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.

24. This Home is not Broken

AN: Hi everyone! Going to keep this short. ;) Super thanks to my beta, Throppsicle, for turning this around so fast AND for making it all readable. Also way, way better haha. And of course, all the thanks to you all reading/faving/alerting/reviewing! I may not be able to send replies to you all but I do appreciate you taking the time to leave your thoughts. They make my day. :) Thank you.

Chapter 24

This Home is not Broken

January 17th, 1863

Brittany shan't ever tire of waking beside Santana. It is impossible, she believes, just as inconceivable a notion as the stars suddenly falling from the heavens or her Pa finally agreeing to be rid of the outhouse in favor of a water closet like the Berry's; a refusal that was much to Santana's chagrin. Brittany can live without the convenience. She has, after all, done so her whole life. What she cannot abide is to be without Santana.

She could never wish to rise to another's face, or even fathom warmth filling her quite like the way being so near to Santana does.

She'll never love another in the all-consuming manner she loves Santana.

Lying next to her now, watching as her chest rises and falls with the slow even breaths of peaceful slumber, it's unthinkable.

It also frightens Brittany sometimes, that she feels so devoted to another. She images this is what must spur the pens of poets and songwriters alike; a need to capture the simultaneous stirrings and fears within them. How beautiful the lyrics they weave are of love when their hearts are riddled with the duress of longing. And as much as Emily, with all her romanticized ideals, has tried to lead her to believe otherwise, Brittany thinks love is not complicated a feeling at all.

Terrifying at times, surely, but simply magnificent.

Especially in quiet moments like this where she can simply watch Santana sleep and love her in silent regard.

She's not had many chances to wake before Santana since they've returned home. The dried tearstains she can see along the neckline of Santana's nightdress are an instant reminder of why. Santana always stays awake, holding her while she weeps, waiting until she's fallen asleep before even thinking of doing so herself. She waits until Brittany has slipped to dreams and the thuds of her heartbeat do not pound with ache for her sister but instead the measured rhythm of oblivion.

When Brittany succumbs to dreams of better days and longer nights upon blankets in the hayloft. Where the occasional fire fills her senses and she feels trapped beneath burning tents and sizzling flesh. Where Emily is both well and gone…

An imagined place of bliss and horror easily forgotten when she wakes to find Santana at her side.

Santana never mentions the marks on her arms and back but Brittany's seen them. The ones the exact shape of her nails and yet not at all attributed to the impassioned moments they've stolen away alone together. These are different marks, scared indents that are fresher upon Santana's skin in the morn than they ever are come dusk.

There's always more on the mornings Brittany wakes before her.

She's already counted five on Santana's arm alone.

And she knows once Santana wakes she'll not care. She'll smile at her as she always does, groggy and crooked. The marks are but a memory lost to the light of a new day.

Brittany feels far warmer in that moment than she will all day.

Right now though Santana still sleeps. The dawn light is not quite strong enough to rouse her on its own. They're not wrapped in each other as they were when eyelids grew heavy and heartbeats slowed to the pull of sleep, but Brittany can feel her body heat all the same. Their forearms rest beside one another, Brittany's hand palm-down whilst Santana's fingers lazily curl upward. She's sprawled on her back for once; head turned toward Brittany enough for her to see the serene expression upon her face. Brittany blinks against the sunlight just beginning to brighten outside the window across Santana. Her father had obviously pulled the curtains open when he woke earlier this morn. Had he not Brittany is sure she'd never have noticed the small dribble of saliva that's collected at the slightly open corner of Santana's mouth.

Smiling, Brittany burrows herself deeper into the pillow, her body sinking stomach-down into the mattress. Comfortable and content she brushes her littlest finger against Santana's. The smaller hand moves nearer to hers in time with the lungful of air Santana draws deep into her chest. When brown eyes open enough to find her own, the serene expressions remains, satisfied now as fingers thread into the empty spaces of the other's hand. It is more a place to rest their palms than a hold, gazes speaking for the touch they've left unfastened. Fond, happy, a hint of drowsy in the yawn Santana hides with a dip of her chin.

Brittany doesn't wish to leave this bed.

Her thumb traces a circle of a pattern just across the groove where Santana's wrist meets her palm. It is the lightest of touch, innocent in nature. Santana feels it heating low in her belly all the same. And given the playful smile she can gather from the half of Brittany's face not shrouded against her pillow, the intention is clear.

Her voice is husky, rough with the fading remnants of sleep as she asks, amused, "In your father's bed of all places; really Britt?"

The wry grin disappears almost immediately as fair skin flushes pink and Brittany turns her face square into the pillow. Her ears burn red and Santana can't help but chuckle as she rolls to her side and wraps Brittany in her arms.

"We don't have our own bed," Brittany mutters into the pillow. Then quieter yet, "And hay itches."

"I told you to stay on the blanket," Santana tells her gently. Hoping to coax Brittany into looking at her once more, she presses a lingering kiss beneath Brittany's ear. "We could go to the lake this afternoon when I get home?"

Brittany shifts at the question, turning her head enough for one eye to peek out from the depths of the pillow. "But it snowed just yesterday."

Santana grins as she rests her forehead against Brittany's temple. "Then you better stay on the blanket this time."

Brittany wishes they didn't need any other blankets than the one surrounding them now, here, on a warm bed. That instead of cold winds brushing against her neck it could only be Santana's lips. If only she'd the courage to tell her father what she's been wanting to for over a week now.

She so very much wants to tell him today.

Santana presses another kiss to her temple before untangling her arms from around Brittany. She is already up from the bed and pulling her nightdress over her head when Brittany turns onto her side.

"Today," Brittany says aloud, her own voice equally gruff with sleep but assured. "I'm going to tell him about us."

Santana holds the nightdress in a clump of fabric against her bare chest as she raises her brows at Brittany. This isn't the first morning she's heard such a proclamation. And as always, she asks, "Would you like me to stay?"

Brittany sits up in the bed, shaking her head as she picks at a few of the loose strings along the quilt edge. "I'll be all right on own. You have people to care for."

Santana smiles down at her softly. "You are included in those people you know. In fact, you're my first priority."

Brittany gives her a small, grateful smile in return. "I'll be okay; thank you though."

With a nod Santana turns back toward the dresser. Brittany's eyes are immediately drawn to her naked backside. She watches the muscles of Santana's shoulder move beneath smooth skin. The occasional scar, more healed now but still present, compressing and relaxing against taut muscles. Brittany shivers briefly. Those little reminders of what they've survived still sting as fresh in her heart as the day they were rendered.

Her thoughts are shaken though as Santana's voice fills the room. "Where did we leave those letters for the boys and Quinn?" she asks as she folds the nightdress and lays it atop the dresser. "I'll post them before heading to Dr. Nelson's."

"The mantle," Brittany replies, distracted, her focus somewhat hazy as she continues watching Santana dress.

Santana arches a brow in surprise at the answer. Brittany's entirely right of course, they'd left them there just before heading to the barn for a riding lesson with Apple. She doesn't know how she ever could have forgotten and yet Brittany so easily recalled the placement. She need only see the darker hue of blue eyes to know she didn't put them there herself. Not when Brittany's lips were upon her own and the letters quickly forgotten to the floor beside the fire.

Brittany crawls out from beneath the covers and to the far edge of the bed. Sitting up on her knees she raises her arms, gesturing Santana toward her. And once Santana is standing before her, just a bit below her eye line, Brittany smiles and begins clasping the remaining buttons unfastened along Santana's dress front. "Today will be a good day," Brittany tells her. It's the same thing she's said every morning this week.

"I hope so," Santana replies in kind. She truly does wish it too and yet can't ignore the prickle of doubt. Stilling Brittany's hands, she grasps them within her own, seeking the gaze of the woman before her. When blue eyes are focused upon her own she reaches up, brushing a segment of Brittany's tousled hair from over her forehead. "I just… no matter what he says to you today Brittany, know that I'm not going anywhere."

Brittany leans toward her, capturing a full top lip in a warm kiss. "I love you," she whispers, not wishing to pull away quite yet.

Santana draws her closer, smiling against Brittany's lips. "I love you too."

---

Santana is just as horrid a rider as she was a week ago. Endearingly so, though, Brittany thinks. She shouts encouragement to her from where she sits along the porch rail, watching as Santana guides Apple down the snowy path toward the road. In actuality she watches Apple trot himself down the path while Santana wobbles in the saddle, shivering and clutching the reins with the nervous intensity she usually only ever reserves for the bucket of chicken feed.

"Not so tight, San!" Brittany hollers, chuckling to herself when instead of adhering to her advice Santana's shoulders constrict more. Brittany takes a sip of her steaming tea, breathing in the crisp winter air and scent of the soothing herbs. "I'll see you soon!"

Santana lets go of the reins but for a second to wave farewell. The shaky smile she throws over her shoulders equally filled with nerves, but delighted nonetheless. Brittany leans her side against a porch beam, heart warmed as she continues watching Santana head to town. She doesn't hop down from her perch until Santana is gone from sight and her tea is drained to nothing save for a few crumbled leaves at the bottom of her mug.

She has a few morning chores to attend to, the first of which entail cleaning out Apple's stall. Setting her mug down on the rail, Brittany ensures the ends of her slacks are tucked snuggly into her boots before heading on toward the barn. A few tracks in the fresh snow give clue to her father's whereabouts somewhere out in the crop fields. He'd not yet cleared the corn stalks out from the summer past… Brittany need not dwell on the reason why they remain.

Stealing a glance over her shoulder toward her sister's window Brittany's steps grow heavier. Emily had still been sleeping when she'd gone to check on her this morning. She's not talked to her sister for a few days now. The few moments Emily's been awake enough to speak usually reserved for questions and care from Santana whilst Brittany sits at her side, too numb and scared to utter a word. She can still feel Emily's hand within her own; clammy, grip weak.

Brittany stuffs her own hands deep into the pockets of her coat to try and dispel the memory from her skin. She doesn't want to remember Emily's touch as anything aside from the assured hold her sister used to always take her hand with. She wants Emily's strength back, her cheeks to fill with weight and color… her heart to beat with the strong rhythm she once listened to on nights when sleep was long to come.

Santana tells her she's doing all she can but even Brittany's come to believe Emily's time can be now counted in days. Will it be nine or four? Another three days to spend with her or one?

Does it matter when she can't even meet her eyes without succumbing to fast tears?

Her legs carry her numbly into the barn and muscle memory alone has her reaching for the shovel beside the door. She tries to think of the task at hand but it's hard when her thoughts and heart are still sitting on that bed beside her dying sister.

Hendrick finds her not long after she's finished Apple's stall. The shovel is dragging behind her as she moves to unlatch the cows from their enclosure. He hates seeing Brittany so utterly distraught but knows there is little to be said or done to change it. He wonders more how much worse she'll be when the day comes that they finally lay Emily to rest beside their mother.

He smothers a cough into the crook of his elbow; trying not to let such thoughts plague him.

She notices him from the corner of her eye at first, simply standing in the doorway framed with the white of snow at his back. He's nothing but a dark shape against the rising sun. And yet even then she can still see the tired look about his posture, the heavy way he carries himself and the feel of his saddened gaze locking with her own.

"Hi Pa," she offers, voice passive. Her heart rate quickens as he moves forward.

"Hi sunshine," he greets her in kind, stepping into the barn enough for the light not to cast such dark shadows across his form. Brittany can see the beginnings of stubble growing out against his jaw and chin, the strain of sleepless nights etched into the skin beneath his eyes.

He looks worse than she's ever seen him.

She begins sweating anyway.

Today.

"Did you need help in the fields?" she asks, watching as he arches his back and a few of the bones in his spine let out audible cracks. With a sigh and a gentle smile he leans down to place a kiss to the top of her head. The gesture doesn't calm her as it's always done, her stomach instead growing nauseous with unease.

"Don't you worry none for them," he tells her as he guides the half dozen cows out the back entrance of the barn and into the outdoor pen. Their legs are in awful need of a good stretch, snow be damned. He feels his lungs are in need of a stretch too; the cold air has been leaving him short of breath all morn.

As he rests against the gate Brittany's brow furrows. She twists the handle of the shovel between her hands, voicing her puzzlement aloud, "But it'll be planting season soon and—"

He waves his hand for her to hush, quieting anymore of her concern with an understanding grin. "It'll be a long winter yet Brittany. We've time."

Her heart stops beating entirely at that word.

Time is something they've precious little of.

Brittany's face drains of color but Hendrick sees it not, busy as he is latching the gate back into place. She holds the shovel tight in her grip, knuckles splashed with white as she tries to temper her suddenly empty breaths.

The conversation they exchange unravels easily, though fragmented. Brittany feels not within her skin, watching it from a far as she screams to herself to simply tell him.

"Santana's gone down to town?" he asks.

Say it now!

Her answer is automatic and clipped. "Yes."

It's all right!

"Was Emily awake before you saw her out?"

Tell him! … Just tell him.

"No."

The locket suddenly feels very heavy where it rests over her heart, searing almost against her skin. She touches it gingerly from overtop her coat, fingertips trembling. He'll love her still… he must.

Hendrick can see a struggle within his daughter, feeling his own worries come forward for her as she clutches tightly to the coat over her chest. "Brittany," he murmurs, pained as he hurries toward her.

"I love her," she breathes out, the whispered words as much a current of relief as they now are a burden of nerves in wait of his response.

He's stopped halfway to her, the echo of her softly spoken confession glaring loudly in his ears. Somehow, he knows. Instantly knows she's not speaking of Emily. Not in that tone. Not as stolen smiles and twined limbs fill his mind.

Brittany pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, wary of her father's reaction. He's not moved a muscle, his gaze unfocused where it's settled on her hand. She shifts, uncomfortable and anxious beneath his stilled eyes.

He blinks at her, the context of her words still so muddled in his mind as he asks slowly, deliberately, "You're in love with... Santana?"

Brittany's once hesitant demeanor sharpens. A soft smile just starting to pull at the corners of her lips. "I am." The accompanying nod in assurance plummets the last of his reserve. He's heard right. "Pa?"

He wets his lips. "That's," the words just won't come forward. He runs a hand through his hair, surprised to find his arm shaking as he brings it back down. "I d-don't know what to say..."

Brittany lets the shovel fall against the side of the cattle enclosure. "You don't have to say anything," she tells him gently as she bridges the space separating them. The closer her proximity the more heightened Hendrick's senses become. He doesn't know what to do with his hands let alone the turmoil of feeling bubbling in his gut. His daughter's next words, pained as they sound, tug at his heart. "I'd like it if you looked at me though."

He squeezes his eyes shut instead. "Brittany, this is—"

She sucks in a ragged breath. "You can't look at me… can you?"

You hate me, is all he hears.

His eyes snap to meet hers in an instant. And there she is standing before him. His same Brittany and yet all at once different. This Brittany the one he was always afraid and simultaneously hoping she'd become. Strong, willful, keen... a woman now amidst the heartfelt blue eyes of the girl who fled this home that night so long ago. When had she grown so? When was it she no longer needed his comfort? How long has he spent praying for her return only to now have her home and looking so broken before him...

She's still his daughter.

He cannot bear seeing such hurt in her eyes.

"I love you, Brittany. Don't ever doubt that," he tells her, earnest as he finds a place for his hands on her shoulders. The solid support he's always shown her, needed now once more. Hope returns to her watery gaze and he offers her as understanding a smile as he can. There's reason for her unnatural feelings. Brittany's always been different. It is one of the very things he loves so much about her. So it is with this consideration that he begins to say, "I think you've grown confused, sunshine. You were acting as a man for so long and it—"

Brittany shrugs free from his hold. "I'm not confused," she snarls out, eyes narrowed. She'd been afraid he'd not think her mind in place. "I was never a man to her. We love one another as we are."

Hendrick does not know what shocks him more, that she is speaking so honestly to him or the utter grievance laced within her words.

He sputters, disbelieving. "You're both women!" he exclaims, a brief panic filling him as he glances over her shoulder to ensure no other ears are privy to this exchange. It's a fleeting fear though; the nearest neighbor is at least a quarter hour's walk down the road. He stumbles back beneath the weight of her conviction and the ill feeling now erupting in his gut. There's a prickle of sweat along his brow as he meets her gaze and utters shakily, "That's never...it's impossible."

Brittany's previously hardened expression softens. He seems lost. "We're not any different from anyone else in love," she tells him.

"But you are! You are!" Hendrick explodes, coughing roughly and motioning toward her and nowhere all at once. His cheeks burn red as his eyes widen. "Dear god, if anyone was to discover this!"

Brittany rushes to his side, trying to help him to stand upright even though he brushes her assistance away. "We know, Pa. I just couldn't... I can't lie to you."

He leans against the enclosure gate, eyes downcast, breathing hard. All he can think of are the moments he's left them alone, the bed they've been sharing… "It would have been best if you did," he grits out.

Brittany pales. He wishes I'd never told him. "…Pa?"

"What am I supposed to do?" he asks, weakened as he looks up at her. Looks at her like he's never done before…

Looks at her the same way he's looked at boys he's never felt worthwhile enough to share a dance with her.

Brittany swallows down the ache forming in her chest at his gaze. She must appeal him. She cannot lose him. "Love her too," she answers, voice a quiver of a plead. "She's so smart, Pa. Smarter than anyone I've ever met. And she'll take good care of Emily, she is so good to me. She never let anyone hurt me while we were away. So strong and kind and—"

He raises a hand, shaking his head tersely. "Stop, Brittany, please."

"I thought you—"

His eyes meet hers, unbending and resigned. "She can't stay here no more."

"What… why?" Brittany asks, confusion quickly giving way to despair and anger. "There ain't nothing wrong with her!"

"She just can't!" he shouts, scaring her with the level and force of his demand. The animals grow silent in the wake of his booming voice. He can't meet her eyes. Not with the way tears have begun to stream openly down her cheeks. It is for the best, he tells himself as he pushes past her to head back out to the fields. The choked sob she lets out when he steps to the snow breaks his heart but he doesn't turn back.

He'd promised Klara he'd always look after their girls.

He refuses to lose them both.

---

The usual plume of smoke rising from the chimney is missing as Santana guides Apple up the path. She wonders if Hendrick has been too busy to rekindle the fire or if, like Brittany was wont to do, he'd simply forgotten. Choosing to believe the former, for Brittany has been quite mindful these past few weeks, she gives Apple's hind a few quick pats. His pace quickens and she leans forward in the saddle as Brittany taught her.

She hopes the worry filling in her gut is for nothing.

Once the cabin is in view she dismounts Apple, cautious, for the steps are vacant.

Brittany always waits for her.

Growing anxious, Santana quickly ties Apple's reins to one of the porch railings. With him secure she heads inside. The front room proves just as empty. Kitchen equally devoid of Hendrick or Brittany.

But not devoid of neglect.

A thin layer of smoke fills the room, wafting up from the sole pot atop the stove. Santana hurries over, grabbing the handle with a fistful of her dress as she moves it to rest atop the adjacent wooden counter. The water in the pot has long since boiled out, potatoes seared and burnt along the bottom. Coughing against the fumes Santana steps back, breathing into the crook of her elbow. Hendrick was not one to abandon his duties. Nor ever let such food go to waste.

Santana fears where they've gone, Brittany especially.

Had she finally told him?

She needs to speak with Emily. Maybe she'd overheard? Making her way back toward Emily's room Santana tries not to let her worry show so evidently upon her face. Her heart is already racing, hands unsteady as she ties the mask around her lower face. Giving a quick knock against the door, she opens it, stepping inside without waiting for a response.

Emily is barely awake, barely breathing at that, from where she rests lying at an odd angle on her bed. A book rests in her lap as Santana comes to sit by her side and help her into a more comfortable position. She must have fallen asleep while reading… Brittany is always the one to ensure she's comfortable.

Pushing aside her own wants for the moment, Santana asks, "How are you feeling?"

Emily's eyes blearily crack open. "Must you all always… ask that first?" she ponders aloud, breathless. "There is weather… to be mentioned."

Santana purses her lips, face warming. "I'm sorry, I—"

There's a hint of a smirk along pale lips. "A joke, Santana…. it was a joke," Emily tells her, unable to fully smile as she wishes to. Relegated to her state she tries opening her eyes wider, hoping the blur of a shape beside her will sharpen to some semblance of the woman she's come to think as a sister. "I feel as well… as can be. Yourself?"

Santana tucks Emily's braided hair back over her shoulder. "As well as can be," she answers, smiling softly. "Has Britt come to see you?"

Emily sighs, nodding. "She fought with Pa."

Santana hopes Emily does not hear the hitch in her voice as she asks, "Did you hear any of it?"

"No," Emily says, catching just a hint of relief in the way Santana's body sinks a bit further on the mattress. "Britt was upset though… She came in here after and just sat there… Wouldn't say a word."

Santana closes her eyes, inhaling deeply. "Do you know where she's gone now?"

Emily gives her a small smile, "The only place she ever goes..."

The lake. "Thanks Emily," Santana whispers, leaning over to give the girl a quick and careful hug.

Before Santana can make it to the door, though, Emily's voice carries throughout the room, stronger somehow than it's been in days. "Santana?" she calls, waiting for the haze of dark eyes to turn back upon her. Santana does so, anticipating Emily's next words. She's impatient to leave but stays, knowing if Emily were to need her in this moment Brittany would understand. She doesn't expect what Emily tells her next. "Whatever is to happen to me…I know everything will be well… because you'll take care of her."

Santana wants to laugh, anything to keep herself from the overwhelming feeling filling her heart. "That's just it though," she says, shaking her head with a smile. "She's the one who takes care of me."

---

Brittany thinks it's just as well she forgot her coat when she came out here to steal away. She's finally starting to feel as numb to emotion as the exposed skin of her hands and neck have become to the cold. She continues twisting the locket between her chilled fingers regardless, not so much feeling the metal as she is desperate to cling to the father who sat for the photo contained within. The man who was supposed to have opened his arms and told her all was well when she'd confessed to her true feelings for Santana.

She hadn't expected to be sitting beside the lake, crying until the tears dried against her face and the ice along the bank licked through the leather of her boots. She can't move though; she is unwilling to return home only for him to look at her once more with those disillusioned eyes.

Does he realize what he's said? The choice he's forced her to make?

She can't leave Emily.

She can't let Santana go.

She needs them both…

Brittany bites her bottom lip hard, almost drawing blood as she chastises herself for running from Emily as she did. She just couldn't sit beside her any longer. Not when it makes her feel so heated with defeat, so useless. As if her skin has turned to coals, her heart sure to melt straight through her chest… and if I were to stay any longer I'd die right with her.

She clutches tighter to the necklace, unwilling to try and open it, knowing that just looking at the photo of the sister she once knew will only hurt her more.

She's long run out of tears when the sounds of footsteps in the thick snow meet her ears.

She doesn't turn. She knows who's found her.

The lake stretches out before Santana, edges frozen in a wide arch near the shallows. The ice is stained red with the rays of the sun just beginning to sink beneath the tree line. The water is still, calm amidst the silence and gravity that seems to weigh down the air surrounding the small lake.

The heavy atmosphere centers on the lone woman sitting hunched near the water's edge.

Her back is to Santana, short blonde hair swaying in the light wind.

Somewhere in the distance ice cascades down from a tree, its echo cracking loudly across the lake clearing.

Santana feels a chill take firm grasp of her heart as she slowly makes her way to Brittany's side.

Brittany doesn't flinch as a coat is draped over her shoulders, or show signs of appreciation as Santana squats down behind her. A kiss is dropped to her neck, long awaited and warm against the frozen numbness of her skin.

"Found you," Santana whispers, hooking her chin atop Brittany's shoulder as she begins to try and bring warmth to the arms hanging loosely at Brittany's side. She's so cold, Santana worries, rubbing her hands a little firmer up and down Brittany's arms. Her gaze moves out across the water to where Brittany's focus has yet to drift. The sun dips lower yet, air chilling further as the ice grows darker. Santana need not asked what happened. She knows Brittany will tell her.

When she's ready, the words will come.

Santana will wait.

She's here now.

Brittany closes her eyes as she takes Santana's hands and crosses them over her chest with her own, wrapping herself in a tight embrace. Santana hugs her stronger, scared for what's brought Brittany such despair. Brittany turns her head, seeking comfort Santana provides with a gentle press of her forehead against Brittany's temple. Both are trembling, the sky growing bleaker with every passing minute.

"I-I…" Brittany stammers, throat swelling. Santana's hold tightens. "I…I told him."

"What did he—" Santana begins to ask only to find her own voice suddenly heavy with fear. She knows Brittany's answer will not be in their favor, not with the way she's found her out here so shattered. She draws her as close as possible; trying to lure what little strength she can from the meager warmth of Brittany's still chilled body. But Brittany's heart pounds hard, solid from where Santana can feel it pressed against her hand atop Brittany's collarbone. Closing her eyes, she breathes in the faded scent of hay along Brittany's shoulder. "Wh-what did he say?"

"He s-says you have to go," Brittany chokes out. She turns more into Santana's arms, their eyes finally meeting as she beseeches, "You can't… not now." A sob catches in her throat. She can't do this without her. "San..."

Santana pulls Brittany into her chest, shaking her head as she whispers words of promise to erase the heartache Hendrick's brought. They don't feel the ice sticking to their knees and legs or the way the frigid air burns in their lungs. Stars begin to dot the sky but they stay that way, holding one another in the cold snow whilst hot tears stain their cheeks.

Neither willing to let go.

---

They've not released hold of the other's hand as they journey back to the farm beneath the dark of night. Brittany guides them, quiet, her steps slow, prolonging this last moment they have with one another before facing her father. She dreads what what else he could say to her, but fears more the calloused words he might spit out upon seeing Santana.

He's not like Santana's father, she reminds herself again, repeating the phrase like a mantra as she leads them onward.

He'd not ever hurt anyone.

But it's hard to believe when she still feels the force of his earlier resentment pierced deeply in her heart.

Santana is equally silent by her side, lost within despondent thoughts of the promise she's soon to break. Hendrick will never allow her to stay, no matter how eloquently spoken and heartfelt her appeal. She's not welcome in his home, not whilst embracing such unthinkable love for his daughter. Brittany's not spoken of the words they exchanged but Santana had no need to ask. Why else would he wish her banished?

She's expecting nothing less than to walk into that home only to be immediately turned on her heel and forced out.

Brittany can't forsake her sister to follow. Santana won't allow her to even if she tried.

Where could I even go at this hour?

A light snow has begun to fall, collecting atop their shoulders and lashes as the smell of hay bales fills the air. The home comes into view far sooner than either had hoped. They move closer to one another as they approach.

Santana's only relief comes from the sight of Apple's nose peeking out from within his stall window. But the relief is short lived. It was clear Hendrick had moved him. Leaving animals out in the cold? Unforgiveable. Now he has all that much more reason to see me go.

"I hate him," Brittany mutters.

Santana squeezes her hand. "You don't."

"He can't make you go."

"It's his home."

"He said it was yours too."

Santana lets out a sigh at the spite in Brittany's tone. "Before he knew," she tells her. "You can't have expected him to be all right with this. He needs—"

"Why not?" Brittany counters, frustrated. "Why is it so wrong?"

Santana pulls them to a stop before the light spilling out from the kitchen window can touch upon their feet. "It's not wrong. He just needs time."

Brittany scoffs, motioning up toward the window. "You didn't see the way he looked at me, Santana. It was as if…almost like—"

"As if you were no longer his daughter?" Santana asks, her gaze softening.

Brittany visibly swallows, nodding. "It hurt more than everything he said," she whispers as she draws their linked hands up to her chest. "I can't lose you too, San."

Before a quiver can even strike upon Brittany's bottom lip Santana steps forward, capturing it between her own. Brittany inhales deeply through her nose as she tugs Santana closer, needing the kiss to ground her. She hopes her father is watching them, if only so he can see how much she needs the woman he wishes expelled from their home.

"You're not losing me," Santana whispers against Brittany's lips, earnest. Brittany kisses her back harder anyway.

He's sitting in his chair by the fireplace when they finally enter.

Santana closes the door behind them, urging down the anxiety rising in her gut as he slowly stands to his feet. His eyes are immediately drawn to their clasped hands, expression an unmistakable mixture of grief and offense.

"I'll allow you to stay the night but come morn you need to leave, Miss Santana," he tells her, voice lowered with the stern clout of a wronged father.

Santana keeps her shoulders pulled back, chin level so as to meet his gaze should he ever remove his own from their hands. "You once welcomed me without judgment," she tells him, mindful to keep her own voice agreeable yet strong.

His lips thin as his gaze finally locks upon hers. "I'm grateful for the help you've given Emily but you cannot stay any longer."

"Why?" she asks. She doesn't even believe he can give word to his reason, not with the panicked glint now clear in his eyes. He hadn't been expecting her to even ask.

His eyes shift to Brittany, narrowing with frustration as he demands of her, "Let go of that hand, Brittany."

Brittany twines their fingers in response. "If you make her go, I will too."

Hendricks expression contorts, horrified by the proclamation. "No, sunshine… please. Y-you can't…"

Santana can see Hendrick's resolve crumbling, and clearer yet the love he's always held for his eldest daughter. She won't break this family apart, not when she knows how much Brittany will regret leaving her sister… how torn her heart will be that she was not by her side when Emily finally does pass. How heartbroken Hendrick will be at losing not one but both his children.

With steeled nerves and breath held, Santana lets go of Brittany's hand.

"San… no," Brittany whispers, reaching for her. Santana gives her head a shake, gently taking Brittany's wrists and placing her arms back down by her sides.

"It's okay, Britt," Santana tells her, giving her as confident a smile as she can muster despite the tears she can feel brimming in her eyes. "I'm sure Dr. Nelson has a room to spare me. I won't be far."

Brittany shakes her head, crying freely. "And if not? You promised."

Santana can't ignore the sting in her chest at having her words echoed back at her so brokenly. She steps closer, far less space between them than she knows Hendrick is comfortable seeing but she cares not. All she cares for is ensuring Brittany that all will be well. "I'm not leaving you," Santana whispers, releasing one of Brittany's wrists to instead brush away a few of the tears from where they rest against Brittany's flushed cheek. "Just here."

"But this is your home…" Brittany murmurs, eyes desperately searching Santana's own for answer.

Santana pulls her into a hug. "My home is you," she whispers, ignoring the sounds of growled protest from Hendrick for them to part. She can feel Brittany bury her face against her neck, her hold tightening with the refusal to give release. Santana closes her eyes, unknowing of when she'll get the chance to hold Brittany so again. Tomorrow? Three days from now? A…a month? "Please find me," she begs of her.

"I will, I swear it," Brittany promises, squeezing Santana when she feels the other woman tremble in her arms. "I'm so sorry."

"Brittany, let her go!" Hendrick hollers out.

"Give him time," Santana urges, her words hurried. "I love you."

Brittany clings to her. "I love you too," she whispers, voice thick with tears.

"Now, Brittany!" Hendrick finally pulls Brittany from Santana's embrace, turning his daughter toward the back hall. "Get to bed."

Santana's gaze seeks out Brittany's once more, heart twisting at the absolute hurt reflected in the deep blue. She looks to Hendrick next, squaring her reserve before telling him, "If you should need anything for Emily, please ask after me."

He doesn't answer.

"We will," Brittany assures her, glaring at her father's back. "Emily needs you."

"Go, Brittany, please," Hendrick grits out through clenched teeth.

With one more looked spared in sorrow to Santana, Brittany retreats.

Seconds later the bedroom door closes with a slam, shaking the foundations of the small home. The sound brings finality to Hendrick's mind whilst qualm fills Santana's. She's alone with him now and braces herself for whatever words he may wish to impart upon her in cruel judgment.

She's heard them all before.

It will be just like the others.

Yet why does she fear them now more than ever?

He's not looking at her when he speaks next, his eyes rooted to the floorboards just beside her feet. "I expect you to be gone come first light."

She's surprised by the almost gentle tone of his voice. "I will be," she tells him, matching his cadence. He gives a terse nod, turning to join Brittany for the night. Santana cannot hold her tongue any longer. "She's stronger than you know, Mr. Pierce."

He stops in the darkened arch of the hall entrance, head turned to the side but gaze still upon the floor. He knows she's right. Brittany's proven so every day since her return. He cannot admit it though… not to the woman responsible for the change. He shakes his head and tells her instead, "And you're no man."

She doesn't respond. But he also knows she never would have. 'She's smart Pa,' Brittany's voice echoes in his mind. 'She is so good to me…'

He can feel Santana's eyes, the heat of her scrutiny, upon his back as he leaves her to the front room. The look follows him though. Inescapable.

Brittany is wearing it from where she stands, waiting for him just inside the bedroom. He expected as much. Yet in her eyes? The animosity hurts all the more. He's lost her trust, her respect… perhaps even her love.

"Brittany, I—" he begins to say, his voice once more softened in tone.

"No, no," she interrupts before he can say anything more to her. "There's nothing left for you to say."

"This is for the best, sunshine."

She flinches upon hearing him call her by that name. "It's not right for anyone but you!" she exclaims, pushing him away as he tries to reach out for her. "And you've no right to do this."

"I'm your father," he states, the words falling short of the power he'd hoped to deliver them with. He's still so shaken from his exchange with Santana prior. "I've the right as a man to see to what is best for my family."

Brittany scowls up at him. "And you're making her leave."

He grabs Brittany by the arm before she can leave the bedroom. She stares up at him, challenging him to say anything further to her. "I won't have you leaving this room to see her none either. She is gone now, Brittany. You'll forget her soon enough."

"I'd never forget her," she hisses at him. "I'd sooner stop breathing first."

He lets her go, watching as she makes her way to the door. He can't let her run out to that woman. He can't lose her. "You wonder why Emily's so sick?" he asks, knowing these words shouldn't ever be leaving his lips, but he can't stop them now… not when he'd do anything to have his daughter back. Even if it's with bared detestation.

Her hand ceases in its grasp for the door.

"Did you never once stop to think perhaps you've brought this upon her?" he asks, recoiling as Brittany's eyes widen, the last of the regard for him seeming to disappear as her gaze darkens.

She knows what he's just implied. She can't stop her hand from shaking because of it. "I'm only staying for Emily," she tells him, voice hardened, low and spurned.

Desperate, he beeches, "Brittany…I didn't—I'm sorry! You must know I don't blame you. Please sunshine, zie redden."

"Reason?!" Brittany explodes. "You think I'm killing her!"

"I don't!"

From out in the living room Santana can hear the argument escalating, shouts lapsing into Dutch. She sinks into Hendrick's chair, exhausted. Emily's bell begins to ring, the angered voices too heated and lost to their fight to hear the soft call for help. Pushing herself up Santana makes her way down the hall. She bites back the hurt upon hearing the betrayed way Hendrick hollers out her name as she unsteadily ties one of the masks over her face. She can't fully ignore them though, even as she steps inside Emily's room and closes the door in hopes of drowning out their quarrel.

The younger Pierce's eyes are wide with anxiety as they lock with Santana's own. She's breathing hard, her lungs using far more effort than Santana knows she's capable of. The fragile heart beneath those ribs isn't meant to be stressed so. Calmly, knowing she mustn't give Emily more reason for alarm, Santana sits by her side and takes one of the girl's hands within her own.

"It's okay," Santana whispers, managing to bring half a smile to her lips. "It'll be all right."

Brittany screams something Santana doesn't understand but Emily cringes and grips firmer to Santana's hand.

"Don't… leave her," Emily breathes out with great effort. Santana slams her eyes shut, not wishing to see the tormented look in Emily's eyes. A hand tugs feebly on Santana's coat arm and the tears she's been trying so hard to keep from Emily's sight finally break free. "Please…"

Santana breaks down. "I'm so sorry Em," she whimpers, collapsing to the bed beside Emily. Thin arms drape over her back, holding her as best as Emily is able as she whispers words of time and repent to come. But all Santana can do is cling to her, crying as she repeats, "I'm so sorry."

Emily thinks her Pa can be rather stupid sometimes.

When the first inkling of dawn light begins to spread across the horizon Brittany and Hendrick emerge from the bedroom after a sleepless night. A young fire burns in the hearth, logs neatly slanted in the hungry flames. The borrowed blanket is folded and draped over Hendricks's chair, warm yet from the body once wrapped in its soft comfort.

Brittany knows if she were to look outside there'd be a trail of fresh footsteps leading down the snowy porch steps.

She slumps to the chair, defeated.

Hendrick goes to start breakfast, relieved.

She'd kept her word.

Santana's gone.

---

January 27th, 1863
Fairest of greetings to the fairest of ladies,

I hope my letter finds you both well. I am sorry to hear of the troubles Mr. Pierce has brought you both upon learning of your relationship. Though I am most glad you've found time to see one another despite his (and excuse my language here) shit demands. From the sounds of it he seems a might terrified of what you've found in one another, and yet I can understand the grief of a father when not one but both of his daughters seem to be forsaking him. Don't judge him so harshly then; perhaps it will take some time for him to see what we all already see in the both of you. You're not hurting no one loving each other, don't you ever let anyone tell you any different.

I also dearly hope Emily is faring better as well. I feel her just as much a sister as the two of you have become in my heart. Please let her know we pray for her every night.

Things have been doing better for my family now that my Pop has found work down at the rail yard in town. Stacey misses Bret quite a lot and I'm wondering just how to tell her you've suddenly transformed to a woman. Perhaps you've a story I should tell her? You always did spin the most fantastical lies to us back at camp! I jest of course; most those lies were from Santana obviously. Her utter denial of harboring any affection for you is still leaving me in fits of chuckles. And I can see that eye roll from way over here Santana so no use detailing it for me in your next letter. Also, as a warning, you may want to ebb a bit in the details you share with Quinn of some of the moments between you and Brittany. Noah has caught on to the nature of some of your letters and has started a one-man expedition to weasel one from beneath Quinn's watch. And while he does so, I am more than happy to escort the lovely Miss Fabray to town for an evening of dance and good company. Do not tell her I have said so though! I am trying to find the best time to announce my intentions to her. She's gotten very into the women's suffrage movement in town and has been nigh impossible to approach unless she's alone. Rachel helps none of course, because when Quinn's not in town with them she's in Rachel's company, and as you both know, it's damn near impossible to get a word in with that one always about.

I do wish your opinions on another important matter though. Noah and I have been thinking of starting up a venture together. Perhaps a delivery service of sorts maybe? Then we could see you girls more often if we need to ferry goods to Lima. I'm already saving up for a horse and he's working to collect enough for us to fix up one of the Berry's old coaches they've been kind enough to gift us. Evans and Puckerman Express, at your expedited service! Tell me your honest opinion, Santana. You're the only one I know who won't hold judgments.

Please write soon. I miss you both! Know you've always a place here if anything were to ever sour. I am hoping it won't have to come to that.

All my love to you both,
Sam Evans

---

February 6th, 1863

Santana must have read his letter at least a dozen times by now, still unsure just how to begin her response. There is so much she wishes to tell him and yet more she cannot will herself to impart. Her visits with Brittany are so few and far in-between they have become indistinguishable from her dreams. Had they truly sat out by the lake last week, huddled together for warmth and lost to the taste of the others lips? She'd dreamed of it the other night and again just this past evening.

But their reunions don't end as sweetly as the visions she paints in her sleep.

Hendrick had nearly found them together once just a few days after she'd been forced from the home.

Santana refused to come anywhere near the farm for a good while after that.

One thing is certain of the times they are both able to steal away together. They always seem to part on poor terms. Brittany, usually so rarely upset, is now always with a frown upon her lips.

Santana mentioned it to her once only to be met with a morbid response.

"It's irremovable San," Brittany had told her. "You'll have to stitch my lips up because I feel I'll not ever smile again otherwise."

Their time apart is most taxing upon Brittany, her father seeming to either ignore Santana's existence entirely or lambast any of Brittany's attempts to engage him in conversation where Santana was sure to be mentioned. He wanted her forgotten, plain and simple. And he knew Brittany would never leave, not with Emily so ill and their time together lessening by the day.

"He'll come around," Santana always whispers before they part ways. "Please don't lose hope, Brittany."

"I've not lost it," Brittany will say, eyes ever more dulling in color. "It's just far away like you."

That had been a week ago. They haven't seen one another since.

Hendrick is making it so impossible.

Santana lets out a sigh.

Shit demands entirely, she thinks, smiling wryly at Sam's choice of words. She readjusts his letter and the blank sheet of paper propped against a book in her lap. Staring over at the clock in the foyer Santana let's out another long sigh. She's sat on this window ledge for near an hour, and before this within Dr. Nelson's study for two. Three hours and yet not one soul has knocked upon the door in search of care.

Bustling is not a term Santana would attribute to Dr. Nelson's practice. His wife prefers to call it manageable. Santana has a few more opt choices. Perhaps idle, unexciting… downright nonexistent. He sees perhaps one or two patients a day, the rest of his time spent absorbed in chatter with friends down at the tavern or napping upon the sofa in his den. He's a smart man, clearly knowledgeable in the most rudimentary of medicine, but Lima is a small town and as its sole practicing doctor he hasn't much business to attend. It seems not at all on most days.

He's assured Santana come the warmer months that is to change. That they'll be ushered to and fro all across the hillsides tending to the fatigued, sick and injured alike. Supplies will still trickle in, the war effort foremost to the receive goods, but they'll have enough. Far more than his empty shelves boast now.

The practice has slowed with winter. His visits now offer care to those with fever and maladies easily cured with rest and time.

Between Mrs. Schuester's bouts of imagined illness and Emily's continued care, he hasn't anyone else to tend to.

There's the occasional accident; a drag harrow run over a foot in need of sutures or a nasty fall resulting in bones in need of proper splints. All patched quickly and with little fuss. Nothing at all like the wounded men who poured into the medical tents, their screams still sometimes haunting her dreams at night. Or even those riddled with the vilest of illness, seeking cure from their beds in Cincinnati. Santana's seen none of what she's grown accustomed and upon occasions finds herself missing the hustle of both worlds.

Lima has certainly been an adjustment of sorts.

But one she is growing to appreciate.

A home.

He visits her home most of all. Emily is his only true concern and has been for quite some time now.

"I just don't know what else to do for her," he always says upon his return from the Pierce farm. "The poor family."

Santana cannot accompany him on those trips, offering instead an excuse in order to remain behind. A lie. If he notices how heavily her words carry he mentions it not. Consumption is not a disease to be taken lightly and he does not blame her in the least for wishing to avoid the Pierce farm. The family is in a rather depressing state as of late. Hendrick a haggard shell of himself; Brittany as unable to string together a sentence in greeting as she is to allow even the faintest of expression to her face.

It pains Santana to hear of them torn so.

She assists Dr. Nelson in all other calls. Sometimes he even sends her alone, too comfortable from where he rests reclined in his chair to trek halfway across town through the wind and snow. She's young, willing and more than apt in medicine. A far better study than his son ever was, bless his bureaucratic soul. On days she ventures in his place he watches her ready to go. She tucks his bag beneath her arm, an infectious grin upon her face.

She always thanks him before leaving.

As if he's bestowed upon her a splendid responsibility.

And she does it for nothing, not a pence aside from his word that Emily is to be given the best care he can possibly provide.

It is the fairest trade Dr. Nelson feels he's ever agreed to in all his 61 years upon the Earth.

Santana will make a fine replacement once he passes.

In her hands, he knows, Lima will be cared for.

And it's rather nice having another woman about the house, especially one that speaks to him with such kind regard. She's always apologizing for having overstayed her welcome but he waves the statement away for the absurdity it is.

Santana feels beholden to him nonetheless. Were it not for his kindness she is sure she'd be sleeping in a bed at the Berry manor instead. A large one, possibly frilled beyond tasteful belief, just to spite her for all the wrong she caused during her previous stay. A bed far, far from home.

She much prefers her bed here.

It is small and yet all at once too spacious without the familiar form of Brittany's body nestled beside her own. She misses her most at nights, when her mind is consumed with thoughts of her well-being. Who holds Brittany now when the nightmares take hold of her dreamscape? Who will smile at her when she wakes and ensure her all is well?

The thoughts depress her and she forces herself to sleep to keep from feeling ever more beleaguered.

The voices and sounds of the town beyond her window help distract from the fears trying to grasp her heart and mind. She'd grown accustomed to the quiet of the farmstead, her new surroundings a bustle of noise thanks to the street down below. The first few nights spent in her new bed were replete with the drunken shouts of men stumbling from the nearby tavern. They wave to her sometimes, hollering for her to join them.

She draws her curtains with a disdainful sneer down to them and curls into her quilt instead, wishing for familiar arms and their warm bed.

During the day Santana sits by the window in the front room, reading from one of the doctor's journals. And just as the night before, thoughts of Brittany resurface. Her focus becomes lost, gaze straying to the eastern hillsides.

Is Brittany tending to the hens now? Has she read to Emily yet today? Will she pause in her chores and stare west and think of her?

Am I truly so pathetically bereaved without her?

She need not answer herself.

Tucking her legs up against the windowsill, Santana sets back to finishing her reply to Sam's letter. She's barely able to write but a few sentences when there's a knock at the door. The second today.

A new record.

Placing the letter aside Santana stands and smothers down her wrinkled skirt as best she's able. Again that same pang of ache surfaces in her chest. She's not the money to afford her own clothes, relying still on the few dresses Brittany was able to bring her at their first meeting.

Don't think of her, she reminds herself, knowing the thoughts will only lead to her focus being lost once more. And now more than ever she needs to keep her wits.

Another two knocks and Santana hurries over, excited for the prospect of a patient or, at this point, even Mrs. Nelson's return from lunch with her friends. She opens the door with restrained flourish, keeping her grin in perfect cheek. "Good day, how may— Brittany!"

Santana's heart lurches in her chest as she stares, stunned at the woman standing on Dr. Nelson's second floor landing. A light snow dusts Brittany's slouched shoulders; Berry's yellow scarf haphazardly slung around her neck. Her arms are plunged deep into her coat pockets for warmth, cheeks and nose tinged red from cold. Both shiver as their eyes meet, Brittany's so utterly crushed by the less than receptive greeting.

"Hi San," she mutters out.

"Brittany," Santana stresses, eyes darting down the stairwell at her back before once more locking upon the blue before her. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know," Brittany tells her, shifting upon her feet uncomfortably. Now that she's here she's forgotten what she wished to say. It was so easy to repeat it to herself on the walk, imaging how elated Santana would be to open the door and find her. But that's changed now; Santana's too fidgety with nerves. She hates what her father has done to them. Her shoulders tense and she must push aside any more thoughts of him before her anger gets the best of her again. Her throat is still sore from their quarrel this morning. Her clenched fist brushes against the folded paper in her pocket. Brittany withdraws the letter and holds it out for Santana. "This came for you in the post yesterday. I think it's from Quinn."

She hadn't come all this way just to deliver her a letter, Santana thinks. Her expression softens. "Thank you, I'll… I'll read it later," she stammers some when she takes the letter from Brittany's hand and their fingers brush for the first time in little over a week. The rush of heat is still as present as ever, more so now after time apart. She quickly retracts her hand and tucks the letter into the pocket of her skirt. "Did you need—"

Brittany's lips are suddenly on hers, pushing her back inside the apartment foyer. Santana's back meets the wall as Brittany pulls the front door closed with a slam. The coat stand rattles at Santana's side at the impact, wall vibrating against her back. Her hands are in Brittany's hair before she's even registered the move, her mind still a flurry of dazed thoughts and feeling as Brittany presses her body closer. She groans and kisses her back harder.

Unwilling to part they stumble along the wall and backward into Dr. Nelson's study, Brittany's coat shed to the floor, her scarf and Santana's button-down sweater down with it. The backs of Santana's thighs meet his desk and Brittany lifts her by the hips, easily settling her atop. Santana tugs her closer, legs locking behind Brittany's knees as lips bruise and swell with the hunger of the kiss. Brittany's fingers begin making quick work of the buttons along the chest of Santana's blouse. Her knuckles brush against bare skin, a gasp soon issuing from Santana's throat. They finally must break apart, lungs desperate to fill with much needed air. Eyes closed as they savor the feel of being so near one another.

Brittany steps away, overwhelmed, needing the distance to uncloud her mind and the desires still stirring deep within her belly for the disheveled woman perched at the edge of Dr. Nelson's desk. Disheveled in a manner that Brittany finds beautiful, dark hair beginning to spill undone from the bun low at the back of Santana's neck, cheeks flushed with the rush of exhilaration, eyes heavy, obscured with longing. She aches to taste those lips again but denies herself the want, widening the breadth between them more.

She needed that moment, however short lived it was, but she's come here with other purpose.

"Britt?" Santana reaches for her with an outstretched hand, brow knotted and chest still rising and falling with shortened breaths.

Brittany can't find the words though. Santana is gazing at her with such utter patience and worry. Her feet carry her the small distance separating them, body easily leaning into the arms that pull her close. She buries her face against Santana's neck, closing her eyes as she breathes in Santana's scent to calm her. It's different now, hints of tobacco and the perfumed spice of the elderly mixed within the familiar. Santana used to smell of coffee and fresh soap, water lilies and books. Home. Brittany hugs her tighter.

"I'm here, Britt," Santana coaxes her gently. "Whatever you need to say, I'm here."

"I know I shouldn't have come but I needed to see you," Brittany whispers into Santana's shoulder. She's trembling, just ever so faintly, but Santana can feel it as acutely as the hurried beats of her heart.

"Is everything all right?"

Brittany pulls away, shaking her head. "No, nothing is," she tells her. "She's so weak now San. I haven't seen her eyes in days…" Brittany is terrified.

Santana hugs her, knowing how severe Emily's sickness has transpired. "Just be there for her, okay? She needs you most now."

Brittany's arms encircle her once more. "I miss you," she declares thickly, burying her face back against Santana's neck. "I just want you home."

"Whatever time I have is yours. I'm sorry I can't give you more."

"I've not seen you in a week," Brittany grumbles, standing back upright as she readjusts Santana's blouse. "I know it's selfish of me. Mrs. Schuester's not seen her husband since he left for war and here I complain because I haven't seen you in days."

"You're just used to me always being near," Santana tells her softly. There is something she wishes to ask though, a conversation they've not had since she's been staying with the Nelson's. She tilts Brittany's chin up so their eyes may meet, pained to see Brittany looking at her with such misery. "Has he… has he spoken of me?"

Brittany lets out a snort. "No, and anytime I try to reason with him he gets all upset and angry," she says, aggrieved. "I don't think he'll come 'round like Burt…"

Santana slides off the desk and wraps Brittany in her arms. "Give him time. He still loves and wishes the best for you obviously or he'd not let you stay."

"I was always meant to stay," Brittany admits, voice far-off. She rests her head beside Santana's, closing her eyes as she tells her, "Last night he told me he never thought I'd ever marry."

Santana squeezes her. "That's what any decent father says, Britt. They never think there's any good enough for their—"

Brittany rips away from the hold. "No," she growls out, gaze colored with resentment. "Because he didn't think there was anyone foolish enough to wish to spend their life with me."

The words sting. Santana's mouth falls open, disbelieving. "He… he said that?"

"He didn't have to," Brittany mutters.

"Brittany," Santana ventures cautiously. "What did he then?"

Her approach fails, blue eyes narrowing at her with contempt. "Why are you defending him?"

"I'm not!" Santana exclaims, trying to find voice to her reason. "I just… you have to understand he's upset and—"

"You are!"

"He's angry now but he'll come to see—"

"And what if he doesn't?" Brittany interrupts, eyes blazing. Fearful. "What if he's just like your father?"

Santana takes Brittany's face in her palms, forcing her furious unease to calm. Blue eyes dart between her own as Brittany's hands find steady hold of her wrists. "He's not, and it may feel like it now but you know it," Santana tells her, hoping for Brittany to better understand her father's demand. "I'm sorry what he says pains you and I hate that I cannot be there for you, but he still loves you Brittany. He'd do anything to keep you safe. You must understand that what he's doing now is what he thinks is best for you."

"Then why can't he see that it's not?" Brittany chokes out. "Why?"

"Britt," Santana whispers her name, heart twisting as blue eyes fill with tears. "Please don't lose hope."

Brittany looks up at her, smiling weakly. "It's not the same without you."

"I'm not far," Santana reminds her, watching as Brittany prods at one of the bottles along the shelf on Dr. Nelson's wall. "You know you're always welcome to find me."

"You're not always here," Brittany says, settling the bottle back down as she lets out a lengthy exhale. "And I'm a horrible clarinet."

Santana squints at her for a moment, until the proper term comes to mind. "I think you mean clairvoyant," she offers gently, grinning.

Brittany sniffles and blushes, a small smile beginning to form over her lips. "I miss you teaching me things like that," she admits softly, still absentmindedly twisting one of the glass bottle tops between her fingers. With an audible sigh she gently places it back atop its vial, her gaze returning once more to Santana's. "I miss so much of you, San."

Her admission this time is far quieter, whispered as it is between shakily drawn breaths. But it's Brittany's eyes that have Santana stepping forward, the adrift look held within blue far more powerful than her words. Brittany swallows, turning her gaze down to her feet as Santana's hands find home upon her hips.

"I take baths by myself and it ain't the same without you there singing with me," Brittany confesses. Santana moves one of her hands to the juncture between Brittany's jaw and neck. Brittany shudders. "I don't feel as clean anymore."

"Brittany…" Santana whispers, urging her chin to tilt up once more. Blue eyes have begun to brim with tears.

"I don't smile in the mornings, or…or ev-ver," Brittany continues unsteadily. "I m-miss seeing you pick out which of my clothes you'll wear every morning b-because you look so good in all of them."

"You look better," Santana tells her softly, cupping Brittany's cheeks in her palms. An inkling of a grin creases at the right corner of Brittany's mouth, her eyes losing just a fraction of their forlorn intensity. Santana leans up to her toes, pressing a light kiss high on Brittany's cheek.

Brittany's eyes fall close as Santana returns to her heels. "I miss going to the loft with you, even those times my hands were too dirty from corralling the pigs and all we could do was kiss," she tells her, smiling now as the imprint of Santana's lips sink beneath her skin. She's not felt a calm like this is days. Her arms wrap behind Santana's lower back, tugging her closer until her forehead rests against Santana's own. "I miss you in our bed, I miss you. Please come home."

Santana holds Brittany's head in place, not wishing for either to pull back yet. "I want to so much Britt," her voice wavers just ever so slightly with the earnest assertion. For the smile she can see in Brittany's eyes brightens and she knows her next words will have it disappearing for some time. "But you know I can't."

"Emily's doing so poor without you," Brittany continues, beseeching, "I need you with me."

Of all Santana laments the possibility of not being by Brittany's side when Emily passes is the most grievous. Her heart folds in on itself, throat swelling at the thought. "I'm here," she whispers solemnly to Brittany. "I'm right here."

Brittany kisses her before the last word has even left Santana's lips.

Another knock on door has them parting before either wishes to. "I'm sorry, Britt. A second?"

Brittany nods, leaning herself back against the shelf of empty vials. With a look in apology Santana gathers their clothes from the floor and tosses them to the nearby chair. She hurries out into the foyer next to answer the door.

Brittany listens from the study, smiling slightly at hearing Santana needing to clear her throat before speaking with the patient. Not a few minutes later the door is closed with a polite thanks and Santana returns.

Brittany already has her coat back on.

Santana approaches her, not wanting her to leave just yet.

Before she can say a word Brittany leans down, giving her soft kiss. "I have to go," she explains as she pulls away, handing Santana back her sweater. "He'll be furious that I've been gone so long."

Santana gives a yank on Brittany's scarf, crashing their lips back together for a far more ardent goodbye. "I love you," she whispers as they part. "Know we're doing all we can for Emily."

"I do," Brittany answers by nuzzling her nose alongside Santana's. "And I am trying so hard to change his mind."

"We'll be all right," Santana nods, assuring herself more than Brittany. They must.

Brittany turns to her before reaching for the door. "Can I see you tonight?"

Santana smiles, nodding. "Where?"

"The lake, will you come?"

"I… the last time he almost saw us and—"

"Please, San." Brittany steps closer, eyes imploring. She needs to see her; they've not been together in so long… "Please."

Santana cannot deny the request, not when she herself wishes for the same. "I'll be there at dusk," she whispers. "I promise, Brittany."

Santana helps her to retie the scarf, making sure it's snug and warm around Brittany's neck. The walk back will be long and despite having journeyed through conditions worse than this with far less for cover, Santana still worries. She plucks one of Dr. Nelson's wool caps from the coat stand and tugs it gently down atop Brittany's head.

"That's not mine, San," Brittany reminds her with a grin, reaching to remove the cap. Santana halts her though, swatting Brittany's hands aside in good humor.

"Consider it a loan," Santana tells her, smiling softly.

"This isn't like the stamps, is it?" Brittany asks, skeptical. She touches a few of her fingers to the short brim, adjusting it more suitably on her head. "Dr. Nelson won't mind?"

Santana laughs and shakes her head. "He has five others just like it," she tells her, stepping up to brush a quick kiss against her cheek. Brittany visibly eases, smiling as Santana pulls her into a hug. "Return it to me tonight."

Satisfied with the solution Brittany steals another kiss before heading out the door.

Not a few minutes later Dr. Nelson enters, ruddy-cheeked from a trek back home through the snow and exacerbated by the flask of bourbon Santana has spotted peaking out from his coat pocket.

"Busy day up here for you?" he asks, words just a tad slurred as he makes his way toward his study. Santana follows, shrugging.

"Just Mr. Thomas stopped by requesting a visit for tomorrow. His wife is having labor pains he claims."

He gives her a solid clap on the shoulder in reply. He's in a good mood, steps lively and a strong odor of tobacco rolling from over his shoulders. Mrs. Nelson will not be pleased upon her return home to know he's spent his afternoon gambling with some of the men down at the tavern. "Was that just Brittany in here?" he asks, seeming to recall having seen the woman hurrying down his steps as he made his way across the road.

"Yes," she replies and tries not to sound so excited as she asks, "Do you need me to fetch her back?"

"Oh no, she's probably long gone by now, seemed in a hurry she did," Dr. Nelson chuckles as he pulls out his chair and lets himself fall back into the worn leather. "When you get a moment though, could you run this up to Hendrick?"

He slides across the desk a small glass bottle Santana's only seen a handful of times before. It is a simple cough suppressant, cheaply produced and quite in demand with a slew of the soldiers who used to visit the medical tents. Dr. Nelson nods down to the bottle, urging for her to retrieve it.

Santana can't refuse this request, no matter how ill at ease she feels having to see Hendrick once again. As a doctor matters of health come foremost. Hendrick has expressed wish to never see her again, but he cannot deny the aid she is soon to provide for Emily. She need only see to it the bottle is delivered and he's informed of the dose, nothing more need be said. She picks the bottle from the table and slips it into her pocket. "How many drops shall I tell him to administer to Emily?"

Dr. Nelson's eyes grow a tad sharper. "About five or so but they're not for Emily," he says, his once relaxed expression now tightly grim. Santana's heart stops as he tells her, "They're for him."

---

Santana is furious and the hour-long walk up to the Pierce farm has done little to temper her mood. The edges of her skirt are sodden with dirt and snow, the muscles in her legs sore from the speed of her angered strides. Dr. Nelson's last words are still echoing in her mind, infuriating her further; 'That poor family, first Emily and now Hendrick? How Brittany will ever manage without them I don't know. She's such a simple girl, bless his soul.'

She's not even been able to properly place her focus upon any one part of the maddening words. Ever since she stormed from Dr. Nelson's home she's been overwhelmed with anxious thoughts and enraged beats of her heart. Hendrick couldn't have fallen plague to tuberculosis. Not if he's been using masks as she knows he has ever since she sent him that letter of instruction months ago.

He'd not allow the chance. Not knowing Brittany would be returning to him someday.

And Brittany is certainly no simpleton, Santana snarls in thought. All of this is absolutely ludicrous.

The medicine tucked into her pocket is nothing more than brandy spiked with a bit of African pepper. A concoction sold in apothecaries that had somehow grown popular among the northern soldiers and requested at most every bedside Santana has attended. Hot Drops are no more able to reduce a fever or cure one of sickness than other impractical mixtures of its kind. But those men believed in its rumored power, simply because it was quite the successful cough suppressant. It burns and stings as you swallow it down, the pepper clearing your sinuses for at least a little while before you need another dose. A useless invention when one is afflicted with something more serious than an everyday cold.

The perfect precursor to a fantasy antidote.

And a wonderful mask of sorts to keep the more obvious symptoms of disease suppressed.

Symptoms it is clear to Santana now that Hendrick is trying to keep from Brittany's notice.

Santana's fistsclench tightly in her coat pockets. Dr. Nelson's words swirl headlong in her mind. She amends his phrase now knowing the true meaning to his words, Bless his soul for keeping her ignorant.

Brittany needs to be told.

And Santana cannot hold her tongue from the lashing she feels Hendrick deserves for such audacity.

She spots him out by the edge of the cornfields, hauling some of the dead stalks into an old wooden cart.

Not ceasing in the speed of her strides, Santana confronts him, startling him as she shoves the small bottle into his chest. The bales of corn fall from his grip as she hisses up at him, "How long have you known?"

He stumbles back into the side of the cart as he catches his balance and hides the bottle deep in his breast pocket. He's also not able to meet her eyes. "You weren't supposed to have found out."

She takes a step closer, burning into his bowed head a contemptuous glare. "I work for the sole doctor in this town," she growls out. "Did you really think I would stay ignorant to this? Do you think so little of me?"

He looks up at her, surprised to have heard such insecurity in her once hardened tone. Santana also seems taken aback by the hitch in her voice, eyes growing ever so slightly wider. She narrows them once more as he stares down at her, unmoved. He cannot afford to show her an ounce of sympathy. "You're a smart woman, Santana," he says to her as he returns to loading the corn stalks into the cart. "I figured you'd have been long gone from this town by now."

"I've been unwanted my whole life," Santana tells him, forcing him to look at her once more when she places herself between him and the cart bed. "This isn't anything new to me."

Hendrick is still holding the bale hoisted high in his arms as she strains out, "Brittany's not… she's not like you."

Just like Burt, she thinks, heart still as pained hearing it now as the first time those words were spat to her. Stealing her resolve Santana meets his tired gaze. "You may choose to ignore it, but regardless of everything you've done to keep us apart I have not stopped loving her. Nor has she stopped loving me."

Hendrick slams the bale of corn to the ground. "I'm aware!" he exclaims in a hushed whisper, as if unwilling for his voice to grow in volume lest the truth spread on the wind.

"And she's certainly not aware of that," Santana snarls, pointing toward his breast pocket where the outline of the small bottle is plainly visible. Hendrick pushes it down deeper. "How can you keep something like this from her?"

"Because if she knew it would kill her!"

His exclamation this time carries loud and far.

He slumps against the cart wheel.

Santana's glare is still focused at the side of his face, unrelenting and unforgiving. He feels it earned.

He was floored by the sudden gentle quality of her question, retaliating in the only way he could in that instant. Barking out at her in his most belligerent of manner. No better than a trapped dog, he laments. He regrets it now but not the words. His heart knows those to be more than true. Brittany would be inconsolable if she learned of his fate…

He'd promised to always look after her.

And for that task to fall to the woman before him?

No, he shakes his head, banishing the stomach churning thought from his mind.

He can feel Santana move closer, her demeanor softened if the sound of her cautious step is any indication. "Mr. Pierce?" she ventures, quieted and… respectful.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head harder. He cannot reply to her.

Brittany always speaks of the goodness in Santana's heart, a topic he's been want to avoid knowing how he too once thought the same of her. She's not concerned for him, he knows, and nor does he blame her… why would she be after what I've done? Her sole worry lies with what his sickness will mean for Brittany… something he himself has kept concealed from her for fear of leaving her here alone.

For that is the only known outcome of a tuberculosis diagnosis.

Something he knew well of when he began visiting Emily's bedside without use of a mask.

He looks back up to Santana. She just wishes to understand. She deserves that of me, he thinks. If anything she deserves most to know the truth of his foolishness. Licking his dry lips he begins, "After I received word of the capture it devastated me, both of my daughters, dying—" the word is choked from his throat. He bows his chin as he admits, sorrowful, "I… I ceased using a mask."

"You didn't think Brittany would make it home." It is a question as much as it is a statement.

Hendrick wipes at his eyes, meeting her even gaze as he asks, honestly, "Would you?"

Without hesitation, Santana answers, "Yes."

It breaks Hendrick's heart to admit, but with that reply he knows Brittany is right.

Santana's far more strength than even he, far more faith in his daughter.

Brittany needs him not…

"Will you tell her?" Santana asks him.

He shoots up from the cart, terrified by the prospect. "No, and you will not speak a word of this to her!" he demands and motions her back toward the road. "You need to go."

Santana holds her footing, arms crossed defiantly across her chest. "The longer you lie to her, the worse it will be for everyone."

Hendrick's face grows redder. "You speak as if you know anything of what I am suffering! You know nothing!"

"You are a selfish man if you think keeping—"

He grabs her by the arms, halting any more of her words as she stares up at him, stunned and frustrated. His belly is a knot of discord, throat scratched with the residual ache of a fever to come and the words he is about to let slip from his tongue. It is for the best, he reminds himself. For Brittany's sake. "I'm not the one who has ruined any hope she has for a future."

She's not wounded by the hostility. Not in the least. His hands tremble against her coat but he holds her still, even as she leans closer and she whispers to him, "No, you just abandoned it."

He can't push her away fast enough. "Please, g-go," he breathes out, somehow feeling unable to draw air into his starved lungs. His chest burns, eyes welling with tears as he shouts at her, "Damned woman, leave!"

Santana steps away from him, backtracking so he's still within her sight.

"GO!" he hollers out, advancing upon her to hurry her from his land. Santana turns, jogging back down toward the home. His steps don't follow her in the snow but nor does she spare a look over her shoulder toward him.

What she does hear is the creak of the front door as it's opened, the resounding slam as it's left to fall into its frame.

"Don't you dare chase after her, Brittany!"

Santana quickens her steps, eyes blurring with fresh tears as she runs down the path.

"San!"

She doesn't stop though, not until she's halfway to town and her lungs burn from exhaustion. When she collapses to the side of the road, crying upon her knees and wishing she'd never been tasked with this errand.

---

When Santana doesn't show at the lake that evening, Brittany seeks her out. She'd waited for her of course, hours just to be sure. Santana promised her, after all.

Perhaps she'd turned at the wrong tree? Brittany had thought to herself, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she sat on the blanket near the water's edge. Santana wasn't so good with direction yet after all. Just two weeks prior she'd gotten lost out in the fields for hours after Brittany left her a note to come meet her by the rows of dried-out sweet corn. Though in her defense Brittany only realized afterward that it wasn't so much a directional mistake as it was Santana's inability to distinguish the flint and sweet corn stalks.

She was a rather slow study when it came to the most rudimentary of vegetable farming.

Or Pa had seen her…

The thought was fleeting though. She knew he'd have found her as well in that event.

Since he never showed he must have remained ignorant, thinking his daughter at Mrs. Schuester's, collecting more books for Emily.

So Brittany waited. Ever patient.

She sat with her back to the water, legs crossed and hands idly twirling a dried cornstalk leaf she'd bent and twisted into the shape of a flower. A crude one at that. She felt it a poor gift. Surely something Santana would scoff at once presented. Regrettably, it was still too early yet for any real flowers to have bloomed. The flower of dried corn leaf would simply have to do.

She waited more, watching as the sun's rays sank against the trees Santana would emerge from at any moment.

The cornstalk flower was nothing save for a crumbled lump by the time the sky had given way to night. And any hope for Santana's arrival was gone along with the stars missing from the sky.

Brittany stood and folded the blanket neatly, leaving the flower to the dirt.

If Santana wouldn't show, she'd find her instead.

The moon is nothing more than a sliver of light in the cloudy sky as she makes her way back through the forest. By the time she glimpses sight of the old buildings along the edge of the town center, it's disappeared to the midnight fog.

A thick haze has begun to spread across the dirt road, its tendrils already obscuring large sections of the surrounding hillsides and now swirling about her heels. Come dawn light it will have engulfed the town. She wonders how she'll find her way home before then.

The concern doesn't weigh too heavily upon her mind though. She's come to seek out Santana foremost.

In the town center lamps have long been extinguished from homes and streets alike. Brittany quickens her pace anyway amidst the absolute blackness of night. Her legs carry her swiftly to Dr. Nelson's apartments nestled just above the grocer's storefront. With the aide of a well-placed horse rail she climbs up to the second floor landing. The elbows of her coat scuff against the rough thatches of siding atop the slanted roof as she hauls herself up. She brushes the bits of dirt off and shuffles along the wall in search of Santana's room.

It is within the second window that she finds her. A small bit of light spills out upon the window ledge from the lone candle glowing inside the tiny room. The curtains are drawn but sheer in nature, Brittany easily able to make out Santana's familiar form curled beneath a layer of sheets on the small bed. Her stomach sinks upon hearing a hushed whimper through the pane of glass.

Without pause to think, Brittany quietly slides up the window. She misjudges the distance to the floor though, stumbling inside whilst her gaze remains locked on Santana. The small thud of sound her boots make has Santana shooting up in bed and smothering a scream into her hands. Dark eyes are wide and tearstained, fright giving way to relief upon seeing just who has stolen into her room.

"Brittany," she hisses out, trying to urge her heartbeats to calm.

"You didn't come," Brittany says, clearly worried. She slips the borrowed wool hat from her head and sets it down on the end of the bed. Then she sits down as well, eyes seeking Santana's for answer. "And you've been crying…"

Santana wipes at her eyes and cheeks, drawing her legs up to her chest beneath the blanket. "I'm fine," she tells her, but laments the way her voice falters, the truth more than evident in her fragile tone. She bows her head, pointing toward the letter resting atop her end table.

Quinn's letter? Brittany thinks, wondering what news their friend could have shared to leave Santana so utterly distraught. Had Rachel made plans to visit?

Placing a hand in comfort over Santana's nearest knee, Brittany unfolds the letter in her lap and begins to read.

January 14th, 1863
Dear Mrs. Santana Pierce,

Firstly, I feel congratulations are in order, are they not? The last letter I received from Michael still named you Lopez. I hope you and Bret have found happiness now that you've made it from this awful war! Perhaps someday I may meet the woman my husband regarded so highly. I admit though, I was surprised to have received your letter, but ever so thankful for all the kind words it contained. We've not had much cause for cheer as of late.

I don't know how to say what I must without ruining this letter with splotches of tears. A letter came a few weeks ago. I'm sure you know what news it brought. The children have taken his death hard and I'm afraid there are days where I myself feel like not leaving our bed. I'm sorry for over sharing my grief, it's just that of all his friends he spoke of you with most fondness. Please do keep in touch. Memories are all I've left to keep of him.

Warmest regards,
Tina Chang

Brittany stares down at the letter for a moment longer after she's finished, her eyes unable to leave that word in Tina's neat script. Death. His death… She folds it up before she too can smear the words with tears as Santana's already done.

"Oh San," Brittany whispers, placing the letter back atop the end table as she scoots up closer toward her and drapes an arm over Santana's shoulders. Brittany has barely settled with her back against the wall, one leg still hanging off the bed, when Santana leans into her embrace. Brittany kisses her temple gently. "I'm so sorry."

"He died because of me," Santana tells her, hugging her own legs closer as Brittany wraps her fully in both her arms. "H-he stayed to help me."

She can feel the shake of Brittany's head against her own. "No, this isn't your doing."

Brittany's calmly whispered words only seem to drive the knife further into Santana's heart. "I begged him not to go!" she exclaims in a hushed cry. Even distraught she's still mindful of the thin walls. Dr. Nelson's snores more than audible from the room adjacent where he and his wife soundly sleep. He can't wake to check upon her. Not to find Brittany uninvited in her room. She buries her face within the groove of Brittany's neck to muffle anymore cries, but more so out of need for the comfort the warm arms have sought to provide.

Any one of them could have perished that night. The reality of losing Michael has brought the memories far more frontal and vivid than Santana's ever recalled. She cannot shake the sheer look of panic in his dark eyes as he was swallowed into the fray…soon to meet his death. It was easy to imagine him alive, well and still entrenched within the medical tents of the Ohio companies. But dead, gone and at her hand?

She clutches tighter to Brittany's coat front, the remorse compelling a strong shudder through her body.

"Shh, San," Brittany soothes, forcing her own tears to abate as she holds the sobbing woman close. "You did nothing wrong."

"His children…" Santana chokes out, her grip frantic. They'd grow without him. Tina now has to live without her husband. My doing. For Brittany… Was it so selfish of her to feel relief that they'd lived? That Brittany's arms are able to hold her now? She can't erase the last image of him from her mind. Can't shake that same fear from coursing through her now. Cruelly, piteously, those black panic-stricken eyes turn to blue. Santana curls deeper into Brittany's hold. "Brittany."

"I'm here," Brittany whispers to her ear, knowing what Santana seeks. She kisses her firm atop her head and wraps her arms tighter about Santana's trembling frame. "I'm here," she repeats, placing another solid kiss to Santana's forehead.

It's not enough.

Her tears won't subside.

Dead blue eyes refuse to leave her mind.

Santana wrenches herself away from Brittany, startling the woman wishing to comfort her. There's an unnerving look in brown eyes that elicits a shiver of reaction in Brittany with the way they have focused so intently upon her. Santana breathes hard; short uneven bursts that only give rise of gooseflesh along Brittany's arm. She wants to reach for her, pull her back in her arms and rid the haunting thoughts from Santana's mind. But she's awestruck beneath that dark gaze, unable to tear her eyes away. Her arm feels heavy as she lifts it, hand not her own as fingertips gently brush against the wet skin of Santana's cheek.

At the touch, brown eyes are stolen from their trance and soften. Santana takes a slow, ragged breath as her eyes shut and she leans her head into Brittany's palm.

"Just ask, San," Brittany whispers, offering her a faint smile. She tucks a portion of Santana's hair back over her ear. "You know I'll stay."

Brittany continues to wipe the tears from her face as Santana meets her gaze. Santana can't ask of her to spend a night away from Emily… But she needs her to stay, so badly needs her tonight. "Please?" it is a whimper of a request.

Brittany's smile widens ever so faintly and silently she kicks her boots off in answer.

Not a second later Santana's lips smash against her own, fraught and ardent. She moves a top Brittany, her knee bumping against the end table, knocking the stub of a candle from its stand. The flame extinguishes as it falls to the tabletop, liquid wax slow to congeal where it's spilled along the wood surface. Santana vaguely registers the flicker of pain but plants her knees firmly opposite Brittany's thighs all the same.

The tingle radiating in her legs has dulled whatever bruise could be forming.

Her fingernails scrape against Brittany's scalp as she pulls her head up to deepen the kiss. The feel of Brittany's tongue sliding against her own tugs deep in her belly, shivers erupting straight down her arms. Her throat tightens as Brittany repeats to her again 'I'm here,' and her chest aches with the want of feeling her near.

She simply needs her.

Brittany senses Santana's urgency and slows the kiss, calming Santana's feverish need. With steady hands she brings Santana to sit on top her thighs. Santana's knees are still bent and squeezed by Brittany's sides, but the strain in Brittany's neck has fled, flutters once more returning to her stomach as she runs her hands up Santana's back. The hands once thread so tightly in her short hair move to cup her face. With a few more lingering pecks they finally part, each breathless, Brittany's cheeks flushed beneath Santana's thumbs.

Their gazes meet in the darkness, the calm assurance of blue trying ever so hard to cast away the pained guilt still apparent in brown.

It is not you're doing, Brittany thinks, hoping Santana can read the same in her eyes. "I love you," she whispers, twining her fingertips into the excess fabric along the back of Santana's nightdress.

The material is threadbare from years of use, she can easily feel the heat of Brittany's palms against her skin. Her words sink deeper than the touch though. Warmth once more flooding her stomach.

Santana leans forward, nudging her nose against Brittany's as she whispers back, "I love you too."

She's not heard her say those words in such a way in so long now.

Brittany eliminates what little space separates them, tilting her head the fraction of an inch to allow their lips to meet once more. Eyes fall closed at the light touch. Santana's arms quickly cross behind Brittany's neck. Bodies soon surge closer when Brittany presses harder into the kiss. She squirms beneath Santana's weight, pushing herself back from against the wall. Her skin is suddenly ablaze beneath her heavy layer of clothing.

She needs the coat removed.

Needs everything removed.

Santana's hands are already at her coat front. It's undone without so much as breaking their kiss and shed to the floor with a toss. Her unbuttoned shirt and accompanying suspenders slip down her shoulders soon after. Santana begins to mark a path down Brittany's neck before she's even freed her arms. The trail of full lips sears, Brittany's stomach a mess of knots as she bites back a groan. Her vision tunnels when fingertips brush against the tip of her bare breast.

"San," she breathes out, arching her back further into the touch.

Spurred by the need in her voice, Santana recaptures Brittany's lips, her hand still kneading against the soft flesh of Brittany's breast. With a low moan Brittany hungrily seeks the feel of Santana's tongue as she begs entrance to her mouth. Her hands grab Santana by the hips, dragging her further against her lap. She slips her fingertips beneath the hem of Santana's nightgown, eagerly pushing the material up smooth thighs. Their lips part for the fraction of a moment it takes to draw the dress up and over Santana's head.

Brittany's mouth tastes the newly exposed throat instantly.

Santana melts at the hot touch of her tongue.

Her hips roll against Brittany's, wishing for one of the hands at her waist to dip between her thighs. Brittany's lips encircle her right nipple instead. Santana lets out a hiss as teeth rake across the sensitive skin, the tug in her belly growing deeper, heart thudding harder against her ribs. She purses her lips to keep the feeling from escaping her throat, nearly collapsing as fingers finally slip between her legs and meet the wet heat craving Brittany's touch.

She pants, trying to steady herself to no avail as blue eyes, heavy with longing lock upon her own.

Santana's nod is merely a twitch and jerk of her head, muscles taut and skin flushed with a sheen of sweat. She rocks against Brittany's hand, desperate for the friction needed to bring her release. Brittany tugs her down for a kiss, lips meeting as two fingers slip within Santana and curl forward. Brittany swallows the moan Santana lets out, rubbing her thumb slowly against elevated heat. Santana sets her own rhythm, pace quick. One of her hands slams down to Brittany's thigh, the other clutching at her shoulder. She pushes harder, snores next door lost to the dull thuds of the bedframe knocking against the wall.

Brittany fills her deeper, holding her upright, mouth burning against her neck.

Another flick of her thumb and Santana can feel the tug in her belly shoot up to her chest. Her eyes slam shut as her body shudders, thighs squeezing against Brittany's hand in wake of her release. Her muscles contract, still quivering with a sensation that dances across her skin as she collapses forward into Brittany's arms. Her breaths are erratic, chest heaving as the faint feel of lips brush against her cheek.

"I've really missed you," Brittany whispers, voice thick with want.

Santana's eyes dart down to Brittany's lips, her gaze tracing their swollen outline. Her legs still feel incapable of movement, eyes fluttering closed as Brittany's hand withdraws and slides up across the heated skin of her stomach. Santana lets out a moan at the wet touch; the sound quickly muted as Brittany recaptures her lips.

She pushes Brittany down to her back, supporting herself above her on bended elbows. Their legs tangle, the feel of Brittany's slacks an ever-present reminder of the need for their removal. With a pull of Brittany's bottom lip between her teeth Santana moves lower. She traces familiar curve of Brittany's neck, kissing down over the swell of her small breasts and the flat plane of her stomach. She sits up to unbuckle the belt around Brittany's waist and slides the slacks down long legs, leaving them to pool to the floor alongside her nightdress. Brittany's leg quivers, muscles twitching where Santana lays a kiss to warm skin of her lower thigh. Her eyes squeeze shut as she bites down hard on her bottom lip to keep a cry of longing from escaping her throat.

Her body writhes, head thrown back as Santana's arms lock around her thighs and warm breaths graze across the heat of her center. Santana's not tasted her in so long now. The craving in Brittany's eyes for the same burns in her belly, spurring her lips forward toward the heat. Santana holds tight against the surge of Brittany's hips against her mouth.

Brittany feels herself coming undone; her fingers digging harder into the mattress as she tries to keep herself steady.

Santana's tongue sears against her center and her back arches high up from the bed, groan silenced as she buries her face to the side against the pillow. She moans, thighs trembling beneath Santana's hold and slow strokes of her tongue. The pressure in her gut mounts, heart crashing hard against her ribs, all thought rendered mute in need of touch alone. A groan from Santana and the pulses of sound have Brittany biting into the pillow at her release. She shudders beneath Santana's hold, legs clenching tight around a dark head.

Santana kisses Brittany's inner thigh gently, coaxing her to relax once more. She smiles up at her, even though Brittany rests with eyes closed, still trying to catch her breath. Beautiful. With a long exhale Brittany sinks down into the bed, body and limbs consumed with a fading prickle of satisfaction.

Santana crawls back up beside her, kissing her, savoring the way Brittany is reignited and draws her closer. They don't speak as Santana pulls away, neither the voice to speak over the beats of their hearts. Brittany tugs her down until Santana settles half atop her; the weight bothers her not, comforting even as she pulls the blanket over them both.

She's not slept beside her in weeks. Both miss the feel of the others skin cooling against their own.

Tina's letter is still on the table, ruined beneath melted wax.

Santana dreams of him.

Brittany holds her until the sun rises, and then stays long after.

Her father is livid when she returns late that morning, shouting at her as she climbs the porch stairs.

Brittany doesn't hear his words though; she's stopped caring for them weeks ago.