The Cost of Survival

Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings

This chapter turned out shorter than I thought it would be, but at least the wait for it wasn't too long. For the duration of the games, I plan to stick to the three POV's I've been using, but the interesting thing about using Brittany's POV is that she's going to be watching whatever the Capitol cameras choose to show her, which gives me the chance to show a little of what's going on with the other tributes as opposed to just sticking to Santana's or just Mike's adventures.

Also, I'll probably bring up the rating to an M, and then add a note that'll warn people not to expect any sexytimes. :))

Oh and I pictured the Avox in Santana's hovercraft as Brad the Piano Man.

Chapter 17

Arena. 72nd Hunger Games.

That… did not just happen.

It didn't.

Santana tried to blink away the sight of blood splattering the Peacekeepers, coming from Mr. Pierce's skull. She tried not to think about how Brittany had no idea. She tried not to think about how they could have had a reunion if Mr. Pierce could have escaped, but now there was absolutely no hope for that.

The cornucopia was hard to put into focus with the way her eyes were blurring her vision again. The big smudge in front of her must be the cornucopia, where all the weapons and bags were laid out. The big dark splotches in between her and the cornucopia looked like endless space.

Santana blinked again several more times and tried to harden her expression. People were watching. People could see her. Brittany could see her.

Brittany.

Her father was dead.

Not gone with no certainty of his fate. Not away. Just… dead.

It was like seeing her own father get shot all over again.

Focus, dammit. Santana rubbed at her eyes and struggled to clear her mind. The countdown was almost over. It would be time to start moving soon. She had to plan out her next move now. She had to think quickly. She had to figure it out now.

Fuck why is it so hard to think straight?

Santana shook her hands and tried to put her weight onto her toes and steady her shaky knees. Her heart was thundering way too fast and her vision was still going in and out of focus. The image of Mr. Pierce's blue eyes… confused but determined to stay brave… the sound of the gunshot, loud enough to get through the glass that encased her… the spray of red.

"Eight…"

The platform she was on wasn't just composed of the metal plate that brought her up. Below her was a column of dark grey rock. To the side was another column of rock from which Rick of District 6 was standing. Every tribute stood on their own column, surrounding the stone platform the cornucopia was on.

"Seven…"

It would take a focused leap to make it towards the cornucopia, and Santana felt anything but focused.

"Six…"

Looking over her shoulder, Santana saw that behind her, a much smaller jump would take her to a tunnel that led down towards somewhere undetermined. Still, it would mean going somewhere out of the Careers' sight because no doubt they would be distracted by the bloodbath for a moment.

"Five…"

Mr. Pierce was dead.

"Four…"

Santana bit her lip. Was it worth the risk of getting caught up in the bloodbath to scrounge for a bag or an axe? Would she be throwing away the days spent training and getting ready, by leaping into that obvious death zone?

"Three…"

Brittany's father was fucking dead. Shot dead in the head.

"Two…"

There was an axe further in the cornucopia, over by a box that no doubt had more weapons or supplies or some other thing the Careers would surely benefit from. This was a trap and leaping towards the death zone would be stupid.

And Brittany's father was shot dead.

The Peacekeepers were murderers.

"One…"

Fuck it. Taking a quick two steps back for some momentum, Santana charged forward and leaped for the central stone platform, easily reaching the other side, but not as easily dodging away from Rick's charging body.

The guy moved fast, and already had a fearsome spear in his hand. It was one of the weapons he confidently wielded in the Training Center. Their eyes locked on each other and Santana knew she would be his first kill if she didn't get moving immediately. Rick rushed forward.

Mr. Pierce… they shot him.

Santana just barely dived away from the spear as it hit the stone she'd been standing on mere moments ago. Scrambling forward, Santana moved as fast as she could, frustrated by how her legs felt like jelly, slowing her down and affecting her sense of balance. The axe was what she locked her eyes on and focused on. If she could just grab it, she would be able to defend herself.

Just as her hands closed in on it and gripped the handle, and this feeling of familiarity of it hit her, Santana felt a hand grab her shoulder.

Driven into action by instinct and reflex, Santana swung the axe and drove it deep into her attacker's skull, splitting it nearly in half and sending globs of brain and blood and flesh and bone splattering.

Wait… Rick was over there, grappling with Webber and her trident.

Shit.

Pulling the axe out, Santana gaped in horror at the body crumpled on the ground in front of her. Blood was gushing out of the huge crack on the tribute's head, accompanied by globs of a disturbingly pinkish color. Her eyes were wide open in what looked like shock.

It was Sunshine.

Shit. Shit. Shitshitshit. Shit.

Crawling backwards away from the body, still clutching her murder weapon, Santana's path was stopped by what felt like a bag. Her free hand clutched it and squeezed, trying to make sense of what she'd just done. After just witnessing the life of Mr. Pierce taken away with one gunshot, how could she do the exact same thing to harmless little Sunshine with the swing of an axe?

And the kid wasn't even armed!

Seeing the little tribute lying on the floor, dead just like that… how did that even happen? Why did it happen? She was just a kid! No older than Santana was when she lost her father.

Something else grabbed a handful of Santana's jacket, and she was too stunned to fight back as she was bodily lifted from the ground and draped over broad shoulders like a mere sack. "You fucking owe me for this, Lopez."

It was Lauren.

Still carrying Santana, complete with bag and axe, the huge District 3 tribute easily made the two leaps that took her over the chasm, away from the cornucopia, and down the nearest tunnel.

Arena. 72nd Hunger Games.

If not for Santana, Mike would have just turned around and taken the safer route of going down the tunnel behind him. Leaping into that bloodbath would have been complete madness. Neither of them had the strength or training of a Career. Santana was pretty good with an axe or in a fight, but she wasn't that good. Jumping forward would be stupid. It would have been suicide.

Yet here he was.

Mike jumped onto the central platform because Santana did. Meanwhile Rory had the sense to go down the tunnel behind him instead of joining in this chaos.

The sounds of battle were already filling the air, bouncing off the rock walls, punctuated by echoes. Up above, there was a crack in the rock that let in some light, highlighting the shine of the cornucopia. But besides that, there seemed to be an overall glow to the walls because given how there was little to no light source, they weren't even in darkness.

With a gasp, Mike barely dodged away from a knife flying at him, minimizing the damage from a potential slice through his head and instead getting a rip through his jacket and nick in his shoulder. It burned where his skin was sliced open, and Mike automatically put his hand over it to staunch the blood.

Behind him, Suzy Pepper of District 9 hit the floor with the blade deep in her chest.

The sight sickened Mike, especially given the knowledge that the knife had been aimed at him in the first place. Still, he reminded himself that there wasn't any time to dwell on guilt because he was here in the arena now and he had to be strong. He had resolved to try and he damn well was going to try.

Where did Santana go?

While grabbing for the nearest bag and evading wrestling or running tributes, Mike scanned the crowd for her. Azimio was mauling Brett of District 3 while Rick managed to trip District 4's Webber. Deeper in the cornucopia, Sebastian clutched a knife and was hacking at Jacob of District 9. And Mack was coming closer to Mike, already drawing another knife to throw. Her eyes were narrowed and the knife was raised.

There!

Spotting Santana and Lauren going down one tunnel, Mike put one arm through the straps of the bag, then hurried after them, just as another tribute locked blades with the Mack, thankfully distracting her from what would have been a hilariously easy target.

Mike leaped for the tunnel but misjudged the distance, landing painfully on his chest and sliding back until barely his fingers were holding him up, just like at the Gauntlet.

Although this time he really didn't have any spare seconds to waste, and the pain of his shoulder was an inconvenient distraction while the bag pulling at his other shoulder was an added weight.

Pushing away the haunting images of blood and dying faces, forgetting about what was keeping him back, Mike told himself that this was just like at the Gauntlet. He told himself to think about how he was doing this for Tina. She was waiting for him and she was watching him and she needed him as much as he needed her.

Tensing the muscles he needed to use, Mike scrambled over the rock and managed to pull himself up.

District 7. 72nd Hunger Games.

Gritting her teeth and trying hard not to bite her already split lip, Brittany let Mrs. Cohen-Chang peel away the bandage wrapped around her ribs, which had been both to cover up her flayed back, and to protect the gashes across her side.

She was sitting up now, for the first time since waking up after the beating.

The sight of the red and angry skin pulled together by thick black thread made Brittany nauseous. There were even bits of dried blood crusted over the thread. And damn was that new blood oozing out? That looked really scary.

Meanwhile, on the screen, the Careers were killing off weaker tributes that had thought they could grab a bag and run without getting caught. That had more blood involved. It did not help Brittany's lightheadedness.

"Stay still, dear." Mrs. Cohen-Chang dabbed at the wound with a clean strip of cloth that may or may not have some kind of medicine Brittany couldn't identify because each dab made the wounds burn worse than ever. "Please just let me clean this."

A whimper made its way through Brittany's gritted teeth while her less damaged right hand floundered for something to grasp until it found someone's hand. Squeezing tightly, Brittany recognized the still-smooth, innocent skin of her younger sister's palm.

"Look, there's Santana!" Somewhat behind Brittany, Tina was holding the supplies and assisting her mother. And managing to pay more attention to the screening than anyone else.

"Where? Gaahh!" Unable to mask her excitement, Brittany jerked forward in an attempt to get a better look at the screen. Instead, she intensified the pain in her slashed skin because the sudden movement caused Mrs. Cohen-Chang to accidentally jab at the wound.

Breathing heavily and whimpering in between breaths, Brittany watched Santana on the screen, still being carried over Lauren's shoulder. The camera panned away from them to show Mike still a fair distance away, moving at a much slower pace.

"That shoulder's bothering him…" Tina fretted. "And look at his face. It's like someone already punched him but I don't remember seeing anyone hit him yet. Other than that knife I mean."

"Brittany, please stop fidgeting." Mrs. Cohen-Chang finished up with the slashes and began to wrap the fresh bandage around Brittany. She tried to stay still but between the pain and the nervous excitement, it was hard not to fidget.

Earlier this morning, Mrs. Rose had been kind enough to visit, bringing several pills she'd bought with her own money from the shop. She said she wanted to give them herself, and check on Brittany, so she left Marley to attend to the shop. The pills were supposed to be for the pain, and to fight off infection. They were from a store in the townsquare that usually only the victors could afford to buy things from, as the products were all imported from the Capitol.

Awkward and embarrassed, Brittany had thanked Mrs. Rose, who just said that she'd been very worried and concerned, and this was the best way she could think of to help out. She wasn't even obliged to help; yet there were the pills on the bedside table now, after Mrs. Cohen-Chang accepted them and worked out a schedule.

Mrs. Rose didn't stay long, and once she was gone, Mrs. Cohen-Chang gave Brittany a pill then immediately set to work on her legs.

Although both were riddled with holes and dents from the bullets, only her right ankle had to be splinted. The left was still functional and only hurt because of the damage sustained from the Peacekeeper's guns.

Just as Mrs. Cohen-Chang finished up with Brittany's legs, it was time for the Games to begin and Amy hurried to start up the television while Mrs. Cohen-Chang insisted on changing Brittany's other bandages, adamant about how it just couldn't wait.

And that was how they had come to this position of Mrs. Cohen-Chang struggling with treating a restless Brittany while tributes fought and ran in the little screen at the end of the room.

There were a few dressings that still felt damp to Brittany, but Mrs. Cohen-Chang dubbed them as not as urgent. They had to make do with the limited supplies. Already, Mrs. Cohen-Chang was stretched thin, juggling time for work and time to treat Brittany and time to buy treatments. Tina had yet to leave the Lopez house. Amy was doing everything she could to be helpful and stay out of the way when the Cohen-Changs rushed about the house. She would also tell the Cohen-Changs where in the house they kept food or supplies or whatever was necessary

The camera cut to Harmony of District 8, showing the widened eyes of her awed face before panning up to show a huge cavern with high columns and a wide, peaceful-looking lake that reminded Brittany a lot of the one in the forest.

Mrs. Cohen-Chang offered another glass of water to Brittany, which she took and was able to hold on her own. Her splinted finger stuck out awkwardly, but the rest of her hand managed to hold the glass with relative ease while her shoulder barely protested.

The screen cut back to the cornucopia bloodbath, where Azimio triumphantly stood over Brett's lifeless body and high-fived with Sebastian, who had been in the middle of cleaning his knife of blood. The scene moved away from the triumph to focus on Sam standing over his district partner's lifeless body, struck down moments ago by Rick's spear. There was grief in Sam's eyes, but he set his jaw and stood up, a look of determination on his face. The camera made it a point to shoot this from below, making Sam look taller and more dramatic, sharply highlighted by the light from above.

There was so much death already…

And Brittany could still remember the look on Santana's face when she drove her axe into the head of that little girl from District 12.

Arena. 72nd Hunger Games.

"Put me the fuck down, bitch!" That defense mechanism that made her hostile and aggressive whenever she was scared finally took control. Still tightly clutching her axe in one hand and a bag in the other, Santana tried to wriggle out of Lauren's grasp. It only resulted in Santana feeling the bone of that huge shoulder digging into her stomach.

"Just don't forget you owe me, you little twig." Lauren slowed to a stop, picked up Santana and unceremoniously dropped her onto the rock floor.

For a moment, amidst the heat of her anger, Santana was almost tempted to swing at Lauren.

Until Mrs. Pierce's blue eyes appeared again. Then Sunshine's split, bloody face. And of course Brittany's pictures were always tinted over Santana's vision now.

Sourness touched Santana's throat and she fought back the urge to throw up. Instead, she got to her feet and did her best to hide her discomfort from Lauren.

"Yeah, I heard you the first time. You don't have to sound like a busted machine saying it over and over again." Santana avoided eye contact with Lauren by observing the belt. There was a portion she got to loop around the handle of her axe, letting it securely stay at her hip, easily within reach at the first sign of a threat. "I'll fucking pay you back first chance I get."

"You'd better make it worth it." Lauren said, and that was when Santana noticed that a broadsword was in Lauren's right hand. Did she even know how to use that thing? Santana couldn't recall seeing Lauren at the sword station.

Lauren seemed to notice and grinned. "Got it from that Dave guy. It was a hell of a lot of fun wrestling him for it."

Still fighting back the nagging need to throw up what little she ate this morning, Santana was about to work out some sarcastic response, but stiffened when she heard footsteps coming their way. It might be someone following them and out to get them.

Santana readied her axe while Lauren turned and brandished her sword.

The footsteps grew louder, closer.

They were almost here, and although it still sickened Santana to have to watch her third death today, she knew that there was no room for that kind of weakness in this arena. If there was any chance at all that she got out of here, she had to toughen up.

Tightening her grip and feeling how the gloves felt against the axe's shaft, Santana raised it and got ready to swing at the approaching threat.

When the tribute finally emerged from around the corner, Santana was halfway through swinging it and stopped it just inches from the guy's nose. Just in time, she recognized Mike, who had bent over backwards to move his face as far away from the blade as possible.

Thankfully, Lauren didn't try to attack.

Hands trembling more violently with each beat of her heart, Santana couldn't hold on to the axe or the bag any longer, and felt them slip through her fingers. The bag landed with a dull and muffled thud while the axe clattered against the stone.

"S-Santana!" Mike's voice came out breathless as he straightened up, relief crossing over his features.

Without really thinking anymore, or forcing herself not to think, Santana pulled Mike into a hug and buried her head into his jacket until she could almost feel his chest against her cheek, almost hear his heartbeat, which seemed to be thundering much faster than was normal. Her own heartbeat was just as fast and distressed.

Maybe later tonight, she could figure out a way to let him know what happened just before the Games started.

But for now, Santana felt far too weak and shaken and not at all like how she thought she might feel when faced with the prospect of fighting for her life. She didn't feel like herself. She didn't feel tough or fearless. She didn't feel ready for any of this.

This wasn't like all those fights she'd gotten into growing up. This wasn't like getting beaten by a Peacekeeper. This wasn't like throwing herself at them to stop them from taking Brittany away to be a tribute. This wasn't like playfully wrestling with Puck as a child.

And it wasn't like just watching the Games either.

This was real.

Santana was supposed to be strong and unafraid, but why did Sunshine's bloody, split face scare her so much? Was murder like that really what Santana was capable of? Killing an unprepared, unarmed little girl with a decisive swing of her axe. It scared her to think that she actually was capable of that.

In all her years of hating the Peacekeepers, Santana had wished death upon them. But she never had the chance to see if she was actually capable of taking any of their lives. She thought she had the strength to do it. She thought it was a simple matter of getting rid of the bad guys.

But now… in this arena, it should be a simple matter of kill or be killed. It would be easier to think of the other tributes as all a bunch of bad guys. Santana should have done that and trained herself to see all of them as enemies out to get her. The mistrust she held for anyone outside her circle of friends certainly would have made it easy enough.

It was Sunshine though.

That little kid who was so scared the night of the opening ceremony, and who looked so hopeful after talking with Santana. She was the one who told Sunshine not to give up before the Games even started. To believe in herself a little bit. To be a little more optimistic about her chances.

And in an almost hilarious turn of events, Santana was the one who took her out in the first five minutes.

Was that the kind of person Santana was?

She tightened her grip on Mike, pressing her face harder into the thick material of his jacket, which was exactly the same material as hers. She thought she heard him grunt, but couldn't be sure. This was probably on camera right now, showing how weak she really was and it must look really bad. If there was any way to totally ruin the tough image she'd shown, it was by doing this.

But Santana just couldn't help it.

Guilt was tearing her apart. Not just the guilt over killing Sunshine, but also for not being able to do anything about Mr. Pierce's death, for causing Brittany's torture, for getting Quinn into trouble, for not being there for Mike when Judy was beating the shit out of him. There was so much weighing Santana down and battering her and it was so so hard to call upon her mask and look tough and strong for the cameras.

Right now, she just couldn't be the Santana that the Capitol knew.

Still, that question remained.

Who was Santana? A murderer? A horrible person who put her friends through torture? Who just watched without doing anything whenever fathers get shot dead?

Who was she, really?

And what did Brittany think?

District 7. 72nd Hunger Games.

The excitement, and still the sight of all the blood, was taking its toll on Brittany already, and she was back to lying against her pillow with her eyes half open. Her head felt light and heavy at the same time, like a flying kitten with one wet wing and one dry wing.

Still, Brittany fought through the haze of dizziness and sleepiness to focus on the screen.

It showed the boy from District 10 leaning against a rock, exhaustion showing on his face. After running continuously since the start of the Games, he must have used up all he had. Brittany recalled his name to be Rory. After a lingering look at his face, the screen then went back to showing Santana, Mike and the huge scary girl from District 3.

Santana was hugging Mike and it was like all the strength had been sucked from their bodies, leaving them looking like broken shells of the people they were before their names were picked out and they were taken away by the train.

Glancing at Tina, Brittany saw the same concern and worry. A light squeeze of her hand was Amy's wordless show of how she was just as bothered as the rest of them.

"Break it up, you too. We have to get moving." The screen showed District 3 girl's face. Lauren. "We gotta put as much distance as possible between us and those damn Careers."

It showed Santana and Mike again. They were still hugging, but Mike was the first to lower his arms and look over Santana's head to nod at Lauren. "You're right."

Santana moved away without saying anything, looking reluctant and still very drained, and not at all like the Santana that Brittany was used to seeing whenever a dangerous situation was at hand. She looked almost as sullen as the night after her father was killed.

The small group of three walked off-screen, and then the Careers were shown again, cleaning their weapons and daring to relax while every other tribute was running scared or hiding. Mack was even lying on the floor, using the bags as pillows and snacking on the ample food provided.

They all looked so… normal.

While every other tribute was struggling, these Careers didn't seem at all bothered by the deaths they'd either witnessed or caused. How could they be so casual about it when Santana looked ready to faint?

"Brittany, how are you?" Taking advantage of those shots of the Careers that none of them particularly cared to see, Mrs. Cohen-Chang leaned over the bed again.

"Head hurts…"

Closing her eyes and sighing only made the memories of Santana so much clearer. There was the look of regret, disgust and terror right after killing the little girl from 12. There was the teary, guilt-filled eyes of the interview. There was the confusing mixture of irritation, discomfort and confidence during the opening ceremony. There was the fear-hidden-by-anger during the Reaping when she volunteered.

And there was the anxiousness and doubt in the Justice Building.

Justice Building. 72nd Hunger Games. Reaping Day.

Brittany let Amy see Santana first because the reaping was still too fresh and it brought with it such strong feelings of guilt and despair that almost rendered her speechless. If she were to say goodbye to Santana, there was supposed to be talking in there somewhere, a show of gratitude. Not a stunned and silent Brittany.

She was supposed to be the one who was good at talking about feelings and opening up, but right now, Brittany felt too overwhelmed by the rush of every emotion and thought battering at her head and confusing her tongue about who goes first.

When Amy was brought out of the room, Brittany was ushered in none too gently, barely given the time to tell Amy to wait outside.

Words meant to be used to thank Santana and express love and fear and hope were at the tip of Brittany's tongue, but they went all the way back down her throat and stayed there the moment she caught sight of Santana.

She was sitting on the velvet sofa, arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide and scared. Blood soaked her lower lip and chin, and still dripped openly from her forehead. And if Brittany wasn't mistaken, Santana was shaking.

How could this really be happening?

Brittany didn't want to believe it. This had to be just some horrible nightmare cooked up by her mind amidst the pre-Reaping anxieties. That had to be it. This wasn't real. This was a silly dream and she was bound to wake up soon.

Please just wake up already.

Looking up, Santana's eyes darted towards Brittany. And no matter how much she was going to try to deny it, she knew that this was real. This was happening.

Brittany was already wrapping her arms around Santana before she even finished standing up. There was desperation in the way Santana clutched Brittany tightly enough that it started to hurt. The dampness that started to spread over Brittany's shoulder was either blood or tears. She wasn't sure which was worse, or if she really wanted to know.

But the clock was ticking and they didn't have much time. Brittany pulled away just enough so they could look each other in the eye, but still have their bodies touching. "I'm sorry." Brittany carefully dabbed at the blood with a handkerchief in one hand while the other was on Santana's cheek.

She winced whenever the handkerchief touched a particularly tender part.

"Britt, no. Don't apologize, okay?" The wide-eyed fear was replaced with a furrowed brow and seriousness. "This way, Amy will still have you. You take care of your sister, okay? Amy needs you, Britts. The tesserae you got'll be enough for another year, right? And you earn a lot from the logging site coz you're so strong. You guys'll get by."

No. No. Santana was talking like she already lost and she was expecting them to survive without her. Brittany pressed her forehead against Santana's, ignoring the sticky feeling of the blood. "Santana, you are coming back. You'll come home, okay?"

The seriousness left again, and the fear was back in Santana's eyes. "You know I can't promise that, Britt. I'm afraid I might break it."

"Try." Brittany whispered. "Please."

As they stayed that way, with the miniscule distance between their eyes, Brittany watched Santana's, memorizing every detail. The dark lashes framing the subtle slant of her eyes, the brown irises that reminded Brittany of the bark of trees. The deep, burning look they attained when she was angry. The way they softened whenever she was looking at Amy or Brittany. The lost, sad emptiness whenever she was thinking about her parents.

"Okay." Santana said after what felt like both an eternity and a single heartbeat. "For you."

It must've been selfish, especially since every tribute's loved ones probably also wanted them to come home just as much as Brittany did. But right now, she couldn't think of anyone but herself and Santana. And hearing her say that she'd try to make it back home- that was all Brittany wanted—needed—to hear.

She could have talked about Santana's skill with axes. She could have reminded Santana of how tough she was, given every fight she'd ever been in. She could have talked about how fast Santana could run whenever they chased each other in the forest. She could have spewed up random survival tips they'd gathered from watching the Games.

Instead, Brittany went with something Santana wouldn't have to think about, but instead feel about. "Don't ever forget you're a unicorn."

Then Brittany pressed her lips against Santana's in a kiss that was meant to say everything that normal words couldn't even begin to express. Brittany wanted to show how much it would hurt to see Santana lose, how empty and lifeless the house would feel without the snark and sarcasm every morning and every night, how she didn't know if she had the strength to survive another loss to the Capitol. How Santana helped her smile again after the worst happened, how Santana reminded her whenever she needed it that there were still people who cared about her and understood her intelligence. How safe she felt whenever Santana was there.

When they pulled apart to breathe, Brittany removed the necklace Santana made, the one from that day she came across some pretty stones by the river at the edge of the logging site. "Take this with you, okay?"

Santana's eyes darted from the pendant to Brittany. "You sure? You don't wanna keep that with you to… y'know… remind you of me… or something?"

Trying not to sound like it was too much of a big deal, Brittany said, "Please. The house reminds me enough of you."

The way Santana's brow furrowed was an indication that Brittany had failed to conceal how bothered she was by the thought of the ghosts in the Lopez house bringing back memory after memory. How could she not think about Santana when they were living in Santana's house?

Instead of making a comment about it, Santana lifted her hair off her shoulders so Brittany could knot the necklace behind her. "Thanks, Britt." Santana smiled and tried putting on a light, half-joking tone. "It'd be like having a piece of you close by, right? And don't worry. I'll return this to you with or without me."

"With you is preferable." Brittany forced herself to smile at Santana's attempt. To hell with the damn necklace, she'd rather Santana be brought home with or without it. Not the other way around.

"Britts…" Santana started.

Brittany waited for her to continue.

With impeccable timing, the Peacekeepers came into the room. Brittany hung onto Santana and wished they didn't have to be separated. Wished her name had never been picked so that Santana wouldn't be in this position right now.

"Britt, I…" Santana glanced at the Peacekeepers. "You gotta go…"

But Brittany didn't want to. She tightened her grip until it was Santana that pulled away. "We'll see each other again. One way or another." Before Brittany could respond to that, Santana gave her a quick kiss, then the Peacekeepers pulled them apart and the doors closed.

Another bit of behind-the-scenes trivia:

The flashback scene was written months ago and just revised and adjusted this week. I was supposed to include it way waaaay back, in the opening ceremony chapter, when Brittany watches it with Tina's family. Then I ended up deciding to cut it out and save it for a future chapter because it would have more of an impact when Britt and San have been apart longer, as opposed to when it's just a fresh thing and not too much has happened to either of them yet.

And Dingo: asdlksjds thank yoouuuuuuu askjdlasjd thank you for your reviews and i feel all happy and alskdjasl i can't words asdfghjkl