortable with the warmth of her body against mine.
The unfortunate reality is that our time is up. I need to wake Brittany and somehow convince her to see Beiste. The bruising to her abdomen has me worried. Given the extent of discolouration and the way she's hobbling, there could be internal damage. I just don't know how I can talk Brittany into seeing the doctor. I also have no idea how I'm going to convince Beiste into keeping Brittany's secret.
"Sweets, are you awake?"
Her faces scrunches up, "No I'm not," she mumbles as her arms tighten around me. "Ow," she grumbles.
I'm not sure whether it was the face scrunching or the holding me tighter that hurt her and maybe it was a combination of both.
"I think you need to go see a doctor sweets."
"Can't see a medic," she mumbles, obviously still half asleep. "Dishonorable discharge or something else bad."
"What about Beiste? I want you checked out and he's a good man; we might be able to come to some kind of agreement with him."
Brittany's eyes flutter open. "Like what kind?"
I don't actually know. "I'll think of something Sweets."
She frowns a little but slowly nods, "Okay San. If that's what you want."
I feel immense relief knowing that a real doctor will have a chance to check on Brittany. If anything happened to her, I don't know what I'd do. She's still frowning a little so I lean forward quickly and plant a light kiss to her clean cheek, just on the edge of her lips.
I jump out of the bed before she has a chance to react. "Come on Sweets. The bell rang. We gotta get you out of here and to the Doctor."
I walk straight to the door, not turning until I'm reaching for the handle. "Sweets?"
She's still lying on the bed, staring into the space in front of her. Her arms lay across the bed in the space I just vacated as though they had fallen in my absence and Brittany had been unable to move them.
"Sweets, are you okay? Are you hurting a lot?" I know from experience that these kinds of bruises can be even more painful the day after.
Brittany finally pulls her arms back to herself and rolls onto her back. She blinks up at the ceiling for a moment then sits up. She's wearing that smile and I quickly move to collect her myself. I grab her hand and drag her to her feet, so glad that the familiarity from last night is still with us.
— s — — b —
Shelby cross checks another list of numbers against her inventory figures and then the estimated takings from last night. The first Wednesday Night of the season was definitely a success. The Company Boys seemed mostly more inclined to gambling than women but they spent plenty of money all the same.
She pushes her stacks of invoices, receipts and catalogues to one side with a sigh. She knows she'll have to go over them again when her head is clearer. She's at the bar because she couldn't work in her office but the move made little difference to productivity.
Kurt slips into the chair next to her, sliding a coffee over.
"What are you doing out here?" he asks, glancing around the saloon. "Are you up early or still awake from last night?"
"Early," Shelby replies, knowing that the few hours of sleep she's had have probably left her looking pretty haggard.
Kurt sips at his own coffee as he arches one delicate eyebrow in question.
"I'm just going over the numbers," Shelby explains. "We went well last night."
"The girls do draw a crowd. Mercedes and Harmony were wonderful as always," He pauses, obviously for dramatic effect. "Santana as well made an excellent performance."
Shelby already knows this. Santana blew everyone away with the depth and soulfulness of her singing. She has never sounded better and she outshone Harmony if not Mercedes as well.
"You have to wonder why last night was so different. Everyone was asking for her," He waves his hands and tweaks his voice impersonating a prospector, "That mullato girl who sang so perty would sure be nice to have fer the night." He rolls his eyes as he continues. "She's sure to have the rest if the week booked out. Unless that boy of hers—" He cuts himself off when they both here an unfamiliar giggle from a familiar voice float down the stairs. "Well speak of the devil."
Shelby and Kurt share a look as they here a heavy set of feet thundering down the stairs followed by a softer, slower pair. Santana slides into view. She's still in her clothes from last night which is to be expected since her soldier boy Pierce bought the whole night.
She doesn't notice them as she calls back to her companion. "Come on Sweets, we'll never get there at the rate you're moving."
A slightly whining voice replies, "You're no fair, San. The whole reason I'm going is what slows me down in the gettin there." Brent Pierce is making his slow way down the stairs. Shelby can't help but wonder again how old this boy is since she's sure his voice must still be in the process of breaking.
Neither of them have noticed Kurt and Shelby yet. They're both grinning at each other like there are no two other people in the whole world. Kurt sighs and rests his elbow against the bar so he can rest his chin on his palm in a dramatic pose. He apparently thinks that they are the two most adorable things in the creation.
When Pierce crosses the floor Shelby can see he has a distinctively awkward way of moving. She wonders what kind of injuries he's sustained since she met him. He doesn't seem too bright, so she wouldn't be surprised if he had hurt himself in some kind of accident.
When he reaches Santana, she takes his hand easily and leans in to murmur something close to his ear. Shelby wonders why she would start whispering now when she had no problems making a racket coming down the stairs. The obvious answer would be that Santana wanted to be closer to him. It doesn't seem likely though. She is quite confident that Santana has never had a genuine interest in any of her Tricks before. Shelby even has a theory as to the reason why. Up until now she didn't think Santana would ever show an interest in any man.
Yet, here Santana is flirting and smiling and holding this boy's hand, looking at him like he's the world to her.
They exchange a few more words and then without once glancing at the bar where Kurt and Shelby sit, Santana leaves Pierce to walk through the doorway that leads to her room. Pierce stares after her for some time before turning towards the bar absently. When he spots the two people watching him colour floods his cheeks and he looks down at his boots. Shelby doesn't like what she's seeing but Kurt seems absolutely delighted. He laughs and even gives a soft round of applause as though for a mildly entertaining variety show.
"Bravo Private. Wonderfully done," Kurt praises in only a half-mocking tone.
Pierce drifts toward the bar, apparently unable to stop the smile that dominates his expression.
Kurt slips his two hands between his knees, with his back straight as he continues, "So another evening with our dear Kitten? I trust you had a pleasurable evening."
Shelby wants to elbow Kurt in the ribs but he's sitting too far away for the move to be a subtle one.
Pierce visibly swallows, "I er, yes. I did thank you." His voice is noticeably lower than a minute ago.
There's an elongated pause before Kurt prompts further, "Those bruises look terrible. I hope she wasn't too rough with you."
The poor boy's face looks ready to melt off, he's so red.
Shelby thinks Pierce has had enough of Kurt's interrogation so she asks, "Have you means to pay today or should I open an account for you?"
Pierce nods before realising a verbal response is required. "I can pay today," he says.
Shelby questions him automatically, "Really? it will be easier next time if we just open up an account now."
The House always makes more money off a man who opens up an account with them. The men forget what all the blow-jobs, booze and games are costing them until Shelby hands them the bill which they have no choice but to pay. It's a little underhanded but then again, The House is only servicing adults. They can take care of themselves.
The soldier is still looking pensive so Shelby gives him another option(people like options), "How about you take the day and let me know tonight which way you want to go."
Pierce nods quickly and Shelby knows which option he'll be taking.
The boy glances towards the door Santana disappeared through like he wants to follow her. That won't be happening. Absolutely no Tricks are allowed in the girl's private rooms.
Pierce makes a visible effort to square his shoulders before turning back to address them directly, "Do you know, um…did Santana like her—did she keep the flowers?"
Shelby has no idea what he's talking about but apparently Kurt does.
He flaps his hands in a way that's far too familiar as his excited gossiping gesture, "Oh it was so sweet! Quinn said she spent nearly an hour picking out the perfect vase and the perfect spot on the window to keep them," he holds one hand over his heart. "She's never taken so much as a napkin from a Trick before."
Shelby frowns. She doesn't like it when anyone says 'Trick' in front of townies. It sounds vulgar.
Pierce doesn't seem to mind though. He's lost in some intensely happy place far away from where he presently stands. Even Santana reentering the room isn't enough to rouse him. She's dressed for town which makes Shelby frown. She won't say anything against it though. Santana is on her own time now. She can do as she pleases.
Santana practically skips to the boy's side and he finally comes out of his haze. He gives Santana a bright, slightly cocky smile that makes her blush. Shelby can't remember seeing the girl blush since she was maybe fifteen years old. Now she has witnessed a flustered Santana two days in a row.
Kurt clears his throat and Santana jumps. She was completely unaware of their presence. She turns to them and the blissful smile turns quickly into the stern almost-frown they're both accustomed to.
She glances between Shelby and Pierce. She doesn't look guilty so much as a little apologetic. Shelby isn't sure who she might want to apologise to.
"Good morning Shelby," she says quietly. Then to Kurt, "Porcelain, you're looking positively lavender this morning." she says it with a pleasant smile that could suggest she's giving him a compliment. "Is that a new blouse?"
"Why thank you Kitten. Have you been sharpening your claws against the bed post again?" Kurt smirks suggestively.
Shelby rolls her eyes at the both of them. They've been playing this game for years.
She interrupts, "Where are you off to so early?" she asks in a tone that says Santana isn't obliged to answer.
"I'm taking Brent to see Beiste. I don't trust those army medics," she answers briefly.
"What would you know about army medics?" Kurt interrupts.
"More than you Porcelain," Santana deflects. "Now, we need to get going so no time to chat," she grasps Pierce's hand again, "Come on Sweets." She drags the poor boy quickly after her.
At the door he stalls and turns to shelby, "Thank you. I really liked the," he glances around the room. "Card tables. They're a really pretty green."
He disappears out the door and there's the sound of more laughter from Santana.
"Did he even play any cards?" Kurt asks curiously.
Shelby shakes her head, "No he didn't. And he complimented the curtains last time."
"Strange boy," Kurt comments. "Cute as a button. But strange."
"This is a complication," Shelby says mostly to herself.
"Oh don't be so dreary. They're adorable together and I'm pretty sure he's in love with her. Love is always wonderful."
"Not in our business," She sighs. "We don't need any more complications."
"Oh, on that I can definitely agree." He regards her for a moment before adding. "I met the Majors wife last night," he hesitates and Shelby's posture goes rigid. "She's very beautiful," he concludes.
"Yes, I suppose she is."
"She's led quite an interesting life for someone so young," he says and she knows there's more. "Grew up in Washington of all places."
Shelby nods.
"Adopted by a wealthy man there under rather unusual circumstances. She didn't elaborate but the subtext to her words—and believe me there was plenty of subtext—suggested that she was actually adopted by this man and his roommate—if you understand my meaning."
Shelby nods again. Of course she understands.
He looks at her seriously knowing that they are thinking the same thing. Rachel is the daughter Shelby gave up many years ago.
Shelby's brief interview with Rachel a few nights ago was enough to confirm it. With Kurt knowing what he does about her and seeing Rachel's undeniable resemblance it's unsurprising that he worked it all out.
"Are you going to tell her?" he asks.
Shelby shakes her head, "Absolutely not."
"Then why let her into the House at all. Quinn said she's writing some kind of book. She could figure it out on her own."
"I don't know," she chuckles. "I guess it isn't in me to refuse her anything."
Kurt looks like he's about to say something when Quinn herself comes sprinting down the stairs and into the Saloon. She skids to a halt when she spots them and smoothes down her skirt, trying to appear more collected than she actually is. She's dressed nicely as well and Shelby wonders if she's meeting Puck. He's meant to be around to fix the roof and a few other things to start paying off some of his debt.
Quinn's eyes are sparkling and she's trying to hide a smile as she nods in greeting to both of them. Kurt glances at Shelby who shares his bemused look. Quinn is acting just as strangely as Santana. Neither girls are prone to emotional entanglements and now both are apparently smitten.
Quinn moves to open the door and instead of Puck, Shelby is utterly shocked to see Rachel on the other side, her hand poised to open the door. Quinn must have been upstairs watching for her arrival.
Rachel takes a step inside and towards Quinn.
"Good morning Quinn. I hope of your evening faired well and your sleep was restful. No person can over stress the importance of a undisturbed night's sleep. The Australian Koala I imagine is the quintessence of health and mental aptitude," Rachel is babbling and Shelby can't help but think her charming.
Quinn smiles, "Well, I haven't a clue what a Kole-ah is but I'm sure you'll be able to enlighten me."
Rachel smiles right back before looking past Quinn's shoulder and noticing Shelby. When she spots Kurt she squeals and skips over to them. Kurt doesn't squeal but he does jump up and embrace Rachel in a familiar hug.
Kurt chuckles as he releases her, "Good morning my dear. I assume you slept well since you're obviously still capable of those obscenely long sentences."
Rachel swats at his arm and Shelby wonders how they came to be such good friends so quickly.
Quinn joins them but doesn't look at anyone but Rachel, "Shall we be going?" she asks.
Rachel nods, "Yes I fear that if I delay too long then Private Karofsky may decide to storm the house. He's so serious, I'm actually somewhat fearful for the life of anyone who might try to intercept us."
Shelby glances out the windows to see a stern looking soldier standing to attention with his rifle held ready across his chest. He certainly does look intimidating.
Rachel hooks her elbow around Quinn's arm and turns them both back toward the still open door, "Once more unto the breach, dear friends," she declares theatrically before throwing an easy farewell back over her shoulder.
Kurt shuts the door behind them, "Well that was bracing," he chuckles. "I wish I knew what had gotten into those girls. Maybe I could get some of it for myself."
— s — — b —
Brittany wonders how she got so lucky. With Santana's arm looped with her own they walk along a quiet street with the sun shining she doubts anything could be better. She walks tall despite her injuries because Santana is her friend. No matter how she might feel about Santana she knows that Santana cares for her. Their progress is slow with Brittany needing to occasionally stop and catch her breath. They don't really talk but the journey is still shorter than Brittany would like. Even the comfortable silence between them fills her with a warmth she treasures.
Santana releases her arm and takes the few stairs so she can knock briskly at the door. The Doctor answers but it's clear that she is not happy to do so.
"Santana? What are you doin here? It's the arse crack of good morning," she opens the door a little further and they can see she hasn't pulled her coat or shoes on yet.
Santana pushes the door open the rest of the way. "I need a favour Beiste," she says shortly.
"I don't think you've earned any favours with me Santana," she says with a stern look.
Brittany knows the Doctor will see them when she sees a hint of a smile hidden in her eyes.
"What's this favour anyway? Your exam was fine. Perfect health. This isn't for Quinn is it?"
Santana glances back over her shoulder and Dr Beiste follows her gaze to Brittany. Her eyes flick over Brittany's face and down her body, pausing on Brittany's hand which is held against her ribs. All the walking has aggravated every ache she has.
"Good heavens. What happened to you boy? You look like you've been put through a thresher."
She opens her door the rest of the way and Brittany accepts the invitation inside. She blinks to adjust to the dimness. Dr Beiste guides her by the shoulder to a high-set table in the corner. Brittany sits on the table as Santana arrives at her side. She's glad to find a thin mattress underneath her.
The doctor starts opening windows and gathering lamp to brighten the area around Brittany.
"Take you shirt off," she says brusquely. "How long ago did this happen? Has anyone looked at you yet?"
Santana answers for her, "Night before last and no, noone's seen him yet." She looks worried and Brittany hates that she's caused her distress.
"But this is the thing Bieste. I need to know that whatever you find is not to leave this room. Understand?"
— s — — b —
Shannon looks between the two of them. Santana is looking at her seriously and there's a hint of a threat in her voice. It's mildly unsettling but really, she's just a little girl. No matter how ferocious she might be or how that ferocity is all directed toward Shannon. Santana stands protectively between her and the boy who looks like he's been badly beaten.
Shannon tries to reassure her, "Anything you say or I that I see in here is confidential. You know that."
Santana still looks pensive as she glances back toward Brent. Her posture is extremely protective; her every gesture centred around the boy. She cares deeply for him and the affection between both of them is even more defined than it was two days ago.
"It's very important," she says, pleading for Shannon to understand.
It's still unclear what is going on and even though Shannon would like to assure Santana, she just doesn't understand what she's agreeing to.
Suddenly Brent speaks, putting his hand on Santana's shoulder. "Santana, can you wait outside please?"
Santana looks confused and a little hurt as she turns to face him, "Do you really think that's a good idea?" she asks.
Brent takes her hand easily and Shannon sees the girl soften at the touch.
"It's okay, San. Trust me." He says the words with a self assured smile.
Santana's lips quiver at the edges as though she's fighting a smile of her own. "Okay, I'll be right outside," she assures him.
Brent gives her hand a squeeze before letting go and Santana walks quickly to the door. She shoots Shannon a dangerous look before closing the door behind her with a thud. Shannon can see her shadow moving over the window as she begins immediately pacing.
Shannon looks at Brent appraisingly, "I'd love to know what you've done to that girl."
Brent looks confused, "I haven't done anything."
Shannon chuckles, "Just natural, animal attraction then. Very well, off with that shirt. I need to see the damage that's going on before you drop dead."
Brent doesn't move, instead pinning her with an appraising stare.
"You're a woman," he says finally. It's not a question and there is absolutely no doubt in his eyes.
The boy knows her secret and there is nothing Shannon could say to convince him otherwise. Shannon could swear that she just got to experience what Cardiac dysrhythmia feels like. She pulls out her usual chair and sits down heavily. She considers Brent. His expression is open and curious, not accusatory. The way he sent Santana out of the room also suggests that he is willing to keep her secret.
"Okay, I have to ask how you figured that one out," she says with a nervous laugh.
Brent gives her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, you're a very convincing man. I'm just a little more observant than most. Also…" he hesitates before continuing. "Your costume is much more convincing than mine."
Brent continues to look at her, asking her silently to understand. Shannon tries to. She looks at the boy in front of her, observing all the things that had caught her attention the first time. The slender figure, the fine features.
"You're hidin too," she suddenly realises.
Brent nods, "Yes and you can't tell anyone. It's so important." she pleads.
Shannon shakes her head, "No, this is not the same thing," she says emphatically. "You're puttin yourself in danger."
Brent shakes his head, "No I'm not. I'm strong and I'm not scared of what might happen to me."
Shannon scoffs and gestures to the Soldier's face, "Look at what has already happened. How did all this come about then?"
Brent looks down, "I took a beating from some of the men," she mumbles.
"You took a beatin and I'm supposed to just patch you up and put you back into that Company without a thought? That's not right."
"I thought you'd understand. I need this doc, really I have nothing else. I have nowhere to go."
She looks close to tears and Shannon's resolve begins to waiver.
She sighs, "What's ya name anyhow?"
The girl looks up at her, tears glistening but not falling "Brittany Pierce. It's the only lie I told, I swear."
Shannon waves off the declaration, "Well you picked a gooden fer your only lie. Fine then, let me look at the rest of ya then we can have a talk about yer situation after."
Brittany takes off her cap and drops it to the table. Then she unbuttons her shirt.
Shannon catches a movement at the window and chuckles despite herself. Santana is still pacing quickly back and forth waiting for her soldier. Although, now Shannon has to reconsider all the assumptions she had made given this new piece of information. She had felt so sure that Santana was smitten over this soldier and all his charming little peculiarities. It had even seemed the feeling was mutual between them. Unless Santana doesn't know that Brent is actually Brittany. That would make a lot of sense. The only question would be why Santana felt she needed to threaten Shannon to secrecy.
"What secret does Santana think I'm keepin?" she asks.
Brittany is unbuckling her belt but looks up at Shannon in confusion, "What do you mean?"
"Well if she doesn't know that you're a girl then why did she come in with intent to maim if I didn't keep your secret. What secret does she think I'm keeping?"
"Oh, no she knows. This is all there is," she says peeling her undershirt away to reveal the bruises littering her torso and the bandages wrapping her chest.
Shannon is unsure how to respond but lets out a small sound of surprise, "Huh."
— s — — b —
I pace back past the door again, exceedingly perturbed by this course of events. I never thought that Brittany would ask me to leave and it's driving me half way up the wall having to wait around outside. Having Brittany so close and being unable to see or touch her—I just can't sit still.
After what must be the fiftieth pass of the door it finally opens. I rush up the stairs and nearly run into Brittany where she stands in the doorway.
"Sweets, what's going on, I've been giving myself over to nerves out here," I wrap my arms around Brittany's waist needing to know that she is there and safe.
Brittany holds me around the shoulders and squeezes tightly. I'm surprised by the strength of it and I lean back to look at her face. Her eyes are glazed and her smile is somewhere between that smile and a dopey grin.
"Hey, Sanny. I missed you. The doc is gonna keep my secret real good," she says with a tiny slur in her words.
"Oh Sweets, what did he give you?" I ask, guiding her back into the room and putting her in a chair.
"Beiste!" I call out when I find the room empty. "Beiste get in here and tell me what you did to her right now."
Brittany refuses to stay sitting. She stands up to slip her arms around my waist from behind and I can feel her nuzzling into my hair. A shiver runs through me at the sensation but I step out of her arms as the Doctor comes back into the room.
"Stop with the yellin would ya."
"No I won't stop with the 'yellin'!" I say aggressively. "Not until you tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to give her opium."
Beiste looks at Brittany before returning his stern gaze to me, "What I give my patients is not your concern Santana."
I feel the anger rising in me further, "It is my concern when you're dosing up my—my friend."
I realise that friend just doesn't feel like a big enough word when I have this expansive feeling in my chest again.
Beiste looks between Brittany and I curiously. "Your friend," he repeats.
"I've seen what that tonic does to Quinn," I say, pushing past his curiosity. "Why would you give it to her?"
"Because she's in a lot of pain," he says emphatically, gesturing to Brittany who is now pawing at my hair.
I pull her hand away from my hair and keep it in mine, "So there isn't anything else?" I ask calming slightly as I realise he's right. She was in pain and now she isn't.
The doctor shakes his head, "No there isn't anything else. She can have willow bark in a few days but for now the tincture is the best option. She has a broken rib and severe abdominal bruising. I'm amazed she even got here under her own power, especially all the way from Corcorans." His look is speculative as he looks between us. "I understand she spent the night there again."
I nod, not particularly trusting my words right now. Thinking of how much damage she might have done to herself, coming to Corcorans to see me. Guilt worries at my mind.
Beiste looks like he would ask me something else but thinks better of it instead saying, "She's certainly made of some tough stuff, I'll give her that much."
"So, what do I do with her now? Were you really going to let her wander through town like this?"
Beiste shakes his head. "Of course not. I was just getting another dose for her to take back to camp. She was meant to sit still. But obviously she had other things in mind."
"So where does this leave us now?" I ask, batting Brittany's other hand away from my hair. "I can't take her back to Corcorans. Shelby will kill me."
Brittany gasps, "No Sanny, she won't kill you cause she loves you."
I try to look stern when she picks up another lock of my hair holding it between her thumb and forefinger. She twists it in the light from the window. She has such a look of wonder in her eyes that I can't help but smile.
Beiste shakes his head wearing an indulgent smile that I would love to slap off him. "She needs to go back to her own camp for bed rest. I'll be drafting up a letter for her NCO," he turns to Brittany. "It was Anderson right?"
Brittany drops my hair to answer but then gets distracted by the arc of it's fall, staring where the lock rests against my shoulder. I squeeze her hand to regain her attention.
She looks up at Beiste, "Sure Beasty," she smirks. "Anderson'll be the right guy. He's my favourite—I mean I'm his favourite." she says elongating her vowels and gesturing to her face.
I shake my head at how obviously high she is. "How much did you take Sweets?" I ask her, my voice low.
She lifts up the hand that I'm holding, keeping mine securely in hers as she tries to signify a distance between her thumb and fingers.
"This much," she says before realising with a frown that her fingers aren't quite manoeuvring around my hand in the way she would like.
"You could ask her how much she took if you like goin around yer elbow to get to yer thumb." Beiste chuckles at us. "She's had enough to put her down fer the rest of the day once she finds her cot and you give her another dose."
Brittany is still holding our hands up to her eyes, counting out a one two three four rhythm with each of her fingers against the back of my hand. I place my other hand over our two and press down, patting the back of her hand gently before turning to Beiste, "So she's just going back to camp to sleep it off?"
Beiste gives an affirmative nod and returns to his desk to finish the note for Lieutenant Anderson.
Brittany is back to nuzzling my hair; her chest is pressed up against my shoulder.
"Please make this message brief Doctor."
He makes a final stroke of his pen with a little flourish and folds it in half handing it and a small box to me. I take both and leave without preamble, dragging Brittany behind me.
The camp isn't very far away but it seems like it is; Brittany wants to stop and look at things every few yards. It takes us five minutes just to progress beyond the road immediately in front of the doctors office because Brittany notices the light shining off my hair.
"But San, it's just so beautiful. Have you ever seen it? It's like—it's like polished ebony. Or maybe jet or like raven feathers, all glossy," she muses. "Or midnight blue but darker."
My hair alone is enough to delay us but then there are water puddles and even the sky is a source of overwhelming interest. So we stumble from one shiny thing to another until finally the camp comes into view and I have to keep Brittany from running the rest of the way. She takes a few rushed steps forward but slows quickly, gripping at her side. Her smile doesn't dim but there's an edge of pain in her eyes.
"I think I hurt myself again San," she says with a small laugh.
"That's why we need to get you to your cot. Then you can sleep and have pleasant dreams with no pain."
"Will you stay with me?"
I hesitate, considering what Shelby's reaction might be if I didn't return to the House straight away.
"I can't Brittany."
She nods, her expression a little more solemn, "Okay, I understand."
"Good, now which one is yours?"
We've entered a sea of white tents and I finally realise how hard this will be if she's too high to find her tent for us. There are a few soldiers milling about, giving us curious looks but no one stops to offer any help. I even see a few sneering looks which I return with interest.
Brittany tears her eyes away from my hair long enough to look along the row of tents. She laughs, "I don't know where we are."
She says it with such joy but it makes my heart sink a little. She's started leaning against me like she's getting sleepy and I know that I won't be able to support any more of her weight. No matter how slim she might be. There's a lot of muscle on her bones and I'm not that strong.
I look around for a face I might recognise from the House. No one looks familiar and we can't just stand around all day so I move us forward, hoping that either someone will eventually help or Brittany will recognise something.
We walk down several rows before I see someone I know. It's the boy, Evans that escorted Sugar back to Corcorans that day Brittany showed me our wishing star.
"What's going on here?" he asks, an accusation in his voice as he takes in Brittany's lazy smile a relaxed posture.
"Evens, thank goodness. I thought we would be wandering around this damn maze all day."
His eyes narrow further at my cursing, "You want to find his tent? What did you do to him?"
"I didn't do anything," I say defensively. "I forced him to see the Doctor who gave him Laudanum for the pain. I assume you know about his injuries?" I ask with accusation colouring my own voice.
Sam looks suitably subdued, "Yes, but he refused to see the medic. I didn't even think of suggesting the town doctor. Why would I?"
"It doesn't matter now," I say quickly as Brittany starts toying with the fabric on my skirt. Can you direct us to his tent or not?"
Sam nods and quickly turns us back the way we came then across two rows of tents to a third where he finally points out Brittany's tent.
"Get him into his cot and I'll be back. I'm just going to find Anderson to let him know what's going on. I know he'll be glad to hear that Brent saw any kind of doctor."
I tug Beiste's note from the laudanum package and hand it to Evens before he can run off, "Give this to him. It explains everything."
I don't see him leave as I lead Brittany into her tent.
It's warm inside with the sun beating against the side. I'm surprised to see that hers is the only bed inside. It seems unusual but I know better than to ask Brittany about it in her current state. She's flopped down on the cot and is undoing her buttons. She only gets half way before attempting to just lift the shirt over her head. It doesn't work out so well since her jacket is still on.
"Let me Sweets," I direct her to lower her arms so I can push the jacket off.
I kneel on the ground in between her knees to finish the job on her buttons and push her shirt over her shoulders. In the bright white light of the tent I can see the faint stain down the front of her undershirt that must be from a bloody nose. It hurts me every time to think of the beating that caused it. I long to find those responsible and make them hurt just as much Brittany does.
Brittany's eyes are drooping heavily and her smile is fading. I quickly untie the laces of her boots and drag them from her feet. I place them and her clothes in a neat pile in a space under the cot.
Everything in the tent seems to have it's own place and there's an orderly feel to the space. I'm surprised since I had imagined Brittany to be a more haphazard and messy person. I have to suppose that it makes sense she'd be careful of her belongings when she obviously has so little. The few details I was able to glean from our conversation last night suggest that she had nothing of her father's wealth when she joined the army. It makes me curious to see what she's kept; I want to look around the tent more but I feel like it would be intrusive to do so given Brittany's current state.
"Sweets, I'm going to give you another tincture and then you can sleep okay," I pull the cap off her head and hang it from a peg in the tent pole.
She nods so slowly that by the time she's done, I have the little bottle held out for her to drink. She takes it from me wordlessly and drinks it in one gulp. She grimaces like she does with whiskey and I can't help but find it adorable.
I take the bottle back from her and push gently against her shoulder, indicating for her to lie down.
She does so while mumbling something about dreaming.
"That's right Sweets. Nothing but sweet dreams. The doctor has left instructions in the box for when you wake up okay?"
She nods with her eyes closed.
I lean down and press a kiss to her cheek, just at the corner of her lips. The frown that had formed changes instantly back to the lazy smile.
"Be careful Sweets," I say, gently pushing a stray whisp of blonde hair from her face. "You still owe me a dance, remember."
She nods a little but I'm not sure if it's actually a response or if she's just falling asleep. She sighs out a gust of air then her breathing grows steady.
I watch her sleep for a few minutes longer before I know that I have to get back to the House. I'll already be missing some of the early chores.
I eventually get to my feet, spotting a neatly folded blanket as I do. I pull it loosely up over her chest. I test the temperature of her forehead with the back of my hand. She seems well enough and I turn my hand to run my palm over her uninjured cheek to her jaw.
I withdraw my hand quickly when she turns slightly in her sleep mumbling a few more words, "I'll keep this," she says nonsensically. Then, "My Santana."
I feel a tingle run through my body, radiating from that expansive place in my chest.
I now know what words can encompass the thing that I couldn't express when talking to the doctor earlier.
I am Brittany's.
And Brittany is mine.
— s — — b —
In a haze of opium and brandy, Brittany dreams of her night with Santana. The details are rich and true to reality. Every kiss, every word and gesture is finer than any fantasy her dreaming mind could create. She feels it all and more as her mind continues to luxuriate in infinite, glorious bliss.
— s — — b —
I don't really remember walking back to Corcorans but I find myself with a brush in hand scrubbing already clean boards in the second floor hall. Sugar is humming her usual songs and Quinn is joining in singing the Hymns.
I don't hear any more of their gossip as Brittany's words continue to ghost through my mind.
My Santana.
That expansive feeling never weakens as I think and feel over and again.
My Brittany.