Those Who Lift Each Other

by lls-mutant

When the Cylons attacked, the kids of New Directions were on board the Cybele, on their way to the All-Colony Show Choir Competition. Now they're members of the Fleet, being chased by the Cylons and trying to deal with the day-to-day struggles of a life after the worlds end.

5. In the Service of the Queen

The alarm went off, and Santana smacked it irritably. Unfortunately, it wasn't her alarm, and smacking this one only made it louder.

"What the frak?" Kat groaned, lifting her head and glaring at Santana with bleary eyes. "Turn it off."

"I'm trying," Santana said. The alarm was not helping the headache that was a nasty souvenir from last night. "What did you do to this damn thing?"

"I didn't do anything. It's not my fault you can't turn off a frakking clock." Kat took the clock from Santana's hands and clicked a switch. The alarm stopped. "See, genius?"

"Frak you," Santana said, flopping back down on the bed. She tossed her arm over her eyes. "My head is killing me."

"Told you not to drink so much," Kat said, sitting up. She shimmied into her underwear and pulled her bra over her head. "You ought to get dressed. You know Hot Dog is sitting at the table outside, just waiting for us to come out."

"Next time he should just join us," Santana said.

Kat shrugged as she sorted out their pants. "You want him to? I'm pretty sure he would."

"Not really. You might be frak buddies with him, but I'm not sure I can keep a straight face at the thought of him naked."

"He'd probably just end up watching," Kat said. "Think about it."

"Right." The idea of Hot Dog watching was actually kind of hot, but Santana couldn't bring any enthusiasm to it beyond that. "Whatever."

"Well, get your ass out of bed, Squeezebox." Kat's voice was muffled as she pulled on her tanks. "Briefing in half an hour. See you there."

"I'm coming." The bed was warm and comfortable, especially now that Kat wasn't in it, and Santana wished she could just stay and sleep. Not an option.

She slid out of the bunk and began getting dressed, unconcerned about the fact that yes, Hot Dog was sitting there and he was very obviously trying not to be obvious about watching her. "So," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, "since you had your ear pressed to the privacy curtain, I'm sure you heard the whole thing. You gonna join me and Kat next time?"

Hot Dog flushed red. "I… erm…"

It was fun to watch them stammer. "Stop drooling," Santana said, pulling her pants on. "Keep us updated. I'm going to get a shower." Gods knew she needed some way to wake up before the briefing.

***

When she got to the briefing room, Finn was already there. Santana thunked down in the seat next to him, and closed her eyes. "I heard somebody had a good night," Finn said.

"Gods. The pilots gossip worse than New Directions ever did."

"No, actually, I saw you in the rec room."

"I didn't see you."

"Sure you did. You tried to get the others to change my call sign from Twinkletoes to Puffy Nipples."

"Well, they are," Santana said, cracking one eye open. "Not that anyone on Galactica would know. Unless you broke your loser streak last night and got laid?" She smirked. "But oh, I guess you didn't, or they'd be changing your call sign to Five Seconds."

That wiped the smile right off his face. Finn turned red and glared at her, but before he could respond Apollo took the podium. The talking died out into murmurs.

"Right." Apollo looked around the room, fixing each of them with a glare of death that made Santana think he might have actually been a decent teacher, if he hadn't gone all soft and wussed out like Schuester. "We've got a few things on our docket today. There are three refuelings, two scouting missions, and the Colonel has ordered a scatter drill." There was a groan, and a little grin flickered at the edge of Adama's mouth. "I know, I know," he said. "Scatter drills are a pain in the ass. But that's what the Colonel ordered, so that's what we'll do. Got it?"

"Got it, sir," the pilots in answered in something vaguely resembling unison.

Apollo droned on a bit about the refueling and scouting missions, but Santana knew she wasn't on either detail, so she tuned him out. Her head was still sore, and her mouth reminded her she definitely needed to get water sometime soon. On the bright side, Kat was sitting two rows ahead of her and a seat over, so at least the view was decent.

One of the best things that Santana had discovered about being a pilot was that causal sex was almost expected. Not that everyone did it- there were always losers like Finn who couldn't get laid even if they strutted around the ready room naked- but when you literally could die the next day, no one blamed you for having a good time when you could. And Santana was more than happy to take advantage of it. It hadn't just been Kat, either. Ivy and Belle both were good for a warm rack at night, and Grace in the CIC and Caroline from the Marines didn't even require the rack or the full night.

Finn nudged her sharply, and Santana snapped her eyes open. She glared at him, and he mouthed stay awake at her. Oops. When Finn Hudson was doing better than she was, she knew she was having a shitty morning. She pried her eyes open and listened to the rest of Apollo's speech, even if it was about as boring as Mr. Schuester's Tauron classes had been back on Gemenon.

"So we're going over to the Cybele at 1900 hours to do the recording for Artie tonight, right?" Finn asked after they'd been dismissed. "I've got a launch code."

"How the hell did you pull that off?" Santana asked.

Finn shrugged. "I said I'd take some stuff over to the Cybele for Doc Cottle. No one cares what I do there after that. Do you really think Artie's gonna get this on the wireless?"

"Like there's anything else worth listening to. I've got to go- I'll see you at seventeen hundred."

"Great." Finn's smile reminded her of an excited puppy. An excited, slobbering puppy with a wagging tail that peed on the floor when it saw the rest of New Directions. "See you then." Finn pounded her on the back and took off, whistling.

When he was gone, Santana let herself really smile.

***

The Raptor landed in the docking bay, and Santana had to restrain herself from jumping out before the airlock blast doors opened. When they did, they were greeted by the small contingent of Mr. Schuester (exactly who Santana was dying to see), Rachel, and Brittany.

"I hope you've been practicing," Rachel said as soon as the Raptor's ramp was down. "I know it's very busy over there on Galactica, but you can't expect me to carry the weight of all four of you."

"Chill out," Mercedes said, although she smiled as she said it. "We've probably been singing more than you have. We've been practicing."

"Yeah. Lots of funeral songs," Finn said cheerfully. "Not quite the same."

"It's good to have you guys back on the Cybele," Mr. Schuester said, like they didn't come back once a week or something, or like they were going to stay. "I'm really excited about the set list we're going to record. It should be something special."

Santana was going to make some smart-ass comment, but Brittany was there and suddenly and finally, Brittany was in her arms. Santana hugged her tight. "About time."

"You could have come over and hugged me," Brittany said.

"Are we just gonna stand around in the docking bay?" Puck asked. "This crate is heavy."

"Come on," Finn said, taking the other end of the crate. "Let's get this to Quinn."

The guys headed out of the docking bay first, followed by Rachel and Mercedes bickering, with Mr. Schue listening to them with a wistful smile. Santana ignored them all and linked her arm through Brittany's.

"I don't suppose we're going to get any time alone while I'm over here, are we?"

"We can see," Brittany said, smiling. "I'm glad you came over."

"I am, too." And she meant it.

The New Directions room looked like it did last time she was over here, with the yellow door with their handprints. Santana touched it when she went in, like she touched the photo of Aerilon every time she left the pilots' ready room. The others were all gathered there, sitting on crates and beds, although Mr. and Mrs. Hummel and Coach Sylvester had made themselves scarce. Santana climbed up on Brittany's bed and sat beside her, at least for now.

"We've already decided on 'Somebody to Love', 'Dog Days', 'Lucky', and 'Don't Rain on My Parade'," Schuester said. "But Paulla also requested we sing this one as well. It's pretty simple, so I think we can handle it."

Santana took the music Schuester handed her and stared at the title, 'It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday'. "What's with the doom and gloom?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I thought President Roslin wanted, like, happiness and bluebirds and stuff."

"She did," Will said, "for the performances. But the wireless station wants- and can use- a bigger variety of music. Apparently people want some more solemn music that they can remember the people they lost to."

"Well, I for one think it's an excellent idea," Rachel said, smiling happily. "Pouring grief into music is what makes stars great. I would be delighted to demonstrate."

"Oh, no," Mercedes interrupted. "You've already got solos on two of the songs, and you're not the only one who can channel pain."

"Mercedes, while I appreciate your enthusiasm and have no wish to belittle the pain that you certainly must feel, do you really think your bolder and more brassy vocals are suited to a subdued song of this nature?"

"Look who's talking, Little Miss Belter!"

"Guys, stop," Mr. Schuester cut in. "Rachel is right that the song requires something more subdued. That's why neither of you have the solo."

"What?" Rachel gasped.

"Who's singing it?"

"Well, first of all, it's a duet. And second…" Mr. Schuester grinned a little. "I thought about giving it to Sam and Quinn, but I think we need to go outside the box on this one," Mr. Schuester said. "I'm giving it to Puck and Kurt."

Puck looked up. "Wait. What?"

It never failed to amaze Santana how Mr. Schuester thought of himself as this inspiring teacher who intuitively knew all about teenagers, and yet was oblivious to what was going on in their heads. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Puck's problem was, especially as Santana scanned the lyrics. I thought we'd get to see forever, but forever's gone away and I'll take with me the memory to be my sunshine after the rain was about as subtle as a maglev train hitting a wall at full speed. But Mr. Schuester just clapped Puck on the shoulder and started taking them all through the harmonies.

Puck and Kurt as duet partners wasn't something Santana had ever thought of, but as they sang the song for the final recording, she wished they'd sung together before. Maybe it was just because of the harmony, or maybe because Kurt was singing like his balls had dropped rather than like a little girl, but their voices actually sounded pretty good together. But more than that, there was a deep emotion in their singing, and although she wasn't going to admit it, she had goosebumps. As the last note died away, and a tense, quiet silence hung over the room. Even Rachel didn't say anything, and Mr. Schuester was smiling.

Puck broke the spell, jerking to his feet. He grabbed Kurt by the arm and practically hauled him out of the room. Kurt, who looked a lot like he had after he'd sung that song for his dad last year, didn't argue. The door slammed shut behind them.

"Wait. Where are they going?" Artie asked.

"Who cares?" Santana shot back. "We've only got a few more hours over here." She wanted it to be a hint for them all to get the frak out of the room, but no one seemed to take it. They all lingered, talking about the recordings and the performances and catching up with Finn and Mercedes.

Brittany squeezed her hand. "Come on," she said, smiling at Santana. She slid off the bed and led Santana out of the New Directions room and down the hall. Santana was about to ask where they were going when Brittany opened the door to a small compartment. The smell of metal and oil was strong when they entered, and dimly Santana realized they must be in Mr. Hummel's workshop. Brittany closed the door behind them and smiled.

Santana's mouth was on Brittany's then, hot and demanding. Brittany molded right to her, and Santana wrapped her arms around Brittany's waist. Soon they were wrapped around each other, half-naked on the workbench. Brittany's skin was warm and smooth under her hands, and the feeling of it flooded her, leaving her desperate.

"Wow," Brittany said when they were done. "That was…."

"Yeah." Santana tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear and tried to slow her own breathing. "That was the hottest sex I've had since the last time I was here."

Brittany's smile froze. "Oh."

"Oh, come on. You've been having sex, too." Santana was sure of it.

"No, I haven't," Brittany said, lifting her chin.

"What, you and the legless wonder haven't rediscovered your long lost love?" The shock hit hard and deep, like a punch in the gut.

"No," Brittany said. "Artie and I agreed a long time ago that we were just going to be friends."

"But we said the same thing, and you still spread your legs for me," Santana pointed out.

Brittany winced. "Things changed when the Cylons attacked. That changed everything."

"All it changed-"

"Was everybody dying. I know. You've said that before." Brittany was sitting on Burt's workbench, swinging her legs. Now she leaned forward. "You know it's not that simple, Santana."

"Yes, it is."

She hated it when Brittany looked at her that way, like she knew something that Santana didn't. "Can I ask you something?" Brittany said. Santana didn't answer. "Why not?" Brittany pressed. "You love me. You always have. Why won't you just let yourself be with me?"

"I am with you," Santana said. Her stomach was tying in knots, and she could hear echoes of the song earlier going through her head. "Look, if you don't want this, you don't have to do it. It doesn't matter to me," she lied with a vicious shrug that was more like trying to stab something with her shoulder. Instead of looking so terribly hurt, Brittany just gave her a skeptical look. "Gods," Santana said. "When I can't get even you to believe me, I'm really off my game."

"What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of anything, okay?!" Santana began to yank her tanks over her head. "You just missed your chance with me. Come on. Get dressed and let's go find the others."

She was already in a bad mood, but for some reason her mood darkened even more when they found Puck and Kurt up in the converted passenger cabin, a half-empty bottle of whiskey between them. Kurt was slumped over, his head in his folded arms. Puck glared darkly as they approached.

"What's your problem?" Santana asked as Puck's eyes bored into her.

"Frak you."

"Frak you, too," Santana said. She caught Brittany by the hand automatically and pulled her to a different table. "Gods. Something crawled up his ass."

"Maybe he's just thirsty," Brittany suggested. "He doesn't usually get to sing that much in glee."

Santana looked over her shoulder. Puck and Kurt looked so frakking pathetic, drinking themselves into a stupor. Who did that? Especially over a whale-ass like Lauren and a hyper puppy like Blaine, and she was sure that was what they were crying about.

"That is never going to be you or me," Santana told Brittany.

"Of course not. It's Puck and Kurt. I'm really not sure I could rock Puck's buzz cut," Brittany said with a frown. But she actually had the sense to drop the subject of relationships and feelings and all that, so Santana was able to relax for the rest of the time on the Cybele. It felt a little flat- kind of boring next to the drinking, card games, and casual sex that she could indulge in over on Galactica when she wasn't flying. But at the same time, when she went back to the Galactica, it still felt like she was leaving home.

***

"Action stations, action stations. Set Condition One throughout the ship. This is not a drill." Gaeta's voice cut through the conversation in the room. "Repeat: action stations, action stations."

Santana automatically jumped to her feet, doing up the fastenings on her flight suit. It was starting to feel like a routine now, one that made her blood boil and her mouth taste like metal. This could be the time, the last time, and the possibility made her feel sharp and dangerous.

They were halfway to their Vipers when Commander Adama's voice came over the address system. "Weapons hold!" he bellowed, and Santana stopped in her tracks. "This is the Commander," Adama continued. "The ship that is coming toward us is not a Cylon basestar. It is, in fact, a Colonial battlestar." Santana's eyes widened and conversation exploded all around her. "Report to the flight deck and prepare to be boarded by Admiral Helena Cain and the command crew of the Pegasus," Adama ordered, and the PA system clicked off.

It was like an avalanche of people. First just one or two passed her, but it picked up momentum and soon everyone was hustling towards the flight deck. Santana wondered if the Galactica was going to tip over with everyone running over there. But she joined the tide of people, thundering down the metal stairs to the deck and joining the other Viper pilots.

"Get into ranks, people! Look sharp!" Colonel Tigh was yelling. "This isn't recess!"

Santana never had to stand in formal ranks like this. According to some of the pilots who had been around before the attacks, Galactica had relaxed a lot of the stricter traditions. It was kind of weird to see so many of the Galactica personnel right here in one room. What really amazed her was that even with everyone who wasn't absolutely essential to the running of the ship at this very moment gathered here, the huge landing bay was still cavernous. She hadn't realized just how true it was that the Galactica was understaffed until that moment.

She fell into her ranks next to Finn, who was standing with his chest out and shoulders back, like he was attempting to be the perfect picture of a soldier boy. A few rows forward she could see Starbuck in her duty blues, standing to attention next to Commander Adama, President Roslin, and Vice President Baltar. Finn was one thing, but Starbuck's appearance and behavior emphasized how important this was more than anything. That was all she had time to think before the Raptor rolled up from the landing bay.

"Group!" Tigh barked. "Attention!"

Like she wasn't even in control of her limbs, Santana's body obeyed Tigh's voice, snapping to attention. Everyone else in the room did the same, and the Raptor opened. A couple of Marines jumped out, all hard faces and alert eyes as they took up their guard positions. A pilot climbed out next, and he was a considerable improvement, with short hair, a sculpted face and a smirk lingering on the edges of his mouth, followed by a much more serious looking and less attractive pilot, who was wearing a scowl. An older, heavy set, graying colonel who reminded Santana of a pit bull stepped up out next, and Santana straightened up even more as she realized that this was the XO, which meant that the next person would be-

Admiral Cain stepped out, and she was absolutely nothing like what Santana expected.

Admirals were old. Old, grizzled men and women who had served for years and years. Adama looked like an Admiral. The woman who stepped out of that Raptor did not. She was probably in her late forties or early fifties, with sleek dark hair and a harsh, elegant face. She stood straight in her duty blues, trim and toned. Every movement she made was deliberate and authoritative, and power radiated off her. Even though there was no physical resemblance, her bearing and her gaze reminded Santana very strongly of Coach Sylvester.

Commander Adama stepped forward and saluted her. "Admiral Cain. Welcome aboard the Galactica."

Cain extended her hand. "Commander Adama, it's an honor."

Adama stepped to the side. "Allow me to present to you the President of the Colonies Laura Roslin."

The surprise on Cain's face was visible, but Roslin handled it gracefully. "It's a long story," she said. "Welcome." Santana couldn't see Roslin's face, but she could picture the gracious expression she must be wearing quite clearly.

Cain recovered from her surprise well. "Madam President." She took a step back and looked around the deck at the assembled servicemen and women, all still standing at attention, and raised her voice to address them. "On behalf of the officers and the crew of the Pegasus it's a pleasure to see all of you. Welcome back to the Colonial Fleet."

The flight deck exploded into cheers, and Santana applauded with the rest. Next to her, she heard Finn ask, "Why is she welcoming us to the Colonial Fleet? We're the Fleet."

"Because Admiral Cain outranks Commander Adama," Skulls explained patiently. "So the Pegasus is the flagship now."

"Oh." Finn thought about it. "What does that mean?"

"It means Admiral Cain is in charge."

Santana rolled her eyes and pushed her way closer to the front. People were moving about now, introducing themselves to each other, although the Galactica crew outnumbered the Pegasus party by a long shot. Santana was watching the amusing spectacle of four Galactica Marines swarming one Pegasus one when someone shook her hand.

"Noel Allison. Narcho." Santana looked up to find herself being addressed by the extremely handsome pilot who had gotten off the Raptor first. His smirk was more pronounced up close.

"Santana Lopez," she answered. "Squeezebox."

He raised his eyebrows. "Interesting call sign."

"Yeah, well it makes more sense than yours, sir. What kind of call sign is Narcho?"

His smirk deepened. "You ever heard of Jeremy Narcho, the Scorpian porn star?" He waggled his eyebrows at her and winked. "I put him to shame." He immediately turned to the nearest pilot and extended his hand. "Noel Allison. Narcho. Nice to meet you." Santana couldn't help laughing.

The other pilot introduced himself to her only briefly, with a cold "Cole Taylor." Santana didn't care. She squirmed through the crowd, trying to get closer to Admiral Cain.

The Admiral was still talking with Commander Adama and the President, although Santana caught Adama briefly introducing Lieutenant Gaeta, who was so earnest even behind his professional exterior that he gave Santana second hand embarrassment. Santana wasn't sure she'd even know what to say if she was introduced (not that she'd ever tell anyone that), but something drew her to Cain anyway.

She was so confident, moving through the soldiers as if miracles like this happened every day. She touched a shoulder here, shook a hand there, and suddenly, she was in front of Santana.

Santana managed to snap a salute. However, for the first time in a long time, she had absolutely no idea what to say. Cain raised an eyebrow at her, saluted, and then continued on.

Santana waited until she was alone to bang her head against the wall.

***

It wasn't long before Pegasus soldiers were back. This time, several Viper pilots came over in their own ships. They were battle scarred, but in better repair than a lot of the Vipers in the Galactica landing bay. They also looked subtly different from the one she flew.

"That's a Mark VII," someone said behind her, and Santana glanced over her shoulder to see Narcho watching her. "Pretty sweet, huh?"

"I've heard they're a bitch to fly."

"Only if you don't know what you're doing," Narcho said, shrugging carelessly. "A good pilot can handle one, even with the computer refits."

Santana turned back to the Viper. "What are these little raider things painted on?" she asked. "The number of times you've been hit?"

"Ha ha. The number of kills."

She took in the long row of little black raiders. "There've got to be fifty," she said.

"Forty-eight, actually."

Santana looked at Narcho with new respect. "Really? I'm only up to twelve. But I enlisted after the attacks."

Narcho's gaze flicked down to her insignia, and his eyebrows went up. "So you're an ensign and you're at twelve? That's nothing to sneeze at."

Santana frowned. Her own Viper suddenly seemed bare. "I like it," she said, running her fingers over the raiders again. "I wonder how bad Chief would blow a gasket if I started painting mine on."

Narcho smirked. "I dare you to find out."

***

"What the frak are you doing, Ensign?"

Santana looked down at Chief Tyrol from her perch on her Viper's wing. "Painting my kills on my Viper." She paused for a beat. "Chief."

He looked up at her. "Captain Adama clear you to do that?"

"I didn't ask him. Lieutenant Allison suggested it."

Tyrol stared at her like she was an idiot. Santana ignored him and went back to her painting, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. She could feel his eyes on her, and she could imagine the incredulous look on his face.

"Fine," he finally said, shaking his head. "But you're taking the heat for this, Ensign. And next time, don't snitch the paint out of the stores. Ask me for it instead." He walked off, still shaking his head and muttering something about Viper jocks who were all brawn and no brains.

Santana grinned to herself and concentrated on her painting.

***

"Not bad."

Santana stopped in the middle of climbing out of her Viper, then pulled herself together and finished like it was no big deal. "Thank you, sir."

"You keep clipping right," Admiral Cain informed her as she strode out of a Raptor and across the landing deck to Santana's Viiper. She clapped a hand to the cold metal.

"No, I don't. Sir."

"You do. It's partly a flaw in these Mark II Vipers, but a good pilot knows to adjust using the cross controls."

Santana looked up at her Viper. "No one's ever mentioned that," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I'll bear that in mind, sir."

Admiral Cain was still watching her. Santana's mouth was suddenly dry, but in a good way. Something about the way Admiral Cain was assessing her reminded her of Coach Sylvester, but with less crazy.

"Your name?"

"Ensign Santana Lopez, sir."

"Lopez." Cain raised her eyebrows. "Are you Tauron?"

"My parents were."

Cain nodded approvingly. "I am, too," she said. Her eyes unfocused a little, and then she snapped back to the present. She looked at the Viper again and smirked. "Nice artwork."

"Thank you, sir."

"I expect to see more of it. As you were." With a sharp nod, Cain left and headed further down the flight deck. Santana watched her go, and then let her breath out, a smile forming on her lips. She was pretty sure that Admiral Cain didn't hand out praise lightly, and getting noticed by the Admiral was about the best thing that could happen.

***

"Ensign Lopez."

"Captain Adama." Santana stood up as Apollo approached the table in the mess hall where she was sitting with Finn, Mercedes, and Puck. He looked miles away, and he didn't look happy.

"Orders have come down from the brass," Apollo said, his voice clipped and angry. "Some of the pilots are being reassigned. You're going over to the Pegasus."

"Yes, sir."

"You've got until seventeen hundred hours to get your gear together. Shuttle leaves then."

"Yes, sir."

With a brief, terse nod at the rest of her table mates, Apollo turned on his heel and headed off. He looked like something had crawled up his ass and died, but Santana didn't care. Orders to transfer to the Pegasus. Orders that must have come from Admiral Cain herself. As she sat down, she couldn't help her smug smirk.

Puck, Finn, and Mercedes were all gaping at her like a bunch of idiots. "What?"

"You're going over to the Pegasus," Finn said slowly.

Santana blinked. "Seriously? It was that hard to understand?"

"I think he's referring to the fact that the rest of us are staying here on the Galactica," Mercedes said dryly. "You know, the whole sticking together, we're all in this together thing?"

"Oh, please. It's not like I'm moving to a different planet." Santana flipped her ponytail back over her shoulder. "I just get to go to the cool ship, unlike you losers."

"The cool ship?" Puck said, scoffing. "I heard they don't even have booze."

"It was a figure of speech, moron," Santana said. "A joke. Gods, have those jarheads thumping on your helmet knocked your brains loose?"

"We're going to miss you so much," Mercedes said dryly. "Who else will insult us on a daily basis?"

"Oh, please. Like I won't be seeing enough of you during drills," Santana said, even though it wasn't the same and she knew it. But that didn't mean she had to get all teary-eyed and snot-nosed over it. "Besides, it's not like the funerals are going to stop any time soon." They all grimaced at that.

"And maybe," Finn added, "we'll hear back from that wireless station and they'll want more songs."

"Whatever," Santana said, shrugging and standing up. "I've got to go pack. You heard Apollo- my shuttle's leaving at seventeen hundred." She tried to look bored, but Mercedes wasn't fooled. She stood up and hugged Santana.

"We'll be there to say goodbye."

***

Santana didn't have much on Galactica; just the contents of the suitcase that she'd initially brought and the gear she'd been issued. A framed picture of her and Brittany and a couple of unframed ones in her locker. There was one of all of New Directions, one of her grandmother, one of her and her mom, and one of Dave. She took them all down and slipped them into her bag without so much as looking at them. She didn't feel like she was really leaving, probably because the Galactica wasn't really home.

She would miss some of the people, though. She made sure she said goodbye to Belle and Ivy, and she hugged Kat and Hot Dog long and hard. But when she made it to the flight deck and saw Puck, Mercedes, and Finn waiting to say goodbye to her, she had to hide for a minute and wipe the tears out of the corner of her eyes. Then she squared her shoulders, hoisted her bag up more firmly, and put on her best I don't care expression as she strode out onto the flight deck.

Finn had his hands shoved in his pockets and Puck was standing against the wall with his arms crossed. It was Mercedes who met her, with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face as she hugged her goodbye.

"Stay safe," Mercedes said.

"You, too." Santana looked at the three of them, suddenly embarrassingly aware of how much she did give a shit about them. Not that she'd show it. "You're not going to sing me off or something cheesy, are you?" she asked, as disdainfully as she could manage.

"We could," Finn suggested. "All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go, I'm standing here outside your door. I hate to wake you up to say goodbye…"

Puck perked up and joined in. "But the dawn is breaking this early morn…."

"Oh my gods. You two are making total asses of yourself." People were turning to stare, but Puck and Finn were only feeding off the audience, and now Mercedes was joining in with a descant. When the chorus came, the three of them were belting the words and Santana was laughing. Puck picked her up and hugged her, and then passed her to Finn without even putting her down. Finn hoisted her so high she had to reach down to pound on his shoulders to let her down.

I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again.
Oh babe, I hate to go…

It was the best send off she ever could have asked for, especially as she saw Apollo frowning fiercely. But whatever- it wasn't like he was her CAG anymore, and they weren't hurting anything. She climbed into her Viper with a toss of her hair and a swagger in her hips, turning around long enough to wink at Puck, Mercedes, and Finn as they stood together in a group. She didn't let her face relax until she sat back in her seat. Then she closed her eyes and sighed. The one thing she would miss would be the people.

***

Santana's melancholy didn't last long at all. The Pegasus loomed in front of her, and it looked even bigger than the Galactica. She leaned forward eagerly. The hull was nowhere near as battered and worn as Galactica's, although it still showed signs of battle. And it was huge. She'd seen the Pegasus out the window before, and even from the cockpit of her Viper, but that wasn't the same as it was now, approaching and knowing that this was her ship now.

"Squeezebox, this is Pegasus," a man's voice said into her ear. It did seem a little weird for it not to be Dee or Mercedes, but this guy had a smooth, calming voice that Santana liked, too. "You're cleared for landing, and let me be the first to welcome you to the Pegasus."

"Thanks," Santana said, flipping controls. "You got a name to go with that voice?"

"Lieutenant Hoshi, Ensign. Come on home."

Come on home. Santana's smile nearly split her face as she guided her Viper in.

***

Santana had only had time to claim her rack and put her bag down when Narcho grabbed her by the arm. "Captain Case needs to see you," he said, dragging her out of the racks and down the corridor. Santana followed, trying to commit their route to memory. It was hard, because the corridors were all sleek and modern and looked the same. Finally, they ended up in the pilot's ready room, which looked a lot more professional and businesslike than Galactica's.

"Showboat," Narcho said, and a woman turned around. She had short blonde hair, skin that would make Kurt jealous, and cheekbones that could cut glass. Narcho pushed Santana forward. "Got one for you to take out."

Showboat looked bored. "Goodie. Which Galactica goon did I get?"

"This is Squeezebox. Ensign Lopez." Narcho paused. "She's the one who painted the kills on her Viper."

"Oh." Showboat's expression shifted perceptibly and she looked Santana up and down. "All right. Squeezebox, let's go. I need to see what you can do."

Translation: it was time to show off. "Yes, sir," Santana said. She thought that Showboat would take her to the simulator, but instead, they headed down to the landing bay. Showboat stopped by Santana's Viper.

"I haven't seen a Mark II since I was a kid," she said, running her hand over the hull. "My mom used to let me sit in hers when I was little." Her frown was sharp and angry. "She could have taken out hundreds of raiders in one of these."

"Yeah, well, she's not here so I guess we're going to have to do it."

Showboat narrowed her eyes and glared at Santana, and too late Santana realized just how bad that sounded. Not that it mattered, because it was true. Showboat must have realized that, because she nodded sharply. "All right. Get in and let's go." Santana obeyed, and in moments they were out flying out into space.

As they began to fly, Santana saw exactly how Showboat got her call sign. Her flying was all big fancy moves and sharp angles, but at the same time, it was devastatingly precise. Santana mimicked her, cautiously at first as she tried out what Admiral Cain had told her about the cross control. It was awkward at first, but once she got the hang of it, she could feel the difference, and it felt great. Freer, more dangerous, more deadly. As her confidence increased, her Viper wove in formation with Showboat's. Showboat kept barking orders over the wireless, but as they flew, Santana was certain that her voice was growing warmer and warmer.

Other Vipers were out training, too, and one broke off to drop right in between them. It was a move that Apollo would have shouted at them for trying and Starbuck would have done, and Santana turned her head to see what other lunatic would do something like that. Even through the glass of the cockpit and the visors of their helmets, she could see Narcho's wink.

"You're an asshole, sir," she dared to tell him over the communicator.

"I like this one, Showboat," Narcho said happily.

"She's certainly a good judge of character. All right, Narcho. Get your ass out of here and let us finish our girl talk, will you?"

"You girls," Narcho said, lifting out. "Always fixing your makeup and your hair. It's always the same." But he obediently flew away.

"Come on, Squeezebox," Showboat said. "I've been taking it easy on you. It's time to show me what you've really got."

To Santana, it felt like they flew for a few more minutes, but when they finally landed, her hair was wet with sweat and her fuel gauge indicated that she was near empty. But Narcho and a few other pilots were waiting for them, and when Santana got out of her Viper, there was a smattering of applause.

"Think you found a wingman, Marcia," Captain Taylor said, knocking Santana on the shoulder as he headed back to wherever he was going.

"She'll do," Showboat said. She looked at Santana. "Hit the showers. I want you in the rec room in twenty to discuss some things."

"Yes, sir." Santana saluted and hustled off.

***

The Pegasus rec room was different from the Galactica's. The Galactica's reminded Santana of a den or a pool hall. The Pegasus's had a lot of glass and clear tables and fancy chairs, and looked more like a high-end bar. The Colonial banners hung on the walls, but there were no military pictures or plaques. The Galactica was the veterans' hall, the Pegasus was the officers' club.

Showboat had a table for them and some diagrams. The diagrams reminded Santana of the pyamid play book, with little symbols and arrows and everything. "Come on," Showboat said without any preamble. "I want to show you some of our attack formations."

Showboat had gone over five of them with Santana when there was the thump of someone sitting down at their table. "I didn't think you guys were being literal when you said 'by the book'," Starbuck said.

Showboat looked up, obviously displeased at the interruption. "Doesn't Galactica have a tactics manual?"

"Somewhere," Starbuck said with a shrug. "Not that we show it to nuggets."

"She's not a nugget. She's an ensign." Starbuck shrugged, but she didn't argue the point. Instead, she just studied Santana. Santana met her glare evenly. Starbuck didn't look happy at all about being over here on the Pegasus, if the drink and the sulk were any indication. Showboat didn't seem at all impressed. "Pilots learn the tactics manual on the Pegasus. That's how it goes."

"Because precise, ordered military flying works so well against toasters."

Showboat leaned forward on her forearms. "We've been taking them on, and we're still alive. Don't underestimate the rules, lieutenant. Especially on the Pegasus."

Starbuck cocked her eyebrows. "Is that a warning, Captain?"

Showboat was still even. "No. Just friendly advice."

Starbuck stood up. "I see. Well, if friendly advice is the thing around here, let me give you some. She's a good pilot. Don't frak up her head so much with these tactics that she can't still think for herself when she's out there." Starbuck winked. "Have fun with your book, ladies."

Showboat watched her stride off. "Is she always like that?" she asked Santana.

"No. Usually she's worse." Santana frowned. "She is a good instructor, though."

"She is," Showboat allowed. "You're proof of that. But we do things different on the Pegasus."

"Yes, sir." Santana took it as the order it likely was. "Should we get back to the book? You said we still have more to get through."

Showboat's smile was approving, and Santana smiled back.

Santana had never been to Commander Adama's quarters. Now she stood in front of Admiral Cain's door, checked her uniform one more time, ran a palm over her hair, and knocked.

"Come in."

She opened the door to the sound of laughter. Very, very familiar laughter. And perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised to see Coach Sylvester sitting across from Admiral Cain. The study itself was angles and recessed lighting, and the two women were sitting in leather chairs and actually smiling at each other.

"Oh, but I tell you, the last time I used a missile launcher was five years ago, when I spent the school break personally playing diplomat between the representatives from Gemenon and Sagittaron. So I'm really looking forward to the opportunity again," Coach Sylvester said.

Admiral Cain smiled. "We'll see what we can do for you." She and Coach Sylvester both stood up, and Admiral Cain glanced at her clock. Her eyebrows went up a little. "Right on time to the minute," she said.

"Of course she is." If Coach Sylvester was surprised to see Santana, she didn't show it. "You think I'd tolerate anything less from one of my girls?" Which was true- she didn't. Santana had been late once, her freshman year. She had never, ever been late again.

Cain didn't seem to care though. Instead, she was looking Santana up and down with an approving sort of glance. "I've been talking to my CAG," she said. "He's been rather despairing of the Galactica pilots."

"Sir?"

"He says the flight skills are adequate, but that there's a certain… laxness in discipline. It could make the crews difficult to integrate." She focused hard on Santana. "Do you agree?"

"Yes, sir." She wasn't just saying that, either. She'd noticed the difference in the Pegasus crew already, even though she'd only been here a day.

Cain smirked. "You enlisted after the attacks, am I right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

Santana blinked. "Why wouldn't I?" she said before she could think better of it. "They nuked the Colonies. I'm not going to take that lying down."

Cain's smirk widened into a real smile. "That's what I thought." She picked a small box up off her desk. "Captain Case says she wants you as her wingman. Captain Taylor says it's a good idea, but a captain shouldn't be having her back watched by an ensign. So congratulations, lieutenant."

Santana's breath caught in her throat. Lieutenant. She hadn't been expecting that title for a long time. She took the box from Admiral Cain, looking at the junior lieutenant pins. "Thank you, sir," she said, smiling. Because it was about time someone noticed how damn good she was at the things she did.

"Don't disappoint me," Cain said. "You're dismissed."

Santana saluted one more time and left Cain's quarters. Out in the hall, she studied her new pins. They were bright diamonds, silver with a smaller diamond inside, and a yellow background instead of the plain metal ones like her ensign pins. She stepped back against the wall to take her old pins off and put the new ones on.

"Well, well, well. Lieutenant Jugs."

Santana finished getting the one pin in place before she looked at Coach Sylvester, who had emerged from Cain's quarters alone. "What are you even doing over here?"

"Me? It seems that the Admiral knew a thing or two about history and had heard about my parents, who were famous Cylon hunters. She wanted a little intel from the expert."

"Right. If they were famous Cylon hunters, why didn't they know Cylons can look human?"

"I never said they were that good at it." Coach Sylvester looked her up and down. "So you're over on the Pegasus, sucking up to the Admiral."

"I'm not sucking up." She touched the pins on her collar. "Just because you never put me at the top of the pyramid didn't mean no one else would."

"Sure it does, Boobilicious. I'm an excellent judge of talent and character. And so is Admiral Hardass in there. She knows what she's doing."

A flicker of doubt shot through Santana. "What's she doing?"

"She's holding you up as an example. You play nice and play by her rules, you get rewarded."

"What the hell is wrong with that?" Santana asked.

"Absolutely nothing… as long as you're willing to play by her rules. And if you don't…." Sue made a slicing motion across her throat. "Well, I've got to go- I need to get back to the Cybele and brief old Xu about when I can get the supplies I pilfered back to her. See ya, Hooters." Sue clapped her on the shoulder and walked off. Santana stared after her in disgust.

"Who was that?"

Santana turned to see Narcho watching her. She shrugged. "My old cheerleading coach."

"You were a cheerleader?" His eyes lit up with an evil sort of glee. "Can I change your call sign? Please?"

"Only if I get to change yours."

Narcho reconsidered quickly. "Yeah, on second thought, I'll pass on that. Come on. I see you've got some shiny new jewelry. You know what happens when someone gets shiny new jewelry?"

"We get drunk to celebrate?"

"We get drunk to celebrate," Narcho agreed, slinging his arm over Santana's shoulder. "Come on. One thing about those Galactica guys- they can make booze. Let's go get smashed."

***

Santana was drunk. She was trying to hide it, but the room was starting to spin a little and she was pretty sure she was going to hurl sometime tonight. If there really were gods, she'd do it sometime when the other pilots weren't watching her. Or they'd decide to punish her, and she'd puke on Narcho's shoes. Which might not happen if he wasn't hovering over her shoulder, breathing down her neck.

They were drinking with several of the pilots, as well as a few bridge bunnies from the CIC, including Lieutenant Hoshi. From his voice, Santana had expected him to be tall, powerful, and kind of smooth. Instead, he was a thin, slightly gawky man of average height, overlarge eyes, and a haircut that looked like he used a pudding bowl as a guide. It shot Santana's idea that communications officers were sexy straight to hell.

Showboat poured Santana another shot, and against her better judgment, Santana took it. "You're gonna make an awesome wingman," Showboat told her.

"I know," Santana said, too drunk to be tactful.

"That's not a compliment," Showboat said. "That's an order." She poured herself another shot. "My last wingman was Lilac."

"Who's Lilac?"

"Who was Lilac, you mean." This time, Showboat's voice was full of bitterness. "She was one hell of a pilot, that's who she was." She drifted off, glaring at the half-empty liquor bottle like it was the bottle's fault.

It was Hoshi who told her the story after Showboat nearly passed out. "Lilac wasn't that amazing of a pilot," he told Santana as Narcho helped Showboat back to her racks. "Yes, she was good, but she wasn't nearly the flier that Marcia is."

"Then what was so special about her?"

Hoshi focused on his glass, rolling it between his hands. "She was Marcia's best friend. Marcia could trust her like she trusted no one else. That's why she thought she was such a great wingman."

"Oh." Santana stared down at her drink. "What happened?"

Hoshi's silence surprised her. She looked up, only to see him frowning intensely at the table. "What?" she said, scenting gossip. Big gossip. "Tell me."

"It happened a few weeks after the attacks," he said, and then knocked back his entire glass. He grimaced at the taste and the afterburn, and then went on. "The Pegasus… we were the only ones left. This was it. This was all. And we weren't running away and making babies. We were… all that was left was to fight."

"So Lilac died in a fight," Santana said. "What's the big deal?"

Hoshi poured himself another shot. "The big deal," he said slowly, "is that… look. You're going to hear this anyway. Everyone on the Pegasus knows what happened. Everyone talks about it, but we pretend we don't. Okay? There was this plan- we thought we were going after a comm relay. Have you ever seen one?" Santana shook her head. "Well, they aren't that big. And they aren't that well defended. But it ended up being fifteen squadrons of raiders." He swallowed. "I can still see them showing up on the DRADIS."

"It was an ambush?" Santana asked.

Hoshi shook his head. "They had no idea we were there. Until we attacked."

"We attacked what?" Narcho asked, dropping back down to the table. He took one look at Hoshi's face and said, "Oh. That."

"What?" Santana demanded.

"I'm going to go check on Showboat." Hoshi lurched to his feet.

"Why? She's fine. Narcho just came from- oh, never mind," she said as he made his way out of the rec room. She spun on Narcho instead. "Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Fifteen squadrons of raiders," Narcho said, his voice flat and no humor in his face. "Admiral Cain ordered the attack."

"So? You were taking on the toasters. Attacking is what you do."

"Santana, fifteen squadrons of raiders was too much. Even for us. And Colonel Belzan, he knew it."

"Who the hell is Colonel Belzan?"

"The XO, before Cain shot him."

Of all the things that Narcho could have said, that was one of the last that she expected. Her mouth gaped open. "What?"

"Look. I don't expect you to understand this, okay?"

"I can understand just fine. I-"

"No. You can't." Narcho's mouth was set in a straight line. "You've got a civilian fleet. You were a civilian. You know what it's like to have people around you, to have people depending on you. What you don't know is what it's like to be completely alone. To think you're the last two thousand people in the universe. You don't know what it's like to walk that line, to know you're going to die, but to have the one goal of frakking over as many of those bastards as you can."

"Says who? That is exactly what is going to happen to me."

Narcho blinked. "What do you mean?"

"What the frak do you think I mean? Do you think I joined up because of some kind of honor and glory thing? I'm not that stupid. I know what the life span of fighter pilots is like. I knew it before I ever set foot on Galactica. That's the point. I get to pick how I die, and I choose shooting down toasters."

Narcho nodded slowly. "Then maybe you do get it," he said. "Anyway, Belzan didn't. Belzan wouldn't order that attack. And so Admiral Cain shot him with his own sidearm." Santana couldn't quite find her voice. Narcho took that as shock. "Louis…" he said, nodding at the door Hoshi had left through. "Louis was close to Colonel Belzan. Real close. To Admiral Cain, too, for that matter. He was in the CIC when it happened."

"Gods."

Narcho shrugged. "The way I figure it, she had a point. I mean, if you're at war, you've got to do what your commanding officer orders." His eyes were hard and his jaw was set. "Besides, if we're all gonna die, that would have been one hell of a way to go. And a lot of people did die in that attack. Including- and I'm guessing this is what started the conversation- Lilac."

"Yeah."

"Yeah. Let's not talk about it anymore," Narcho said, pouring two shots and bolting one and then the other. "Come on. You just got a promotion. Enjoy it."

"Right." Santana pushed the thought away. But oddly enough, the story didn't hit her as hard as it might have. Maybe it was because she was drunk, or because the story had a vaguely unbelievable feel to it, or maybe because she was used to Coach Sylvester, who didn't give a shit about anyone's well-being as long as the Cheerios took the All-Colony Championship. What had hit her more was the story of Showboat and Lilac. "What was her name?" Santana asked. "Her real name?"

"Whose?"

"Lilac's."

"Oh. Anne. Anne Cramer."

"Did she put her picture on the Wall?"

"What wall?" Narcho shrugged. "Look, I don't do well talking about this sort of stuff drunk. I liked Annie too, and if we keep talking about this I'm going to end up crying on your shoulder."

"Weepy drunk," Santana muttered.

"Huh? Whatever. Anyway, come on. Let's change the subject."

It sounded like a good idea. Santana pushed her glass towards him. "Pour me more and I will."

***

Her head was pounding and her mouth was dry, and Santana was pretty sure the morning couldn't get any worse. She lifted a hand to her head and heard a groan. Not her own groan. She turned her head.

"Oh my gods. I slept with you?"

"No you didn't," Narcho muttered. "No way." He scrubbed his face with his hands. His chest was bare, and Santana lifted the covers.

"We're both naked."

"Oh." Narcho didn't seem to find this shocking. Santana was rather revolted with herself.

"Oh, gods. I can't believe I slept with you."

"So you said. I'm starting to get a bit of a complex here."

"Shut up. It's not like that." Not that it was that bad, for a guy, but still. "We're not doing it again, though."

"Fine with me." He kicked the covers off. "Don't take this wrong, but I don't think I could do you if I wasn't drunk."

"Same. I don't know why I did you when I was drunk. I'm not in the habit of frakking my gay guy friends."

He didn't seem at all surprised that she'd figured it out. "No?"

She pulled her knees up to her chest and looked at the wall where she had her pictures taped, her hair falling loose over her bare back. "No. Believe me, frakking Dave was the last thing on my mind. I mean, granted, he's not as hot as you are, and we started hanging out because I blackmailed him, but…"

"But what?" he asked when she didn't continue.

"Nothing. None of it means anything anyway." She slid out of her bunk and started hunting for her clothes, tossing Narcho's aside with more force than she needed. "He was an asshole, anyway."

"Then why were you friends with him?"

Santana shrugged. "I don't know. He was fun to hang out with once we got used to it." Narcho looked confused, so she explained, "We were pretending to date. So people wouldn't figure it out."

"Figure what out?"

"That we were gay, moron."

Narcho still looked confused. "Why would anyone care about that?"

"Uh, have you ever read the Scrolls?"

"No. I think I was supposed to when I was a kid, but I never bothered. So people really care about that?"

"On Gemenon they do."

"Huh." Narcho folded his arms behind his head, trying to take it in. "Nope. Still not getting it. I mean, Colonel Belzan was from Gemenon, and he and the Admiral were real close. He was religious, too, and he never said anything like that, to her or to Hoshi."

"How do you know?"

"If someone told Admiral Cain she was wrong for sleeping with women- hell, if anyone said anything about the Admiral's sex life to her face without direct permission- how long do you think they'd last?"

Santana gaped at him. "Admiral Cain is gay?" she finally managed to ask. She'd caught on to Narcho and hadn't given a shit about Hoshi, but Cain had completely escaped her notice.

"Sure." A dark shadow flitted over Narcho's face. "Although remember what I said about saying anything about her sex life to her face."

"I don't care about her frakking sex life," Santana said. "I'm more… she's the Admiral."

"Well, yes."

"You don't get it. On Gemenon, if you're gay, you don't get to be Admiral. Not without a lot of fuss. You don't get shot or anything, either, but if you walk down the hall holding a girl's hand, you get harassed in the halls and shoved into lockers and called names and things thrown at you…" Santana kicked at Narcho's pants angrily. "You get threatening phone calls and piss balloons or slushies thrown at you and your furniture nailed to the roof of your house and driven out of your school. You don't get promoted to lieutenant because you can fly well and you don't make it all the way to Admiral, especially that young!"

"Yeah, well, in the rest of the Colonies you do." Narcho finally got up. "I have really got to piss. And we'd better hurry. If we're late for briefing, you can kiss those lieutenant pins goodbye." He grabbed his pants and headed for the head, not even bothering to put them on. Santana stared after him, and then shook her head.

Admiral Cain was gay. The thought just… it shot through her head like a rocket, lighting up everything in its path. She'd known that the other Colonies were different. Kurt had always said he would move to Caprica or Libron, and no one had ever doubted him. And hell, everyone on Galactica knew that Santana would much rather sleep with a woman than a man, just like they all knew that Caroline or Belle would, or that Lieutenant Gaeta or Sergeant Nowart were into guys, or Kat or Ivy or Twofer would do pretty much anybody. But somehow, that hadn't changed things in her head. Admiral Cain being gay did. Because Admiral Cain got respect. It was like the ultimate confirmation of what she'd been afraid to believe, that this part of her life was no longer too good to be true. Now it was real.

She finished dressing, feeling a little better and a little stronger, and headed for the briefing.

***

Santana saw Admiral Cain from a distance after the briefing as Cain walked to the CIC, Fisk and Hoshi in tow. She was speaking quickly, authoritatively, and they were the models of submission. The picture of respect. Santana's eyes followed her hungrily until Cain disappeared through those glass doors, into the throne room of not just the Pegasus, but the entire Fleet.

***

The Galactica Raptor pilots were coming over for simulator practice, and Santana was waiting on the deck with a well-hidden eagerness. When three Raptors landed, Santana couldn't help smiling as she saw the nameplate on one. Finn Hudson. "Twinkletoes". Technically, she was off-duty, but she had to be there. The chance to lord her new rank over Hudson was way too good to pass up.

"Wow," Finn said, looking around as he climbed out last. "This place is really something."

"This is just the landing bay," Santana said dismissively. "Wait until you see the rest of the ship."

Finn grinned at her, and then turned back around. He was gaping like a landed fish, and Santana smacked him on the arm before he made a total fool of himself. "Come on," she said. "I'll escort you to the simulator."

"Okay." Finn looked at her doubtfully as she took his arm. And then he finally noticed her pins. "Wait- what?"

Santana smirked up at him. "Read em and weep, Hudson. Told you I'd make lieutenant first."

"But you just transferred over! Like, forty-eight hours ago!"

"I'm good." She couldn't help the strut in her step. "You'll tell Private Puckerman."

"Yeah. It won't shut him up or anything, but I'll tell him. And Mercedes." Finn was staring at her in a disbelieving sort of awe. "Wow. I mean… wow."

"It's awesome," Santana said smugly. There was another reason she'd been so eager for Finn's arrival, not that she'd ever admit it. "I'm going to assume you're still as pathetic and boring as ever, but what about Mercedes? Is she doing that knuckledragger Grayson yet?"

"Huh? Oh, him. No. But it's really funny to hear her talk about him. I don't think she likes him that much."

"Right. So, what's going on with everyone else? I know Mercedes gets all the good gossip from Artie."

"Um, Sam's still dating that girl over on the Daru Mozu or whatever."

"Rya Kibby. I could care less what Trouty Mouth is up to. Get to the good stuff."

Finn shrugged. "Mom and Burt caught Tina and Mike going at it, Puck's got somebody he's frakking but won't say who, and Mr. Schue is eyeing up Captain Xu. Oh, wow, that's just bad."

"I know. Schuester having sex is nauseating," Santana agreed.

"No, I meant the names. Schue, Xu… never mind. Coach Sylvester managed to get a whole bunch of parts for the Cybele, but Brittany says that she's still saying that Mr. Schuester is a Cylon and he should be shoved out the airlock. Oh, she's also now saying that Rachel shouldn't be reporting on Cloud 9 ever. I think there was almost a hair-pulling fight over that one."

"I'll bet."

"Oh! But Rachel's got a story about music on the wireless!" Finn said. Santana was about to say that she didn't care when he dropped the bomb. "It's going to be on at, like two hundred hours tonight, but they're going to premiere one of our songs."

"Don't Rain on My Parade?" Santana sighed, because if Rachel was reporting it would be a Rachel song.

"No. The one Kurt and Puck sang lead on," Finn said. "Although apparently it was quite a fight with Rachel and the producers. You gonna watch?"

"I might," Santana said, but Finn arched his eyebrow at her, and she knew he knew that she would. She changed the subject and led him to the simulator, and then retreated. Of course she was going to watch it. She just wished it wasn't with that song.

***

"I don't know where this road is going to lead
All I know is where we've been and what we've been through…"

Puck's voice wasn't as clear as usual- there was a roughness to it that Santana hadn't heard before in his singing. It contrasted perfectly with Kurt's descant, which still had that clear tone, but felt like it was going to rip her heart out of her chest. Not that she would ever say that. She sat very still, listening to the final recording. She wasn't the only one.

Santana hadn't mentioned anything about Rachel's story, and was planning on denying her decision to watch it. But when she tried to claim the rec room television five minutes before the start, her competition was a girl-on-girl porn video. Explanations had been required, and the only reason that the others had agreed to it was exclusively to harass her and because the porn video could be paused. And it was kind of worth it to hear some of the comments the others were making about Rachel with her kitten sweater and over-earnest, annoying smile.

Then Rachel pressed play on the song. There was no video component to the recording that they'd put together, but someone had made one. It was just a slideshow of snapshots, focusing on the Twelve Colonies. When the song started, there had been a few mocking hoots, but by the end of the first stanza there was only silence from the soldiers.

When they'd recorded it, Santana had been so focused on her own part that the real impact of the piece hadn't hit her. Listening to it without singing was a different experience.

"This is your group?" Narcho asked incredulously. Santana nodded. "Shit."

The song ended, and Rachel came back on, her perky smile clashing with the somber mood in the rec room.

"Turn it off," Showboat said.

"I don't know," one of the pilots leered. "I'm kind of digging the Sisters of Athena schoolgirl look this chick's got going on."

Showboat scowled. "Turn it off. I can't take her smile right now."

"What? It's just Berry," Santana said. "She's like that. I know it's weird to watch that plastic fake smile but-"

Showboat stood up. "I'm not watching it." She grabbed Santana's arm and yanked her to her feet. "Come on."

Showboat led her down through the corridors, side by side in silence. Santana had no idea where they were going , but she could feel the air thicken as they walked, any humor leaching off Showboat's face, leaving it looking like it had been carved out of marble. Santana wanted to ask where they were going, but something told her not to.

The brig was behind a heavy hatch door. A stiff-faced Marine let them in. Santana had been down in the Galactia brig once or twice when Puck had guard duty. That one looked like an old jail, with bars and cells. This one didn't. The walls were thick, heavy, bulletproof plastic that were transparent from floor to ceiling, leaving the prisoners with no privacy. A few of the cells had prisoners, most of them asleep. Showboat walked by them.

"Here," she said, stopping. "This one."

Santana stopped and looked in, and then pulled back in disgust. There, on the floor, was a woman. Sort of. She'd seen the pictures of the tall, thin blonde woman, and she'd seen the captions underneath. Cylon.

She was lying on the floor, wearing only a soiled shift, her arms chained behind her back and a heavy collar around her throat. Her skin was marred with bruises and cuts, her hair was lank and filthy, and she didn't move.

"She was on board during the attacks," Showboat said, her voice rough with hate. "No. She was here before that. For a while. She and the Admiral…" Showboat's voice cracked and her fists clenched. "I can't blame the Admiral," she said, still staring at the thing inside the cell. "She looks so frakking real. I talked to her myself."

"What happened? To it, I mean?"

"No less than it deserved." Showboat spat angrily. "Everything you're thinking and more."

She should be appalled- Santana knew that. But she couldn't be. She looked at that thing lying in the cell and she thought of her mother and her father and her grandmother, she thought of Dave and she thought of what could still happen to the Cybele and what could happen to Brittany. Of what could happen to Brittany the day the Cylons shot Santana down, and her Viper went up in an explosion of sparks. She looked at Showboat standing next to her, clenched fists and red splotches on her cheeks.

"I miss Anne," Showboat confessed quietly. "We'd been flying together for ten years. It doesn't feel right flying without her."

And I'm only a weak substitute. And yet, it felt like a huge honor. Santana put her hand on Marcia's shoulder and squeezed. Marcia covered her hand with hers for a second and squeezed back.

"One of these days, there's going to be a reckoning," Showboat said quietly. "One of these days, they'll all pay for what they've done. A hundred times over."

Santana looked at the broken thing on the floor and nodded. The millions of souls lost could never be borne on a single set of shoulders. Her heart hardened further and she was glad of the glass, because otherwise she might go in and kick it in the ribs, in the shins, in the face. "They'll pay," she said. "So say we all."

***

"Holy shit- did you hear?" The rumor whipped through the Pegasus just as fast as a rumor would in McKinley or on Galactica. "Lieutenant Thorne is dead."

Santana heard it in the rec room. "What the hell happened?" Narcho asked Hoshi, who'd been the one to tell them the news.

Hoshi slipped into the chair across from Santana. "Over on Galactica," he said. "He was interrogating their Cylon prisoner, and I guess one of the pilots and the deck chief didn't like that." His eyes bored into Narcho, and Narcho glared down at the table. "They wanted to put a stop to it."

"Shit," Showboat said slowly.

A pilot and the deck chief. Santana wasn't surprised. Everyone knew about Tyrol's affair with that Boomer thing, and Agathon had been shouting about this Eight being different ever since he'd come back aboard the Galactica, that she wasn't Boomer. It didn't matter, though. She was a still a Cylon. She remembered that wrecked form of the Cylon down in the brig. She remembered the days after Commander Adama was shot, and that wrenching hopeless fear that spread through the Fleet like wildfire, the fear that without him, they'd be doomed. She'd been able to taste it in the back of her throat, bitter and dry, even as she pretended she didn't.

She became aware that Showboat, Hoshi, and Narcho were watching her, waiting for her reaction. Measuring her. "What?" she snapped, picking up her fork.

"Did you know them?" Hoshi said slowly. His face was a mask, and Santana would bet money this was what he looked like in the CIC.

"Who doesn't know a deck chief?" Santana asked with a shrug. "And I never so much as spoke to Agathon." Finn had though, and said he was a good guy. But then, Finn was an idiot.

"They're Galactica," Showboat said slowly, and Santana suddenly realized this was a test. It was them against her. She shrugged fiercely.

"What's your point?"

Hoshi sat back, the mask gone and the dork back. Narcho grinned at her, and Showboat punched her in the arm. Santana shrugged again. She'd meant what she said, and she'd stand by it if called to.

***

"Viper pilots, to your stations," Hoshi's voice ordered over the PA system. "All other crew, stand by at action stations."

"Go get em, Squeezebox," a knuckledragger said, using his hands to make a step for her to climb into her Viper. Not something Santana was used to, but it was a nice touch. She slipped into her seat, pulled her flight helmet over her head, and braced herself. Her Viper shot out into space.

Showboat's launch tube was right beside hers, and she fell into her place at Showboat's side. She looked around for raiders, but there were no raiders. There was no basestar, no swarm of black ships heading towards them. Only the Galactica and only the alert Vipers. Galactica Vipers that were flying right at them.

"Shit!"

"Stay with me, Squeezebox," Showboat ordered, and her voice was hard and cold. The Galactica Vipers were still well out of range.

"Viper pilots, this is Pegasus," Hoshi said in her ear, his smooth voice scratched by the static of the system. "Orders are to hold your fire. Repeat, do not fire first."

Santana's hands started sweating in their gloves. "What are we out here for, then?" she asked.

"We need to break their course," Showboat said. "Stay with me."

Tyrol and Agathon. This had to be about Tyrol and Agathon somehow. Santana looked around frantically. The Galactica Vipers were now close.

"We're going in," Showboat said.

"We haven't been ordered to fire," Santana began, but Showboat cut her off.

"We were told not to fire first, and we won't. We're just breaking their course."

Make them mad, that's what they were really doing, Santana realized. Baiting the Galactica pilots. Swooping into their space, threatening with their presence. She followed Showboat, swooping closer.

A little ways over, she saw Narcho. She recognized the flying style even before she saw the kills on his bird or the nameplate. He was flying straight at another viper in a galactic game of chicken. It wasn't until Santana realized who he was flying at that her breath caught. It was Kat.

Kat was flying to meet him, because Kat wasn't the type to back down. Kat would always take things by the head, get up in your face. Hell, that was why Santana liked Kat. She watched, almost frozen in her seat, not sure of what she wanted to happen.

At the last second, Kat broke free, veering out of Narcho's path. Santana let her breath out.

"Break their course," Showboat said over the wireless. "They can't get in firing range of the Pegasus."

"Yes, sir." She'd seen what they were doing now, and she could do this. Santana gripped the controls and began to head towards another Viper. She accelerated, ready to attack, and her thumb automatically hovered over the fire button. She was close enough to see Hot Dog's face when he veered away, narrowly avoiding collision.

"Pegasus," one of the pilots shouted, "requesting a weapons free."

"Do not fire first. The order stands," Hoshi said calmly. "Repeat: do not fire first."

But be ready to fire. Santana could feel it coming. "We're not really doing this, are we?" she asked.

"If the Admiral says fire, we fire." Showboat's response was immediate, but for the first time, Santana heard the tremor in her voice, too.

"All Pegasus Vipers, all Pegasus Vipers," Hoshi said, and the timbre of his voice was slightly more urgent. "Emergency recall. There's a Cylon raider right on top of you."

"Shit!" Showboat said. She rounded the Viper back and soared towards the Pegasus. Santana wheeled around and followed, headed for the defensive position as they prepared for an attack.

Nothing came.

They hovered, waiting. Some of the Galactica pilots had clearly spotted the raider, although Santana couldn't see it, and were diving after it. But then Hoshi's voice was in her ear again. "Pegasus Vipers, stand down. Incoming is friendly. Repeat, Pegasus Vipers, stand down."

"All right," Showboat said. "Let's go on home."

Santana had flown several missions against the Cylons. She'd faced them nose to nose, fired, watched them explode in front of her. She'd been fired at, watched the missiles shoot right by her, so close that she could almost touch them. But as she landed after the standoff with the Galactica, she had never been so glad to see a landing bay in her life.

***

The mood on the landing bay was… strange. There was no euphoria, and no grief. Just a thick tension and a palpable relief. Santana pulled off her helmet, shaking out her hair. It was soaked.

"Squeezebox." Showboat was standing under Santana's Viper, looking up at her. Santana looked down mutely. Their eyes met, and neither woman spoke for a long moment. But if it had been Cylons out there that they'd been facing, Santana was sure that Showboat would have said something. Instead, she just nodded and walked away.

Santana sat down on the wing of her Viper, exhaling slowly. She had avoided thinking it while she was out there, but now the thought came hard. What if they'd been ordered to fire? What if Finn had been out there in his Raptor? What if- She cut it off. She didn't need more 'what if's.

It was only because of where she was sitting that she saw Hoshi thundering down the steps to the landing bay. Her brows furrowed. He'd been in the CIC, and she was surprised that he wasn't there right now. He headed straight over to Narcho's bird, relief clear on his face. She wasn't close enough to hear their conversation, but she saw the embrace and the look on Narcho's face as Hoshi immediately turned around and headed back up the stairs. She slid off the wing of her Viper and headed over to Narcho.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

Narcho was still watching Hoshi. "Hmm, what? Oh, yeah. Louis." He ran a hand through his wet hair, standing it on end. "I know it's frakked up, but what I wouldn't give…."

It was the softest and the most sincere that Santana had ever heard Narcho sound. She pulled away from him, shaking her head. "So why don't you? He's not getting it from anyplace else, that's clear just by looking at him."

"Because the end of that sentence was 'what I wouldn't give to have him back.'" Narcho still didn't look at her. "You'd think at the end of the worlds you'd be able to put a few things behind you and just go for it, you know? When you loved someone that much? It's not like there's much time left for any of us. But he's just going to throw it away because once I…" Narcho shook his head angrily, and then snapped back to himself. "Right. His loss." He draped his arm over Santana's shoulders. "Come on, girl. Let's go get drunk. But this time, we'll skip the sex."

"Right." Santana looked up the steps, but Hoshi was long gone. "He came down," she said as she and Narcho made it to the stairs. "He came down to make sure you were okay. That's got to mean something."

"It means nothing," Narcho insisted, but Santana saw it in his eyes before he turned away. Hope.

It was the last pairing she ever would have guessed, she thought as they made their way towards the showers. Narcho was hot as hell, Hoshi was a geek and a stereotypical bridge bunny. She didn't get it- nothing about it made sense. But then, some connections went beyond sense and ran deep anyway. Santana knew that as well as anyone. But Hoshi was right, too. Sometimes there was a reason not to go back, sometimes the fantasy wasn't enough to shadow the reality that it couldn't last and someone was going to be left alone and crying.

Santana shook her head. It was all pointless in the end anyway. Because someday soon she'd go up in a shower of sparks, and then nothing would ever matter again.

***

"Lieutenant Lopez."

Santana stopped immediately at the sound of that voice, turned around, and saluted. "Admiral Cain."

Cain approached her, a smile playing on the edge of her lips. "You did well out there, Lieutenant. I knew you were the right one for those pins."

"Yes, sir."

"Would you have fired?"

"If you'd ordered it, sir." She would have. She knew it.

Cain's smile was tinged with a deep bitterness. "I knew you were one of mine. Carry on."

"Admiral." She watched Cain walk down the hall.

One of mine. Gina had been one of her people, too. And Colonel Belzan, and Lilac. Santana wasn't sure how she felt about that. But she told herself not to be stupid, and turned around and walked the other way.

***

Santana respected Starbuck, to an extent, but she didn't idolize her. As a result, she'd had no idea Starbuck had been gone until the word came that she was back, that she was the friendly that everyone thought was a Cylon raider. More than that, Starbuck had taken the Blackbird that Tyrol had built and done a recon mission on her own, bringing back detailed photographs of a Cylon ship. And now, Starbuck was CAG, with captain's pins glinting on her collar.

Things felt a little upside down.

"The ship is a resurrection ship," Starbuck explained to the pilots assembled in the ready room. "When a toaster dies, that's where it goes. Its consciousness downloads into a new body on one of these little day spas. Which means, if we take out this ship, any Cylon who dies out here in space stays dead. They're not immortal anymore."

There was a murmur at that, and Santana leaned forward eagerly. Starbuck arched an eyebrow at the reaction, but didn't comment. Instead, she just kept detailing the plan, about how a civilian ship would be used as a decoy to draw off the raiders so the Galactica and Pegasus could take on the basestars. Apollo would then be able to use the stealth ship to take out the resurrection ship's FTL drives.

"And then," Starbuck paused, grinning, "we blow this shit up."

"She's insane," Narcho said when Starbuck dismissed them.

Santana shrugged. "That's what everyone says."

"I don't mean Thrace," Narcho said, "although yeah, she's frakking nuts. I mean Admiral Cain. She really demoted Stinger and put Thrace in charge?"

"She did get the recon photos," Showboat admitted, although she didn't sound happy about it.

That had been almost twelve hours ago. Now, the Cybele was one of the decoy ships that was being used. Santana sat in her Viper in her launch tube with her heart in her mouth, hating this part of Starbuck's plan. She wondered if Starbuck had chosen the Cybele just to piss her off, even though it wasn't all that likely. It was just bad luck. All Santana knew was that she would die before she'd let anything happen to that ship. Literally.

"Here we go," Hoshi said over the channel. "Cylon ships, jumping in. Fleet jumping away in three, two, one…"

She felt the Pegasus jump. They were away from the Cybele, and it was like a piece had ripped off her heart. I want to go back. We can't leave her out there. We can't leave her stranded. Even though she knew they were going back, and that when they did, the Cybele would jump away.

Hoshi's voice crackled to life again. "Jumping back. Alert Vipers, be ready to launch. Three, two, one…."

The Pegasus lurched in a jump again, and this time, there were only a few heartbeats before Santana's Viper was rushing through the tube, exploding out into space. Raiders were chasing the Cybele, which was flying faster than Santana would have thought possible.

"All right," Starbuck ordered. "Engage. Red squadron, with me. Blue squadron, take the flank."

The raiders were still chasing the Cybele. Santana wanted so badly to veer off, to go put herself and her Viper in between them. But those weren't the orders, and she kept her Viper on course for the resurrection ship. It was a weird-looking ship, an elongated diamond, reminding her uncomfortably of her rank insignia. According to the intel, there were thousands of skinjob bodies in there, just waiting to be brought to life like windup mechanical toys.

"Cybele has jumped," Hoshi announced. "Raiders will be incoming."

Santana's muscles relaxed. The Cybele was safe. Brittany was safe. The fog over her brain lifted and everything was clear and sharp again, and all her focus was in front of her. She met the enemy with a fierce, grim sort of joy.

"This is it, kids," Starbuck said. "Apollo's got the FTL out. Fire at will."

Santana did, watching the explosions paint fireworks across the black canvas of space.

***

"Six," Santana said, a savage glee in her face as she vaulted out of her Viper. "I'm painting six new ones on my baby here." She patted the wing with a gloved hand, and looked proudly at her row of kills.

"Nice flying," Showboat said, taking off her own helmet. She held out her hand, and when Santana clasped it she pulled her in close for a hug. "You did good, Squeezebox."

"You too." Other pilots were streaming past them, triumphant. The excitement and the joy were like electricity in the air.

Santana was celebrating with the rest. She hadn't realized that she was watching the stairs until a flash of blue caught her eye, and she turned to see Hoshi running down them. He headed right over to Narcho, his face alight with happiness. Narcho immediately wrapped his arms around Hoshi's waist, and Santana smirked as she turned away. The outcome of that was obvious- the only question was who was topping whom.

They were probably celebrating on the Cybele, too. Probably with less alcohol than there would be here, probably more music. All in all, the party would be better on the Pegasus, especially since she was one of the victors. But as she looked in the direction that Hoshi and Narcho had disappeared, she couldn't deny that she'd rather be on the Cybele tonight.

***

No one heard the gunshot. The metal of the ship muffled the noise, and there was no scream. So no one knew Admiral Cain was dead until Lieutenant Hoshi, already flustered and thrown off-balance, opened her door and found her lying on the floor in a pool of blood. An empty brig cell and a missing Cylon prisoner made the mystery of Cain's death easy to solve.

Santana stood in the ranks at the funeral in her dress grays, fists clenched at her side. Somewhere in the Fleet, someone was hiding that toaster. It had shot Admiral Cain, point blank, and someone was hiding it. It made Santana sick to think about it.

When I think about what she went through after the attack- all alone, one ship, no help, no hope- she didn't give up. She didn't worry. She didn't second-guess. She acted. She did what she thought needed to be done, and the Pegasus survived. Starbuck's words about Admiral Cain hung in Santana's head long after the body had floated into space. Santana couldn't agree more with what she'd said- it was exactly what she'd admired so much about Cain. Someone idealistic like Schue or Finn would probably go on about legacies and not letting Cain's true spirit die and shit like that, but all Santana could think was that it was like anything else. Cain gave her orders, and you obeyed. Don't flich, don't second-guess, and survive. Do what you need to in order to live.

And so, she'd gone to the Cybele as soon as she could after the funeral. Brittany met her there, confused at first and then open and willing and unafraid. Not flinching, not second-guessing. And finally, Santana wasn't second-guessing either.

"You're sad," Brittany said afterwards, as they lay tangled together on Brittany's bed..

"Of course I'm sad. The Admiral was just killed. Doesn't that bother you?" Santana snapped.

Brittany shrugged. "She was only one person, and we were doing all right with Commander Adama before she came." She ran her hand down Santana's bare back, and Santana rested her chin on her folded arms.

The world really was upside down when Brittany was making that much sense. But sometimes, upside down was a good place to be. Santana liked the way Brittany viewed the world, even if it was horribly inaccurate. It was simple, it was direct, and it was a lot more pleasant than the world they actually lived in. She sighed.

They were lying on Brittany's bed. They probably only had a few more minutes before someone from New Directions cam in. She wished it would keep them out forever, and she could lock herself and Brittany away in this room and always keep her safe.

"I know it's stupid," Santana said, "but she was just, like, this huge proof that there was more than Gemenon. You know?"

"We knew that," Brittany said quietly.

"Yeah, but we never got to live it. I'm a lieutenant, Brit. Puck's a private and Mercedes will move up to specialist soon enough and Finn's an ensign, but I'm a lieutenant. It wouldn't have happened like that back home."

Brittany made a small noise that might have been agreement. "Can I ask you something?" she said after a short silence. Santana shrugged. "Is that why we aren't together? Because you're still afraid?"

"No."

"Then why not?"

Santana sat up, rubbing her forehead against her updrawn knees. "You know what happens over on the military ships?" she said.

Brittany shrugged. "I don't know. Guns? Fighting? Catapaults?"

Santana blinked, and then shook her head. "No. People keep dying. Pilots keep dying."

"So?"

"Look, if we don't find this Earth that Adama keeps talking about, that's how it's going to go for us, okay? You'll stay here on the Cybele with Burt, and I'll keep you safe. But I'm out there all the time fighting those frakkers, and it's only a matter of time before one of them shoots me down. Which, whatever, I don't care about that. And then you're stuck like Puck and Kurt and Showboat and everyone else, which is alone and miserable. We don't have much time, Brit."

"But we have some." Brittany was calmer than Santana ever would have given her credit for. "We have some time to be together, and it's not fair of you to decide I can't handle it all by yourself. I get to choose, too."

Something in Santana cracked. Brittany was looking at her with calm, clear eyes, and her hand was on Santana's arm, callused now, but warm. For the past two years it had been up and down and yes and no and running and hiding and wanting from a distance, but never able to get it right. Never able to get it to work. And now, at the end of the worlds, Brittany was sitting her calmly telling Santana that whatever time they had left was hers, with the full understanding that it wouldn't be long.

"You're sure," Santana whispered.

Brittany shrugged. "Back when you joined the Fleet, Mr. H. told me something. He said when you love someone, the time is never enough. Ever. But you wouldn't trade it for anything."

Santana snorted. "Didn't realize he was such a romantic. Explains why Kurt is the way he is."

Brittany ignored her as if she hadn't spoken. "You could die tomorrow. You could die fifty years from now. Either way, we wouldn't have enough time together."

In her mind she could see Puck standing at the Wall on Galactica and drinking himself into oblivion with Kurt. Dave laughing back on Gemenon. Narcho and Hoshi heading up the stairs together, Showboat standing beside Santana, looking at a Cylon who had been partially responsible for her best friend's death. All these people who had borne extraordinary loss, still going on, still fighting.

"We've lost so much time already," Brittany said softly. "Let's not lose anymore."

Santana was so used to fighting, it seemed strange just to nod. "All right," she said softly, not quite able to believe it. She reached out tentatively, and Brittany threaded her fingers through Santana's and smiled.

***

"I can't believe you're so happy to see a civilian ship," Showboat teased Santana as they stood on the deck.

"I know. But it's my girlfriend." Santana couldn't have said the word any more smugly. Showboat laughed.

The shuttle landed, and Burt Hummel climbed out. Chief Laird went over to greet him. Santana didn't quite understand what they were doing, but apparently Laird was going to show Burt how do to something with one of the engines that Burt wasn't familiar with. Brittany climbed out after him, looking around with wide eyes. Santana smiled and ran over.

They could kiss in public now, and Santana could wrap her arm around Brittany's waist. "Let me give you the tour," she said.

"I really should listen to Mr. Laird," Brittany protested.

"You think you're going to understand anything he says?" Santana asked.

"No," Brittany admitted.

"Then come on."

They walked through the deck together, weaving around the Vipers, but had to stop suddenly when they rounded one corner and happened on two men talking in quiet, low voices.

"I'm sorry, Noel." It was Hoshi. Santana could see his face- he looked anxious and sad.

"But you-"

"And I shouldn't have. We shouldn't have." Hoshi sighed. "I'm sorry I gave you the wrong idea. But it's not going to work. You know that."

"I know," Narcho said, in a voice that Santana knew was meant to be causal and angry, like what Hoshi said was no big deal. Like it didn't matter. "Your loss. We'll just go back to where we were before."

Relief was clear on Hoshi's face. "All right. Thank you, Noel."

"Whatever." Noel turned, and as he did he saw Santana and Brittany. He smiled at them, and gave them a little half wave. Santana nodded back, all too aware that that could have been her.

Brittany pulled on her hand. "Come on. I think they want to be alone."

"Probably." Santana squeezed Brittany's hand and followed her. "Let's go." They began winding through the Vipers. "Brit?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Brittany smiled. It was a beautiful smile, and Santana knew that before she died, it would be the last thing in her memory. "I know," Brittany said. "I love you, too."