A/N: I'm so sorry that it took me so long to update. Brittana Week happened on Tumblr and I was writing things for that, so I'm very sorry for the delay. Enjoy the chapter!

Does it ever seem to you like the entire universe is just one big paradox? Like no matter how much you want, beg, for something, your desire will never be satisfied? Like you could learn and learn for hours, but not grow any wiser? Or like you've finally found it, the answer that you've always been looking for, the faint but reassuring light within the absolute dark, the ultimate and comforting love that envelops you when she's near, you've found it, you've found her, the answer to your troubles, but just then, she's mercilessly snatched out of your desperate grip? That's how I felt when I was sprinting through the camp.

It seemed like the faster that I willed my legs to move, the slower that I was actually moving. The buildings passed by like lazy snails, unwilling to move a bit quicker so that I could get to her in time. My legs strained and my muscles burned, and yet it seemed like I wasn't going anywhere. Much too slow for such a petrifying and crippling situation.

I wanted to double over and wail to the ground. I felt like someone had gotten a grip on my heart and just wouldn't let go. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. I just knew one thing—I needed to get to her in time. I didn't even let my mind wander to the possibility of being too late to save her. I just couldn't bring myself to even think of it.

The woman with the large green eyes had given me exact directions to the gas chambers. I was to make my way past the inhabited barracks, along the barbed fence, until I came to a long, wide building that had stairs going underground. This is where her directions stopped, however, since she had never been down there herself.

They were apparently told that they were to be taken to the showers. But the women knew better; they had known too many people who had never returned from the showers. I couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that so many people were brought here simply to be killed. As I raced along the fence, the only somewhat rational thought that stole into my mind was the same question over and over again—why?

What had they done? What had Santana done? She had to be the purest, most sanctified person in this world. She couldn't have possibly done something to deserve such a horrifying fate. She was better than all of the Aryans in the world put together. Is it true what they say? That only the good die young? The mere thought almost made me fall to the ground with agony. I willed my feet to push harder against the ground and send me flying past the somber structures.

Finally, I saw the building that the girl had described advancing towards me. I dashed down the filthy stairs and flung open the heavy metal door.

I was instantly met by about half a dozen pairs of stunned eyes. The soldiers gaped at me, entirely astounded. I snapped my head around to register my surroundings.

I was in an elongated room that stretched to my left and right. Before me stood mountains of those tattered gray garments, and to my right, to my astonished disgust, was a small pile of what looked like gold teeth. I ripped my hurried gaze off of the ravaged remnants and raised them back to the soldiers.

The female soldier with the horribly cruel eyes that insulted Santana raised her surprised eyebrows at me. "How may we help you, Fräulein?" she sneered maliciously.

I couldn't find words to express the thoughts that were so desperate to be heard. I was petrified at the thought of begging this horrid woman to help me save Santana, but there was no other choice. I had to get Santana out of there. If it wasn't too late already.

I tried to catch my breath so that I could speak, but it seemed like my lungs just rejected the air. Just didn't want it. Didn't want to face the possibility that her lungs might not be in use anymore.

"You—" I paused for a moment, panting frantically. "You have to get her out."

"Have to get whom out?" the woman's eyebrows rose even further, creating deep creases in her forehead.

"Santana," I placed a hand on my aching side and leaned down a little as cold sweat slid down my face.

"And why would I do that?"

I snapped my head back up at her. "Because my fiancé will be furious if she is killed."

She narrowed her eyes at me, contemplating whether or not she should solely trust my word. Finally, she turned her head back and shouted, "Aufhören! Stop the Zyklon B!"

An earsplitting beeping noise filled the space, and some machine in another room of the building made a metallic groaning sound. My heart seemed to have given up on me. They had already started the gas. How long were the pumps on before I arrived? Long enough for the gas to percolate into the room and heartlessly steal her life out of her desperate hands?

The woman twisted her body back to me. "Santana, you said? Does this Santana have a surname?"

"Um…" I was taken aback a little as I realized that I didn't know Santana's last name. "I—I don't know."

The woman pursed her crimson lips and turned to walk to the opposite end of the room. She leaned down, lifted a gas mask off of the cement floor, and slipped it over her head in a bored manner. The black mask made her seem like some sort of demented anteater.

She walked to the door that was a few meters before her and lifted a large metal bar that was used to keep the door shut. The door swung open to reveal a very dark space. I could faintly see the outlines of bodies on the floor. My heart clenched as a terrible fear rose within me.

She sauntered unbelievably casually into the space. "Santana," she barked callously, but her voice was indistinct behind the mask. She turned on a flashlight and snapped it around. "Santana, raise an arm to indicate your location."

I began to lose hope as she meandered further into the dark space and completely disappeared. It took every ounce of my will not to just run after her into the room and find Santana myself or die trying from the horrible gas.

The minutes passed by carelessly, and I felt as if my life was hanging on the line. She was my love, my soul mate, the only one for me. I had already decided to devote my life to her. What was I to do if she had already ceased to live? I knew, as I stood there with such unimaginable anxiety, that I would never be able to move on.

And suddenly, as if by a God-given miracle, the woman returned with a naked Santana hanging around her shoulder. Santana's ribs protruded outwardly under her caramel skin and her legs seemed unbelievably fragile, as if you could easily snap them in half.

I dashed to her and the soldier let her fall into my arms. Her eyes were almost entirely closed, but not quite. Her bare skin felt cold to my touch. I carefully laid her down so that I could slip my jacket off of me and wrap it around her. It just barely covered her vulnerable bottom, but it was enough for now. I lifted her back up with astounding ease and pulled her arm around my shoulder.

Without looking back once, I made my way back to the stairs and began to pull her up, step by step.

"Do you need help, Fräulein?" I heard the voice of a young man ask from behind me.

"No," I said, a bit too loudly and defensively. I vowed to never let them touch her again.

I was panting by the time that we reached the top of the solemn staircase, but I didn't care. I had to get her back to the house as quickly as possible. I was carrying most of her weight because she was barely conscious; she couldn't even carry herself on her feeble legs.

I led her along the barbed fence until we reached the inhabited barracks. Several of the women who lived with her, the green-eyed one included, anxiously waited outside to see what had happened. When they saw me advancing toward them with Santana hanging around my shoulder, several of them raised astounded hands to cover their mouths. The green-eyed one hurried to me. "She needs water."

"I know, I know, I'm taking her back up to the house," I continued to walk, with some difficulty, across the square. I turned my gaze back to the woman. "Thank you for all of your help."

"Of course, I'm just glad that she's alive," she nodded at me and hung back, disappearing from my view. "Take care of her, will you?"

"I will," I managed, as loudly as I could. Santana may have been horridly thin, but she was getting a bit heavy now.

By the time that we reached the gate, I was drenched in cold sweat and panting incredibly heavily. Rolf's eyes widened in fear when he saw Santana and he instantly rushed to help me, slipping her right arm, which was hanging loosely by her side, around his shoulder. He locked the gate after us with his free hand and, together, we carried Santana up the incredibly steep hill.

I knocked hurriedly on the door and Ora instantly appeared to open it. She gasped and stepped back, utterly astonished, but quickly recovered from her shock and made way for us to carry her inside. We dropped her gently on the couch, and Rolf turned to me. "Brittany, I have to go back down to my station, they mustn't find out that I left, but wash her body and let her drink water. And she needs to rest."

"Thank you, Rolf," I said, still breathing heavily. He nodded at me and jogged out of the house. "Ora," I turned to her. "Will you help me to take her upstairs to the bath?"

We lifted her up together and carried her up the wooden stairs and to the bath. I turned the faucet on and let the bath begin to fill with scorching water. Santana's arm still around my shoulder, I twisted us back to Ora. "And could you please get her some water? Just bring up as much as you can."

She nodded and hurried out of the bathroom. I sat Santana down, let her lean on the bath, and caringly pulled the jacket off of her. Just then, I noticed that her left hand was gripping onto something. I eased her hand open and pulled out a black and white photograph. I put it aside and proceeded to hastily remove my clothes as well. I wasn't going to let her drown in the bath.

I lifted her into the bath and slipped in behind her. I sat us down and let her lean into me, between my legs. Just then, Ora appeared again with two large glass bottles of fresh water. I held Santana's mouth open as Ora slowly poured the water into her mouth. To my great relief, Santana was able to swallow the clear liquid.

After she drank the whole bottle, I asked Ora to leave the other bottle here and close the door after her. Once she did as I asked, I reached for the soap and began to scrub Santana's body. It was a bit difficult to reach her legs, but I did the best that I could. As I lifted up her left arm so that I could scrub it, I saw a little black tattoo on the inside of it. I pulled it a little closer to me, and saw six numbers: "011287." I wondered if it was the Nazis who had branded her like a sheep. Hate began to boil up inside me.

What gave them the right to decide to exterminate thousands of people like that? Like worthless cattle, like meaningless insects. And was it really just thousands? Back home, there was word of other concentration camps around Europe. How many people had they rounded up to be killed? And why, for God's sake, why?

The more that I thought about it, the less I understood it. What was their motive? What had the Jews, the Romani, the homosexuals, the disabled, done to them? It didn't seem rational, and it didn't seem likely. But it happened. One nation, one army, one dictator, was able to round up thousands, maybe millions, of innocent people to die. Was the Führer really behind it all? He was always presented as such a wise, courageous man. We were brought up to be faithful to him and to love him unconditionally. But my devotedness was wavering. Was he really such a coward that he would send entire races to be killed?

I scrubbed Santana until she was entirely clean and then let myself lean back with her head on my upper chest. I bent down and kissed her bare scalp as my arms wrapped around her torso. I would never let her go down to that camp again.

Eventually, Ora came back in and told me that she needed to rest in a bed. We poured the contents of the second bottle of water into her mouth and lifted her out of the bath. She seemed to have more strength now and was almost able to stand by herself, but her eyes were still mostly shut.

I dried her body with a towel and then mine. Ora brought us clothes from my closet and we dressed Santana in one of my nightdresses. Anxiety began to build up inside me again as I thought about how I would hide her from Herr Eberhardt. "Where could she stay, Ora?"

"She can stay in my room," Ora said firmly. I let a relieved and appreciative smile appear on my face. "Thank you," I said faintly. I grabbed the black and white photograph and we led Santana down the stairs to the ground floor and then down some more to the basement. We turned to the left and entered a tiny room. I bit my lip as I thought about how they would have to stay together in this little room.

"It's okay, Brittany, we'll manage," Ora said as she laid Santana down on her bed. "There's a spare mattress in the storage room, we can lay it down on the floor. We'll manage," she repeated. "Now, you watch her, make sure that she's okay and still breathing. I'll let you know if your fiancé comes back."

"Thank you, Ora, for everything," I sat down at the end of the bed and lifted Santana's head so that it would rest in my lap. Ora left us alone and I finally raised the photo before me so that I could examine it.

It was a studio photo depicting a woman and two children. The woman had coarse black hair that fell down to her bony shoulders, and she was wearing a long, colorful dress. The little boy, who looked to be about five years old, smiled happily from ear to ear. And the girl…a gorgeous teenager, with full, black hair and eyes as deep and mysterious as the ocean itself. Her cheeks were beautifully plump, and her lips as ripe and inviting as ever. There was a spark in her eyes, something that I had never seen before. True joy, the carelessness of a liberated teenager. She had to age so very quickly in so little time.

Suddenly, Santana used her hands to lift herself out of my lap. She gulped and turned back to me, her eyes fully open now. She had this odd look in her eyes, as if she didn't know exactly what happened or how she got here. I was so overcome with relief and happiness to see that she was okay that tears began to cascade down my face. My thoughts were clouded and I wasn't thinking right, so I did the one thing that I had yearned to do ever since I met her. I leaned forward and pulled her into a desperate kiss.

Her lips were warm and didn't disappoint. I held us together for a few more moments and then drew back. She blinked hastily, her mouth slightly parted and her expression astonished, almost offended.

This is a universe of paradoxes, where the cats bark and the dogs meow and the evil grow old and the angels die. And in this paradoxical universe exists the possibility that the woman that I am willing to faithfully devote the rest of my life to might not love me back.

Translations

German

"Aufhören" - Stop.

"Fräulein" - Miss, a title for unmarried women.

"Zyklon B" - A cyanide-based pesticide that was used by Nazi Germany to kill humans in extermination camps during the Holocaust.