White Shadows

by Good Afternoon

AU. 1862, the North has started the draft. Santana follows her father to war, intent on proving her worth as a doctor. Brittany enlists in place of her father, intent on keeping her family safe. In this broken land, they find a home in each other.

23. Lima

AN: Sorry for the delay everyone! I keep thinking I'll get these chapters done faster but then I go and write three times as much as I'd originally planned. Story of my writing life. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and thank you to everyone for sticking with me! :) Two more chapters to go. Special thanks to my temp beta, Tars, for stepping in again!

Chapter 23

Lima

Brittany should be smiling. There should be sharp knocks echoing against the floorboard where her feet tap with restless anticipation. She should be thrilled, giddy and practically squirming in the seat beside her. Instead she's gone eerily quiet next to Santana. The once wide grin upon her face all day disappeared, right around when the first farmhouse on the outskirts of Lima came into view.

That's also when her fingernails dug deeper into Santana's palm, the grip both strong and unsteady. Nervous. Scared.

She's not uttered a word since they arrived.

Santana too has quieted alongside her, fidgety with nerves born of meeting the family she's come to consider her own for some time. The closer they draw to the Pierce farm the further lodged in her throat her heart feels.

She shifts again on the hard seat, wondering how it was comfortable mere hours prior. Brittany squeezes her hand harder and, if possible, her face drains of color more.

Neither says a word.

Sam and Noah know more than to make mention of the silence that's fallen over the two women. They share a look over the horse's reins, hiding their concern and sighs from eyes that have yet to uncloud. Whenever a direction is needed, Noah asks, softly so as to not to startle Brittany. She nods her answer silently, mouth gone dry.

The final turn onto her family's cart path has her leaning closer to Santana and whispering anxiously, "We're here."

Santana holds Brittany's hand with both of her own. The pound of her heart as present in the throbbing pulse at her fingertips, as it is where it strikes hard in her chest. The snow is untouched along the path, pristine and deep as Sam and Noah guide the horse up the slope toward the farm. A few trees dot the land, bare now and sprinkled with ice. Some are massive, Santana easily imagines Brittany climbing them when she was younger. Others smaller, newer saplings peek out from beneath the layer of snow reaching toward grey skies above. Santana doesn't notice her breath fogging just beyond her lips until now. The heavy and obvious exhales echo in her ears verging upon uncontrolled.

"You've a lot of land here, Britt," Noah mentions, impressed as his eyes scan across the farm. Not far in the distance, he can make out the end of the empty crop field where a line of spruce trees curve back across the hillside.

"It's real fine," Sam adds, equally sincere.

Brittany pulls her lips in between her teeth, nodding, proud and trembling. Her eyes immediately dart to the left, where sure enough between the trees she can just begin to make out the side of her family's barn. It's not changed, not one shutter on the doors faded, or one panel of the dark wood near the horse stalls splintered. Her eye catches on some movement near the loft. She smiles shakily, heart warming as the old scarf she and Emily once tied about the old hay crane billows in the light wind.

He hasn't taken it down.

Santana watches the expression upon Brittany's face brighten and the beginnings of tears begin to fill blue eyes. The fingertips once pressing so nervously into Santana's palm loosen, and slowly thread between her own. Brittany turns to her, grin quivering as it widens and she whispers, hope returned, "She's okay. She's still here. He wouldn't have left it."

Santana presses her lips tightly together to keep from saying anything that could take away the light in Brittany's eyes. We'll find out together, she thinks, returning Brittany's enthusiasm with a small smile of her own. Her gut is still entrenched in nerves, voice as unwilling to offer a word in agreement as she is to let go of the comfort she draws from Brittany's hand. This is her anchor. This one touch is what keeps her mind from berating her over such a show of cowardice. It sparks the beautiful feeling that blooms in her heart as she looks upon the quaint farmhouse they approach. The warm, steady hand in hers keeps the fear from touching her expression and instead fills her own eyes with a shimmer similar to the one in blue.

Santana shudders. Nervous and hopeful.

This is her home. Their home.

The single story cabin with the slanted roof, weathered window frames and the charming front porch. Where she'll spend nights sitting along the worn railing with Brittany watching the sun set beyond the cornfields. The front steps where she's sure Pip must sleep and where she'll find Brittany pulling a hissing and scratching Lord Tubbington out from beneath the front steps. The home with only an old stout stool set against the outside wall for furnishing. A seat she'll take as she ties up her snow boots before heading to the barn for morning chores. Where Brittany will kiss her and cleverly re-tie her laces and tell her she loves her even when Santana can't remember how simple a knot it really is.

Brittany shoots up to her feet beside her, jostling the sled and Santana's thoughts as she shouts out across the yard, "Pa!"

A man she's never noticed before now stops in his tracks a few dozen yards ahead by the home. The horse he leads halts by his side, the same one Brittany's described to her in such detail that Santana feels she has already seen him before. Apple gives a snort, a cloud of warm breath tickling Hendricks's hand as he looks down across the snow-covered lawn to where he swears he heard his eldest daughter's cry.

The reins drop from his hands as his eyes meet her face.

Brittany lets out a laugh, more a stuttered gasp in excitement, before turning down toward Santana. Watery-eyed and beaming she gives one last squeeze to Santana's hand and then leaps off the sled, taking off toward her father across the shin-deep snow. She stumbles some in the thicker patches, Hendricks's laughter soon joining her own as he runs to meet her. Santana can see Brittany's tears staining her cheeks, similar to the ones just touching upon her father's bearded face. He sweeps her into his arms, choking upon the words he wishes to speak and the swelling of his heart that feels as though it will burst straight through his chest. Brittany clings to him as he cries, knowing how truly she's been missed. How much of home is simply just being once more in his embrace. She feels it flooding her; a part of her returned that's been gone for so long. She calms before he does, giving a shrug and a chuckle as he twists a few strands of her shortened hair between his fingers.

Before she can even utter a word he pulls her into his arms again, hugging her tighter than ever before.

She can feel him shaking. "I'm okay, Pa," she tells him softly. "I'm home."

And Santana watches them, unable to move, feeling more separated from Brittany than she's ever felt before.

Noah catches the look upon her face, and after sharing a silent word with Sam lays a calm hand to her knee. She startles at the touch, eyes wide as she meets his gaze. "Go on, then," he says to her with a reassuring grin. "Don't keep her waiting."

"I…what if he—" Santana mutters, the cold air finally piercing through her clothes to sting her skin and throat. She tugs tighter on the scarf. Her heart stops when Brittany points to her and shares a smile with her father. He motions for Santana to join them. For all of them to warm themselves inside by the fire.

"Santana," Noah ventures, holding out a hand to help her from the sled. "All will be well, you'll see."

She's reminded of drag harrows and promises whispered beneath thin sheets.

After a moment's hesitation, she takes his hand.

Brittany is tucked comfortably at her father's side beneath his arm, her eyes locked upon the terrified brown that slowly approach her. She gives Santana a warm smile, hoping to ease some of the other woman's obvious anxieties. Santana truly looks as though she will hurl if she is to take another step further.

Brittany steps out from beside her father and makes her way toward the now stopped woman. Grabbing Santana by the hands and grinning broadly, she pulls her forward to meet him. They've an entire conversation without words in the span of the few feet they bridge. The subtle knotting of a dark brow conveys the ache of fear. A sharpening of blue eyes a promise of good to come.

What if he spurns me?

I'm right here.

I've no where else…

You've me. I love you.

I love you, too.

She's standing before Brittany's father before she feels ready, unable to meet his tear stained gaze for more than the tick of pocket watch. Her tongue darts out quickly to lick her dry lips, unsure of what to say let alone do. Was a handshake sufficient? What could one even say to the father of the woman you've fallen so irrevocably for? To the man you feel indebted to just by the mere look of appreciation and sheer welcome you glimpsed just now in his eye?

Brittany squeezes her hand again as she turns up toward him. "Pa? This is Santana," she speaks with such enamor that Hendrick is taken aback but for a second. He expected nothing less from her truly, not his Brittany. Not with her big heart. Brittany's letters always spoke so very highly of the now uneasy woman standing so tensely beside his daughter. He smiles down at Santana. "She's going to live with us now."

Brittany's words are barely from her mouth when he gives Santana an equal welcome.

Santana lets out a squeal of surprise as she's lifted from her feet and into warm arms. His disheveled beard scratches against the side of her face, something that would typically cause her revulsion but now feels as coveted as the embrace. She's never been hugged by a man like this, not by anyone aside from Brittany. Not as if unconditionally adored. Her eyes fall close and she wills herself not to cry as she hugs him back with matching vigor.

"Good," he whispers, hugging Santana close. She can hear the waver in his voice, so unused to such emotion being spoken so honestly to her ear from a father. And his next words spring more tears to her eyes, ones she doesn't mind letting be known as he lowers her gently back to the snow. "You're as much a part of this family as my girls."

Brittany's hand comes to rest at her lower back, discreetly and unnoticed by Hendrick as they already stand impossibly close beside one another. He wipes at his eyes, chuckling as he looks down at both women.

"You must think me a mess of a man," he says.

"You're a little dirty, Pa, but it's okay, you always kind of are," Brittany tells him.

He grins, eyes ever so gentle as he steps forward and presses a long kiss to the top of her head. "I'm so glad you're home, sunshine."

Brittany hugs him again. "Me too."

"Come on," he says as they part, stepping between the women to drape his arms behind their shoulders. "Let's get you both inside. Emily'll be beyond herself to see you! You're hungry, aren't you? And the boys with you too I bet! I think I can manage a stew for tonight. Does that sound good?"

He rambles on as they walk up to the home. Rambles in the same way as Brittany, Santana reflects with a smile. Hendrick waves for the boys to follow, which they promise to do once they tend to the horses, a gesture of kindheartedness Hendrick is delighted his daughter has found in her friends.

The world is so much in need of good right now.

There is also so much that needs to be said. Countless things he wishes to apologize for and anger he's felt for so long, now gone with just the slightest hint of a smile forming on Brittany's lips. He's missed her so. That smile especially, for it's all her mother's. He catches her sharing a look with Santana, sees the slightest tinge of blush spreading upon her cheeks at the silent reply the doctor provides. He pulls them closer to him, laughing for he can't think of a more wonderful feeling than the one settling in his heart now. To see his daughter home, alive and well, and accompanied by such a devoted friend.

---

Hendrick takes them straight to the bedroom Brittany once shared with her sister. The door is closed, handle still warm from when Hendrick entered last. Brittany's fingers grip the metal as she stands poised just outside, listening for the sound of her sister's movement within.

"Sleeping last I checked," Hendrick tells them both, voice quieted with more than just the worry of waking Emily. He nods down toward the small tray set up on the seat of an old chair along the wall.

A few empty medicine bottles lie against the tray bed, the last remnants of some liquid visible inside the smallest. As Santana picks up one of the cloth masks lying on the tray her eyes scan across one of the labels. Digitalis. Medication usually only prescribed to the more ailing and elderly of patients.

It helped control irregular heartbeats.

One of the more destructive symptoms of pneumonia.

When Santana looks to him for confirmation, he gives her a nod, though his eyes soften as he moves his gaze to Brittany and then back upon her own. "Let her see her first," he whispers to her so as to keep the news from reaching Brittany's ears.

Santana understands. She knows it will be difficult to tell Brittany, but telling her now would only make matters worse. Let her have the reunion with a peaceful mind. However much happiness she's able to muster.

Hendrick hands the remaining cloth to Brittany, giving her a sad smile as he looks to the closed door. "She's been waiting for you."

Both women hear the words he's left unsaid. He fears Emily hasn't much time.

Masks secured, Brittany opens the door. And with Santana at her back, she enters inside the bedroom she once shared with her sister.

The door is closed with a soft click by Hendrick, the once welcome sounds of the home replaced by the rattled breaths of Emily filling the small room. They don't make it in very far, each halting in their steps as a chill breeze wafts in through the small crack Hendrick has purposely left open in the window.

Give her access to fresh air always, never allow the room to stale, Santana recalls writing in one of her letters.

There's no fireplace with which to bring much needed warmth to the room. Just the the heavy layer of thick blankets strewn over the bed and tucked around its sole occupant. The meager light of the waning day streams in through the window, playing against the shadows cast by the oil lamp atop the bedside table.

A soft radiance is given by each source, yet barely enough to see the face of the youngest Pierce sleeping restlessly beneath a mound of quilts. She can hear Brittany taking a sharp breath just in front of her, and feels the hurt in her chest just as Brittany must feel it within her own heart. And while Brittany quickly moves to span the space separating her from Emily's side, Santana remains standing by the closed door, too dazed to move.

Santana has tended to countless sick. The sight of them has become routine, from the simplest cases of common cough to the most devastating of illnesses and injury. She always put her bravado up, not allowing herself the involvement she knows could cause her judgment to wane if emotions were brought forward. She has faltered in this she knows, brief memories surfacing as her mind reeled during the first wave of wounded men pouring into the medical tent. How hopeless she felt standing amidst the chaos at first, not knowing for once just what to do. To the way her hand shook before she took her knife to Sam's arm. The way she trembled when tending to Brittany's wound…

Each instance gave her pause, but not in the way she's taken pause now. She hasn't yet moved, her gaze riveted to the frail body bundled beneath the heavy cover of quilts in the bed. Nothing she's witnessed compares to the sight of young Emily Pierce sleeping. To the way her chest rises and falls with stuttered breaths, skin almost as pale as the alabaster of the porcelain bowl set aside on her night table and just as damp as the cloth draped over its side.

She's sick, beyond the help Santana or anyone could ever provide her and this reality alone clenches her heart so tightly.

Emily has been fighting for so long now…

And the way Brittany looks back to her, as if begging her for a way to make this right.

Santana turns her gaze away, choosing to focus her eyes instead on the small piles of books scattered around Emily on the bed. Some lie open, pencil markings evident along their margins. From the titles Santana's able to gleam along a few spines Emily has obviously taken a liking to poetry. Has she always enjoyed them? She knows so little of the girl and yet feels as though Brittany has spoken of her endlessly.

And how she looks just like Brittany…

Santana readjusts the mask over her lower face as she takes a tentative step further into the room. Brittany is already sitting at Emily's side, hand gently brushing some hair back from over her sisters heated forehead. She presses the cool cloth against Emily's brow, lightly, careful so as to not wake her sister from the rest she knows her body must crave.

"She looks so cold," Brittany whispers, aggrieved.

Santana can't meet her expectant look yet, not when she knows what the lament in Brittany's voice truly means.

Emily looks cold, for Emily is near death.

"I'm so sorry, Brittany," Santana manages to say, voice choked as she places a hand over Brittany's shoulder.

"We'll help her get better," Brittany says, nodding as if willing herself to believe the words. She turns her head, eyes imploring of Santana as she asks, "What does she need? More medicine? More air? What can we do? San, please, tell me?"

"We let her rest," Santana answers after a moment, tugging up on Brittany's arm. She can't stand in this room any longer, she feels she can't breathe. The mask is suffocating.

Brittany doesn't move though, unable to look away from Emily. "But she is resting…"

"Time then," Santana tells her quickly, growing lightheaded. "She needs time."

"She's had six months." Brittany is angry, the air somehow thicker and Santana's lungs starved for the cool chill of winter night.

"She's pneumonia, Brittany," Santana says, heart pounding as she pleads with Brittany to rise from the bed with one last tug. "And by the look of those bottles outside she's not any medicine left."

Brittany stares down at Emily, silent for a beat. The muscles in her arm tense and Santana can feel them tightening beneath her hold. "Then I'll get more," she whispers with conviction. "Whatever it takes. She's alive, San. I can't give up. I just—"

"I know." Santana closes her eyes, breathing deeply as she tells her, "However I can, I'll help."

Brittany looks up at her, eyes crinkling with the smile Santana cannot see beneath the mask. "She'll be okay?"

"First thing come morn, I'll find the doctor and see if I may offer him assistance in exchange for what Emily needs," Santana explains. Her gaze falls upon Emily, softening as she realizes there's not much she can do in way of Brittany ever seeing Emily on her feet… but she can make her comfortable. She can make this easier… for everyone.

She feels sick again, needing to leave.

She hates that Brittany will watch her sister die.

It's still so hard to breathe.

Brittany is staring at her with such hope now. Swallowing down the lies she could offer, Santana tells her instead, "I'll find a way to make this better, Brittany. I promise."

Brittany stands then, pulling Santana into a close hug. And even with the mask tied around her face she still presses a kiss to the spot just below Santana's ear, whispering of her love and thanks.

---

Hendrick fills them a bath, something each of them is in dire need of and more than happy to be left alone to together. When Santana stammers in question as he closes the door Brittany merely offers a subdued shrug as she begins undoing the buttons of her shirt. "Emily and I always shared." There is something off in her voice when she says it. Solemn. Brittany stares at the water for a long while, not moving, not even looking as if she's breathing.

A thought, dark and unwanted has surfaced from a place in her mind she's so tried to ignore since returning home.

Emily won't ever be strong enough to have a bath again.

Santana has to help her from the rest of her clothes and even the kiss they share doesn't cease the torrent of thoughts now emerging.

She won't swim in the lake anymore.

The water is tepid inside the old cast iron horse trough as they settle down inside, a product of having cooled during the multiple trips it must have taken Hendrick to fill it. They don't dare let a touch linger too long, nor venture too far. Lips brush against skin but barely for a moment long enough to satisfy. The door lacks the lock needed for the privacy they desire. The feeling Brittany wishes to loose herself in.

She won't get to see Santana open her practice.

Brittany sinks lower in the water until she can feel the suds along the surface tickling at her nose. It feels good though; to finally wipe the grime from their bodies and relish in the scent of freshly washed hair.

She's at least this knowledge to hang onto to, especially now with everything else seeming to fall apart.

It's been so long since Brittany's been able to run her fingers through long, untangled tresses. So long since Santana's tasted of the skin against Brittany's neck without a hint of dirt and sweat lingering afterward on her tongue. And as much as Brittany enjoys and returns the affection, her thoughts stray to her sister. She grows more still as the water cools, eyes clouded with a look Santana's not yet seen upon blue. Despondent, deeply so.

She won't live much longer…

As Brittany empties the water down out through the valve drain to the wall outside, Santana wraps her arms across her middle, hugging her from behind and whispering of days they'll soon have to share a proper bath.

When all is well.

Brittany can't quite make herself believe the words. Not when she's figured out what that look in Santana eyes really meant when she sat beside Emily.

She can't help Emily. No one can.

---

They have dinner together. It's not a grand affair like the feast Rachel prepared them just the night prior, but nice given the lengths her Pa went to make it for his guests. The soup is watery, bland, and more potato broth than beef stew. Brittany prods at the bits of the starchy vegetable floating in her bowl, appreciative yet unable to eat. Everyone she loves is sat around her, everyone aside from the one person unable to join them.

It's bittersweet, sharing a meal with them all and knowing her sister lies dying not a room away.

A soft touch of a sock against her foot raises a silent question. She need not look to her left to know Santana is trying to catch her attention. She can feel the worry in the gaze Santana's fixed upon her face. Her father is giving her the same from across the table.

"Brittany, you've not touched your supper," he says quietly.

She cannot stomach another bite. Not with her gut twisting, sick with thoughts of her sister.

"Britt," Santana whispers, the heat of her palm sears through the material of Brittany's slacks. The touch burns unnecessarily, shooting straight up into her chest where it blisters inside her heart.

Brittany pushes away from the table and stands to her feet, not meaning to have sprung up quite so suddenly. She grows lightheaded momentarily, breathing harder but for a second. Noah and Sam stand ready to catch her should she fall, each man wearing matching expressions of concern. Yet none more so than the look her father now gives her, eyes wide with worry as they dart between her own.

"I," she begins to say, her voice a mere croak of sound. She clears her throat, offering those at the table a small smile as she takes a step away from the suffocating feeling of being so near them all. "I just need to check on the horses," she settles on once she can focus from a few feet away. Santana looks as if she's preparing to join her and so Brittany quickly motions for her to remain. "It's okay, I'll only be a minute or so. I'll sleep better knowing they're both warm."

She ignores the feel of all their stares as she leaves the kitchen, but they care for her, and it makes leaving them all the worse. She feels a horrible friend, a pathetic daughter, a dishonest lover.

Yet none of her guilt and sorrow is more so prevalent than the feeling of soon to be without a sister.

The cold air slams hard against her face as she exits the home, clearing her mind and numbing the painful stirrings in her chest.

They are warm of course, the horses that is. Each draped with a cozy blanket inside a stall with fresh hay. Apple is pleased to see her, giving a clomp of his hoof and soft snort as she nuzzles against his neck.

"I've missed you too," she smiles into his fur, eyes wet with tears. She cries against his neck for a long while.

It is nice to steal away, if only for a moment. The barn air is chiller than that inside the home, fresher somehow even with the smell of the pigs and cows locked inside their pens for the long winter night. Even Lord Tubbington pays her his greetings, rubbing up against her legs as she exits Apple's stall.

"You know, it's not so hospitable to disappear from your guests for so long," Noah says, smiling cheekily from where he stands reclined against one of the barn doors.

Brittany squats down, scratching beneath the cat's fat jaw. He purrs at her, pleased and rubs his side against her leg once more. "I just wanted to check on them," Brittany tells him, giving the cat one last scratch before standing upright once more.

Noah pushes off from the door, stepping further into the barn. "For near an hour?" he asks her, concerned as he approaches. Brittany knows what he'll ask her next even before the words leave his mouth. "Britt, why'd you really come out here?"

She sighs, glancing over his shoulder to where she can see her home; the windowpanes lit with the glow of lamps in every window save for one. "Everyone was so happy and I just…" Brittany trails off, her gaze returning to his, now brimming with fresh tears. "I'm so scared for Emily."

Noah reaches forward, placing a gentle hand along her arm. "You don't have to be," he tells her softly. "You know Santana's going to do all that she can for her."

She nods, wiping away the water from her eyes. "I know but she's just so sick."

"Brittany," he says her name the same way her father does. The same way Santana does before arms pull her in and whisper to her how all will be well.

All won't be well, she knows now. "She's dying and I can't… I can't do anything for her."

Noah steps forward, quickly wrapping her in his arms as another choked sob works its way from her throat. "You're here," he whispers to her earnestly. "That matters more than you know."

Brittany whimpers, burying her face against his chest. "Wh-what if it's not enough?" she asks, voice muffled and broken. Noah holds her closer. "I don't want her to die."

He doesn't know what to say.

He feels he should fetch Santana, that she should be the one to soothe Brittany's sorrows. Just as she always does. But he hasn't the heart to leave his distraught friend now, not even for the short time it would take to bring her the arms she clearly desires around her instead of his own. He'd come to find her all on his own, hoping to coax her back inside with a smile and a well-placed quip. Santana had warned him to give her more time. He hadn't expected Brittany to fall so fast.

And all he can seem to recall as he holds her now is how she sat by his side that night he cried, consumed with grief over Finn's death whilst the rest of the men of camp shouted their cheers of victory into the starry sky. She never said a word to him, none were needed after all. He'd only wanted to feel, remember and mourn. All she offered was an arm around his shoulders, a solid grip, the only thing keeping him from drowning in the overwhelming loss. He'd not ever cried in front of another soul before then.

Brittany's not lost her sister yet, and he knows he won't be here if it should come to that. So he'll hold her for as long as she needs. Quiet and steady.

He hopes Santana won't have to do the same.

He prays her skills in medicine are well enough to keep any more tears from Brittany's eyes.

---

Santana is not dense. She could see the way Brittany continued to grow more and more withdrawn during their bath and then more so at dinner. And when she hadn't returned after some time Santana was more or less ready to slip on her coat and head out in search of her. But Hendrick had stopped her before she could even think to move from her spot opposite him at the old chess table.

"She gets that way sometimes. Disappears for a while," he said to her as he moved a pawn across the board. He glanced up toward her, sighing inward. "She'll be back, just let her be."

She finished the game with him, trying to be as pleasant as possible even given the unease she could feel for Brittany in her gut. She'd promised Brittany to give her time with him to know her better. It wouldn't do well to squander it now, not when he'd invited her to join him in play. Brittany had probably gone down to the lake and with night upon them Santana knew she hadn't the skills to track her in the dark. She sat with the men for a time after, happy to listen to Sam play her a few of the songs he'd learned on his harmonica and then to both her friends regale her with tips and tales of what she should expect now that she was to live on a farm.

She wasn't really listening though, attention held by the door she was waiting for Brittany to re-enter.

She doesn't remember which of the boys made mention of her drifting eyes first, but Noah was the one to ask her if he should fetch Brittany back. Even he could sense she'd been wanting to herself, but out of respect to Mr. Pierce she'd given Brittany the time she'd obviously needed.

"It's fine," she told him, waving his offer aside despite wishing for him to do nothing more than what he's requested. "Let's just give her some more time. She'll come when she's ready."

"It's been an hour, Santana," Sam had noted, hushed. "And it's mighty cold out there."

Santana glanced over her shoulder, spotting Hendrick standing at the kitchen window staring gravely out toward the barn.

"Go," Santana had told Noah. "But if she wants to stay…"

"I'll not bother her for long," Noah assured her.

They returned together not long after, Brittany's ears, cheeks and nose tinged pink with cold and her eyes red from heavy tears. Brittany wanted nothing more than to sleep. Santana wanted nothing more than to hold her until the pain disappeared from her eyes.

She can't do that now though, not sharing a bed with Brittany whilst Mr. Pierce sleeps not mere feet away on the floor.

Hendrick snores loudly in his makeshift bed of blankets along the floor. Brittany listens fondly; having entirely missed the sound she once considered so grating. Santana lies as far apart from her as is humanly possible, something Brittany knows she does for the benefit of them both and yet she's still want for her to scoot closer. The bed feels far to large without Santana curled at her side.

Throwing caution to the wind Brittany slides over, closing the space separating them.

"Britt, we can't," Santana hisses, trying to subtly untangle herself from the warm embrace she now finds herself confined within. The bed creaks. Santana's blood runs cold, her body frozen beneath the thick quilt. She can just barely make out Hendrick's shape beneath a similar quilt, his breaths thankfully rising and falling slowly. Warm lips press against her forehead and as always her body succumbs to the one at her side, her eyes falling close as she breathes in the clean scent of Brittany's skin. She swears the simple kiss unravels the knots creased in her back, her body growing slack as Brittany pulls her closer until there's not a breadth of space between them.

"He's sleeping San," Brittany's voice is no more than a brush of air against her cheek. "It's all right."

Her heart stops beating so fast, returning once more to its relaxed rhythm. Santana inhales deeply, the scent of fresh soap filling her senses as she rests her forehead just beneath Brittany's ear.

"If he wakes?" she asks, fingers tangling in the loose collar of Brittany's nightgown.

Brittany's hand stills the one along her neck.

"It's all right," Brittany repeats, this time softer. "Please?"

She just needs to be near Santana. To hold her.

To truly believe the words she's just spoken are real.

Because no matter how much they echo in her head, she can't will her heart her make them true.

Even when Santana repeats them to her as she begins to cry anew.

---

January 4th, 1863

The dawn light barely fills the westward facing room. Groggy, Santana wakes, tired from the night spent whispering words of comfort and hope to Brittany. She'd finally fallen asleep after a while, fretful at that. Santana's relieved to see her at peace now, curled into her side where they share the same pillow. She steals a glance over her shoulder, doubly relieved to find Hendrick missing from his bed.

She'd not be able to do what she wishes otherwise, which is lay a faint kiss to the corner of Brittany's mouth. She doesn't stir, still deep asleep as Santana pulls back. Not wishing to wake her, Santana works to untangle herself from warm arms.

There are a couple dresses folded in wait atop the dresser that she recalls never being there as they settled to bed the night before. Smiling, Santana realizes Hendrick must have left them out for them. And also, with a hint of blush on her cheeks, that he must have seen them sleeping. She hopes their closeness didn't plant a seed of doubt in his mind. Santana had been so careful to ensure the quilt covered them clear up to their necks.

Her fingers brush against the fabric of one of the dresses. They must all belong to Brittany. The thought brings a soft smile to her face. She picks up the nearest, letting the smooth material unravel to reveal it's shape. It must be one of Brittany's work dresses, she thinks, spotting a few dirt stains near the knees and torn fragments along the hem. It smells of grass and hay and days spent hanging to dry in the sun long ago.

Exactly the smell of home Santana has always imagined.

She slips from her nightclothes and into the dress without second thought. A thick belt buckled around her waist ensures some of the long length will not touch too far down her ankles. With one last long glance placed down to Brittany, Santana leaves the bedroom, ready to embark upon her life at the Pierce farm.

The boys are sat at the kitchen table, engrossed in talk of plans for their return to Marysville that morning when Santana enters. The smell of oatmeal cooking on the stove has another smile, this one far more relaxed, pulling across her lips.

"I see you slept real good," Noah teases as she takes a seat beside him.

She offers him a kick beneath the table in answer.

"Morning Santana!" Hendrick greets her as he shakes free of his coat and lays it to rest over one of the empty chairs. There are bits of hay still stuck to his slacks. Morning chores, Santana recalls. Brittany always tended to the animals…

He checks upon the bubbling oatmeal in the pot as he asks, "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," she tells him, giving Noah a pointed stare before her eyes catch upon the steaming dark liquid in the cup held in his hand. She perks instantly. "Is that coffee?"

"Tea, actually," Hendrick replies before Noah can. Sam pours her a cup, still looking tired himself when his smile is smothered by a yawn. "In your last letter you mentioned it being good for Emily's throat."

And just like that, her mood dampens. "How is she?"

Hendrick runs a hand through the thin thatches of hair on his head. "You saw her yesterday," he says with a heavy sigh. "She'll not be the same again, will she?"

Santana shifts, uncomfortable, in her chair. "It's hard to tell," she tells him, watching as he pours some of the oatmeal to a bowl set up upon a familiar tray. He's a strong man, Santana knows, the build of a hard worker evident in broad shoulders and thick arms. Yet he looks pained as he reaches for the tray, as if the burden of its weight shall prove too much to bear. Santana stands suddenly. "Here, I'll take that in for her. Is she up?"

Hendrick looks appreciative of the offer. With a nod he hands Santana the tray. "She is. And she's very much looking forward to meeting you," he says, and despite the warmth in his voice his eyes remain troubled. "I best get Britt up, she can sleep till the sun's high in the sky whenever she's in my bed."

Santana watches him go, holding the small bedside tray close to her waist. The three friends remain silent, simply listening to his footsteps as they disappear into the back hall.

"I can't imagine what he must be feeling," Sam is the one to voice their thoughts aloud.

"Britt is real torn up about it," Noah says, mindful to keep his tone hushed. He looks up toward Santana, sympathetic. "I'm sure she told you what she said to me in the barn."

"She hasn't," Santana tells him, swallowing thickly. "There was no need…"

Sam rises from his chair, wishing to give her a hug but instead placing a solid and grounding hand to her arm. "We'll pray for her, okay?"

Santana lets her chin fall as she nods. It's all that can be offered anymore.

---

She finds herself standing outside Emily's door, simply staring at the wood and listening to the soft hum of the song the girl inside has begun to sing. She knows the words, instantly recognizing the poem from within the pages of the book she glimpsed at the night before. One she too owned during her days as a schoolgirl in Cincinnati. But whereas her own voice rose in strength, Emily's wanes, interrupted by a cough and then followed subsequently by a string of muttered and tired curses.

Balancing the tray against her hip, Santana knocks softly on the door. "Hi, Emily, it's Santana, I have—"

There's some quick shuffling and a squeak of elated surprise. "Oh! Please, come in! No need to knock!" Emily's voice is hoarse, unused, but also welcoming. Santana pushes the door open slowly, peeking her head inside first to ensure the young girl truly wishes her entry. Emily is sitting up in the bed as best she's able, Hendrick obviously having helped the girl up early this morning and given her a fresh blanket. She's still as pale as ever, her breathing just as wheezy. But her smile is all Brittany, ever so wide and ever so bright. She looks stunned as Santana steps into the room toward her. The sunlight now fully revealing the woman hidden in the shadow of her doorway.

Brittany did not write of her well enough, Emily thinks.

"Oh my..." Emily breathes out, coughing some and giving Santana a small smile in apology.

Santana draws up the mask over her lower face, having meant to sooner and feeling a twinge irresponsible for doing so now. She must think me the worst sort of doctor.

"How are—" Santana begins to ask her customary question of wellbeing only for Emily to speak over her.

"She said you were pretty," Emily tells her, still staring in wonder. "But you're really, really pretty."

Santana feels her cheeks warm beneath the mask. She chuckles. "Um, thanks?"

"The boys in town won't know what to do with themselves when they see you."

"I don't really—"

"You're honestly the prettiest woman I've ever seen," Emily continues on, voice growing weaker as Santana sets the tray down on her bedside table. "And you're smart, and you've been helping Britt, and you've brought me breakfast… you're perfect."

Santana laughs as she carefully sits herself down in the very spot Brittany sat by Emily's side just the night before. "And you are exactly how Brittany described."

Emily quirks a brow with a smirk, "Embarrassing and too talkative?"

Santana rolls her eyes as she hands the girl her bowl of oatmeal. "Adorable and charming." She smiles warmly at her. "It's great to finally meet you Emily."

Emily gives her a smile in return as she takes a slow bite of the oatmeal. She chews just as carefully, unnecessarily, Santana notes. A somber expression crosses the youthful face as she points up with the spoon to Santana's mouth. "I wish it could have been without one of those, but then I suppose that means you'd be talking to a corpse."

Santana feels a clench in her heart at the words. "I'm going to help you, in whatever way I can," she promises, gaze earnest.

Emily waves the words off with her spoon as she settles back against the pillow propped against her bed railing. She seems defeated, quieted. "It's okay, Santana," she tells her softly, stirring her oatmeal without thought to taking another bite. It rests forgotten and steaming in her lap. "I know I won't see spring. I heard Dr. Nelson tell Pa he doesn't expect me to even see February. He said it nicer of course…"

"You're doing so well right now."

"It's Sunday, is it not?" Emily asks, looking back up to Santana for confirmation. Santana nods. "Last I was awake enough to speak it was a Tuesday."

Santana's eyes widen, not having expected it to have been so long. "Your body is fighting this. Pneumonia is a tricky illness, compounded with the tuberculosis—"

"Do you think I'll make it till Spring?" Emily asks, unwilling to hear the same words spoken to her by everyone who's been brave enough to visit. Certainly none of her friends… they couldn't dare the risk of seeing her knowing what affliction she could spread. Aside from Dr. Nelson and her father only Mrs. Schuester ever paid her visits. And even when the skittish woman did she skirted near the edge of the bed, two masks over her face in place of just one and with hands always covered in the thickest of gloves. At least she brought books to make up for it. Emily stares up at Santana, a hard glint in her tired eyes. "Honestly, as a doctor, do you?"

Santana is astonished. To sit before someone with such a grasp of mortality at her age…she doesn't know how to respond. And what more, she can feel tears brimming in her eyes. Knowing it best not to lie, not to someone so incredibly courageous, Santana bows her head and gives a shake of her head.

Emily sighs, grateful as she slumps into her seat. "Why is it so hard for everyone else to accept that?"

"They love you Emily," Santana tells her, truthful. "No one wishes to lose you."

"But you will," Emily tells her, fully having accepted this all long ago. She smiles calmly at Santana. "And it's okay."

"If Brittany could hear you now," Santana says, words choked.

Emily thinks on it a moment, her lips thinned as she places her uneaten breakfast back to the tray. "She'll not want to hear any of this," she decides upon finally, and knows she's spoken right when Santana shakes her head in agreement. She slips further down against the bed, breath growing deeper, more broken. "I'm so glad she's home… both of you."

Santana wipes at her eyes as she reaches forward and clasps her hand atop one of Emily's own. The younger girls skin is hot to the touch, pulse weak where Santana can feel it just at the edge of her wrist. "She's missed you so much."

Emily smiles again, this time with far more effort as her body succumbs to fatigue. "I didn't think I'd ever see her again…"

Santana helps her to settle down, carefully cradling Emily's head so as to avoid it knocking upon the bars of the bed frame railing. "Just rest, Emily," she whispers, brushing some damp hair from back over the girl's forehead. "She's here now."

"Thank… you…" Emily breathes out, sleep quickly taking her back into its calm waters.

Santana watches her sleep for only a few minutes more, wishing there was more she could do to help rid the disease from Emily's blood. Her mask is wet with her tears, sniffles prevalent in every other breath she takes. She leaves before she can start crying.

The only other bedroom door in the hall is ajar as Santana approaches. From the kitchen she can hear the sound of the men, each of their distinct voices carrying clearly in the small home. Brittany's is not among them.

She's busy slipping a dress down over her body inside the bedroom. Santana opens the door a little wider once she's decent, leaning against the frame as she watches Brittany brush down the wrinkles and folds of her skirt. It's strange and alluring, seeing Brittany donning something so entirely feminine.

Santana clears her throat softly, announcing her presence. Brittany seems unfazed as she turns toward her, finishing clasping the few buttons at her chest. She offers Santana a smile and a twirl of her skirt.

"You look beautiful Brittany," Santana tells her.

"It's one of my best dresses," Brittany says, blushing with pride. "For when I see Emily today."

Santana moves into the room, closing the door behind her. "I just met her."

Brittany looks surprised, and also, understandably, upset. "Without me?"

"I didn't want to wake you," Santana says with utmost apology as she moves to Brittany's side. She hopes her next words will bring a much needed smile to the face before her. "She's…. she's everything you've ever said of her, Brittany."

It does, just ever so slightly at first but Brittany's eyes speak volumes more. "I bet she loved seeing you. I told you she would," she teases, grinning as she steps away from Santana to try and smother her hair into some semblance of style in the hand mirror she's propped against the dresser and wall. She bites her lip, frustrated as she tries to force it toward the side. In the mirror she can see Santana watching her, not really amused, just simply… besotted. Brittany grins at her reflection. "You keep staring."

"I just… I've never seen you look so," Santana is flustered, trying to force an apt word free from her mind. Pathetically, she settles upon, "Feminine."

Brittany giggles as she moves away from the mirror, surrendering to whatever way her hair has decided today to settle. "You've not ever seen me in one, have you?" she asks, amused as she spins in a way she knows her skirt will kiss at her calves. "Is it odd? Do you prefer the slacks?"

"No, no," Santana assures her, stopping Brittany before she can twirl around her once more. Her hands come to rest down on Brittany's hips, keeping her in place as she smiles up at her. "I like it. A lot."

Brittany leans forward, wrapping Santana in her arms. "Hmm, I know," she whispers, feeling far more at home than she has since returning. She hugs Santana tight. "Thank you, for not letting go last night."

"Of course," Santana whispers in kind, pressing a light kiss to Brittany's cheek. "Always."

Brittany pulls Santana higher into her arms, lifting her entirely from the floor. "I love you," she tells her, kissing her soundly. For just this moment Brittany forgets where she stands, all her thoughts upon the woman in her arms and the warmth that caresses her heart as she sets her down to her feet so their kiss can deepen. The pain is still there from yesterday, just as fresh and cavernous as before. But she doesn't feel as if she's lost to it when Santana holds her face so and kisses her the way she's wanted her to for days now.

It's bearable, even when she knows it's soon to consume her once this is over.

And Santana can feel Brittany's need; especially in the way her fingers tremble where they brush against her arm. For just a moment neither need feel the burden of the death soon to strike them all. They are home, the one place they've been striving to be for so long. They have one another.

They part after a few more shared pecks and a lingering nibble of a bottom lip.

Santana can see that edge of darkness back in Brittany's eyes, but she sees love too, she sees her trying to hold together.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" Brittany asks as she leads them toward the door and holds it open for Santana to pass through.

With a smile in thanks Santana answers, "No, your father made some oatmeal though."

Brittany grins, taking her hand, needing the support. "No more cornmeal for us."

Santana laughs, holding tight. "Thank god."

---

Hendrick rose this morning before the sun as he's done most all his life. His eldest daughter may be home from war and his youngest stricken with a curse of a disease, but the animals upon his farm still needed tending. There were still chores to be done regardless of circumstance. A livelihood that needed to be maintained. Wood had to be collected for the fire he'd need for warming the home, another letter delivered to Dr. Nelson in hopes the good man would be kind enough to bring Emily more medicine.

There was some time though, right after he dressed and shaved the beard he'd been neglecting since October to simply watch both his daughters sleep. He likes sitting with Emily in the dawn hours, when the light isn't so strong and he can't see the way she's fading before his eyes. He doesn't stay for long though, he never can stomach the sounds of her labored breathing without wishing there was more comfort he could bring her. He hasn't been able to afford her medication in weeks, relying on Dr. Nelson's kindness alone to provide the care Emily so desperately needs.

And then there was Brittany, curled tightly against Santana and looking as though her dreams were as bereft with peace as he felt himself. She'd whimper and burrow deeper against Santana's chest, seeking a comfort he's not ever seen her grasp for with anyone else. Not even during all the nights she'd come running to him when Emily was not yet born and the storms were loud and her heart beat frantically in her young ribs. And somehow, even deep asleep, Santana could sense the need of his daughter, and pulled her closer, chasing away the hurt.

He can't imagine what they must have done to survive the war, even as short as their time was entrenched in the thick of conflict. It has felt years to him since she left. He cannot describe the feeling within him now to know she is home, safe and well. Keeping to himself, he tucked the blankets around them both before he set out a few of Brittany's clothes for Santana to decide upon wearing.

As he struck up the fire in the front room hearth he also made sure to burn the formal letter he'd received from her commanding Officer just a few weeks prior. His daughter was not captive anymore.

He sits now, watching as Brittany and Santana enter the kitchen and take their seats opposite him at the table. Brittany makes sure to lean over and give him a kiss on his cheek before pulling her bowl of oatmeal in front of her.

"Much better," she tells him, scratching at her own chin when he raises a brow in question. "I hate when you let it grow. It's always like kissing a porcupine."

"You used to never be bothered by it when you were little," Hendrick says, happy to have his daughter back this morning, Brittany's spirits clearly far more raised. "You always claimed it tickled."

Brittany scrunches her nose, trying to recall ever saying so. "I did?"

Hendrick laughs. "Yes, sunshine, all the time."

Santana is surprised how easily Brittany and her father converse. There's a proud smile on his face all the while, sometimes his attention straying to her and causing Santana to feel a rush of heat in her cheeks. His questions are spoken kindly, much the same way as Burt asked queries of her when they first met. She can see why Brittany was so fond of that man, he and Hendrick are very much cut from the same cloth.

Before long they finish their meal and bid farewell to the boys. Sam is the first to give them hugs and whispers of the prayers he'll recite every night for them all. Noah gives them each a long hug, promising to write them upon his return home.

"If you need us we'll come straight away you hear?" He tells Brittany, feeling his throat tighten as he speaks. "I love you girls."

They stand watching them head back down the path until there's nothing left save for a line of sled tracks in the melting snow.

Hendrick is the first to head back in the home, intent upon picking up the dishes and washing them in some snow out by the water pump. It would be another few weeks still until the frozen water in the well had thawed enough for the pump to be in working order once more. Santana tries to lend a hand but he can't quite make himself say yes to the offer. She still feels a guest to him, too new to be asking of a hand in chores.

They were prisoners not a fortnight ago.

"You've been through quite enough I reckon," he tells her with a chuckle, hoping it hides how shaken his voice has grown. "It's high time you had a chance to just be at home."

Santana feels it again, that warmth in her chest as she nods and sits back down at the table. Once Hendrick has gone, Brittany leans across the tabletop, sliding her fingers into the spaces between Santana's own.

"I told you he'd love you too."

Santana lets out a breath, pressing her fingertips against Brittany's. "He's just happy you've made it home."

"That both of us have made it home," Brittany corrects her softly, scooting her chair nearer. "I think I want to tell him."

Santana's eyes widen, heart racing. "Brittany, are you sure? It's not even been a day. You promised to give him time and—"

"And what better time than now with him so cheerful?" Brittany asks, smiling at Santana gently. "I know he cares for you."

Santana cannot deny her claim. Hendrick has been nothing but kind to her since they arrived. She still feels it too soon though, but can't will herself to say so aloud. Not when Brittany is finally, finally looking more herself. "Do you want me with you, when you tell him?"

Brittany squeezes her hand. "No, it's okay," she tells her. "I know you wanted to catch Dr. Nelson before he heads out on his visits for the day."

"This is important though. I'll stay if you want me to."

Brittany's smile softens. "I love you, you know that?" she whispers, picking Santana's hand up from the table to brush a light kiss against her knuckles. "Take Apple, Dr. Nelson's shop is just a ways—"

The ringing of a sleigh bell halts anymore of her words. Emily.

"Brittany?" Santana whispers, rubbing her thumbs gently against the back of Brittany's hand.

"I'll…I'll be all right with Pa," Brittany says after a moment. Her eyes brightens. Emily is awake. She meets Santana's hesitant gaze. "Go San, I'll be okay, I promise."

The bell is rung again, louder this time.

Santana leans over quickly, giving her a sound kiss. With one more look spared back toward her in hesitation, Santana finally heads to the barn at Brittany's assurance.

Smothering down her skirt Brittany stands, heart beating fast as she looks down the hall toward Emily's room. She's no reason to be nervous, she knows, but feels so anyway as she makes her way down the hall. Her hands shake at her sides and she must roll them into the skirt of her dress to keep them from trembling so. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the chair set up outside Emily's door.

To the mask she must wear before entering.

The sleigh bell sounds softer this time once she's standing right in front of the door.

"This stupid thing never works," she can hear Emily muttering from inside followed by the sharp ring and clang as the little bell is slammed down to the bedside table.

With shaking hands still, Brittany ties a mask around her lower face. Breathing deep she swallows hard and opens the door.

Her sister is sat up in bed, looking just as pale and just as ill as the night before. Frailer now without the quilts bundled around her frame to hide the way her skin hangs from her weakened muscles and bones. All that remains alive are her blue eyes, duller in color than Brittany remembers them but oh how they pierce just as strongly into her own. How full of love they still are. And how much the gaze speaks of the relief her sister feels seeing her now.

Emily lets out a gasp as her eyes stray to the top of Brittany's head. "Britt… your hair."

Brittany touches a few fingers to her hair as she makes her way to the space Emily pats at her side. "I told Santana you'd hate it."

"It looks all right I suppose," Emily offers with a strained smile as Brittany sits herself down. She hates how awkwardly Brittany settles near her, as if unsure whether to face her or remain staring at the far wall. Brittany is never this way with her.

"It'll grow back, don't worry," Brittany says quietly.

Emily reaches forward and presses a few of her fingertips to Brittany's elbow. When Brittany flinches at her touch and then looks to her with apology immediately after she merely smiles at her sadly, understanding. "I'm sorry I was so tired yesterday."

Brittany turns to her then, tucking one of her legs beneath her as she scoots closer. "No, don't apologize," she whispers, shaking her head as she tries to keep herself from crying. "I-I'm just so happy to see you again."

Emily smiles at her, giving Brittany's arm a gentle shake. "You can hug me you know. I won't break."

Again Brittany shakes her head, eyes once more taking in the fragile form of her sister. "You're so skinny Em…"

Emily lets out an exasperated sigh. "Santana said the same too," she says and upon the widening of Brittany's eyes, elaborates, "Well, not aloud but her eyes did. She came to bring me some food this morning. We talked for a little," she tells her, smiling more as she adds, "I really like her, Brittany."

The smile Brittany gives her this time is one Emily was afraid she'd never see in her sister's eyes again. Nor does she expect the hug she's quickly wrapped in. "I knew you would," Brittany whispers as she gives Emily a soft squeeze. "She's going to help you get better."

Emily snorts, barely able to contain the roll of her eyes. "Don't pretend," she scoffs as Brittany lets her go and the smile once upon her sisters face fades instantly. "No one can make this go away. Not even God."

"You have to get well, Emily. I'm home now and I can take care of you with San. We'll make sure—"

Emily reaches forward, eyes softening as she rests one of her hands against Brittany's. "It's okay."

"It's not… it's not okay for you to..." Brittany can't will herself to complete the thought. Her throat feels as though it's grown thorns and the sting of fresh tears burn in the corners of her eyes once more.

And the look Emily is giving her… the one with such obvious apology.

"I've thought of it a lot, and it's not so scary anymore," Emily tells her softly. "Sometimes I wake up and it's so hard to even take a breath. If I were to just stop—"

"Don't," Brittany chokes out. "Don't say things like that, please."

"Pa can't look at me anymore, you know," Emily continues on, her movements slowing. "He comes in here and sits right there like you and then tells me he loves me. The tears are the worst. It's as if I'm already gone to him."

"He's just scared," Brittany tells her, so sure of her words. He must be. It is the only reason why he'd cry so. He's afraid of losing her. Everyone is. Brittany feels just like him now, crying herself before she can even will the tears to abscond. "You're not gone, Em. You're right here," she whispers, voice thick as she moves forward and falls into Emily's arms. "I've m-missed you so much."

Emily takes in a deep breath, her chest rattling with the effort. "Me too."

"I'll take care of you," Brittany declares, nodding as she pulls away and holds tight to her sister's arms. "I will, I s-swear it."

"Only for a while more," Emily says, tired.

"Always," Brittany affirms, voice shaken but strong. "And Santana's a good doctor, she'll find a way, I know it."

Emily takes another slow breath as Brittany eases her down to the bed. "I really like her…"

"I know, peanut," Brittany whispers, pained to hear her sister saying it once more. Emily never forgets. "You said that already."

She yawns, eyes growing unfocused. "Did I?"

"You should get your rest," Brittany tells her as she pulls the blankets up across Emily. "San says you need lots of sleep."

"I know… it's going to be all right," Emily's voice has gone so quiet Brittany can barely hear her even a foot apart. "She'll look after you…"

Her heart warms at the whisper words. "I love her," she tells Emily and with lips trembling into a smile adds ever more softly, "She's mijn zielsverwant."

"Hmm," Emily hums, giving Brittany's hand a weak squeeze.

"And your bell works," Brittany tells her, tucking the blankets in snugly about her sister. "I heard it. What did you need?"

"Just...you…" Emily breathes out before sleep overtakes her once more.

Brittany remains sitting at her side, sniffling as she repeats, "I'm here."

---

Her father is sitting in his favorite chair beside the fireplace when she walks into the front room sometime later. The first thing Brittany notices is how worn the armrests of the wooden parlor chair have grown. Particularly the faded and scratched fabric right where one of his hands is resting. He's been worrying the material down, Brittany realizes, seeing him picking at the loose strings now. Fretting over them just as he did for her… and for Emily.

With his other hand he prods down at the fire with their sole iron stoker, eliciting a wave of heat to rush up from the newly sprouted flames. Brittany can feel it rustling some of the hair resting across her forehead as she steps closer.

"Pa?" she calls for him quietly but he's startled all the same, dropping the iron bar to the floor with a clang and causing a few sparks to flitter upward in the fire. They settle with pops and crackles, the ringing of the bar still echoing as Brittany reaches down to set it back into its stand. Hendrick seems ashamed to have her picking up after his folly but appreciates the help nonetheless. To even have her home now to do so is joy enough for him.

Brittany wonders what he was thinking so heavily upon that he hadn't even noticed her enter. He could always sense her approaching. "Cake for your thoughts?" she asks, smiling down at him.

That brings a small quiver of a smile to the corner of his mouth. "Did you get to sit with Emily?"

Brittany nods, although her grin is replaced instead by a tightening of her mouth. "She sleeps a lot."

"It's good for her," Hendrick says in response, equally somber. Brittany shifts in her position against the wall, her eyes back upon the worn corner of the armrest. She doesn't want to give him more reason for worrisome thoughts. She's starting to think perhaps Santana was right, after all. It's too soon yet.

Brushing some hair back over her forehead she asks of him, "Did you need any help in the fields today?"

He shakes his head, feeling the small object he stuffed into his pocket earlier this morning seeming to burn through to his skin as hot as the fire before him. "All taken care of, don't you fret none."

"And the hens?" Brittany asks next. "Have they been fed yet?"

Hendrick looks up at her, squinting in marvel at his daughter. Brittany never remembered chores of her own volition. The object ceases to burn so against his thigh. His grin returns. "All taken care of, sunshine."

"Oh," Brittany breathes out, looking a might disappointed by his words.

"I do have something for you though," he tells her as he stands to his feet and withdraws from his pocket the small locket she'd left that morning of her enlistment.

Brittany reaches out, touching with tentative fingers the newly polished surface. The once tarnished gold locket is clean and shined to its former glory. Brittany can't help but think it looks just as it did when it hung down from her mother's neck. Hendrick holds the chain up by the clasps, nodding at her to turn so he may secure it around her neck back where it rightfully belongs. She does so, momentarily forgetting how short her hair is when her fingers meet nothing but the skin at the back of her neck. Her father chuckles some as he fastens it into place.

Brittany feels the locket settle warmly right over her heart. She's missed the weight of it against her skin. The memories it kindles.

Hendrick places a quick kiss to the top of her head and whispers, "You should look inside."

Brittany turns to him, eyes questioning as she picks the locket from over her chest and opens it carefully. Inside are two small photographs. One image of him, stoic, tired and proud. The other of Emily, her eyes bright, mouth a bit blurred from where Brittany knows she had to resist the urge to smile during her sitting. She looks so healthy… so happy. More than just Emily's mouth seems to appear blurred the longer Brittany stares. It's not until she feels the sensation of water upon her cheek that she realizes she's begun to silently cry.

Again.

She feels she's cried enough in the past two days to last her a lifetime.

"I had them done when she was feeling well a few weeks after you'd gone," Hendrick explains, reaching up with his thumb to brush a few of his daughter's tears away. His skin is calloused and hard, just as Brittany always recalls. The telltale hands of a farmer. But he's ever so gentle, as he is, always. "I did promise to someday get them for you."

Her arms are around him before he can even process that she's moved. Stronger than he remembers her ever being too, he thinks with a chuckle as she holds him tight. Hendrick manages to pry his arms out from her hold to hug her back. "All will be well now, Britt. You're home with us."

"And San too," Brittany adds as she pulls away and wipes the remaining tears from her eyes. "I hope Dr. Nelson takes to her."

"She's wonderful, Britt," Hendrick tells her, assured. "He will certainly wish to hire her."

"I hope so," Brittany says, tucking her locket safely beneath her shirt so it may rest once more against the skin above her heart. "All she's ever wanted is to be a true doctor."

"Don't you worry none, he's been looking for someone and she's as perfect a match as he'll get," Hendrick tells her, throwing an arm around her shoulder as he leads them back toward the kitchen. It'll be suppertime before they know it; there is more wood to be collected, and potatoes in need of peeling. "And who's to know, maybe a nice feller will catch her eye while she's in town?"

Brittany's stomach plummets.

Hendrick gives a laugh at the bewildered expression that's just crossed his daughter face. "Oh don't look so surprised about it now," he says as he hands her the knife used for the task. "A girl like her? She'll have them lining up our porch for even a smile. Wonder who'll be the lucky fellow."

Brittany stammers, still dumfounded. "She…she's…"

"Has she someone still in the war?" Hendrick asks, hesitant for he's not want to bring any traumatic thoughts forward.

Brittany quickly shakes her head in answer. "No, she… Santana loves me."

He smiles at her then, surprising even her with the look of understanding now upon his face. "Of course she does," he says, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. "We all do Brittany. She's as good a friend as any I could have ever hoped for you to find. Her marrying won't change that."

He slides out the bucket of potatoes and leaves it just beside her rooted feet. Brittany can't speak. With a wink he heads back out to gather more wood for the coming night.

And Brittany remains standing in the kitchen beside the sparse stock of potatoes, knife held loosely in her now quivering hand, lost, not knowing how to tell him the way she really feels for Santana.

Not when it seems he won't listen.

---

Santana's never really ridden a horse all on her own before. The few pony skips and half dozen shared horse rides she's taken in her youth were hardly of merit. On all occasions there was someone there to lead the animal. Always there was someone else to kick at its hind and tug sharply on the reins. All she'd to do was simply hang on. Riding eluded her. Brittany had made it seem so effortless a skill whenever Santana would watch her from afar, those days when she was still weary of her growing feelings for the woman. Though near everything Brittany did seemed effortless, everything aside from perhaps knitting, Santana recalls now with a fond sadness.

She hopes Brittany will knit her another scarf to replace the ones lost to the ambush.

Berry's just would not do.

She tugs on the fabric now, nearly losing her balance atop Apple. Hendrick had gone over the basics with her as he helped her into the saddle this morning, only one of which she can recall now.

Not ever, upon any instance, was she to ever let go of the reins.

"You'll end up ankle's to the sky and your head to the ground if he were to really get movin'."

To her credit though she was holding the reins when she slipped off a mile or so out on the road into town. Blessedly, no one had seen. And thankfully Apple had merely stopped and waited for her to climb back atop the saddle before starting on down the snow sodden path again. She'd not ever mention to anyone it took her near two quarters of an hour to do so. Her skirt though, Brittany's dress, was entirely in need of a good washing. She picks at some of the mud now as Apple walks them up the slope back to the Pierce farm. No fall could ever mar the feeling of satisfaction she's gained after her meeting with Dr. Nelson.

And to have such a feeling as she returns home… Santana can think of no better end to her day.

Except for maybe the sight that meets her up ahead, where Brittany sits on the porch steps awaiting her arrival.

Apple moves straight to her without so much as a cue from Santana's hold on his reins. She's grateful for the horse's good temperament, knowing she'd very much still be sitting upon that road had she any other mount. Once near enough Brittany gives his nose a scratch as she takes the reins down from Santana's hold.

"Was he a good boy for you?" Brittany asks, looking up toward Santana as she continues to stoke the horse's neck. "'Cause you look a little… grubby."

Santana chuckles, rolling her eyes. "Ever so complimentary, Britt."

Brittany smiles again, slyly this time as she gives another tug on Apple's reins and moves up a few steps on the porch. Santana holds tight to the saddle as Apple moves into place just alongside the porch steps. Eyes still wide and fearing another fall, Santana is surprised when instead two hands meet her thighs and warm lips smoothly capture her own.

Brittany is kissing her, quite thoroughly, without care, in the very wide-open space of her front lawn.

Before Santana can even begin to properly return the kiss Brittany pulls away, smirking ever so enticingly.

Santana blushes, her fingernails digging deeper into the saddle seat.

"You can't get yourself down, can you?" Brittany asks her after a long moment.

Santana blushes harder. "Help me, will you? I've never had to do this on my own."

"I'll teach you," Brittany says, accompanied by a great deal of smothered giggles. As she adjusts Santana's feet properly in the stirrups she looks back up toward the woman, genuinely curious and asks, "How did it go with Dr. Nelson?"

"I begin tomorrow," Santana tells her and then to her utter surprise is pulled down from the saddle without warning and into a crushing hug. "Brittany! It's not that wonderful."

"But you'll be helping him right? As a true doctor?" Brittany is practically bouncing with elation for her. Santana laughs as Brittany finally releases her and she's the ability once more to give her a small, beholden nod. She still can't quite believe the news herself. Dr. Nelson had been so gracious with her request.

"Just as an dispensary aid for now," Santana explains as Brittany takes Apple's reins and begins leading him toward the barn. Santana follows by her side. "But he's agreed to take me on. He's not much to pay me, none at all really."

"Well, that's okay, I mean you'll be helping a lot of good folks so—"

Santana lets out an aggrieved sigh. "But that's just it, Brittany," she says, voice tempered. "He's been tending to everyone without taking a cent to his pocket. He's not been able to afford a shipment of medicine all month. No one's been able to pay him."

Brittany understands though. She's seen the empty pill bottles outside Emily's room. The barren shelves in their pantry…"Pa says the winter's been real hard on everyone. And with the war and all..."

Santana regrets ever letting her voice grow so critical. She reaches down, taking Brittany's free hand gently in her own. "I'll find a way to get Emily's medicine, Brittany. I promise you."

Brittany gives her hand a squeeze for she's thought of one way. "Rachel's family has money, we could—"

"No. I will not grovel to Berry for—" Santana cuts herself off before she can say anything to further spur the vexed expression that's just crossed Brittany's face. "We're already in her debt Brittany, please. I promised I'd find a way. Don't write to her."

"Then who else Santana?" Brittany asks of her sharply as she beings undoing Apple's saddle with practiced ease. She pops back up after undoing his girth buckle, eyes narrowing down into Santana's from over his back. "Who?"

Santana has thought of her answer as well. She had the entire journey home from town to work out a solution. Her fists clench now with the same anger that surged in her before as the name crossed her mind. Anger with herself for ever allowing such a possibility…. one that seems their only choice. She licks her lips, hesitant as she answers, "My… my mother."

Brittany's bitterness fades almost immediately. She gives a single pat to Apple's side and the horse moves into his stall, opening the space between the women. Brittany steps closer toward Santana. "San," she whispers, reaching out for Santana's hand once more.

"If she refuses I will personally write Rachel myself, okay?" Santana tells her, voice choked with a discordance of emotions Brittany is taken aback by. She can't place them all, only hearing faint hints of the fear and resentment laced in her trembling tone. Her fingers trace against Santana's fist, urging the hand to relax, for Santana's eyes to open and lock with her own. But Santana's head is still turned down, her hand only starting to unclench. "She probably thinks me dead but perhaps a letter will open her heart for the minute it will take her to mail us the medicine Emily needs from my father's stores. After all these years she owes me at least that. You know she does."

Brittany pulls Santana nearer until dark hair is tucked beneath her chin and her arms encircle the shorter woman's body. "You're so proud, Santana," Brittany whispers, smiling slightly when she feels Santana's hands wrap behind her back. "You don't have to be that girl anymore."

Santana lets out a huff of sound against Brittany's shoulder before she pulls away, shaking her head and waving the conversation away. "It's done, let's not talk of it anymore," she says with a smile, finally meeting Brittany's eyes. "I want to hear about what you said to your father. Judging by the greeting I received I gather you told him then?"

This time it is Brittany who looks away. "No, I tried but he… I don't know," she sighs, dismayed as she turns back up toward Santana. "It's as if he wasn't listening."

Santana wonders just exactly what it was Brittany said to him, but seeing her looking so despondent now she offers instead, "I'm sorry, Britt."

Brittany shrugs, remaining hopeful. "Maybe tomorrow he'll listen."

Santana smiles, moving forward to link their arms so they can return inside. "You know what we should do tonight?"

"Have sex in the loft?" Brittany suggests.

Santana's steps falter, her grip on Brittany's arm tightening for just a second. "Wha— no… no, but also yes. Yes, we should do that," she affirms, nodding because that is an entirely wonderful idea. She grins up at Brittany and tugs them onward back toward the home. "Before though, I was thinking, I pocketed these nice stamps here from the pharmacy and we haven't gotten a chance to write those letters you wanted."

"Santana! You can't steal things from Dr. Nelson," Brittany swats down at Santana's hand, forcing the stamps back into Santana's coat pocket. "You haven't even started working yet."

"I fully intend to replace these stamps," Santana tells her truthfully. They are a momentary loan of sorts. "I just figured they were looking a bit neglected and could use a good trip."

"Stamps don't come back Santana, that's not how the post works," Brittany tells her patiently. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that?"

Santana deadpans. "I didn't mean it quite so literally."

"How am I supposed to know?" Brittany asks, amused now. "Until ten minutes ago you didn't even know how to dismount a horse."

"I still don't know how to dismount a horse, you mean," Santana quips. "Someone got a bit excited and yanked me off before she could teach me."

Brittany bends down, stealing a quick kiss against Santana's ear. "Later? After we go to the loft?"

Santana shivers, nodding. "Letters first?"

Brittany is more than happy to agree to the suggestion.

They find Hendrick inside, napping soundly in his chair beside the fire.

So they try to keep their voices low as they sit down at the kitchen table, paper and stamps spread about them, sharing smiles from across the mess as they write to their friends. Words of good tiding and missed company to Noah, Sam and Quinn. Words of comfort and safety to Burt and Michael. And upon Brittany's request one each for Kurt and Tina in hopes they can bring good word if their friends at war cannot.

The last is written to Santana's mother. Short and uninvolved, Santana thinks, the very summation of their relationship or what little of it even still remains.

They'll mail them come morning.

For just a little while that night, as they lay entangled on a blanket in the barn loft, everything feels as though it will be all right.

---

January 12th, 1863
Dear Santana,

It's astounding how palpable your annoyance and abhorrence is for Rachel even in writing. If I didn't know you better, merely gauging on the amount of paper you wasted speaking of her faults, I'd think you (dare I say) fascinated with her. But rest assured your dirty secret is safe with me. And speaking of secret, how are you two? I'm sure Brittany is thrilled to be home and with her family once more. Is Emily still well? How are you coping with the Pierce's? You never spoke much of your family to me but from what I've heard from Noah you are in a much better place now. Happiness is something seldom achieved in this world and I envy that you've found it.

Also many thanks for the list of medical journals I should try to get my hands upon. Sam took me to town just today for a bit of browsing and I'm afraid instead of journals I've come home with a pamphlet filled with the most radical of social ideals. The Declaration of Sentiments, written a few years back I believe by some women in New York. Have you heard of it? A woman handed it to me as we passed on a corner and thinking no more of it I left it to my bag until Sam returned me home. Rachel and I usually do some reading with her fathers before supper. She sat reading her romance (hidden in a song book, as if I haven't figured her out by now) and I sat there absorbed in the world of woman's rights and reform. We looked quite the sight I assume. You really should find a copy of this pamphlet and let me know your thoughts. I've never read such boldness! It's truly inspiring!

As for your queries about Noah and I all is well between us. He took me to see a theater show recently and it was delightful. And before you ask, yes, Rachel was one of the performers. She's not quite bad, you know, her acting is in desperate need of help but her singing is splendid. We all judged her far too harshly upon that first meeting. She's still entirely exasperating; do not take me wrong, but marginally less so as the days go by. Perhaps I've just gotten used to the Berrys in general? When you meet her fathers you'll quickly see why she's the way she is. Also you cannot judge me, for I've seen the letter Brittany has sent her. Clearly the two of us have matured enough to carry on civilized rapport with her. At the very least you should send to her an apology.

Anyway, Noah has been very good to me and I do like him a great deal but am afraid I cannot enter into courtship just yet. That would be presumptuous wouldn't it? I've barely known him but a few weeks! And so persistent he is! Did you know I caught him stealing around my window just the other night? The nerve of that boy! Be lucky you have Brittany for I don't know what I will say to him next. It must be so nice to know you never need feel embarrassed to be caught in your nightdress by her. And there is no need to elaborate further upon what occurs whenever you do, I swear your last letter left me red-faced for days. Don't you dare write such filth to me again, Santana. Even if you claim I need to vicariously live through your experiences to gain some form of perverse education. What ever would I need to know any of that for? I'm non-courting Noah!

That said I miss you both dearly and do hope to visit soon. Please give my regards to Brittany!

With love,
Quinn Fabray

---

January 16th, 1863
Dearest Lady Quinn of Berrydom

It's astounding how sickening your sarcasm strikes me. Almost as revolting as your praise and love for Berry. Just admit it Quinn, you are still in that house because you wish nothing more than to replace the enormous hole Finn left in her heart. And by enormous I mean Giant Oaf sized of course. I'd wish you luck on this endeavor but that would presume I care, which I don't. When are you moving to Lima? We need to detach you from that midget succubus before she drains you of all your wits. You've been there not a few weeks and already have forsaken the medical sciences for politics! Women's suffrage no less. Welcome to the North, Quinn, where you will forever be sorely disappointed and frustrated whenever anyone so much as mentions the word vote.

I am happy though, to hear your courtship with Noah is going well, even if you won't admit that is what you are doing. He's been a very good friend to Brittany and I and we'd like to see him happy. You drive him absolutely mad, you know that? In the best way of course though. You should see the letter he wrote to Brittany, your name must be scrawled at least a dozen times per paragraph. She thinks you've broken him, by the way, since he can't go more than three sentences without mentioning you. My favorite gem from his letter is: "Sam and I spent a good part of the morn fishing down by the river. Sometimes I stare in the water and I think how much it reminds me of Quinn's eyes." Mud reminds him of you, in case you didn't gather that what with your upbringing inside a palace and all. We've mud here too, I don't think I've ever had to walk through so much in my life! I would tell you what Brittany and I did just the other day out back by the barn when I got some smeared on my skirt front but I don't want to pollute your mind with anymore of my so called perverse experiences. Red-faced for days? Are you serious Quinn? I barely said anything of the sort. You're such a prude.

I do miss you though Quinn and am very much looking forward to your future visit to the Pierce farm! Did I tell you how Brittany has put me in charge of collecting the hen eggs? I thought it a simple enough task. How often could one chicken cycle through breeding? Good god, there are a dozen hens and those ladies drop new ones damn near everyday! It's medically maddening! I am up to my waist in eggs! Had I known I'd never have agreed. And they bite Quinn. They bite so very hard. Dr. Nelson's patients must think me incompetent with all the bandages I have wrapped about my fingers. I'm using gloves now and Brittany laughs at me but at least I've no new marks on my fingers. My ankles on the other hand, I fear may never be the same.

Hi Quinn, this is Brittany though you can probably tell since my writing is so poor compared to Santana's and I've said it's me. I just thought I'd clarify incase you may have lost your sight and Rachel is reading this to you and she can't tell our writing apart because she's probably acting it out for you even if you are blind and not paying attention to things like that anyway. I hope all is well with you at the Berry house! I know Santana misses you and even though we haven't gotten to know each other as well I guess I miss you too? We hope you can visit us soon and bring Noah and Sam with you. Not Rachel. Santana says she's never allowed to come and if she does she'll have to sleep in the barn. But this is my home so she can sleep on the floor in the kitchen I suppose. Lord Tubbington likes it swell enough. Emily is doing okay this week. I hope next week is better for her. We've told her about you and she wants you to come visit too. So now you must.

Love from us both, (though none for Berry!)
Santana and Britt Pierce

P.S. – Some for Rachel, don't pay any attention to Santana. Also don't tell her I said so.

---

Dutch Translation
mijn zielsverwant: my soulmate