Savage! Chapter 18: Three, a glee fanfic

A/N: HI FRENS! :D I hope you had a great holiday, if you have a life that allowed for you to have a holiday!

Okay, I know- I'm totally bummed that I missed the 3-month deadline in October, too. I was busy moving from California to the best state in the Union (Colorado, in case you didn't know) and didn't have as much time to write as I'd anticipated, but hopefully this beast of a chapter makes up for it; at least it's not 3 years late. XD (too soon? ;-;)

ANYWAYS. Today's random Glee appreciation song is Like a Virgin, from the Madonna episode. I don't know about ya'll, but that was the first episode that I distinctly remember Santana getting to sing an actual line, and I was like HOLY SHIT, they've been sleeping on her voice! MOAR!

Which reminds me, if you don't already know, Glee is leaving NETFLIX next week. Mega bummer. :C

That being said, that should give you an idea of what this chapter is about... so um, WARNING. There is a LOT of M rated stuff in this chapter- sorry, not sorry?

Thanks to everyone who read the last chapter! Extra special thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! I appreciate you saying hi! :) Also extra special thanks to Taylor Swift, for re-recording my favorite album, Red, but making it better because #FUQTHESYSTEM #THROWITONTHEGROUNNND

Okay, happy reading, ya'll!

A sharp, insistent knock at her door, and a familiar- though resented- phrase, spoken clearly through the old, weathered wood, causes Santana to groan.

"Wake-Up Call."

She sighs irritably, blinking into the darkness of her room, the only light coming from the crack beneath the door, and responds, "Received."

The sound of footsteps moving away causes her to roll over in her bed, grumbling again. She glances at the empty pillow beside hers, and a pang of loneliness hits her.

How many nights had it been since Brittany had slept by her side? Must she be injured for the woman to desire her company? Does she really prefer a cold, lonely hammock, far below deck, to a shared, warm bed with her?

She squeezes her eyes shut, forcing her insecurities away. She knows Brittany is busy; the majority of their work schedules align, but their sleep schedules do not, though she's not sure why- and she knows that she hasn't done much to remedy the situation, nor has she really sought out Brittany's company. She has only herself to blame for her loneliness.

She rises from the warm comfort of her bed to begin her daily routine with a tired sigh. The unpleasant feeling of her bare feet touching the cold deck aids in waking her as she crosses to light the oil lamp at her desk. Once the room is illuminated in a dull, steady glow, she moves to the tin wash basin containing her water ration for the week and ladles some into a wooden bowl. Shivering, she dips a square hand cloth into it and carefully scrubs her face, instantly feeling more awake due to the frigidness of the water.

The surrounding ocean had grown noticeably colder as they'd traveled the past few days, which is not a foreign concept to her, but during this time of year, is unnatural; they rarely strayed outside of their warm territory. She'd dug her thick, long, wool bridge coat from her trunk in order to protect her from the unforgiving wind while on deck the day before. Once dressed for the day, she ties up her hair and slips the heavy black garment over her shoulders, flipping the large collar up to protect her neck.

One last glance at her mirror reveals her confident, flawless appearance, and she takes a deep breath, preparing herself for another unexpected day in unknown waters with an uncertain destination. She yanks her door open and finds Brittany standing in the doorway, her right hand raised as if to knock.

"Britt," she breathes. Her stomach twists. How long has it been since she's seen her? The way her heart is pounding, she'd think it was weeks. She hasn't been avoiding her, exactly- she just doesn't know how to have the conversation she knows they need to have. Spending time together is wonderful, getting her clit sucked is even better, but she knows they're heading towards something more serious, and she doesn't know how to handle that on top of everything else they're facing- even though she desperately wants it.

"Quartermaster," Brittany murmurs respectfully, and Santana's heart sinks at the formality. Have they regressed back, or is Brittany just calling her that for show? She glances past Brittany, finding Wes and Kitty talking quietly just outside her stateroom, and presses her lips together- Brittany's right to be subtle.

"Come in?" Santana offers coolly, slipping her hands into her warm pockets.

"No need," Brittany reassures, glancing to her right, careful. "I just- I brought your breakfast."

Santana narrows her eyes, casting her gaze over Brittany's shoulder to examine the position of the sun. "It's lunchtime."

"Exactly." She smiles softly, offering her a cup, and Santana's heart leaps at the sight of black, steaming coffee- a true rare commodity these days. They've been living on hardtack and dried fish rations for what seems like forever, though in reality it's only been about four days.

"What's the occasion?" she wonders, her eyebrows rising in surprise as she accepts the unexpected- but welcome- gift.

Brittany shrugs noncommittally, staring down into the cup between Santana's hands. "I just want you to have a good day today." She raises her gaze, and Santana's struck speechless at the sight of deep, passionate blue.

She wants to blurt that she misses her- she wants to tell Brittany that she's not avoiding her, she just doesn't know what to do now- she wants to tell her she's scared of the future, and of losing her to something beyond her control, and that she doesn't know how to keep her safe- but instead she mumbles, thanks as she sips her coffee. It tastes like heaven, and she hums in pleasure.

Brittany nods. Her eyes trace Santana's frame, and she feels restless, nervous under her intense gaze. Subtly, Brittany reaches forward to finger one of the large buttons on her jacket, a tiny smile turning up just the corner of her lips. "You look nice," she murmurs, and Santana's heart does a triumphant backflip from the compliment.

"You do, too," she returns, and she means it; even though Brittany is wearing an apron that's covered with brown stains and flour, and her bangs have fallen out of her messy ponytail, Santana thinks she's never looked more attractive.

Brittany licks her bottom lip and Santana feels her pulse race. "You look- warm."

"I am," Santana says, unsure where Brittany's going, but gods, does she want to go there with her. Brittany raises her gaze from Santana's jacket to her lips, and Santana clenches the cup between her hands tighter.

"I should go," Brittany says finally, tearing her eyes away. She smiles fully, shooting one last longing look at Santana's mouth before turning to leave, still conscious of their audience. "Enjoy your day, Quartermaster."

Santana wants to call after her, kiss her senseless, but she doesn't know how that would help the weird rut they're both stuck in, and they have an audience anyway, so instead she watches Brittany disappear down the steps to the galley, her heart aching.

Now what?

"To what do I owe the honor?" David grunts as he maneuvers a large, tightly-sealed barrel out from behind a pile of long, wooden boxes. "Shouldn't you be with Britt?"

Santana glares. "What's that supposed to mean?"

David pauses in his work to cock a meaningful eyebrow at her. "Exactly what it sounds like, idiot. I haven't seen you down here in weeks." He carefully pries the lid of the barrel up with a wooden wedge and lifts it off, revealing the shiny, black gunpowder inside. "Where is she?"

Santana shrugs, clenching her fists where they rest in her pockets. She's not always with Brittany- "In the galley, probably."

"'Probably'?" David laughs as he picks up a wooden ladle with a long handle. "What'd you fuck up this time?"

"Nothing," Santana insists, watching him measure out gunpowder into small, cloth sacks for fast, easy loading into cannons during a fight. "I just don't…"

David remains quiet, focusing on his work. His idiot quartermaster obviously came down here for some of his world-class advice, so he doesn't need to do anything but wait. Although- maybe some liquor couldn't hurt. What's in his flask? Did he refill it this morning?

After long moments, Santana sighs. "I just don't know what to do now."

"Do?" He looks up from the sack in his hands and narrows his eyes, studying her. He tries to recall the last time he saw Brittany. She didn't seem upset, but if he was being quite honest, they'd all kind of slipped into a state of numbness from the long, grueling days at sea and the shit food.

Santana fidgets under his inspection. "Well, we're close- closer than ever. I just-" she kicks at the deck, her eyes falling to a pile of cannonballs in the corner to avoid David's. "Now what? It seems like she's still holding back, and I have no idea what to do next."

"So you haven't fucked her yet?"

An immediate blush spreads across her cheeks as she furiously raises her fist in warning. "Dave-!"

"Woah," he laughs, holding his hands up in defense, offering a crooked grin. "Come on, San- it's not like we've never talked about you fucking her." She considers his words for a moment, deciding that he's right- they've discussed it numerous times- and once she lowers her fist, he teases, "but you haven't, huh?"

Her fist finds his shoulder immediately. "You're a fucking idiot."

He smiles at the compliment. "Well, there's your next step. Ya gotta fuck her." He rubs his shoulder. "Ow."

It's silent for a moment before David continues his work, sensing that Santana's not finished talking- because she hasn't left yet- but knowing she'll continue when she's ready. He hands her a sack of gunpowder and she accepts it automatically, reaching for a piece of twine to tie it closed. They remain quiet as they fall into a routine that's more than familiar to them; Santana works absently for long minutes, her mind struggling to process David's words.

Is that really the next step? But most importantly-

"How do I tell if she's… ready?"

David laughs loudly again, mostly in amusement that he was right about Santana not being finished, and Santana bites her lip, regretting asking. "Wow, she's really got you hemmed up, San. How can you not tell?" He pauses as he takes in the confused, pathetic expression on his friend's face.

"C'mon- where's the salty, ruthless pirate at?" He slaps her encouragingly on the shoulder to emphasize, trying to amp her up. "You must've fucked a thousand women-"

"Absolutely not-"

"Or a hundred women-"

"Still not close, David."

"That don't matter," he grins. "The point is, Ira Del Diablo, you've got plenty of pussy in your life. You know when a woman's ready." Santana opens her mouth to argue, and David lifts his hand, halting her words. "I know Brittany ain't like those sluts you used to fuck in port-"

"Hey- idiot- are you just trying to insult me, now?"

"But that's just it- you know women, but you also know Brittany... better'n anybody, actually. So since you're clearly sure she ain't ready- whattya think's holdin' her back?"

"I..." She pauses, sifting through her thoughts. "She's said that she wants a relationship with me..."

"Gods know why," David teases. Santana punches him.

"So I suppose she's waiting for me to prove that I'm serious- that I'm serious about being with her, too."

"Uh-huh," David nods, reaching into his vest pocket to pull out his flask now that he's remembered that he did, in fact, refill it that morning. He pops the lid, then takes a long drink. "And how ya gonna do that?"

She accepts the flask when he offers it. "I don't know. I thought I did that already-" she takes a drink. "I gave her my sword. Does that not count?"

"Maybe she don't know the significance- have you told her how you feel?"

Santana groans, covering her face with her right hand. "Is that really what's next?"

David nods pityingly, and Santana groans again. They trade the flask back and forth once more, emptying it. "She's a badass, but she's still a woman," David says as he tucks the empty flask back into his pocket. "And don't women like talking about feelings and shit?"

Santana glares. "I'm a woman, too."

"Exactly. And?"

"And no."

He chuckles. "Maybe you're right. Kurt ain't no woman, but he also likes that shit."

She raises her eyebrow in disbelief at the thought of her friend pouring out his feelings. "So how do you do it, then?"

"Just…." he shrugs helplessly. "Speak from your heart, I guess." He eyes her challengingly, daring her to make fun of him. "Or don't you have one?"

"You're a walrus ass, you know that?"

"I do. Just answer me this, then- do you love her?"

"I-" Santana's heart pounds, uneasy, terrified, as she considers the question.

Love. Is that what she feels every time Brittany looks at her like that? Is that the feeling that bursts in her chest, consuming her lungs and tightening her throat? Is that what squeezes, suffocates her heart whenever Brittany walks into a room flashing a dazzling smile meant just for her?

The realization takes her breath away.

"Yes," she whispers, finally admitting it to herself. "Yes, I love her."

David nods, having already known the truth his friend has apparently just then discovered. She'd better bring him another flask of liquor for all the guidance he provides. He nonchalantly picks up an empty sack, scooping in some gunpowder.

"Then tell her."

Santana wants to- but it's difficult to speak when Brittany's tongue is in her mouth.

It's the next night, and Santana had spent her entire shift mustering up the nerve to confess her feelings, to make the plunge, and she'd gotten all the way to the galley when she realized that Brittany's shift was over after dinner, and that she needed to go down to the hold.

She'd never really been down here- not since she'd first had Brittany as a prisoner so many months ago- and she wasn't sure how to knock or announce her presence, either.

"Brittany?" she'd called, before carefully climbing down the ladder into what seemed like a dark, empty space.

Brittany had greeted her, and she'd been surprised by how cozy and warm the hold looked, lit by a small lantern and decorated with Brittany and Sugar's various belongings. She'd tried to steel herself, to get her feelings out then, but it had been so difficult to think when Brittany had eyed her like she was her favorite meal, and especially when Brittany kissed her, fumbling with the laces on her pants, moaning into her mouth-

"Brittany," she gasps, feeling her moment slip away. "I-"

"I want you so much," Brittany admits, breathless. "I've missed you..."

"I have, too," she reassures. "But-"

"But?" Brittany whispers before sucking at her collarbone. She wants to address more, but she also wants this moment. Her mouth moves lower.

Santana bites her lip, Brittany sinks to her knees, and her words die in her chest.

"Fuck," she hisses, trying not to yank her hand from Mike's grasp. She's not a ninny, but her fingers don't exactly bend that way- not anymore.

"How does that feel?" Mike asks seriously, though her reaction has already told him.

"Not the best," she says through gritted teeth.

He stretches her finger back again- causing her to curse- and shakes his head. "Have you even been doing the exercises?"

"Yes," she mutters sullenly. "I've been trying, it's just-"

"It hurts, I get it." He sighs, releasing his grip on her fingers. He squeezes along her joints, feeling her bones for a moment, massaging her muscles. "You are improving- just- slowly."

Once he's finished inspecting her right hand, she rubs it gingerly with her left. "It doesn't feel like it."

"You've gotta re-teach the muscles how to move, Santana."

"I know," she mumbles, avoiding his pointed stare. She stretches her fingers, flexing them. They do seem a little better than they were before her visit- less tight. She clenches her fist; her grip seems stronger, more sure than usual. Maybe Mike is right.

"Thanks," she admits softly, finally bringing her eyes up to meet his.

He holds her gaze, his expression serious. "I want to see you recover just as badly as you do," he says. "But you've got to trust me."

She nods, still rubbing her hand, which is no longer sore, but she needs the distraction.

"How's the calf?" he asks, and at her puzzled expression, he adds, "Brittany told me you sewed it up yourself, back near Klu. It should be healed by now, right?"

Santana feels herself tense at the mention of Brittany, but she obediently pulls her pant leg up to bare her calf. Mike bends to inspect the neat pattern of tiny cross scars along her calf, pleased with her work.

"Keep closing wounds like that, and I'll enlist your aid in the infirmary," he grins.

Santana smirks at the joke. "As if I have the time to spare."

Mike laughs. "I wouldn't want to stop spending all my time with Brittany, either."

"I don't spend all my time," Santana grumbles in protest. She glances up when she feels Mike's hand on her shoulder.

"Okay, Santana. Just make sure you make time for the exercises, all right?"

"What're you doing here?" Kurt wonders, sparing a quick glance at Brittany as he rolls out dough for sea biscuits. "Your shift's not until after lunch."

"I'm done sleeping," Brittany shrugs as she loops the apron over her head. "And I'm bored."

"I get that," Kurt says, raising an eyebrow. "But my question is, why are you here? Where's Santana?"

Brittany frowns, throwing her gaze to a pot of popping, sizzling meat that Kurt's cooking. "She's- busy, I suppose." She crosses to the stove, picking up the long wooden spoon that's stationed beside it, and begins to stir, causing the sizzles to grow louder. A quick glance reveals that it's some variety of fish- probably freshly caught from the ship that morning. At least they will have stock.

"You suppose?" Kurt halts in his rolling to put his hands on his hips, eyeing her suspiciously. "Did something happen?"

Brittany shrugs. "I don't know. She's been avoiding me lately." She bites her lip as her own words sink in- she's been dodging the truth for days. She misses Santana, and doesn't know how Santana can avoid her so easily. It hurts to think that she doesn't miss Brittany the way Brittany misses her, but she can't deny that Santana's eyes light up whenever she sees her. Why, then, has she been keeping herself away?

She stirs the fish again, absently, as Kurt searches for something to say. She can't tell him why they've been drifting apart the past two weeks, despite how much time they've spent together, because she doesn't know how it's even possible that she can be so close to her quartermaster but feel so distant from her. She feels as if Santana has shut her out emotionally, even though they're still so physically connected, even though Santana does not shy away from her lips, her touch... but it's obvious that she does not seek her out as she once did, and the lack of her presence stings.

But how does she fix it?

She feels as if they are both waiting for something to happen, she just doesn't know what that something might be, and the general depression that's overtaken the ship from their less-than-desirable conditions doesn't help the situation. She feels as if they've reached some invisible wall, but how to move past it?

Kurt studies her, and finally decides on something to say. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, however, the sound of a distant cannon halts their conversation. They both pause, unsure if they heard right, and strain to listen; when another cannon sounds, Brittany's stomach tenses. The sound of many boots scurrying across the deck above them confirm that something is indeed happening; approaching footsteps prompt them to turn towards the galley entrance, and Jake appears a moment later.

"Brittany, on deck!" he pants before he disappears just as quickly, racing to his post at the gunwales.

Confused, Brittany meets Kurt's eyes and he raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

"You don't work for me, anymore, Britt- you work for the ship."

With a nervous gulp, she hurries from the warmth of the galley to the stairs, and with her adrenaline already flowing, she barely registers the cold as she climbs up to the main deck, finding Santana and the rest of the crew engaged in a violent ship battle.

"Hard to port!" Puck hollers, and Arty cranks the wheel quickly as the rest of the crew work the sails in support.

BOOM! BOOM!

Brittany gazes out at the ship they are firing upon, trying to derive its origin, but the purple flags flying from the mast are foreign to her. She can see people scrambling on deck, but they wear no discernible uniforms, which means they are probably not facing a military ship, which relieves her. She can just barely make out the words Scale Blazer on the ship's hull before the ship is turning again.

BOOM!

"Hard to starboard!" Puck calls, and again, the crew respond. A cannonball fired from the Scale Blazer grazes the back of the ship, thanks to their evasive maneuvers, but it's a close call. Still without a proper battle station, Brittany searches for someone to report to, but Santana, Matt, David- all are busy at their posts. She finally spots Mike standing anxiously near the forecastle and moves to his side.

"How can I help?" Brittany wonders.

Mike glances at her. "Ah, Green Bean. Glad you're here. Are you ready to board?"

Brittany's eyes widen. "Board? Me?"

Mike nods. "You're part of the party," he confirms. He studies her, frowning at her current state: she's still dressed in an apron, with no apparent weapons- in absolutely no position to board an enemy ship. He chuckles hesitantly. "You should probably prepare yourself- and hurry. Judging by the way this fight is going, we're boarding soon."

More cannon-fire blasts cause her ears to ring. Swallowing her fear, and with her stomach tightening with anxiety, she flies down the many steps to her quarters, reaching her corner of the hold. Throwing her apron off, she quickly grabs up Santana's sword- now hers- and fastens it to her belt. With a quick parting sentiment to Sugar, who sits bewildered, cradling her jar, she ties the bandanna around her neck so it's accessible to obscure her features once it's time, tucks her boot knife into place, and rushes back up to the main deck just in time to witness Thad and Matt dropping boarding planks into place.

David, Mike and Santana all stand, armed and ready and waiting for her, she realizes as she reaches them. She opens her mouth to apologize, but Santana cuts her off.

"Cloths up," she commands, and Mike and David obediently lift their bandannas in sync with her to cover the lower halves of their faces.

Brittany rushes to do the same, her heart racing from fear, nerves, and the sight of Santana's familiar red bandanna. She barely has time to take a breath before her quartermaster is smoothly drawing her sword and turning, looking larger than life as she climbs up onto the bridge between ships. The sight makes Brittany's heart pound in admiration, in desire, but then David's grounding her as he shoves something into her left hand; she grips the familiar leather-wrapped handle, glancing down to confirm that it's a boarding axe.

Her stomach clenches at the sound of the enraged battle roar from her enemies waiting on the other ship, but she doesn't hesitate when it's her turn to step onto the bridge. Five paces ahead, Santana's already engaged in a fast, vicious fight with two of the foreign mariners, and two paces ahead, David lets loose a battle cry of his own as he charges into the fray, brandishing his axe up high.

"Let's go, Bean," Mike encourages from her side, offering her a grin from beneath his bandanna- which she can only tell by the way his eyes crinkle at the edges- and without thinking, she's moving steadily towards the battle instead of away from it for the first time.

She jumps down lightly from the boarding planks and is immediately greeted with one of the crew, swinging a long, curved sword at her. On autopilot, she easily hooks the sword with her boarding axe and twists, ripping the weapon from her surprised opponent's hand, and draws her own slightly-curved sword with her right. The man before her is on the deck moments later, bleeding from a fatal wound.

Brittany takes no pause nor spares no thought towards the life she just ended, instead moving on to the next person ready to try and fight her. After all, she chose this life, and everything that came along with it- it's only fitting that she- a savage pirate- embraces it.

The fight is over within minutes; the Scale Blazer, overpowered and damaged beyond repair, lists heavily to the side, its mast cracked and pitched forward. The men who'd tried to defend her lie on the deck, either dead or surrendered. The last remaining opponents use their final moments to set their doomed ship on fire in an effort to take down the invading pirates along with them, but Santana doesn't seem worried in the slightest as she towers over the captain, who kneels before her with hands bound behind his back.

Brittany returns to her side- after defeating her last seaman- to await her next task. She gazes down at the captain of the Scale Blazer, taking in his long, braided beard, his bright red coat, and his many scars, and wonders who he is- where he came from. What kind of ship is out scouring these waters? She shivers a little as a cold blast of wind hits her, and misses Santana's concerned eyes.

When David reaches Santana's other side, Santana orders Brittany to accompany him down to the ship's hold as she coolly wipes blood off her sword. "Quickly," she urges, avoiding Brittany's eyes. She can't think too hard about sending Brittany into possible danger- she has to treat her as she treats everyone else. "This ship approaches its final minutes."

Brittany sheaths her sword and obediently follows David, scrambling down a ladder into the dark with Mike close behind them, carrying a torch, their movement made harder due to the severe lean of the ship. When they reach the cargo hold, Mike stays near the ladder with the torch as David ventures into the darkness to inspect the space, inhaling deeply and touching various crates, which had conveniently all slid to one side of the room.

"What's he doing?" Brittany wonders, finally asking the question she wasn't allowed to ask her first time boarding a ship. The sound of dripping water does not escape her notice.

"He's checking for explosives," Mike explains. "So we don't blow ourselves up if we bring the fire closer."

Brittany nods, watching as David expertly inspects the stacks in minimal time. When he calls, Clear, Mike climbs to the center of the room, holding the torch up high to shine light on the supplies as Brittany scans the surrounding crates, finally settling on one closest to her. She pries the wood open with the hook end of her axe as David does the same on the other end of the stack, and removes the lid.

Inside the crate rests a small fortune in salt. She lifts some to her tongue to confirm it, but once she does, she frowns. What is she supposed to do with a crate of salt?

Already monkeying down the ladder to begin the bucket brigade, Jake calls out to announce he's in position, and Brittany reluctantly lifts the- rather heavy- salt crate and hands it to him. He passes it up to the pirate at the top of the ladder, and quickly and efficiently, they clear the majority of the crates out of the hold.

The ship rocks violently, suddenly, and David grabs her arm to steady her. "That's our cue," he pants, hefting one last crate. "This place is about to go."

Their boots splash in water that had begun to accumulate as they hasten their pace out of the hold, abandoning the last few crates. Once safely back onboard the Tide Ripper, Brittany watches as her crew hoists the boarding planks, drops the sails, and speeds from the ship they'd just condemned to the bottom of the sea.

Her heart still pounds with adrenaline from the fast-paced excitement of the fight and the close escape, but she can't help the disappointment that rolls over her as she recalls that they'd acquired no food from their raid. Isn't that what they were trying to pirate? They can't eat salt, after all.

"What's the matter?" Mike wonders, catching her concerned expression.

"There was no food in our cargo," Brittany admits. "I feel like we failed."

Mike offers her a smile. "We sent a different party for that," he reassures, placing a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. "There's little risk raiding the food stores, so we sent Kitty and Wes there while we checked their hold for spoils."

"Oh," Brittany breathes, relieved. "Was there a lot of food?"

"You'll have to check in with Kurt for that."

When Brittany arrives at the galley, she finds Kurt buried among stacks of wooden crates, sacks of dry goods, and nets of oddly-colored vegetables, the likes of which Brittany has never seen before.

"I'm glad you're here," he says crossly, clearly irritated at the slapdash way the food was unceremoniously dumped in his kitchen.

Brittany can't help the giggle that comes forth at the sight of Kurt's peeved, fervent expression, and once he meets her amused eyes, he fails to withhold his smile.

"Let's just get this sorted," he sighs, though with a much lighter expression on his face.

Brittany's sleeping when the alarm bell sounds again three days later, warning of an approaching unknown ship. She gets dressed in the dark, quickly pulling on pants and boots and sword and yawning a good-bye to a drowsy Sugar as the ship's bell rings again in confirmation.

When she reaches the main deck, she finds much the same scene as she did before, though she can't make out much of the details because of the darkness. Smoke hangs heavy in the air, causing her to pull her bandanna up prematurely. She stands next to Mike, shivering from the cold and from nerves, but far better prepared this time as she awaits instructions.

When she boards the enemy ship, Attitude, and draws her sword, she's surprised at how quickly and easily she's grown accustomed to its now-familiar weight. She never preferred swords in training; she had chosen nearly every other weapon instead, but Santana's sword is different. It's more balanced, feels more like an extension of her arm than any other sword she's ever held. She knows it's because most of the armory swords had been pirated from the dead, and Santana's swords were made specifically for her- but the familiarity still makes her feel close to her quartermaster.

They overtake the Attitude with much better efficiency, and Brittany's far more comfortable in her role- she knows what to expect and what is expected of her, and once they have determined the mariners sufficiently subdued, she takes the lead heading down to the ship's hold.

The Attitude is also carrying crates of salt, and again Brittany wonders who these people are- they speak in a language Brittany doesn't recognize, and just where are they going with so much salt?

"Must be a salt mine nearby," Mike comments as the crates get passed above deck. "We'll have Arty mark the location for future reference."

"Aye, so we can set out on another long journey- for salt," David sneers. He turns to Brittany. "Remind me to sit that one out."

"Never," Brittany responds as she pries another crate open. "You're part of my crew- who else would I drag down into these dark cargo holds?"

David grins smugly. "I been trainin' Swabby."

"It's true!" Jake calls from the ladder, grunting as he lifts another salt crate up to the man above him. "Though I still can't tell the difference between pepper and gunpowder."

David sighs.

"What'll we do with so much salt?" Brittany wonders, once again back on the Tide Ripper, with the Attitude reduced to a distant smoke pillar in the vast ocean.

"Sell most of it," Kurt replies from his place beside her on the main deck. His blue eyes- today, a stormy gray, reflecting their foggy, dark surroundings- sharp and determined as he oversees the storage of their stolen food stores. When Henry walks by them carrying a basket of brightly-colored fruits and pauses to wait for direction, Kurt calls, "that one to the galley." Henry nods and makes his way down the galley steps.

"Who will we sell it to?" she asks, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. "There's nobody out here…"

Kurt shrugs. "Perhaps in our next port, perhaps not. Salt doesn't go- wait," he snaps at Hunter, who's carrying a big barrel down to the galley, and who also blatantly ignores him. "Excuse me, Britt," Kurt mumbles before chasing after Hunter. "Don't you dare put that in the galley!"

Brittany watches him go; the thought of carrying around all that extra weight for an indefinite amount of time doesn't sit well with her, especially since that weight allowance is usually allotted for food- which they still don't have enough of. She scans the deck for a moment, taking in the last few pathetic crates and barrels of water, before her eyes land on Santana, who's standing near the railing, gazing out into the dark ocean. Her heart stumbles, then leaps with hope while she gathers her courage.

"Morning, Britt," Santana greets tiredly before Brittany even reaches her side, having memorized her footsteps long ago.

Brittany steps up to the railing, letting her elbows rest on the worn, smooth wood. "Morning," she returns, though the sun has only just considered rising. She glances at Santana, who continues to stare out at the waves and the angry black pillar of smoke rising from the sinking Attitude, which is just barely visible beneath the moonlight and the slight rising of the sun, but growing steadily smaller as they increase their distance.

"Who were they?" Brittany asks softly. "I didn't recognize the flags."

"Bandits," Santana answers. "Arty's been analyzing their ship's logs; it seems they operate in groups and prey on ships in this area. A fatal mistake, this time."

"Where are they getting all the salt?"

Santana shrugs. "Who can say? Though my guess is they are probably lifting it from merchant ships. There's likely a mine nearby that exports it, and the bandits just seized an opportunity- not a bad route," she admits, her tone almost wistful.

"Though not as good a route as platinum?" Brittany says with a teasing grin, playfully bumping her shoulder against Santana's and causing her lips to quirk up in a smile.

"No, not as good as platinum, but still a very lucrative one. Still- it means there's land nearby- somewhere."

"Lucky for us."

Santana finally meets her eyes, her smile growing. "You always were our good luck charm."

Brittany smiles back, her throat tightening at the intense eye contact. A sudden, sharp gust of wind whips over her and she shivers involuntarily. Now that her activity level has dropped and her adrenaline has faded, the chill of the air is glaringly noticeable, and her arms beneath her thin shirt break out in goosebumps. She hadn't realized how cold it had gotten; the majority of her time is required below deck and out of the elements, either in the galley or her quarters, and she hadn't spent as much time above deck- at least, not engaged in some sort of combat- in a fortnight.

Santana frowns, and without prompting, unbuttons her heavy bridge coat, then slips it from her shoulders to wrap around Brittany. As the garment settles on her shoulders, she's suddenly enveloped in Santana's strong, spicy scent; she wants to protest the use of Santana's coat, but the delicious warmth and smell of the jacket soothes and comforts her in an unexpected way. Without meaning to, Brittany stares at her lips and swallows, her stomach feeling as if it's inhabited by tiny, leaping minnows.

"How long until we port again?"

"Soon," Santana murmurs, her own eyes dropping to Brittany's lips. "We lost some time pirating, but the wind has been with us- we should be approaching Elach within a week."

Feeling hopeful, Brittany leans forward, resting her head on Santana's shoulder and nuzzling her face into her neck, sharing her warmth. "And then?"

Santana holds her breath for a moment, overwhelmed with Brittany's nearness, the feel of her body, the smell of her hair. "And then we find Unique's contact and figure out our next move."

"I meant for us," Brittany breathes; it's maddening being so close, so surrounded by Santana's scent and warmth, and she's unable to resist pressing her lips to Santana's neck.

Santana bites her lip at the feel of soft lips against her skin. What's next for them? Should she tell her? Should she wait? Is now the right time? She hates the awkward tension that's come over them- she wants to just get it over with so they can go back to the easy, natural rhythm they'd spent weeks perfecting, but at the same time, the idea of her feelings coming to light terrifies her like nothing else.

"Ah," she starts, searching for words. Brittany holds her breath, waiting for Santana to answer, nervous for it all the same. "Well, I..."

Brittany lifts her head, gazes at her. Deep blue stares into nervous brown. Their hearts both pound. Santana recalls her talk with David- is this really what Brittany's waiting for? She feels as if something big and important is about to happen- but what?

"Quartermaster," Matt interrupts from several feet behind her, and Brittany's stomach plummets. "I apologize, but the Captain has called an immediate meeting."

Santana nods to acknowledge Matt, and once he moves away, she glances at Brittany regretfully. If only they had more time- if only they didn't have their incessant, never-ending responsibilities. If only she was ready-

Brittany offers a smile, though it seems sad in some way. "Later, then," she says softly. Unable to help herself, she leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to Santana's lips, and when she pulls back, Santana follows her, aching for more, but a hand on her chest, pressing gently but firmly, halts her advance. "I ought to get some rest."

She blushes lightly as Brittany turns away, watching her go for a moment, because she's had it with Puck and his time-wasting meetings, but then Brittany pauses. As if remembering, she turns, slipping the long coat from her shoulders.

"Keep it," Santana insists. Then, softer, she adds, "The air has grown colder- I won't have you freeze; and since I cannot keep you warm, my jacket will, in my stead." At Brittany's protest, she promises, "I have another."

Brittany considers, but after a moment, she restores the coat to her shoulders and nods- after all, how could she argue? Leaving Santana standing on the deck, she moves to climb down to her quarters, her lack of sleep starting to creep up into her movements. She's dying to know what Santana's thinking, what she might have said; she hopes they will eventually reach her goal, despite not knowing what that is, and though she feels exhausted, she takes a moment to contemplate her feelings as she strips her clothes off and washes the dried blood from her skin.

She longs for a deeper connection, but Santana's true feelings are still a mystery to her- that must be why she's been unknowingly holding herself back. While it's true that Santana has demonstrated, through behavior, that she cares for Brittany, respects her, and values her, Brittany needs more- she needs to know that Santana recognizes the depths of her own feelings, herself.

She can feel the moment growing closer, and she wants it so badly, but she knows that nothing will happen while they're on the ship- they're both pulled in too many other directions. Her heart suddenly races as she recalls that Elach is only a week away, which seems so close in comparison to how long they've been at sea. She can wait a week- after all, she's waited weeks, months, already.

Once she finishes preparing herself for bed, she picks Santana's coat up from the crate where she had carefully laid it, and hugs it to her chest, inhaling deeply; the jacket still retains some of its warmth, so she slips it around her shoulders, reluctant to take it off. Deciding that she doesn't have to, she crawls into her hammock, exhausted but feeling safe and warm wrapped in Santana's coat and hoping that, someday soon, she will be wrapped in Santana herself.

"Guppy, why do you continue to waste my time?" Santana enunciates slowly, glaring at Puck over the knife she twirls in her right hand. It takes her a few tries, but she manages to complete the flourish that weeks ago would've been impossible. Perhaps these meetings weren't all that useless, after all- they gave her plenty of time to practice.

"Not a waste," he counters. "I wanted to speak with you to discuss our plan moving forward."

Santana raises an eyebrow. "Is that why you left the rest of the officers out of this meeting?"

He shrugs. "You have pull with them; they'll go along with whatever we decide."

"But their feedback and experience is invaluable," she snaps. "When will you understand that we don't know everything?"

Puck sighs. "In this, we do. What's the status of our supplies?"

Santana sits up suddenly in her chair. "You needed me for that? You know that Arty keeps a detailed record-"

"Why must you be so hostile?" he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepish. "Can't you see that I'm trying to make up with you?"

"Is that what you call this shit effort?" She demands, smirking.

He glares, but returns her smirk. "That's more like it." He pauses. "What do you think we'll find on Elach?"

Santana takes a deep, measured breath. She's considered a lot of possibilities, both on Elach and beyond, but she still has no idea- a fact that keeps her awake most nights. She weighs her many responses and finally settles on, "Hopefully, food. We're down to hard tack again."

"You'd think those fucking bandits would be better stocked," Puck complains.

"Clearly they weren't prepared to support us," she agrees. They pause, catching each other's eyes. Puck smiles at her, and for the first time in many weeks, she genuinely returns it. They are not past the quarrel that almost divided the ship- they may never be. But at least, for now, they know that they can count on each other to get through whatever's waiting for them in Elach, the Three Points, the Dead Gate, and beyond.

Santana's never completed her mooring checks so fast- never been so eager to get off a ship that, before Brittany, she was content and happy living on for an abysmal amount of time. The knowledge that Brittany's waiting for her- a fact whispered into her ear during an otherwise underwhelming breakfast and accompanied by a teasing smile and suggestive glance- is what's hastened her pace, and she finishes in half her usual time, without being careless.

Once she signs and dates the ship's log and secures the documents in a safe location, she returns to her room to retrieve her overnight bag, finding Brittany sitting casually on her bed- wearing her coat- with Lord curled up in her lap, purring. The feline's ears perk at her appearance, and Brittany reassures him by scratching behind his ears as Santana lifts her haversack from the spot beside her desk and slings it over her shoulder.

"Finished already?" Brittany asks, a little surprised.

Santana nods. "I'm just as impatient as you to get off this miserable ship."

"It doesn't matter where I am, so long as you are there," Brittany says, punctuating her words with a brilliant smile that makes Santana's heart race.

She offers Brittany her hand in answer, pulling the girl to her feet and angering Lord, whose tail twitches in annoyance from his new spot on the bed. "Then you'd better follow me, because I do not intend to stay here."

Brittany grins, tangling their fingers together, picks up her worn, tattered bag from its spot where it had been beside hers, and rests it on her shoulder. "Lead the way, Quartermaster," she says playfully, and they leave the room, making their way down the gangplank with Lord following behind them, staying close to Santana's heels.

Once they step foot on Elach, it's apparent how far away from their home island they really are. The people milling around the docks are foreign, and barely speak their language- they seem friendly enough and don't really pay them any mind, despite the fact that they clearly stand out. When asked, one of the fisherman points them in the direction of the inn, pausing in his task of sorting through a giant bin full of sea creatures.

No one bothers them as they meander through town, breathing in the crisp, clean air; it's as if all of the locals are used to random, foreign ships docking in their town on a regular basis. Santana enjoys the privacy, and secretly revels in the feel of Brittany's hand in hers, an intimacy she hasn't been able to let herself indulge in since Klu. As they draw closer to the center of town, and the inn, she allows her thoughts to wander to a place they haven't visited in a while- a place where she and Brittany can spend the night in each other's arms, with no interruptions. Her heart races at the thought- maybe tonight is her night, maybe she can finally confess to Brittany how she feels, maybe she can finally deliver those three words she's been clutching inside her for too long.

When they reach the inn, Santana is impressed by the luxurious interior, belying the plain entrance to the building. Standing in the lobby of the inn suddenly grounds her in reality- there's nothing stopping her from sharing a bed with Brittany. She bites her lip, ignoring the excitement that builds in her at the possibility, and tries to figure out how to word her request when her thoughts are interrupted.

"Tide Ripper?" the innkeeper, a short, thin blonde woman, calls in a heavily-accented voice from across the small foyer.

Santana nods, approaching the raised wooden counter. "Quartermaster," she confirms, and the woman grunts in confirmation that she heard her as she digs through a dented metal box sitting on the counter.

Once the ship had moored, Arty had gone ahead, with Puck, to secure accommodations for the crew, as was their standard routine, so Santana knew everything was taken care of. She waits, anxious and eager, as the woman finally finishes her search and produces an ornate, brass key. She sets it down on the counter in front of Santana before picking up a pen to add a tally to a notepad, grumbling to herself.

Santana glances down at the paper tag that's tied to the key with string, reading the numbers. Now that she has the key, the implication of it lies heavy on Santana's mind. She feels pressure, fear, excitement- all building in her, all coaching her to turn to Brittany and-

"You, too?" The innkeeper gruffs, and Santana looks up just as Brittany nods, killing the words in her throat. She stands, quietly devastated, as Brittany accepts the key graciously- Santana notes the room number, 22- and thanks the woman, who grunts and adds another tally, then disappears through a doorway behind her.

When Brittany turns to her, shifting her bag on her shoulder, Santana struggles not to let her disappointment show all over her face. She forces a smile, and Brittany returns it.

"Good night?" Brittany offers softly, and Santana nods.

"I'm going to grab a drink," she says, and Brittany studies her face, pressing her lips together. She wants to offer her company, but she also wants Santana to ask- to tell her what she wants- so instead, it's her turn to nod, and she grasps her room key tightly in her fist.

"All right," she allows, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Santana's cheek. She lingers for a moment, wishing that Santana would change her mind, that she'd just go for it, but when she doesn't, she trudges up the stairs to her room with Lord padding along behind her. Santana watches her go before heading straight to the bar, certain that her favorite whiskey will make her forget her broken heart.

The next day, after a hearty breakfast, the pirate officers meet just outside of the inn, as agreed upon, to discuss the next step: tracking down Unique's contact in port and figuring out how to complete the final leg of their journey to the Three Points. Brittany is one of the last to arrive, tying her blonde hair up into a high ponytail with a ribbon, still damp from her earlier bath. Though not an officer, it's understood that she will not be parted from Sugar by the other pirates, and they all greet her cheerfully when they see her.

They wait outside while Arty questions the innkeeper, and once he returns, he directs them to an immodest estate on the outskirts of town. Puck leads the way down the road, and the pirates follow in formation, carefully protecting Sugar, who walks in the center of the group, cradling the net containing the enchanted jar.

Fields surround their vision, containing horses, sheep, cows- all grazing peacefully, paying them no mind. The tall, brown grass seems to go on forever, and Brittany gets lost in daydreams staring out at the fluffy white poofs of sheep that sporadically dot the horizon.

When Arty finally indicates that they've reached the long, winding path that leads up to the ridiculously large manor, they pause to regroup, and David is the first to voice his disapproval, as usual.

"This don't seem right."

"Aye," Mike agrees. "Unique's house was very humble- why is her contact living in a mansion?"

"The innkeeper said he was a visionary," Arty explains, blinking at the size of the gigantic building at the end of the road. "Maybe he's held in a higher regard- after all, Unique was in hiding, but we don't know what her previous domiciles were like."

"True," Puck reasons. "But let's be careful, all the same."

"Didn't know we were planning on not being careful, Guppy," Santana mutters, and Puck grins, pleased at the familiar jibe from his quartermaster. Maybe things can go back to the way they were someday, after all.

It seems like miles of walking up the twisty gravel path before they finally reach the door; Arty knocks carefully on it, and after intense moments of waiting, it opens to reveal a short, dark-haired man with brown skin.

"Hello," he says, his voice sounding sad and monotone, as if someone just drowned his pet fish.

"Greetings," Arty says, adjusting his spectacles to study the man before him. "Are you in the service of the Mystics of Cyre?"

The man sighs heavily, as if regretful of the association. He looks nervously over his shoulder. "Are you here to see-"

"Howard! Who's at the door?"

The sound of a jovial, feminine voice calling from inside the mansion piques the pirates' curiosity.

"Visitors, Miss," the man- Howard- says with absolutely no enthusiasm.

"Well, let them in!" the woman says cheerfully.

Howard obediently opens the door wider, revealing the tall, thin woman behind him. She grins, her blonde hair pinned above her head and secured with two long, decorative sticks. As Howard steps out of the way to allow them to pass, Brittany can see that the woman is wearing a silk robe and nothing else.

"Welcome to the Sharing Circle, plucks!"

Brittany blinks. The woman is not at all what she expected someone connected to Unique, a seemingly all-powerful Mystic, to be- but then again, she's not sure what she even pictured to begin with. She shares a doubtful glance with Sugar before following the rest of her crew inside.

Once they cross the threshold, the woman turns away, waving at them to follow her as Howard closes the door behind them. "Come in- Unique told me you were coming," the woman says, carrying conversation with them as if they're old friends. "I have to admit, I expected you days sooner, but it's all right- the waiting time is the same."

"What waiting time?" Arty wonders.

"Until the Dead Gate appears, of course!"

They reluctantly follow her through the maze of her obnoxiously ample mansion, which is a giant cluster of disorganized chaos. Scrolls, piles of dried fronds, wooden bowls filled with crushed leaves, sticks of incense, long, silk cloths- all of it lies scattered, draped, haphazardly thrown on various pieces of furniture, stacks of velvet pillows, and tables.

As they walk, Brittany tries to read the labels on several small glass bottles of seeds, but the writing is unknown to her. They come to stop inside a large, empty room, and the woman finally turns to them. "Grab a seat!"

Brittany glances around- there are no chairs, only sizable straw mats spread across the floor, which, honestly, she expected. She gracefully sits down on one of the mats, pleased when Santana lands gently beside her, with Sugar closely seated on her other side. She creeps her left hand into Santana's near her thigh, and her right touches Sugar's foot reassuringly. Whatever is to come, at least her family is with her.

"I'm Holly Holliday," the woman introduces with a flourish before twirling into her seat on a red-dyed mat, positioned in the center of the room. "Servant of the Mystics of Cyre. Unique works through me to heal and protect the people of this island."

"Why?" David blurts, scrunching his eyebrows.

Holly shrugs. "Beats me. I mean, they're nice enough, but hardly worth the effort-"

"Because it's closest to the Gate," Santana answers. Obviously.

Holly sniffs. "Yeah, probably." It's quiet for a moment, and then Holly claps. "So! Speaking of the Gate-" she wags her finger at them. "I hear you plucks are trying to go through?"

"Yes," Puck responds, speaking up for the first time. Truthfully, he doesn't know what to think of this quirky, easily distracted woman.

Howard shuffles to her side, handing her a cup of tea, which she accepts with a smile. "Thank you, Howard." She stirs the tea with a small spoon, nodding, as Howard begins to pour tea into cups for the rest of the pirates. Then, as if there hadn't been a random break in their discussion, she continues, "and I'm sure you know that no one has ever returned from within the Gate?"

"Except Unique," Brittany points it.

Holly smiles. "Well, obviously."

"So how do we get in?" Puck asks cautiously, trying to hide his eagerness, but Santana can see right through him. She watches his face, wondering how this encounter will play out- it's already completely different from what she expected.

Holly sips her tea loudly. "Oh, getting in is super easy. It's the getting out part that everyone seems to have a problem with. But-" she narrows her eyes, searching them, her gaze ending on Sugar. "There- you have the Mark. Another quick ritual before you go and you should have no problems."

"Another ritual?" Arty sighs.

"Oh, it's super fun," Holly reassures, lifting her cup up for another sip. "I love the Branding."

"Branding?" Sugar swallows, her voice hollow with fear. She subconsciously touches her left thigh, where she had originally been branded so many years ago as a child, upon her arrival into slavery. The sizzle of the hot metal against her skin, the searing pain, and the smell of her flesh burning returns to her in startling clarity. She cradles the jar tighter.

"Sure," Holly grins. "You'll love it."

"When do we start?" Puck asks, pushing up his sleeve to expose his muscled forearm. He doesn't like the idea of being branded, but he will endure it- he will endure anything- for his fortune.

Holly shakes her head. "Not for a while. The Brand only lasts for four nights, and the Gate won't appear until the new moon. It's a three-day trip to the Points from here, anyway- so do the math."

"I hate math," David grumbles under his breath.

Puck struggles to do the math for a moment before he gives up with a huff. "What do we do for another twelve days?"

"Ten days," Santana mutters.

"Enjoy your time on the island, I suppose." Holly shrugs dismissively. "And come see me in about ten days."

"Ten days," Puck groans once they gather up outside Holly's mansion.

"The last ten days of our freedom," Mike agrees.

"Maybe of our whole life," David grunts sullenly.

"Not our whole life," Brittany corrects. "We'd still have another three days to the Gate."

David shoves her shoulder fondly, an involuntary smile spreading across his face. "When did you get so smart?"

When Brittany laughs, Puck can't help but smile, either. "I guess we enjoy the downtime," he says at last. "Focus on restocking the ship for this final journey- and beyond. We have no real idea what's waitin' for us on the other side of that gate, or how long we'll be in there, so it's best to be over-prepared." It's silent, because the thought of spending any time, let alone an indefinite amount of time, is not very reassuring to the pirates.

Puck turns to Santana, placing his hand on her shoulder in solidarity to show the rest of the officers present that they've settled their disagreement- for now. "Spend every last dollar we have on supplies; when we return, we'll have the Spring, and money'll be in no short supply."

Santana nods carefully, pushing his hand off of her shoulder and making some of her officers chuckle at the familiar action- she's definitely not going to do that.

Puck's smile doesn't falter at Santana's behavior- it's what the old her would've done- and he looks to Arty next. "Revisit Miss Holly tomorrow- we're gonna need containers for the Spring, and I dunno if regular jars or bottles will hold it."

"I'll find out," Arty promises, squaring his shoulders and nodding to himself.

"That settles it," Puck finishes. "Enjoy the next few days- they may be the last ones any of us ever see. And Dia?"

"Don't call me that."

"Sell that damn salt."

Enjoy the next few days...

It's a nice sentiment, and one that, out of all the officers, only Puck really gets to embody, as Santana spends the rest of the day with them- and Kurt- discussing their needs lists and dividing up the majority of their stash for each of their purchases.

With the rest of her friends occupied, Brittany spends the day with Sugar, exploring the small town and shopping with their earned coin, which Arty had paid them before leaving the ship the night before. She's worried about the jar being out in the open, but she's reasonably certain that she can protect Sugar from anything that might try to harm her or the jar. Thankfully, no one bothers them, and they spend their time browsing the many merchants along the beach in peace.

After the officer meeting, David takes Jake and Henry to town to shop for the armory. Ammunition and artillery had been high on the priority list- especially since they knew they were going to encounter some sort of threat beyond the Gate. They'd used up the majority of their stores pirating, and had a lot of work to do to replace them.

Santana relieves Matt for the night- taking her turn guarding the ship- and spends most of her evening planning out the next few days to ensure that everything they needed to get done could be accomplished within their limited time in port. After staring at lists and budgets for too long, she decides to take a break, and steps from her room into the cool, night air. The stars are bright, and she easily finds Polaris, feeling peaceful with the gentle rocking of the ship beneath her feet.

Familiar footsteps on deck rouse her from her stargazing, and she turns to find Brittany, carrying a paper sack, and her heart pounds- they hadn't even discussed her watch, or decided that Brittany would bring her meal, which means Brittany did that all on her own, and the thought fills her with warmth.

"Please don't look at me like that," Brittany breathes, her blue eyes darkening as she moves closer. "It isn't much."

Santana smiles teasingly. "You are more than enough to satisfy my appetite."

Brittany bites her lip, and before she can stop herself, she leans forward to press her lips to Santana's. Santana's hands slip into the opening of her coat to wrap around her waist, guiding her closer, and they stand on deck under the stars, lost in each other for long moments before Brittany finally pulls back. "It's just soup, but it's warm, and the bread is good, so-"

"Shh," Santana whispers, cupping Brittany's face gently and stroking her thumb slowly along her bottom lip to quiet her. The soft, sensual touch nearly breaks Brittany's self-control. "I'm sure it's perfect."

They're kissing again a moment later, but far more passionately than before; Brittany's tongue darts out to lick along Santana's lips, to caress her tongue, and Santana feels her pulse throb between her legs from the sensation. Her teeth find Brittany's bottom lip, causing her to whimper in her mouth, and that's when Santana pulls back to breathlessly suggest they relocate.

By the time they walk the length of the ship to Santana's room, they've both regained their senses. Santana sits at her desk and pulls the cover from the glass jar containing her soup, taking a hesitant sip. It's spicy, and as Brittany promised, still warm. She tears off a chunk of bread; it's nowhere near as good as Brittany's, but Brittany's bread hadn't been an option in days.

"What do you have planned for tomorrow?" Brittany wonders, sitting on Santana's bed. Her hand absently strokes slowly up and down the blanket, and Santana watches it from the corner of her eye, trying not to be distracted as she drinks her soup.

"Meeting with the shipbuilders to schedule some maintenance," she answers evenly. Brittany's hand slides along the blanket, along her own thigh, along the buttons of her coat, which she plays with teasingly. Santana swallows. "They're arriving in the morning."

Brittany hums in acknowledgment. "We're a long way from Burt."

"What about you?"

Brittany shrugs, but doesn't tear her eyes away as Santana rises from her chair and moves closer. When she speaks, her voice is low, and she struggles to control herself as Santana stops, standing at a safe distance. "I think Kurt has some shopping planned."

Their eyes meet. It's the first time they've been alone- really, truly alone- in weeks. Santana shifts, her stomach tightening with want under Brittany's dark, penetrating gaze.

"Please," Brittany whispers. "I asked you not to look at me like that."

"Like what?" Santana breathes.

Like you love me.

But Brittany bites her lip. She takes a deep, steady breath and climbs to her feet. "I should go," she murmurs, averting her eyes.

When Santana cups her chin, her heart feels like it's going to explode out of her chest, and then Santana's lips are on hers, kissing her deeply, and her kisses move across her jaw to that spot beneath her ear that makes her tremble. "Don't," Santana pleads against her neck, craving intimacy, and Brittany wraps arms around her and holds her in a tight hug in response.

Santana stands, breathing in Brittany's clean, familiar scent for long moments, trying to once again muster the courage to speak those three words into existence, but, once again, her mind goes blank and words leave her whenever she thinks about it.

Brittany caresses her back, her warm hands soothing, until a distant church bell rings, signaling the time and halting her hands' movements. They part reluctantly, and Brittany promises to bring her breakfast in the morning before she makes her way back into town on her own.

When she reaches her room in the inn, Lord meows at her in greeting, and she tosses him some dried fish strips that she'd bought earlier in the day. She unties her hair, sitting down on her bed, and replays her night with Santana. When Lord hops into her lap, purring, she automatically strokes along his back.

"Soon, Lord. It's going to happen soon."

After hurriedly dropping breakfast off to Santana and leaving her with a chaste kiss on the cheek, Brittany accompanies Kurt into town to order supplies for delivery later in the week. It's not their first acquisition together, and Brittany dutifully carries the ship's inventory sheet and sounds off with the numbers when prompted. Although she's been to many ports, and therefore, many grocers, the regional produce and meats offered at their current location are still new to her.

"They sell whale meat here?" Brittany asks, her mouth dropping in surprise as they browse the local butcher shop.

"It's cheap," Kurt nods, writing some down on his order sheet.

"What do you do with it?"

"I usually make soup with it," he says distractedly. "It's much too bland for anything else."

Brittany browses the selection of other meats in the shop: horse, goat, sheep- she had only ever eaten one of the three. She decides that she's going to have to visit a few restaurants and at least one bakery to gather ideas for recipes and tips on how to handle such exotic meats.

As she wanders towards the storefront, there's an overwhelming choice of fish and other sea creatures- some with shells that she hadn't seen since her fake wedding feast in Lao. The memory makes her smile for a moment in fondness, if only to remind her about how much she's evolved since then, and she's lost for a moment, reminiscing. Santana was so different, then- and so was their relationship. They've come so far since then, and yet-

She sighs, somewhat miserable at the thought that they still haven't progressed enough for her liking. Will they ever?

One thing is certain- she's running out of time to find out.

"Britt," Kurt says from another room, and she hurries to heed his call.

Back at the ship, Santana spends the day with Matt and Mike, detailing a list of ship repairs and maintenance. Their last two raids did not leave them without damage, and she wants the ship- and all its components- in perfect shape, now that they have the time to complete it.

When the distant church bell rings for noon, Santana's stomach growls in response, and she sighs- she almost certainly doesn't have time to stop and procure food, but she knows a little extra effort now will ensure her plenty of free time on the back end of their stay. She forces herself to remain focused and ignore her stomach, writing out the list of repairs and the proposed cost of each, to be delivered before close of business to the shipbuilders so that the materials and labor can be secured in time.

She's so focused that she doesn't even notice Brittany's behind her until her hands slide over her shoulders and she leans forward to give them an affectionate squeeze.

"Such a serious list," she teases, releasing her shoulders and dropping into place beside her on the deck step.

Santana nods, her eyes scanning the parchment. "I have to ensure everything is perfect." She pauses to smile at her, murmuring, hi, Britt, before turning back to her work.

Brittany's eyebrows furrow. She knows that Santana's nervous about the final trip- that's old news. She also knows that Santana's obsessively doing everything in her power to guarantee that the trip doesn't end with all of them dead, despite not having much- if any- actual power over that. But she can't stand by and let Santana starve; if Santana's job is to keep them alive, Brittany's job is to feed them, after all.

"Will you be done soon?"

"Soon. I must deliver the list before sundown to get on the docket."

Brittany sits in comfortable silence for a moment, watching Santana scribble on the parchment. Her eyes trace down the many line items and their corresponding costs- it all seems overwhelming, with each piece, each plank, it seems, itemized. When Santana finishes a line, Brittany slides the brown sack with her lunch towards her. "I brought lunch."

Santana's eyes light up at the sight, and her stomach growls in betrayal. "You didn't have to-"

"I know," Brittany smiles. "But I also know that if I don't bring your meals, you won't eat."

Santana smiles, her dimple showing, and Brittany holds her breath in anticipation, heart aching at the sight, as she leans in and kisses her. "I'll be free this evening... have dinner with me?"

Brittany returns the smile, hope filling her at the invitation. "Always." She kisses her one last time before rising. "I'll leave you now, so that I may see you later. Don't forget your lunch, Santana."

Santana nods absently, trying to remain cool, but anytime Brittany uses her name instead of her title feels like an important victory. She obediently reaches into the brown bag and pulls out a hot, melty sandwich. The warmth feels good on her hands in the cold. "I won't, Britt- thank you."

Brittany answers with a grin. "You're welcome."

Santana watches her go for a moment, her heart pounding in adoration as she takes a bite of her messy sandwich. She knows she has to tell Brittany those three words soon, before the fragile bubble they're living in bursts and they've used up all their time. She once again daydreams about how, exactly, she's going to confess, trying to ignore the slight panic inside her at the thought. Once she says those words, once her feelings are out in the open, there's no hiding them, and no taking them back.

Her heart sinks as she wonders- what if Brittany doesn't love her back? She would probably just die on the spot, if she's being honest. She chews her bite of sandwich thoughtfully. Maybe she can stand to wait a few more days, after all.

"Did you know they sell whale meat here?" Brittany asks as she takes a sip of her ale. "Kurt bought a ton of it."

"So practically a whole whale's worth?" Santana smirks.

"Basically."

As Brittany continues, detailing her errands with Kurt and her surprising discoveries, Santana listens in quiet fondness. She could listen to Brittany forever, she knows; she loves the sparkle in her blue eyes, the brightness of her smile, the inflection in her voice that indicates her emotions. Her charisma, her charm, her laugh- all if it makes Santana's heart clench in a good way, inciting her feelings again, and she's all at once overwhelmed with the need to tell Brittany how devastatingly perfect she is. The three words are right there, on the tip of her tongue- all she has to do is-

"More beer, miss?" the server asks, pouring some from a pitcher into Brittany's mug. As Brittany thanks the man, Santana feels her nerve slipping, her words dying away again, and she feels a sudden anger spike in her, a slight frustration- why is this so difficult? She is Santana Lopez- Ira Del Diablo, Quartermaster of the Tide Ripper. She is not afraid of anything but-

Brittany's beautiful, deep blue eyes meet hers, and her stomach clenches.

But gods, she's afraid of losing Brittany.

"Let's get out of here," Brittany's blurting suddenly, and Santana can only bite her lip and nod in response to such an earnest, spontaneous request. She pays the innkeeper for the meal while Brittany finishes her drink, and then Brittany claims her hand, leading her out of the inn and down to the beach.

"There's a festival tonight?" Santana wonders, taking in the sight of the many tiny merchant shops lining the beach, lit by paper lanterns and torches held up by long, bamboo poles.

Brittany giggles. "It's like this every night."

Santana blushes, feeling slightly embarrassed for her ignorance, but the barest brush of Brittany's lips against her cheek reassures her as she leans in to whisper,

"Your secret's safe with me."

Santana squeezes her hand, and they continue down the beach, their boots sinking in the white, powdery sand. Every so often, Brittany pulls her aside to stop and look through the merchandise in a booth, or to purchase a mug of beer. The sharp air feels fresh in their lungs, and the sky is devoid of any clouds, revealing a bright moon that's half full in an endless blanket of stars.

They pass a group of street musicians, and Brittany spins into her arms, and before Santana realizes, they're dancing, unconcerned with what's happening around them, lost in each other. When the song ends, Brittany grins and kisses her cheek again, and they continue on their way, ducking into a tavern for a moment to grab a drink after their impromptu dance. Brittany settles down at a table while Santana moves to the bar to buy their drinks while her nerves, which had been quiet for a time, suddenly decide to become active again.

She gazes around, wondering- is this the right spot? Is this the right time? There's music, good lighting, and-

And-

Her eyes fall to the table where Brittany sits, finding the seat across from her occupied, and she freezes. A man she doesn't recognize sits, leaning across the table and trying to grab Brittany's arm. She snatches up the two mugs of beer and storms her way over to the table, her eyes burning a hole into the man who dares to be stupid enough to inhabit her seat.

When she reaches the table, she sets the two mugs down pointedly, glaring. "You're in my seat," she sneers, not even bothering to be polite. Everyone on the island had been kind to her so far, but she was not above reminding someone how dangerous she is. "I suggest you vacate it quickly."

"Find other one," the man dismisses, clearly not the best at speaking their language. "We busy here."

Brittany glances up at Santana in a way that communicates that they are not, in fact, busy, and that she'd rather not be in his company any longer, and Santana squares her shoulders. Her eyebrow raises in disbelief- does this man not realize the danger he is in? Can he not somehow sense that he is poking a rabid, wild animal, and that he will inevitably end up severely disfigured because of his idiocy?

Has she lost her edge?

"Get up," Santana hisses through gritted teeth. "I won't tell you again."

"You should probably listen to her," Brittany encourages with a careless shrug, and the man rolls his eyes. When he dismisses her with another wave of his hand, Santana picks up her mug, silently apologizes for the needless waste, and dumps the liquid on his head.

"What in fuck?" the man growls, outraged, as beer drips down his face. "You some bitch?"

Santana draws her boot knife, grabs his shirt, and in one deft movement, stabs her knife through his shirt and into the wooden table, pinning him in an awkward position. "Listen up, you slimy pile of chum- I'm going to let you walk out of this place, but only once you apologize to my girl, here, for touching her. You will leave, and if I ever catch you in here again, you're not going to have a very good day. Are we clear? Nod once so I know you understand."

The man nods, flinging drops of beer in every direction, and she rips her knife from the table, offering him a smirk. "Grand."

When he stands to leave, Santana evaluates the seat he's left- it's covered in beer, and she's not too keen on getting her pants wet. Her drink was unfortunately sacrificed to a noble cause, anyway, so-

When Brittany rises suddenly, Santana turns to find the man pointing a long knife at her.

"You fucking cu-"

He doesn't finish, because Brittany smashes her full mug across his jaw, dropping him to the floorboards from the force of the blow. The mug makes a metallic ping! as it collides with his bones; the beer inside flies out in a spectacular splash. Once the man hits the deck, he stays there.

Santana blinks, turning to Brittany in surprise, her eyes questioning. Brittany only shrugs in response.

"What's going here?" the barkeep asks, brandishing a long, curved knife of his own in his hand. "Is problem?"

Santana wipes the beer from her boot knife on her thigh and shoots Brittany a smile. "Not at all."

Moments later, they make their escape, exiting the tavern in a hurry and stumbling out onto the beach. Giggling and giddy from the high of winning such an anti-climactic fight, they lose any would-be pursuers in the dunes, collapsing at the foot of one of the large mounds of sand.

"What did he even say to you?" Santana demands with a grin, though her blood is still boiling.

Brittany smiles. "Nothing important. He just tried to convince me to go with him somewhere." She gazes softly at Santana, sliding her hand into hers, holding it comfortably. "It was so satisfying watching you threaten him."

Grinning at the recent memory, Santana nods. Then, remembering the moment right after, her grin transforms into a slow, shy smile. She gazes into Brittany's eyes, mesmerized by the way the moonlight bounces off the deep, endless blue, and before she can say another word, Brittany's leaning in, and their lips are meeting, and suddenly every thought that was stumbling around in her brain disappears, and her heartbeat races, pounds in her ears, and Brittany's tilting her head, kissing her deeper, cupping her cheek, tightening fingers in her hair, and Santana's heart beats faster, faster-

She pulls back, breathless, her brown eyes still locked on blue. "I love you," she blurts. Then, all at once, the realization sinks in- she's said it out loud.

"What?" Brittany asks; her voice wavers, and is so soft Santana wonders if she even heard it at all.

She pauses, swallows her nerves, ignores the tightness in her throat, in her stomach. "I love you, Brittany," she repeats, her eyes so soft and vulnerable as she searches Brittany's for any sign of rejection that it makes Brittany's heart ache. "I have for a long while. I don't know what else to say."

Brittany smiles, and as Santana's words register in her mind, she leans forward to kiss her deeply, cupping her face. When the kiss ends, she presses their foreheads together, their noses touching, and breathes, "I love you, too."

They spend long moments on the beach kissing, until the air grows too cold, and the building desire within them grows too great to resist. They move at a hurried pace back to the inn, and without discussion, to Santana's room.

When the door closes, Santana locks it, ensuring they are not disturbed- she'd made that mistake before, at the Beiste, and she's not willing to be interrupted tonight. Her heart pounds, racing, and she wonders what the hell is going on with her emotions- isn't the hard part over? She told Brittany that she loves her; the next step is supposed to be the easy step. After all, it's not as if she's never had sex before. It's not as if she's never seen Brittany's naked body, or shown Brittany her own. She's witnessed Brittany coming apart beneath her mouth enough times to memorize the sound of her breath of release and the way her body shakes, so what is there to be nervous about?

A hand on her jaw, guiding her gently to face her, causes her to suck in a nervous breath.

"What is it?" Brittany whispers, her eyes soft with concern, and Santana smiles reassuringly.

"Just-" she licks her bottom lip. Brittany's dark eyes follow the motion with burning interest. Her heart pounds, pounds, pounds. "Nervous, I guess."

Brittany smiles, dazzling, and Santana feels as if all the air has left her lungs. "I thought I was the nervous one."

At Brittany's confession, Santana relaxes slightly, inwardly glad that she's not the only one, but more concerned for Brittany than anything. She takes Brittany's hand, bringing it to her mouth, and softly kisses over her fingers, her lips just barely brushing over her skin, her breath a gentle caress. "What have you to be nervous about?"

Brittany inhales slowly and releases it, leans forward to rest her forehead against Santana's, speaks as if sharing a secret- "I've never…" her voice wavers, revealing just how nervous she really is. "You're my first, Santana."

Santana had always suspected, but the confirmation of Brittany's virginity causes her stomach to freeze. The thought of being her first has always overwhelmed her- how could she carry that responsibility? It's why she's never crossed the line before, despite wanting it so badly, and why she was content to only use her mouth- she was afraid. Afraid of the connection, afraid of sharing such a deep, inseverable bond.

But now that she's embraced her feelings, she welcomes that connection, desires it, even. She wants Brittany to give that part of herself to her, to belong to her. She's never wanted that with anyone else.

Brittany is not her first- not even the first whose virginity she's claimed, though it was meaningless to her in the past. In this moment, with the knowledge that they are about to cross the line they've unknowingly been dancing along for weeks, and the weight it carries, Santana feels as if she is the virgin, vulnerable and trembling and unsure what to do.

"You're not my first," Santana admits, her thumb stroking over Brittany's cheek. "But you're the first who's mattered to me, Brittany. You're the first that I've ever felt this way about- the first I've ever- loved."

Brittany smiles, slowly, sexily, her heart feeling full at the confession. She's known, of course she's known, that Santana has had many others- she'd witnessed her in action at the Beiste, after all, and her reputation was not foreign to her... but her words reassure her that, from now on, they belong to each other.

She kisses Santana, soft at first, but increasingly hungrier as it continues. Her heart pounds, both from her overpowering feelings of love, and from the unbearable excitement of finally getting what she's wanted for months- Santana sharing something with her that Brittany cannot share with anyone else. She'd been so angry in the beginning- angry at Santana for trying to avoid what she so desperately craved- but none of that matters, not now when Santana's winding fingers into her hair, tilting her head to kiss her deeper. Her breath comes in fast, rapid pants; she can already feel her arousal on her thighs, her center aching as Santana's warm hands slip beneath her shirt to slide across her warmer skin.

Santana struggles to take her time, to keep it slow, but the way Brittany responds is almost too much; when teeth find her bottom lip, she finally snaps, and she grabs Brittany by the hips and lifts her in her arms. Brittany automatically wraps legs around her, moaning in her mouth, and Santana nearly slams her onto her back on the bed in her haste. The weeks of sexual tension she'd been forced to hold herself back from completely sating whisper in her ear, driving the desperation in her touch. So eager to feel Brittany's body, Brittany's skin, against hers, she doesn't bother with the buttons on Brittany's shirt- she grabs the fabric and pulls, exposing her heaving breasts, her flushed chest, her trembling stomach.

Running a hand through her hair in an effort to calm herself, she tugs her own shirt up and over her head, and then surges forward to kiss Brittany fiercely, pressing their naked chests together. The feeling of Brittany's soft breasts and hard nipples against hers makes her moan in pleasure; as badly as she wants to get off, as badly as she wants to fuck Brittany until she can't remember her own name, she wants this- the intimacy- just as badly.

She kisses down Brittany's neck to lick at her collarbone, while Brittany shakes- aches- beneath her, trembling in anticipation. When her mouth finally closes on the hard peak of her nipple, Brittany's left hand immediately flies to the back of her head, her mouth dropping open at the sensation of finally having Santana's mouth on her this way, the way she's longed to for months. She can't deny that her brief, passionate moments with Santana before were wonderful, but this- this is different. There's a reverence, now, behind Santana's touch, and Brittany feels it more so than ever before.

She doesn't remember taking her pants off, so lost in the feeling of Santana's lips wrapped around her nipple, but when Santana's bare thigh presses between her legs, and Brittany whimpers at the contact, Santana pauses to cup Brittany's cheek, offering a loving smile. She braces herself with her left arm, gazing down into endless, dark blue eyes, wild with desire, and thinks her heart is about to slam through her ribs.

She takes Brittany's left hand in her right, locking their fingers together before pinning her hand to the bed beside her ear. Then, she shifts her legs, bringing their hips together, and slowly rocks downward, shivering at the delicious slick warmth of their centers meeting. It's not enough- she knows it's not enough- but she enjoys the intimacy, the physical connection, and Brittany arches, rolling her hips into every thrust. Her free hand tugs at her hips, squeezes at her ass, encouraging her, and Santana almost comes just from the way Brittany moans against her neck before biting her there.

When she's brought them both to an unbearable level, and she can feel how ready Brittany is against her, she slides her right hand under Brittany's shoulder, keeping her close as she slips her left hand down; she holds her breath as she remembers the last time she'd teased Brittany's clit like this, the last time she'd circled Brittany's entrance like this, at the Beiste, what seems like a lifetime ago. Brittany bites her lip, struggling not to cry out in ecstasy as Santana slowly rubs two fingers through her slick, soft folds, covering them in her wetness.

"Please tell me you're certain," Santana breathes, begs, against Brittany's jaw as she strokes up and down, trembling with restraint. "I don't think I can stop, Britt-"

"I want you," Brittany promises, voice barely above a whisper, thick with need. "I'm certain."

Santana kisses her then, stealing her breath; at the same time, she enters her quickly, enjoying the way Brittany arches, the way she moans in her mouth, the way she clenches around her fingers. Brittany wraps her arms around Santana's shoulders, her fingers digging into her back as she holds her tightly. She'd touched herself before, fucked herself before, but her own touch was nothing compared to the way Santana's fingers fill her so perfectly. When Santana pushes deeper, she revels in the feeling, amazed at how connected she can feel to another person.

Santana allows Brittany a moment to indulge in the feeling before she begins to make love to Brittany in earnest, and Brittany's grip grows impossibly tighter the closer she gets to the edge. Santana buries her face in Brittany's neck, breathing her in, as her hand works its magic. She's drunk, dizzy from so many emotions, heart slamming her ribs.

"Please," Brittany whimpers into her neck, and Santana's breath hitches as her right hand slides from her shoulder down her back and up her inner thigh. "I- want you with me."

Slowing her pace, Santana shifts to accommodate Brittany's request, just as eager for Brittany to touch her as Brittany is to touch her. She guides Brittany's hand gently between her legs, shuddering at the soft, loving touch- she's sure she's never been touched so lovingly before- and Brittany's mouth drops open in a shaky gasp as she grinds down onto her fingers. They start up a rhythm, Santana rocking down, riding Brittany's fingers, and she bends to kiss her as she feels herself getting close.

"I love you," Brittany whispers when they part, and Santana swallows, feeling too much. She's been with a lot of women, but had she ever made love before?

The way her body is threatening to shake apart when she makes eye contact with the woman beneath her tells her, resoundingly, no. When she's right there, she uses her thumb to rub at Brittany's clit, and that's all it takes for her to fall apart beneath her, crying out her release against Santana's neck. Santana rocks her hips harder, feeling her heart swelling, and finishes a moment later, her forehead pressed to Brittany's as she trembles.

After long, long moments that they spend trading out-of-breath kisses, Santana finally shifts off of Brittany, who laughs, breathlessly, on her back.

"I'm going to need another bath."

Her words trigger the memory of the bath they shared on Perdic, and Santana smirks deviously, pressing a kiss to the side of Brittany's breast, then her ribs, her stomach, and her hips, where she pauses, glancing up at Brittany from between her legs, her black hair spilling over her shoulders, and the sight makes Brittany's stomach clench.

"I think I can help with that."

Santana doesn't think she's been so happy in her entire life. To be fair, she's pushed the knowledge that their days are numbered- with a number that she's very aware of, in fact- to a dark, barely visited corner of her mind, because it's so much easier to pretend that being here, on the island with Brittany, carefree and in love, is her endless reality. After all, was this not her dream? To drink bumbo from a coconut with Brittany by her side?

She absently takes a sip from the coconut in her left hand. It's not bumbo, but the locals still make a pretty decent drink. She glances to her right, where Brittany walks beside her, sipping her own drink through a rye straw, and squeezes her hand. She knows they only have a few days left, and she can't shake the feeling of impending doom that creeps into every corner of her psyche, but she can try and ignore the hell out of it- it's what she's good at, after all.

They wander aimlessly along the beach path, enjoying the peaceful crash of the waves, lost in their feelings of content. Last night they'd gone to a feast on the beach with David and Kurt, and Sugar and Jake. Santana recalls the way Brittany had smiled at her after she'd won a knife-throwing contest among their friends, and a few strangers who'd wanted in on the antics. They'd laughed, and danced, and for once, Santana allows herself to hope that there will be a return voyage, that they'll have their chance to fulfill her dreams of the future, that every night can be just like that one. She'd never felt so- complete.

As Brittany's thumb strokes her hand absently, Santana contemplates the new, strange feeling. She's known for a long time that she loves Brittany, but now they both know, and the pressure that had been building in her from maintaining the secret has been lifted. Brittany accepts her love, returns her love- there's no greater feeling. She has everything she wants... except time.

A shout from the water's edge gains her attention, where a fishing boat has capsized in the surf. She and Brittany both set their coconuts down to race towards the water, reaching an older man, who's struggling to right his boat and prevent the small trawl containing his day's catch from drifting away. They quickly splash into the water and help right the boat, and the man, panting, lifts his net, which is bulging with squirming sea creatures, and sets it inside.

"Thanks," he says, catching his breath. They help pull the boat up onto the shore, and once it's no longer in danger of drifting away, the man drags a long mooring line out to the sand. He pauses to set a small stake into the ground to anchor his boat, and once he finishes, Santana ties the mooring line off easily. The man gives her a funny look, reluctantly impressed. "Nice knot," he says, surprising them with his lack of accent and ease of their language. He eyes them. "You ain't from around here. You two sailors?"

Brittany smiles. "You could call us that."

"Uh-huh. Here for the Points, then."

Santana scoffs. "No-"

"That's the only reason anyone comes here," he grumbles, pulling his trawl from the boat. "But they never come back."

Brittany sets her jaw. "We will."

"I've heard that before," the old man nods. Not argumentative, just- indifferent. He's stopped believing the sailors that turn up, claiming they're different. Their voyages always turn out the same, and he already knows the ending.

"What do you know about it?" Santana demands in the least harsh tone she can muster. The old man raises his wispy, white eyebrows at her obvious interest.

"Well, the Gate is supposed to appear in less than a week."

His answer surprises them. "You know about the Gate?"

He hobbles up the dunes, dragging his net behind him, and they follow, keeping his pace. "Oh, sure- everyone does. You can't live here as long as I have and not have at least seen the Gate. We all know when it appears- you can sense it, feel it in the air. It's different."

"So it's real, then," Santana mumbles, not knowing whether she feels disappointed or not- deep down, she'd hoped that they would get to the Three Points and there'd be nothing there, and then they could go on with their lives. Puck would be heartbroken but he'd get over it- he would have to- and at least he would be alive, because they wouldn't be dragged through some mysterious gate into Hades-knows-what. Santana feels her hope for the future start to fade.

"Of course it's real," the man snaps, bringing her back to reality. "Real fuckin' cursed." He waves his hand dramatically. "Anyone can go through the Gate- but no one- as long as I've been here- has ever managed to come out." He pauses, as if remembering something, and reaches into the sand-coated net behind him. He hands Santana a small, wriggling eel.

"Thanks again for the assistance, sailors."

Santana frowns down at the slimy creature in her hand for a moment before she walks it back down to the ocean, while Brittany watches the old man hobble away.

"Well, that was slightly unsettling," she says with a lopsided grin once Santana returns to her side, wiping her hand on her pants.

"How long has he lived here, anyway?" she complains. "I mean, Unique has returned through the Gate- she's not no one."

"Supposedly," Brittany agrees quietly.

Santana pauses at her words, deciphering her meaning. "You think she lied?"

Brittany bites her lip and shakes her head. "I don't. I'm just saying, we don't really have any proof, do we?"

Santana stares out into the ocean. "This whole thing is fucked, Britt."

Unsure what to say, Brittany remains silent; they trudge back to their coconuts- Santana's straw has gone mushy, and she frowns. Brittany grabs her hand tightly, her expression distant, and Santana fleetingly wonders if the whole thing has been a hoax. She has no idea what is in store for them, but she does know one thing-

She's not looking forward to finding out.

Their final morning in Elach, Santana meets with her officers- and Puck- onboard the Tide Ripper for a final ship check.

"Is everything ready for departure?" Puck asks.

Arty nods, flipping through his small notebook, skimming his records. "Supplies are restocked to capacity- food, ammo, medical..."

Puck glances at Matt. "And what of the repairs?"

"Completed, Sir. The ship has never been in better condition."

Puck smiles at the thought of the ship, polished and gleaming in all its majesty. He's an idiot, but he knows the danger they're facing is greater than any they've faced before, and if he is to die, he would rather do it in a blaze of glory. "A grand exit, then. Send word to have the crew muster up here; once we finish at Holly's, we'll be-"

"A word," Santana interrupts, and Puck raises his eyebrows, indicating for her to continue. She knows the rest of her officers will be receptive to her idea, but Puck is, as always, a wild card. "I think we should leave the rest of the crew behind."

At the surprised murmur from her officers, she continues. "You know that we have no idea what we're facing- or what we will find. It would be harmful to bring the whole crew traipsing onto a cursed island, and we don't even know what will happen to the ship once we leave it to go searching for the Spring. A large group will be a disadvantage. I say- with the exception of everyone here, plus a few select others, the rest of the crew should stay and wait for us to return."

Mike stares at her- not in challenge, but in genuine curiosity. "And if we don't return?"

"Then they are free of their binding oath and can do whatever they wish."

It's silent for a moment while the rest of her officers consider her words. She knows it's a lot to ask- they will all have to work harder to sail and fight the ship, but it's not impossible, and it minimizes the overall risk. She glances at Puck, who gives nothing away in his expression. If he truly cares about the crew, and if all they've been through together means anything to him, he will want to spare as many lives as possible from whatever horror awaits them beyond the Gate.

"How long should they wait?" Arty asks. "And, more importantly, who gets to stay?"

"And even more importantly," Puck eyes her suspiciously, "are you saying all this to save Brittany?"

Her blood spikes with anger at the thought- does he really think her that selfish? "If only I could," she snaps, heated. "But we need her. I'm saying all this to save our crew, you idiot."

Puck raises his hands up in surrender, nodding. "Fine, fine. What do you lot think?"

"I agree," David says, his voice rough, scratchy with emotion. "But only if Kurt is of those left behind."

Arty stares sideways at him, protesting, "Who will run the galley, then?"

"Brittany can manage," Santana sighs, her heart heavy at the thought of condemning her lover to their shared, uncertain fate.

"Fair enough," Arty relents. "Who else, then, is damned to accompany us?"

"Jake won't be parted from Sugar's side," Puck admits. "But what of the newbies? Quinn's old lot?"

"They are not- officially- part of this crew," Arty huffs, "having not taken the oath; but their skill is invaluable."

"Bring 'em," Puck shrugs. "Better they get lost than one of our own."

"I don't want anyone lost," Santana hisses.

"We will do our best," Mike agrees quietly. "But I also agree with the proposal- we should leave whomever we can behind, to minimize risk."

Puck doesn't care what he has to agree to, so long as they move forward with their mission. "To vote, then. All in favor?" When the entire group raises their hands halfheartedly, Puck nods. "Let it be done, then."

At sundown, only those chosen to enter the Gate appear on Holly's doorstep, looking solemn. After their morning meeting, Santana had stayed with Arty and Matt to determine who would be accompanying them based on how many people they could manage the ship with, and the length that the rest would be reasonably required to wait for their return: one month. Once decided, they'd gone to spread word to the crew, ordering them to gather their belongings from the ship and prepare for a long vacation.

"Where is everyone?" Brittany wonders when she arrives with Sugar and Jake. She glances around. "Where's Kurt? Is he not to receive the Brand?"

"He is to remain behind," David tells her softly. "Along with the rest of the crew not present." Brittany nods in understanding, knowing that Kurt has been torn about the journey for many weeks now, and is probably glad that David made the decision for him, to spare him the guilt of wanting to stay. It takes a moment to connect that staying behind is even an option, but then Mike's grabbing her shoulder, grinning.

"That means you're in charge of the galley, now, Bean," he says, trying to lighten the mood.

Matt smiles devilishly. "Aye- my first meal request is-"

"Why don't we hold off on meal requests until after this ritual is over?" Santana snaps, covering her face in exasperation as she comes to stand beside them. Her officers chuckle, but it's to hide their nervousness- none of them are exactly thrilled with the idea of getting branded.

"Such a stuck rudder," David teases, and Brittany grins in response.

When Puck finally arrives with Arty, they knock on the door, and once again are greeted with Howard's cheerless face.

"Come in," he sighs, his voice full of melancholy; it really makes Brittany wonder what could possibly be the cause of his complete lack of enthusiasm about... well, everything, really.

They are lead on the familiar route through the mansion and into the back room, but instead of ending there as they did on their first visit, they continue through a door to the outside, stopping in a courtyard that is covered with colorful cloth canopies. Beneath their feet, huge, intricately-woven rugs cover the grass, and piled on top of them, tasseled silk pillows rest. In the center of the courtyard, a low table, which seems like an altar, is placed, and on it sits a large metal bowl.

The sun sinks lower in the sky, its final rays disappearing over the walls of the courtyard and blanketing the room in what would be darkness if not for the many small candles and paper lanterns that hang from the canopies. The warm, intimate glow from the low lighting puts Brittany at ease as she stands with the other pirates awaiting Holly's arrival. The lack of branding irons and the fact that the metal bowl on the altar doesn't seem like it's full of red-hot coals, reassures her that maybe this won't hurt, after all.

It's many long minutes before the woman appears through a door on the opposite side of the courtyard, still dressed in a silk robe; the current one portrays a black dragon wrapped around her ribs, its mouth open as if eating her heart.

"Hey, plucks!" Holly greets cheerfully, setting a basket she'd been carrying down next to the bowl on the altar. "Grab a seat, and we will get started with the Branding."

Brittany rolls her eyes- because once again, there is no seat- and finds a cozy spot on a large, red pillow. Santana sinks down beside her, and Brittany slips her hand into hers. Sugar once again sits on her other side, and Brittany tries to calm her racing heat, which is still nervous about the ritual, with the fact that her family is present beside her- but she's not sure if that makes the situation better, or worse.

Once all of the pirates are seated, Holly claps her hands, and several figures move out from the shadows; some carry small, empty wooden bowls and hold delicate brushes of varying sizes. Some have drums and instrumental pipes, and they begin playing a slow, calming song. Some have long, ceremonial smoking pipes, and Brittany furrows her eyebrows with concern- she's never smoked before. Is that part of the ritual?

All of the figures' faces are fully obscured by delicate, painted paper masks, but in place of facial features or expressions, various animals in motion are portrayed instead. Only Howard and Holly have faces, which kind of unsettles her, but at least the masks are nice to look at.

"Small crowd," Holly comments, her eyes searching. "Where is the Mark?"

At her call, Sugar rises, cradling the jar to her chest as if a newborn babe, and Holly beckons her forward with a finger. When Sugar is before her, standing at the altar, Holly instructs her to hold the jar above the bowl, which Sugar does, though hesitantly. After a moment of deep breathing, Holly's hand shoots out; she hovers her splayed palm just above the jar's wooden stopper, closes her eyes, and loudly chants:

between Three Points the Gate appears
now, the Hour of Witching nears
for when the moon's light reappears
Mark them safe

The jar seems to glow, responding to the words, and after a charged moment of waiting, Holly snatches her hand closed, as if quickly grabbing something invisible. Then, she sighs, opens her palm again, and squeezes her eyes shut tighter.

"I missed."

She repeats the chant, and this time, she shouts, Ah! when her hand closes. She yanks upward, as if pulling a very heavy rope from the jar, though to the surrounding, observing pirates, nothing is visible. She raises her tightly-clenched fist above her head- her arm trembles with exertion, which to Brittany is very strange, considering there is nothing there.

"The bowl, Howard- quickly!"

Howard shuffles forward at a pace Brittany wouldn't have expected from the lethargic, somber man, guides Sugar to take a pace back, and places his hands on the side of the bowl, as if holding it in position. Once he's gotten a firm grip, Holly's fist flies downward, as if flinging a giant snake into the bowl.

When her hand opens, releasing whatever it is that she'd been holding, a blinding, silver light flashes, so bright it makes Brittany close her eyes. When she opens them, the bowl has returned to normal, and Holly sets to work mixing various ingredients from the altar basket into the bowl: a black powder, a clear liquid, a pinch of red crystals, a scoop of yellow paste-

Once satisfied with the mixture, she calls forth her mysterious assistants, who line up in sync before her to receive a scoop of the resulting mush into each of their bowls.

"This paint now contains the power of the Mark," Holly explains as she goes, sounding out of breath, as if she just ran several miles. Sweat trickles down her temple. "Once you are Branded, you will be under its protection. Outside of the Gate, the Brand will only last for four days; but once inside the Etherplane, it will last indefinitely."

"What does it do?" David wonders as the assistants begin to pair up with their bowls. "How does it protect us?"

"It will allow you to leave- and prevent you from losing your true form to the influence of the Cleanse."

"There's the Cleanse again," Santana mumbles. "I'm getting really tired of all this cryptic bullshit."

Brittany nods beside her. "If only anyone could give us a straightforward answer..."

"What is this Cleanse? What does it mean?" Arty calls out, asking what everyone in the room is thinking.

"No time," Holly says, raising her hand to halt any future questions. "It's three days to the Dragon's Bight from here- and only three days until the new moon."

"The new moon- of course!" Arty says excitedly. "Which means 'blackest night' must be-"

"The Witching Hour," Holly finishes hurriedly. "You must make it to the Dragon's Bight before then- you must leave before the dawn."

"Then we haven't much time," Matt says tightly.

"Exactly," Holly agrees, before straightening up. She lifts her open palm high, commanding, "Tyros! Prepare for the Branding!"

In response, the pairs of unnamed, anonymous assistants pick out one of the pirates and move to stand near them, and Holly adds, in a much more calming tone, "Please follow my Tyros' instructions." She watches for a moment, and, once she feels that the ritual is progressing the way she'd hoped, she turns her attention to Sugar, who still stands awkwardly near the altar. Sugar stares as Holly's assistants- her Tyros- begin passing the tall, thin smoking pipes to the pirates.

Holly draws Sugar's attention, then leads her away through the door that she'd entered from earlier, and the two disappear with the jar without a word.

Brittany barely notices when Sugar exits the room, her attention instead commanded by the woman before her, whose painted mask portrays a cat leaping off of a mountain. A second woman, who wears a mask depicting a bird flying in space, settles before Santana.

"I'm Brittany," she stammers, trying to discern why she's so nervous. She still doesn't see any branding irons-

The Cat tilts her head in interest, and a third woman appears behind her- her mask is a rat standing underwater- and hands her one of the lit pipes; Brittany traces her eyes along the detailed stem and down to a blue, transparent bowl. When it's offered to her, Brittany anxiously accepts it without question. The smoke that slithers up from the pipe bottom smells sweet, enticing.

"This will help," Cat reassures softly.

Santana places a supportive hand on her knee; the pressure grounds her. How bad could it be? She presses her lips to the tip and takes a long, slow inhale, expecting to cough, expecting something, but the smoke seeps into her lungs, absorbed completely into her body, and she exhales nothing.

"Help with what?" she wonders. Cat urges her to take another hit of the pipe, and she does before Bird takes it and passes it along to Santana.

"Close your eyes," Cat says. "Take a deep breath. Count to ten- feel your body."

Brittany does as she's told. As she breathes, she can feel her lungs beginning to turn cold, heavy; she's acutely aware of a heaviness slowly spreading throughout her body. Her head begins to feel fuzzy, light. Her eyes are closed, but the sensation of spinning overtakes her. By the time she reaches ten, she's certain that she's floated away; she opens her eyes, gasping when she finds that the women before her are sharp, clear, hyper-focused- and everything behind them is blurry, colorful- but unrecognizable blobs. She grabs Santana's hand tightly.

What in the Great Ocean did they give her?

"Please remove your upper clothing, Brittany," Cat instructs softly. "And lay on your stomach."

"Will this hurt?" she wonders, her heavy tongue moving and her lips shaping words, but her voice sounds foreign to her own ears as she clumsily, sluggishly, does as she's asked, tugging her shirt up and off. She shivers as the night air hits her skin, and begins to remove her chest wrap.

Beside her, Bird instructs Santana to do the same. Brittany lies down on her stomach, hugging a pillow beneath her chest and staring at Santana, who mirrors her position. Their eyes meet. She barely hears Cat breathe, try to lie very still as she sucks in a nervous breath, unsure what to expect.

When the icy tip of the paintbrush touches her skin, it feels- euphoric. Overwhelming pleasure- so much so that Brittany's not entirely sure it's not pain- flows in the wake of the brush's strokes. She doesn't know what's happening behind her, but she takes an intense interest with the way Bird paints Santana's back and shoulders, and imagines that she's experiencing something similar. The lines across Santana's skin are dark, deep purple- almost black- and Brittany's curious as to what the finished Brand will look like. She tries to focus on the strokes of her own Brand, to discern what shape the lines are taking, but she's nearly overcome by the consuming, bursting feeling of glee, and it makes her want to get up and dance. She struggles to hold still as the brush continues its path along her back.

Across from her, Santana's eyes are locked with hers. Brittany can only watch, wondering what it might be like to touch- wondering if this already irresistible feeling could possibly reach a new height if she allowed it- until it's all she can think about. The euphoria inside her builds, and the longer it goes on, the more wild her thoughts become as she watches the brush tease along Santana's skin in an erotic, sensual dance, reminding her of her own fingers on Santana's skin the night before, and many nights before that. The memory isn't enough in this moment- Brittany aches to touch her. The paint seeps into her skin, into her pounding pulse, and all she can think about is how badly she wants Santana pressed up against her. She tries to close her eyes, but she becomes hyper aware of the slow, steady rhythm of the music still playing, and the sweet, calming smell of incense.

When Cat finishes and instructs her not to move until she's been told that her Brand has dried, Brittany hugs the pillow beneath her tighter, her muscles shaking with tension and indescribable energy that pulses through her- is this how Sugar felt for the last few weeks?

How did she not go crazy? Especially since she had no pipe to help dull the sensation?

By the time Cat allows her to move, Brittany feels as if she's going to explode. She barely acknowledges Puck calling distantly to be back on the ship before dawn, already grabbing Santana's wrist and pulling her into a heated, desperate kiss.

The sensual, slow pounding of the drums mimics Brittany's pulse, and she can't help the rhythm of her hips against Santana's thigh as their bodies come together. All she can smell is the incense and Santana; all she can feel is the heat of Santana near her and the simmering of her own blood in her veins, as the completed Brand ignites and inflames her senses.

The air is dark, hazy; the music continues, faded into the background. Sharp in the forefront of her mind is Santana, hovering above her. She doesn't even recall how she ended up lying against the flat, silk pillow beneath her, but the soft, smooth material rubs tortuously against her hypersensitive skin, heightening her arousal from just the barest caress.

Santana's mouth finds her hardened nipple, enveloping it in soft, wet heat, her tongue swirling, lips sucking gently to drive Brittany to an even higher plane of existence. Everything feels elevated; everything moves in slow motion, and she sucks in a shaky breath as the lantern lights leave streaks in her vision.

Without prompting, her right hand slides along Santana's tense, firm stomach, tracing the dip in her muscles, teasing along the hem of her pants. Beneath her playful fingertips she feels Santana tremble, her stomach tensing at the soft touch. Santana sits up suddenly, revealing her bare chest to Brittany's dark, ravenous eyes, her tan skin decorated with the intricate patterns and swirls of the Brand. On her shoulders, the paws of a large- but sleek, graceful- cat are painted, and Brittany's suddenly consumed with the need to see the rest of her Brand.

As if reading her mind, Santana turns, her back a beautiful harmony of rippling muscle, crisscrossing scars, and silver lines that portray a panther hanging from her shoulders, its front paws curled over them, its hind legs coiled as if to pounce from Santana's back at any moment.

"What is it?" Santana whispers.

She licks her bottom lip; the sight of Santana's back makes her want to put her mouth all over Santana's body. Her stomach tightens at the thought, and without realizing, she leans forward, lips parted as she presses her mouth to Santana's shoulder blade, biting down roughly. Santana gasps, arching; she reaches behind her to wind fingers tightly into blonde hair, and tugs her head up roughly, making Brittany's center throb with need.

"Its a- cat," she gasps.

Santana turns, and their mouths meet; her tongue dominates her as she swallows her moans and Brittany traces fingers up strong, toned arms, eliciting another hard shiver from her. She accepts Santana, who kneels above her, between her spread legs, pulse pounding at the predatory look in her dark eyes. Brittany's hungry stare rakes up her semi-naked- except for her pants- form to her exposed breasts and hard nipples, to the dark hair spilling over her shoulders, to her trembling stomach, and moans at the sight, at the uncontrollable want within her that seems as if it's clawing, fighting to escape. Is it her own desire, or a result of the Brand?

Gentle fingers stroke down Brittany's face, prompting her to shut her eyes as she leans into the touch, feeling, feeling- her own desire, her own desperate want, but more. Santana's fingers trace down her cheek, along her jaw, and her thumb strokes gently along her bottom lip.

Brittany's eyes open, and Santana presses her thumb forward, past Brittany's parted lips; Brittany immediately flicks her tongue at the tip before sucking it, gazing into molten brown eyes.

Santana's thighs clench, and she bites her lip as Brittany maintains eye contact while she sucks her thumb deeper, her smooth velvet tongue swirling, teasing. Santana's mouth drops open in response as she sucks in air, her clit throbbing unbearably, achingly, between her legs, driving her to lean forward, replacing her thumb with her mouth. Brittany bites her lip savagely, and Santana's hips rock down in response; her wet thumb strokes over Brittany's stiff nipple and she trembles as Brittany moans in her mouth.

Their hips roll together, perfectly in sync. Brittany whimpers beneath her. They kiss and kiss, and finally Brittany sits up, needing more, sparing a fleeting thought to their surroundings- she has no idea where they are. Are they still in the courtyard? Are they on the ship? Did they go back to their room in the inn?

When Santana kisses along her ribs, her stomach, her hips, Brittany's thoughts fly away. "Show me," Santana breathes against her collarbone, and it takes her a moment to realize what she's asking. Brittany rolls, onto her knees, displaying her back- and her Brand- to Santana, who studies it quietly.

Lips suddenly press to the nape of her neck, and Brittany arches, tensing at the sensation.

"You're a bird," Santana breathes over Brittany's heated skin before sinking her teeth into the sensitive muscle at the base of her neck. Brittany cries out from the exquisite feeling- she's still unsure whether it's from pain or pleasure. "It suits you, Songbird."

Her muscles quiver. Her thoughts are blurry- she doesn't know, nor does she care as Santana's lips move along her back, her teeth graze her shoulder blades, her tongue flicks along the dip of her spine, and Brittany arches against Santana's body, her own whimpering moans filling her ears in a distant sort of way as she latches on to the feeling of Santana's mouth on her.

Brittany turns her head to kiss her, and they both race to untie the laces on Brittany's pants, their hands trembling in their hasty need. Seconds later, fingers slip beneath the fabric to tease at her clit, push at her entrance, and Brittany's center throbs- she needs more. It's an awkward shift as she pushes her pants down to her knees, and then Santana's inside her from behind, and she braces herself on her hands as her hips rut uncontrollably against Santana's thrusts.

Brittany clenches, gasping, the feeling of Santana inside her still so new to her. Behind her, Santana sets a relentless, brutal pace, rocking her hips to power her deep thrusts, slamming in hard and pulling out slow. Brittany's unrestrained cries of pleasure drive her on, and her clit is swollen, throbbing, aching as she grinds it against the back of her hand. It's never felt this way- she's never felt so desperate. She's close- but she needs Brittany with her.

She quickens her pace until Brittany tells her with a sudden squeeze around her fingers that she's found the right speed, and then she's right there, and Brittany's right there, and-

Her mouth drops open; she sucks in air as she stares at Brittany's back- at the beautiful silver wings along her shoulder blades, and they almost seem alive, as if they are moving with the ripple of Brittany's muscles.

Santana comes with a cry, and feels as if she's flying through space.

"Awake now, love- it's almost dawn."

Brittany's eyes struggle to open. She doesn't feel tired, or sore. The effects of the smoke have worn off, and now she just feels a slight hum of energy beneath her skin, though it's much, much weaker and far more manageable than it had been the previous night.

"Here's water," the voice continues, and it takes a moment for her foggy mind to recognize that it's Cat. The woman is still wearing a mask, and she sets the cup down next to her before shuffling away.

Santana shifting beside her reminds her of their activities from just a few hours ago, and in a sudden panic, she glances down to see that she's not naked and exposed as she'd feared, but covered with a soft, orange blanket made of velvet. She turns onto her side; her thighs are sticky. Gods, what the hell did they get up to last night?

She presses her lips to Santana's cheek and strokes fingers through her silky dark hair. Then her lips venture lower, to her shoulder, and Santana visibly shudders as her eyes open.

"Don't do that," she says, her voice hoarse from sleep and unbearably sexy.

"I'm sorry," Brittany breathes. "I know it's too much."

"What the fuck is this Brand," Santana groans, rolling onto her back, but it's clear she doesn't expect an answer. She sighs. "It's almost dawn, isn't it?"

Brittany nods.

"Then we'd better head back and grab our bags. Maybe if we're quick, we can wash up before we go."

They dress quickly, the slight brushing of their clothes along their stained skin eliciting a tingling sensation that's not unpleasant, and hurry to the inn. Once inside, Santana deems that they have enough time to get clean, but the water proves to be an even bigger sensory overload, and they spend the entire time uncontrollably laughing, until tears roll down their cheeks.

The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon when they reach the docks where the Tide Ripper is moored. Surrounding the gangplank is the entirety of the crew they are leaving behind, and Santana's suddenly disappointed from the physical reminder that their easy, careless time on Elach is over.

A glance to her left reveals David holding Kurt, their foreheads pressed together, with tears lining each of their cheeks. She takes Brittany's hand, but her heart is split; as lucky as she is to have Brittany by her side, she would rather leave her safely behind. As she walks through the crowd composed of her crew, they all touch her shoulders- much to her displeasure- and her arms.

"Good luck, Quartermaster."

"Fair winds, Santana."

She climbs the gangplank, struggling to determine why she's feeling emotional- is she jealous, or sad? David finally parts from Kurt with one last, bittersweet kiss, and she tries to ignore the tight feeling in her throat. They have been a crew for many years, been through the best and worst of times. Leaving them behind is like leaving a part of herself behind.

But no matter how much it hurts to say goodbye- possibly forever- she'd prefer them to remain alive.

The ship gets underway with little difficulty, despite having less hands on deck to carry out the commands. Brittany and Santana are both on deck for the launch, working the sails alongside Matt, Mike and David, and their combined experience handles the ship smoother than having more numbers would have. Marley happily takes her spot in the Crow's Nest, and Kitty aids Arty at the Ship's Wheel- even Jake is proud to finally stand on his own merits down on the gundeck. The only one missing is Sugar, who is still abstained from duty while she protects the jar down in the hold.

Santana splits her time being in charge of the ship with Puck, Matt and Arty, which is her usual routine, but now her off time is spent working instead of aimlessly milling around, bored. Truthfully, staying busy helps pass the time, and if they weren't sailing to their possible end, she would prefer it, but under the current circumstances, she'd rather the days drag so that she could enjoy them.

Still, she does enjoy working. She loves helping out in the rigging, feeling the salty sea air whipping her hair, her adrenaline spiking at the thought that one slip from that height would certainly send her straight to an early grave. When there's not much to adjust topside, she heads to the galley, helping Brittany prepare meals for the first time, with no crew members to judge her for peeling vegetables. She's not the best help, but Brittany is the best teacher, and with two days left before they reach the Three Points, she'll take any excuse to spend time with Brittany.

The rules now, this close, are practically nonexistent, anyway. Everyone is in charge of their own schedule, with no one to report to, and in a selfish sort of way, Santana wishes it could be like this all the time.

"Fuck, Santana-" Brittany gasps in Santana's mouth as her hips drop down sharply, forcing Santana's fingers deeper inside her. She shudders, tightening her grip on Santana's hair, and rides her faster, chasing her release. Their mouths fuse together; Santana sucks on her tongue. Her thighs bracket Santana's hips, her knees pressing into the bed as she grinds on Santana's fingers, and Santana does her best to give Brittany what she needs.

When Brittany grabs her neck and rests her sweaty forehead against hers, Santana knows she's close. She curls her fingers, feels Brittany strangle them inside, and Brittany bucks her hips uncontrollably, gasping as she clings to her. She kisses her fiercely when she comes, and Santana wraps arms around her, holding her close.

Brittany buries her face against Santana's neck for a moment, her lips brushing against her jaw so that Santana can feel her warm breaths. Then, flushed and still shivering, she dismounts Santana's lap and stands before her on shaky legs.

Santana takes a deep, steady breath as she watches Brittany fix her pants, then bend to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

"I'm already late preparing lunch," she admits with a regretful smile, her words sounding like an apology. "I promise I'll take care of you later."

"It's all right, Britt- I'll see you at dinner."

Brittany shoots her a grateful smile before slipping out of Santana's cabin to head down to the galley. Santana attempts to slow her racing pulse, taking deep, even breaths. With the Three Points a stone's throw away, their lovemaking had become a lot more frequent, and a lot more desperate. With less crew onboard, it meant less chances to get caught, and oftentimes they'd thrown caution to the wind. She couldn't complain about the intensity, only the circumstances- but with their imminent death creeping ever closer, who is she to deny herself? Who is going to stop them, after all? Everyone on board is busy facing their own mortality, wrapped up in their own certain doom.

It's rather convenient, that no one is around to care. It would be an absolute shame if she didn't take advantage of it while she can.

She smirks.

The feeling of Brittany coming around her fingers will never get old, Santana decides as Brittany's thighs squeeze at her hips.

Brittany struggles to catch her breath, her head dropping to the galley table with a soft thunk. Santana presses soft kisses up her chest, up her neck, to her lips, and they kiss heatedly for a moment before Brittany pulls back.

"You couldn't wait?" Brittany pants, her blue eyes playfully annoyed. "You have a bed- I was going to meet you after dinner."

Santana traces her hands down Brittany's body, feeling her curves, her ravenous eyes memorizing the sight of Brittany, flushed and on her back on the galley table. "I've always wanted to take you like this," she breathes, pausing to press a kiss below her ear before continuing. "I've wanted to press you to this table- to be inside you- right here, for as long as you've worked in this galley."

Her sultry words make Brittany shiver, make her face flush, and she lightly drags her nails down Santana's back, eliciting a loud gasp because of the lingering oversensitivity of the Brand- she fleetingly wonders if it will ever fade. She kisses Santana's neck, gently guiding her off of her so that she can slide from the galley table.

"And do you know what I've always wanted?" Brittany whispers hotly as she falls gently to her knees, reaching for Santana's belt. Santana bites her lip and shakes her head, and Brittany grins as she presses a kiss to her thigh. "Shall I show you?"

They are each already awake, waiting anxiously and preparing in their separate quarters when the ship's bell clangs, informing them that they've reached the Three Points. With a steady, measured breath, Santana double-checks her weapons, her boots, her bandanna, and then steps out onto the main deck, her eyes immediately scanning the surrounding ocean. It's pitch dark, without even the moon or the stars to light their way; the only light comes from the ship's lanterns, but even then it seems as if the feeble beams they cast are swallowed by the surrounding blackness, drowned out by a thick, eerie fog.

Brittany is by her side moments later, slipping her hand into hers, and once their fingers intertwine, Santana's grip tightens considerably, telegraphing her nervousness.

"You look nice," Brittany comments softly, attempting to distract, but also unable to help noticing that Santana sports her trademark red bandanna and dark leathers; she is heavily armed and looks as if she is ready for war.

Santana smiles genuinely at the compliment, grateful for the ease from her turbulent thoughts. "So do you."

Brittany is wearing her usual outfit- complete with her bandanna, Santana's matching sword- and her coat. She reaches to smooth her free hand over Santana's bandanna, her fingers tracing along the leather strap of the canteen slung across her chest. "You seem ready."

"No," she protests, releasing a heavy breath, her eyebrows furrowing with concern. "I don't think I'll ever be ready to possibly lose you."

Brittany's hand slides higher to cup her cheek, stroking a thumb over her cheekbone. "You won't," she promises.

"If it was my choice, I would've left you on the island with Kurt and the others," Santana confesses, squeezing her eyes shut and resting her forehead against Brittany's. "But I need you, Britt– I need your clever, genius mind. And I'm selfish- I want you by my side, so that I know you're all right."

Brittany squeezes her hand again, tightly. "I won't leave it. I love you, Santana."

"I love you, too."

"I have something for you," she says, her tone soft and intimate. She reaches into her coat pocket to pull out the necklace she had bought Santana so many eons ago. "I've been waiting for the right time to give it you, but now it seems I might not ever get another chance." She chuckles nervously, holding it up to show Santana, who grabs both her hands tightly.

"You'll have another chance, Britt- I promise."

Brittany smiles teasingly, despite the grim mood between them. "Are you saying you don't want my gift?"

Santana can't help but smile, pressing a kiss to Brittany's knuckle. "Of course I do."

"The witching hour approaches!" Arty warns, watching his timepiece and counting down the minutes as they draw ever closer to the appointed time.

"We've arrived!" Puck hollers. "Everyone, prepare yourselves!"

They each take a deep, nervous breath.

"It's time," Santana swallows, her grip crushing Brittany's hand. "See you on the other side."

Brittany flashes a smile so dazzling that it makes Santana's heart ache, hoping it's not the last one she will ever see, and slips the necklace back into her pocket. She'll have another chance, she's sure of it.

"I'll be there."

Her eyes pass Santana's shoulder to find Sugar sitting, cradling the jar in her lap, near the Ship's Wheel. She offers her a reassuring, wistful smile, though Sugar had refused goodbyes or parting sentiments when they'd left the cabin. Sugar returns the smile, her expression calm and confident, and it reassures Brittany in return- everything is going according to plan.

All eyes are towards the front of the ship, staring into the empty darkness, waiting for something to happen. A few yards into the distance is all she's able to make out in any sort of detail before it's swallowed by darkness. The ship seems as it it's standing still, though the sails are full, the water unexpectedly smooth and calm- unusual for the middle of three islands, no matter how little they are.

The minutes seem to tick by slowly, but they don't wait long before Marley is shouting bearing position from the Crow's Nest, and all heads turn. An eerie silver light appears, so tiny they almost miss it at first, but growing larger and larger as the minutes pass, until it seems as if it's going to envelop the ship.

It takes them a moment to realize that they are nearly right on top of the Gate as the silver light takes the shape of a gigantic opening- an arched door. The frame of it is blinding silver light, but within it, nothing but empty, endless blackness.

Santana crushes Brittany's hand as they gaze out upon their fate, shivering from overwhelming emotion. "I can't believe it," she breathes. "It's actually real."

"Holy Waters," David whispers from her other side.

They all stare, awestruck, at the supernatural marvel before them, waiting for something to happen, but when nothing does, they realize that the Gate is not going to reveal or spoil anything about what lies beyond, on the Etherplane. There's no preview.

Surreptitiously wiping a tear from his eye as he lowers his spyglass and slips it in his pocket, Puck smooths his hands over his waistcoat as he takes in the sight of his last, true glory. He reaches for his trihorn hat resting on a crate and settles it on his head. He is dressed in his pirate best for the occasion- for if he is to go down, he will go down a legend: Noah Puckerman, Captain TigerShark of the infamous Tide Ripper, Bane of Man, Teeth of the Sea, Destroyer of Worlds and Ladies' Hearts- the One who found the Immortal Spring.

He leaps down from the quarterdeck onto the main deck and raises his fist with a triumphant grin.

"This is it!" he shouts, commanding, clear. He struggles to keep the nervous excitement out of his voice. "Arty- take us in!"

INTO THE UNKNOOOOOWWNNNN~

Okay, so I admit, there was a lot of sex this chapter- but that's because there probably won't be any for a while, because, you know, supernatural pirate adventure.

Anyways! Thanks so much for reading, and for sticking with this story! I think we are down to a possible 3-4 chapters left, so that means I should hopefully finish by the end of next year, lmaoooo~

Review if you want to tell me how fucking insane this chapter was, but if not, I'll see you next time, pals! :D