Chapter 1 - The Order of Angels
Friday nights are the busiest for Brittany and The Order of Angels. The busiest, but certainly not the most entertaining. She spends the majority of the night breaking up bar fights (a fair amount of those caused by drunks insulting Crusher's mohawk) and listening to Jingle rant about the bastardization of the music industry. She really does hate Fridays. Although tonight has provided very little in terms of actual danger, Brittany feels uneasy. She has yet to catch the madman behind the St. James slaying and worse, Lord Tubbington seems to have started an underground prostitution ring. All in all, she's not having the best week.
She's in the middle of pulling Crusher off an old woman who called him a "delinquent little douche" after he tripped over her Chihuahua, when she receives a particularly hard blow to the nose. Before turning to face her assailant, she can't help but wonder what kind of asshole punches a girl with wings. Spinning on the balls of her feet, she squares off before her unknown attacker, only to find a drunken man holding a very broken fist (that's what you get for punching an angel in the face).
"Son of a bitch, you broke my hand! What kind of demon are you?" the man screams at her as he limps away.
He's obviously not the brightest crayon in the box, because Brittany has yet to meet a demon with a sixteen-foot wingspan made entirely of gold colored feathers, so she lets him go. He'll probably regret punching her after spending a couple of hours in the emergency room. Meanwhile, Crusher is receiving a furious beating from the woman's walker (she supposes it's because as badass as Crusher pretends to be, he'd never hit an old lady…probably). By now, Saint and Vogue are spurring the woman on, yelling encouragement from the sidelines.
"Yeah, get him!"
"Hit him over the head with it!"
"Ow! That's gotta hurt!"
Jingle stands beside them, her arms crossed over her chest. She is obviously less impressed with the spectacle, but makes no move to intervene. Brittany lets the woman get in a few more hits before catching the walker mid strike and un-pasting Crusher from the sidewalk. She sends the woman on her way with a promise that yes, she will let Crusher's parents know what a hooligan they've raised.
It takes a poorly executed bank heist by thieves in George Bush masks and an escaped circus elephant before they finally make it back to Angel Cove. She then listens to a half hour tirade from Jingle about the barbarism of circuses (and something about horse-drawn carriages in New York) before she decides that yes, Fridays really are the worst.
…..
500 feet below Will's Comic Emporium lies Angel Cove, a sprawling two-acre complex. It is also the living quarters of all six members of The Order of Angels. Brittany often thinks that she must be certifiably insane to have ever let that happen.
She now sits at the dining room table wondering whether or not it safe to take a bite of the questionable vegan meal in front of her. She looks around and finds everyone but Rachel, who has by now changed out of her Jingle costume, staring meekly at the food as well. She figures it's probably unlikely that Rachel would purposely poison her, so she tentatively takes a bite (and, by God, if that's not the most disgusting thing she's ever tasted).
"Man that old bat was a loon, I mean who hits a rippling stud like me? I mean…okay seriously, what the fuck is this crap?" Crusher says while eyeing a strange grey piece of something on his fork (trust Puck to say exactly what everyone is thinking).
"I think it's brain. I mean look at it! If that's not brain you can change my name to Wears Gap Rejects Under American Apparel Hoodies." Kurt says, pushing the plate away with obvious disgust.
"It's vegan pasta in a mushroom sauce!" Rachel pouts, distraught over the failure of her meal.
"Well it tastes like brains…" Quinn says casually.
"This is gourmet cooking! I got the recipe off of Barefoot Contessa, so I'm sorry if you're all too common to enjoy a deliciously prepared fine dining experience" Rachel all but yells, shoving pasta into her mouth on principle.
"I dunno Rachel, last week you did serve us that really weird cheese." Brittany says, hesitantly placing another piece of pasta in her mouth.
"That was tofu, Brittany," Rachel says around a scowl.
"Well it tasted like ten year old gorgonzola," Puck laughs.
"That someone left out in the sun" Kurt adds.
With a huff Rachel storms out in true diva fashion (it was bound to happen sooner or later).
"Rachel, you forgot your brains!" Quinn yells after her, delighted in having played a part in upsetting Rachel.
The rest of the meal is spent debating the pros and cons of the latest Call of Duty (Puck), whether or not Armani is passé (Kurt), if strangers can see her c-section scar in her Saint costume (Quinn) and vomiting up Rachel's pasta (Puck, again). Quinn even has to use her powers of possession to make Puck clean it up (she makes him wear a flowery apron and call her 'Princess", which Brittany is sure is a gross abuse of power). She finally escapes to the seclusion of her bedroom (after watching Puck threaten Quinn to delete the video on her cellphone of him doing ballet) and slumps onto her bed. She waits for Artie to call while safely tucking her wings back into her skin. It's been a little over a week since Artie has been in L.A. investigating the St. James massacre. Yesterday morning he had called her to let her know he was following a lead and that he would let her in on it when he found out more. She really hopes tonight is the night.
…..
It's around 6am, an hour after having gone to bed, when her phone rings. She knows it's Artie because only Order members have her number (it's a lonely life being a superhero). She rolls out of bed and picks up the phone, anxious to find out Artie's news.
"Hey Britt," comes Artie's voice. He sounds tired, which frankly Brittany can relate to.
"Hey Wheels, how's L.A.?" she asks around a yawn.
"Hot," he answers. He's obviously keen on getting to business, because she would usually have to listen to an hour or so of Artie ranting about the evils of big cities.
"So here's what we've got. I took samples from the crime scene to run them against our database. At first I was getting nothing. Finally, yesterday, I got a match. The DNA I found on the scene is a 60% match for Mimic. I know what you're thinking; Santana is in a maximum-security prison in Lima. So I called The Watchers and, get this, she's still there. She's in confinement after throwing frying oil at the lunch lady for putting gravy on her potatoes."
"Could it be any of the other Dark Ladies?" Brittany asks, obviously as stumped as Artie.
"I checked that out too. Neither of their DNA was found at the scene. Last I heard Mercedes was back in New Orleans and Sugar went back to the future after Santana got booked. I have no clue how this is all possible, but the evidence is irrefutable. You can't trick science," Artie says proudly.
"So you keep telling me," Brittany laughs. Science is certainly not her strong suit (she thinks her very existence upsets the intricate balance of it).
"You know what that means, right Britt? You're going to have to pay Santana a visit…"
Damn.
…..
The sky is a sickly grey overhead as she makes her way over to the prison. The dark thunderclouds threaten to open up and drench her (it's the very example of pathetic fallacy). She thinks back to the last time she saw Santana. It was a dark day, just like today.
The bar was empty save her and Santana. The bartender eyed them suspiciously, wondering what two young girls were doing there at 9:00am (Brittany's wings certainly didn't help the situation). Santana sat in front of her on the opposite side of the booth, her dark hair plastered onto her head from the rain. She still wore her cheerleading uniform, the red material dripping onto the black leather of the seat. She refused to make eye contact and that, that's when Brittany realized she had lost her.
Six years later and Brittany can still see the hurt and pain in Santana's eyes. She's seen some genuinely horrible sights in her long time on earth but, the vision of her best friend giving up on everything, is by far the most heart wrenching and truly devastating thing she's ever seen. She knows she's lost herself a little since then too. It was Santana's friendship that got her through the day; that allowed her to deal with all of the exceptionally messed up things in her life (she supposes that's what 120 years of friendship will do) . It's true that she has The Order now, but no matter how much she tries to convince herself that it's enough, she knows deep down that she will never be whole again. She's broken, and Santana's holding all the damn pieces. She wishes more than anything that she hadn't let Santana throw her life away. If Brittany had tried harder to save her, maybe she wouldn't be on her way to meet her in prison. Maybe she wouldn't feel like taking to the skies, demanding entrance back into heaven, just to escape the guilt and anguish. Maybe she wouldn't feel like giving up too.
The Watcher's prison is located far beneath city hall. It is a large spiraling complex that houses the most dangerous of super-powered individuals. It's labyrinth like structure prevents any risk of escape (as well as the neural implant embedded in the criminals consciousnesses). Brittany makes her way to Mike's office; dread all but crushing her insides. She stops in front of his door, the large plaque in the center of it reads:
Agent Michael Chang
1st Deputy Commissioner of The Watchers
Ab aerteno
She waits on the wooden bench outside, the bright white walls and floors creating an ethereal ambiance. While most would call the building an architectural haven, Brittany can see its true nature. Her superhuman sight allows her to see the tiny paint chips on the wall and the myriad of shoe imprints on the floor. She can hear the screams of the prisoners as if they sit beside her. She wishes she could scream now too.
After what feels like an eternity (Brittany is much too familiar with the concept of eternity), Mike opens his door and beckons her inside without a single word. His office is small and quaint and painted a rich burgundy. She's glad to be out of the white hallway (she feels much too depressed for white today). Mike sits behind an intricately carved wood desk, countless books and papers scattered messily over its surface. He gestures to the seat in front of him, wordlessly ordering Brittany to sit.
"I wish to God you were here under better circumstances, Brittany," Mike says (she doesn't have the heart to tell him that God isn't with them here).
His face has aged beyond his natural age (which Brittany assumes is caused by the stress of running a prison filled with lunatic, super-powered beings).
"So, I hear you're here to see Santana Lopez. As you probably know from having spoken with Artie, she's currently in confinement. We have very strict rules about no visitors during stays in confinement but, after having spoken to Ms. Cohen-Chang, she has granted you permission to speak with the prisoner. Sam will escort you to her. I remind you that you may not speak with Mr. Evans, as he is still in his Third Year of Silence. I wish we could stay and chat, but we're dealing with a bit of internal problems at the moment," Mike continues, pressing a small red button on his desk to beckon Sam.
"Thank you Mike, I really appreciate this," Brittany says, standing to leave.
Mike merely nods. As she reaches the door, she feels Mike's hand on her wrist.
"Brittany, it's nice to see The White Angel again," he says around a gentle smile.
…..
Brittany spends the half hour it takes to get to the center of the prison trying to make Sam talk, she even tries tickling him when his back is turned (a trick she learned from Tina during her own three years of silence). She knows it's not the easiest three years, so she's glad when she manages to make Sam smile a few times. Joking with Sam lightens the dreary mood the building puts her in. The halls are ornately decorated with snarling gargoyles (she's convinced herself that she saw one blink) and large twisting marble snakes. On every wall are scrawled beautifully scripted words: ad maiorem Dei gloriam. She's never been great with Latin, but she's pretty sure it has something to do with God. The Watchers have a big ole' boner for God. She thinks if any of The Watchers had truly met God, like she has, they may have gone with something else. Had she been allowed to choose the words, she would have picked: "I asked God for a bike, but I know God doesn't work that way. So I stole a bike and asked for forgiveness". Epic.
Sam leads her to the interrogation room. He gives her a quick (and probably forbidden) hug and waves goodbye. She's nervous. Like the kind of nervous where your armpits start to sweat and you spend the next hour in a state of paranoia trying to remember if you put on deodorant. She really doesn't want to see Santana after six years smelling like she ran here from Australia.
It takes another half hour before the large metal door opposite her creaks open. Santana walks through, her hands and feet in chains and, damnit, if that doesn't break Brittany's heart in two. Her hair is in a messy bun on the top of her head, her skin sallow and pale. She wears a bright orange jumper with the number 1216 emblazoned over her left breast. She sits in front of Brittany, the group of guards attaching her to large metal chains on the floor. Brittany wants to yell at them, to make them free her from her shackles, tell them that this isn't how you treat a human being (but she remembers that Santana isn't a human being at all). She doesn't know the rules that apply to a 153-year-old super-villain who still looks 18. So she doesn't say anything (she yells at them on the inside though). When the guards leave the room, Santana looks her in the eye for the first time. Her eyes are angry and cruel (the only real sign that Santana isn't completely dead inside). Brittany has no idea what to say. What do you say to someone you no longer know after over a century of friendship? Probably "hi", so she goes with that.
"Hi San," she says timidly. If The Order were to see her now they would kick her out on her ass. What kind of leader cowers in front of a person chained to the ground?
"It's Mimic," Santana says. Her voice is hollow and lifeless. Brittany doesn't say that she will always be San to her.
They sit in silence for a couple of incredibly uncomfortable minutes before Santana's face changes. Her eyes soften and she smirks. Brittany thought she had seen all of Santana's smiles, but this one is new. It's unkind and hard. She hates it.
"Well, if it isn't The White Angel come to visit her old pal," Santana sneers, her words like venom.
"San," Brittany starts.
"It's Mimic, I won't warn you again," Santana says harshly, her tone biting.
Brittany knows it's an empty threat (she humors her though).
"Mimic," the word feels cold on her tongue, "I have a few questions to ask you," she says.
Santana smirk widens.
"You know, I usually refrain from talking to heroes, leaves a bad taste in my mouth, you see." Santana pauses, looking over Brittany as if considering her offer. "I suppose I better make an exception for the great White Angel though. Wouldn't want to insult the leader of the free world, now would I?"
"You know it's not like that," Brittany says. Brittany borrows Santana's technique from six years ago; she refuses to look her in the eye. She's too afraid with what she'll find.
"No it's not, is it? What would the world think if they knew the truth about you? What would your friends think?"
Brittany knows that she shouldn't, but she smiles sadly. She can't help it, Santana is just trying so hard to not be the girl Brittany remembers. She chances a glance at Santana and finds her smiling too. The smile she loves. The smile she would die for. It disappears before she can memorize it again. It feels like a small victory.
"Mimic, where were you a week and a half ago?" Brittany asks. She knows it's a stupid question, but she can't think of anything else at the moment.
"Throwing scalding oil onto that fat old lunch lady's face. You know how much I hate gravy," she says. Brittany thinks she sees guilt in Santana's eyes. "Why? Need humble little me to help solve a case?" she laughs.
"No. What I want to know is why Artie found your DNA at the scene of a murder a week ago?" Santana just laughs again, but this time Brittany is sure she sees something behind her eyes (she's always had very expressive eyes).
"Well, that is a riddle," Santana says.
Brittany knows she's not going to get anything out of her. Santana's broken too. She stands from her seat and walks for the door. She doesn't want to say goodbye to this stranger, but she does anyways.
"Bye, San."
She thinks she imagines the bye Britt.