Brittany lay with her head in Santana's lap, seemingly unable to move spontaneously even at Santana's urging. The Latina seemed to believe that somehow, Brittany would be able to walk off the sickness that had struck her, that as long as she was walking and talking and moving around, she would be able to fight it off, to outrun it somehow and keep it from fully taking over her. For as long as Brittany could manage, Santana had walked her in circles around the small confines of the room, even as Brittany's footsteps slowed and her ability to move on her own diminished, until she was leaning so heavily against Santana that the smaller girl was struggling beneath her weight, until she had to nearly drag her along. Still Santana had kept on doggedly, even as her own muscles began to shake with the effort of holding Brittany up, until the others had insisted and Puck had physically forced her to put Brittany down, convincing her to stop only by stating that she seemed to be making Brittany feel worse with her efforts.
Brittany had vomited into the room's only trash can three times earlier that day, and although this seemed to have run its course, she was now shivering frequently, despite the coat and blanket Santana had wrapped around her, and her eyes were glazed with fever. She had spoken in slurred, murmuring words that even Santana didn't seem to understand at first, but it had been hours now since she last spoke, and they all knew what this indicated. When those infected stopped speaking, they were on a downward slope towards the more violent stage of the illness, and it was clear to everyone that this was exactly what was going to happen to Brittany, what was closer to occurring with every moment that they let slip by.
They all knew it, as much and as strongly as Santana wanted to deny it. But Santana would not hear of anyone doing anything about it, no matter what this might mean for the future.
"You will not touch her," she stated fiercely, for the fourth time in the past ten minutes, as she hunched over her ex-girlfriend and beloved friend, lightly stroking her fingertips over the blonde's flushed face.
Brittany's eyes were closed, her breathing slow and labored, and she seemed unaware of Santana's presence, let alone her touch. Her hair was damp with sweat as Santana combed her fingers through it, and all looking towards them noticed how badly Santana's hands were shaking, the sheen of tears she was blinking back fiercely from eyes so dark and full of hurt they seemed almost bruised in appearance.
Santana had not slept at all since Brittany's symptoms first began, over two days ago. She had eaten only when Quinn insisted, and her stress was more than obvious in her face and demeanor. She was clearly exhausted, her cheeks sunken, deeply purple shadows beneath her eyes, her hair limp and straggling in her eyes, but she nevertheless met the eyes of her companions, one at a time, with fierce intensity as she spoke again.
"You're not laying a hand on her. If you do, I'll fucking kill you."
"No, SHE will," Puck retorted, lifting his head to stare back at her, every bit as intently and with a tight undertone of anger in his voice as he took a step closer to them, arms crossed over his chest. Santana's head snapped up, and she tightened her arms around Brittany, as though intending to protect her with her own body against the man as he continued to address her. "She'll fucking kill us all, Santana, and you know it. That's exactly why we have to do it."
"She will not," Santana's voice sharpened, rising in pitch and volume. It seemed that between the two of them, there was a dangerous electricity crackling in the air, and the others watched with growing apprehension. No one would put it past either of them to become physically aggressive, as strongly as they felt and as high as the tension was…as high as the stakes were becoming.
"She will not. You don't know which way she would go, and Brittany would NEVER, EVER hurt ANYONE, she will not. And YOU will not. Don't you fucking touch her, don't even come near her, I fucking mean it."
"Santana, get a damn clue! There are fucking old women out there who are trying to tear people apart with their bare hands! There are little kids and sweet neighbor ladies, what the hell makes you think that Brittany is so damn special that you know for a fact she wouldn't-"
"Maybe there's another way!" Rachel called out anxiously over them both, trying to distract them from each other as it seemed clear that if Puck were to press on much longer, Santana would in fact become violent herself.
Rachel had spent the first day of their entrapment doing nothing more than crying, allowing herself to completely fall apart in her grief and her fear for all that she had lost and was continuing to lose, for the hopelessness that seemed to surround her. But in the second day she had started to try to gather up her will to move forward, to assess all possibilities and find a way, if at all possible, that they at least could all still survive, and now she tried to put this attitude forward again, to manage to salvage those that she could who were still with her- namely, Puck and Santana.
Although neither so much as turned their heads to look at her, they didn't lunge at each other, so she took this as a sign that they were listening, and slightly encouraged, continued, her own voice shaking a little as she tried to maintain their attention.
"Maybe…maybe we can quarantine her…we wouldn't have to hurt her, just…keep her away from us. Maybe we can do that."
"We're not leaving her alone," Santana countered immediately, shaking her head, but although her voice still definitely held an edge, there was no longer quite as much blatant hostility in it as there had been towards Puck. She seemed to sense that Rachel, at least, didn't want to harm Brittany.
"Oh, so if it's up to you, we'll keep leaving her here with us then?" Quinn challenged, not raising her voice, but from the lift of her chin as she regarded Santana, the skeptical arch of her eyebrows, she nevertheless made it clear what she thought of this option. "Santana, please be reasonable. Think about what you're suggesting. The longer we let her stay in here with us, the more risk there is of her harming us, and the more time there is where we're exposed to her. We still don't know how this spreads, and some or all of us could be infected now-"
"Then whether or not we stay with her wouldn't be a fucking problem if we're already infected, wouldn't it?" Santana cut her off, but Quinn pressed on, not acknowledging her point.
"We all know what could happen if we let her stay here with us. We've know and we've seen it, and I'm sorry, Santana, I may have had my crazy times in the past, but I'm not and never have been suicidal. I won't put my life in Brittany's hands no matter how much you love her."
"You don't know what she'll do or how she'll react, I don't see a fucking crystal ball in your hands, Quinn, YOU DON'T KNOW," Santana's voice was starting to climb in volume again, and she squeezed Brittany harder against her chest. "You don't even know if she has it! She could just be NORMAL sick!"
"She's puked her insides out, she's sweated through her clothes with a fever, and she's not talking, Santana!" Puck nearly shouted, jabbing a finger in the girls' direction in an almost violent manner. "What the hell else could it possibly be?! You know what this is, you know what it means, and you KNOW what we have to do! You think I want to do this? Of course I don't want to fucking do this, but the difference is that I have to, the difference is that I give a shit over everyone else and what will happen to them even if I don't want to do this to Brittany-"
"You only give a shit about yourself, Puckerman, don't you fucking tell me that you give a shit about ANYONE but you and saving your own ass! You don't care about Brittany, you don't-"
"You know we have to do it, Santana!" Puck yelled over her, almost screaming now, his face as flushed as Santana's was pale, and his fists were now knotted at his sides so tightly that the tendons of his arms stood out, stark and obvious for all to see. "You know we have to kill her!"
For several long, painfully drawn out moments after the words left his mouth, there was complete silence among the others in the room as they all avoided looking directly into each other's eyes, with the exception of Puck and Santana, who both remained unmoving, unwavering, as they stared each other down. They could only hear the continued shallow breaths of Brittany in her lap, their own hearts beating too hard and fast in their chests, and then Santana broke the silence, her voice a whisper, but nevertheless very clear in tone and words.
"You will not fucking touch her."
