When you're inside a burning building, surrounded by smoke and flames, your head is surprisingly clear.
Search and Rescue has become almost second nature for you now. You know you're not invincible, despite your protective bunker gear. But you almost feel calm, among the panic. You feel like you're completely in control of what you're doing, even when you're in an extremely out-of-control fire. You can't explain it.
Maybe that's why your colleagues, lieutenants, Chief Schuester, they all tell you how good you are at your job. Hearing the positive feedback is helpful for you, or at least you think, especially when people are still skeptical because you're a woman.
When you're called for the first fire of the shift, at a quaint restaurant next to Bryant Park, Chief tells you and Blaine that you're going in. You look at Blaine; it's hard for you to call him Lieutenant, he's been your friend for years. He meets your eyes and you both nod, a silent way of saying "I've got your back" as you prepare to enter the flaming establishment.
Blaine leads the way in, and you're right behind him. You're thankful it's still early, that customers wouldn't be there for several hours. The smoke is thick, and the heat that you've grown used to still overwhelms you a bit as you first walk inside.
"Fire Department, call out!" Blaine yells, so that potential victims know you're there. Neither of you hear a response, so Blaine signals that he's going left, and you turn to the right and begin your course.
You can't remember ever losing your focus in a fire; you're always on high alert, when someone's life is at stake. But your mind drifts the slightest bit, as you maneuver between fallen tables and chairs. Tonight's your date with Santana. Santana, the stunning bartender who texted you last night to confirm your date, asking for your address, so that she can pick you up at seven.
You're hardly paying attention when you stumble on something, and it jolts you back into reality. It's a body, a woman in her thirties, and you're back in action.
"Hello? Ma'am, can you hear me?" you ask, tapping on her chest. You don't get a response, so you put your fingers up to her throat and check for a pulse.
She's got a pulse. It's faint, but it's there. Leaping into action, you remove your breathing apparatus and fit it around her head. You pick her up and hold her in front of you as you retreat to the door. As quickly as you can, you dodge the flaming tables and carry her to the exit.
As soon as you burst through the entrance, you take a large gulp of air. Kurt and Tina are waiting with a stretcher, and they remove your mask from her face before replacing it with one of their own.
Tina gives you a small smile. "Nice work, Brittany. Another minute or two in there and she'd be gone."
You sigh in relief. It's lucky that you found her, considering how out of it you were. You look at Chief, about to ask if you should go back in, when Blaine comes out alone.
"It's all clear in there. Good job, Pierce." he praises, and you nod.
"You too."
You manage to suppress all of your Santana thoughts for the rest of your shift, though it's difficult. You don't go on any Search and Rescues for the rest of the day, at your silent request, and the shift seems to be endless.
You're eating lunch with Mike and Tina when you hear the loud sound of a slamming door. The three of you wince at the noise, and you look to the entrance to see what the cause was. When you see the person marching in, you, along with Mike and Tina, slink down in unison.
Standing in the doorway, in all of her terrifying glory, is Deputy Chief Sue Sylvester.
Somehow, even blonde-haired and blue-eyed like you, she's the most intimidating person you've ever laid eyes on. Her eyes are like sharp icicles, and she glares at each firefighter like they're a stone-cold killer.
"Alright, you incompetent clowns," she declares, narrowing her eyes at Sam and Puck who had previously been throwing pretzels into each other's mouths. "Where's your shit-headed ringleader?"
Everyone stares wide-eyed, frozen under her icy glare. Thankfully, Chief Schue appears in the common room before anyone has to respond.
"What can I do for you, Sue?" he asks, sounding calm, but you know that he's nervous. Everyone is, when Sue Sylvester is staring them down.
"That's Deputy Chief Sylvester to you, Schuester. You and I need to have a little talk about the way that you've been running this crappy excuse of a firehouse."
Chief Schue closes his eyes and runs a hand over his forehead. "Can we take this to my office?"
"No, we can do it right here. Your squad of losers can listen in, maybe something will get into their pea-sized brains." She grabs Finn's bottle of water out of his hand as he's taking a sip and throws it in the trash can.
"What did we do, Sue?" Chief Schue is mad now, you see it in his eyes, and his body turns rigid.
"Well, Schuester, you must know by now that I'm in the running for Fire Chief of this fine city," Sue muses as she paces the common room.
"And what does that have to do with Firehouse Forty-Seven?"
Sue stops her pacing and puts her hands on her hips. "If I'm going to get the job, all of my houses need to be perfect. And yours, Schuester, is even more pathetic than that mop on top of your head."
You've never seen Chief Schue so livid. He has so much pride for the house, and he cares about all of you like you're his children.
"Get out of my firehouse." He says it with a surprising amount of self control, but he grips the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles are white.
"I'd expect some more respect, considering I'm your superior, shithead." Sue's smirk turns into a sneer, and she walks up to Chief Schue. "You'll regret messing with me, Schuester, just you wait."
No one's eyes leave Sue until she's out the door in a huff. Chief Schue slinks down into a chair and he rubs his hands up the bridge of his nose.
"I'm sorry you had to see that, guys." Schue gazes around the room. "Deputy Chief Sylvester and I have a history that goes way back, and she's had it out for me for a long time."
"We've got your back, Chief," Blaine states, and everyone nods in agreement. Chief Schue releases a small smile and he straightens up in his chair.
"We're a family, here at Forty-Seven. And I'm not gonna let anyone ruin that," Schue says with conviction. The whole room lets out a deafening cheer, and you couldn't feel prouder to be part of something so special.
You get back to your apartment at five-fifteen, and you're glad you picked out your outfit ahead of time. It had taken you an hour to find the right dress and shoes, and although you're pretty sure Santana wouldn't care what you wear, you just want the night to be perfect.
By six-fifty-five you've showered, put on your dress, which is a dark shade of purple, and finished your hair and makeup. You stop, just for a moment, and look yourself over in the mirror. You think you clean up pretty well, for a firefighter.
The doorbell rings, and the nerves that you had fought all day begin to surface. You're not sure if you're dressed too fancy, or not fancy enough, and your heart beats rapidly.
When you open the door she's standing there, with a soft smile, and she's breathtaking. Her dress is red, a color you think was made just for her, by the way she wears it so perfectly. You hear her sharp intake of breath, and her eyes seem to glow brighter.
"Brittany, wow… you look beautiful."
You've heard your fair share of hot, and smokin', especially after you say you're a firefighter and they try to be funny. Sometimes a pretty, if they're nice. But beautiful, you never hear that. And the way she says it so honestly, so caught off guard, you truly believe it.
"So do you, Santana." You're grinning, you can't help it, and her smile grows.
"This might be super cheesy, but these are for you." She pulls out a small bouquet of lilies and daffodils from behind her back, and you swoon.
"You"–you take the flowers from her hand–"are the sweetest." She gives you a dimple smile, and you quickly go into your kitchen to put the flowers in a vase.
When you come back, she's admiring the pictures that line your walls. Most of them are of you with Mike, or Sam, or any of your friends at the firehouse.
"You seem really close with them," Santana observes, and you nod. She's looking at a photo of the whole house, where you and Sam are being held up by everyone else. It was the day the two of you completed your candidacy and were offered permanent jobs at 47. You and Sam had been twenty-three, the two youngest candidates ever to become firefighters at the house.
"We're a family." You leave it at that, but she can see the wistful smile on your face. "Hard to believe this was five years ago."
Santana tells you that the restaurant is close to your apartment, so you walk, at your suggestion. It's a warm night, and it lets you spend more time with her.
As you're walking, in a comfortable silence, you feel the urge to hold her hand. You're never shy about physical contact, but you don't know if it's proper first date etiquette to–fuck it. You grab her hand, and you're glad that you do. She looks at you, a smile forming on her lips, and she laces her fingers with yours.
You walk the rest of the way to the restaurant with your intertwined hands swinging between you. When you arrive, you can't help but smile. How Santana managed to guess one of your favorite restaurants, you're not sure.
"How'd you know that I love this place?" you ask, and she laughs.
"I had no idea, but it's one of my favorites too."
The hostess seats you at a secluded table by the window, and by the way Santana gives you a sly smile, you're sure she planned it. You share a bottle of wine, that you let her choose, because, as you tell her with a wink, she's the expert.
The two of you converse as easily as you would with your best friends, even though you've just met. You tell her all about your job, and she smiles, she smiles so much, and she tells you that she's in awe of what you do. You blush when she says that, because although you hear it a lot, she says it with so much admiration.
You talk about Mike, how he'd taken you under his wing when you were a candidate, and you'd become the best of friends. You explain that Sam is your half-brother, because your mother and his father had died when you were both young, and your parents married each other when you were both ten years old. She squeezes your hand on the table when you tell her about your father, a fire chief where you had grown up, and how he was the reason that you and Sam had joined the fire academy.
Santana talks about her two best friends: Quinn, who was, as Santana calls it, her "partner in crime" in high school, and Rachel, the "annoying and vertically challenged" girl in her music theory class that she takes on Tuesday mornings. You listen intently as she tells you that her dream has always been to be a singer, but that it hasn't worked out yet. When you tell her that it's not too late, and that you'd really like to hear her sing sometime, she grins at you, and you get the feeling that she doesn't hear that too often.
The night ends all too quickly, and you take your time walking back, her hand tangled in yours. The city lights twinkle around you, and you never want it to end. But eventually you reach your doorstep, and she walks you up the steps.
"I had a really great time tonight," Santana says with a smile, as she turns to face you, and her dark eyes reflect the soft light from the doorway.
"So did I," you tell her, and you really did. There's something about her, something that you're drawn to, like a moth to a flame. "If you'll let me, I'd like to take you out next time."
"Someone's confident," she teases, but she gives you a dimple smile and grabs both of your hands. "I'd love that."
You want to kiss her; she's radiant, in the streetlight, and you suddenly feel the need to be closer to her.
You pull her towards you, and her eyes flicker with realization. She knows, she knows. You bring your trembling hand up to her cheek, slowly, and softly caress her jaw.
She looks at you, eyes glowing, before they flutter closed as she rests her thumbs on your cheeks.
When she presses her lips to yours, you're enclosed in blazing fire, the flames releasing serenity within you. You move your lips with hers, and all you feel is her; white-hot and beautiful.
When she softly releases her lips from yours, slightly out of breath, you lean your forehead on hers.
"Goodnight, firefighter," she whispers, and she quickly presses her lips to yours before she's off in the night.
Unable to wipe the smile off of your face, you slowly close the door behind you, and sigh in contentment.
She's ignited something in you, and you don't want to let it go.