Chapter Six: Extinguished
Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, but it's an extra long chapter this time. Enjoy!
The first two weeks of November have flown by, and things with Santana have been nothing short of incredible. She's been your girlfriend, officially, for a little over a month, and you've never felt so…complete. Your life was predictable, carrying on from shift to shift with your only real spontaneity being which post-shift bar you choose for a drink with your firehouse friends. But Santana, Santana. She's everything you never knew you wanted. Somehow, she's the perfect combination of comfortable and invigorating, and every minute you spend with her feels better than the last. You love watching her work, having her visit you at the station, exploring the city, cuddling on the couch for a late-night movie, waking up next to her, tangled in white sheets; you're happy, you're so unbelievably happy.
But, as happy as you are, in your little Santana-bubble, you want to be with her outside the bubble too. You want to meet her friends, since she's met yours, and after a considerable amount of convincing, she agrees.
Santana nervously taps her foot next to you, looking over at the door for what must be the eight-hundredth time. You're seated at your usual booth in the back at Fork in the Rhodes, the quaint diner down the street from Santana's apartment, but it's not like your usual brunch dates. This time, you're meeting Santana's friends.
Santana's told you a lot about Quinn and Rachel, and despite some of her biting remarks, you're excited to meet them. The only person in Santana's life you've met is Dave, although you're not sure if he counts more as a friend or a coworker, so you were ecstatic when she asked you to meet them.
You're not nervous, not really, but for some reason, Santana is. Reaching down, you place your hand on her bouncing leg, settling it.
"Everything okay?" you ask, rubbing your thumb in circles on her thigh. Santana sighs, relaxing the slightest bit.
"I'm good, sorry. Just a little stressed."
"About me meeting your friends?"
Santana shrugs. "Not exactly, but–"
The bells on the front door jingle, and you see a small brunette come in, talking loudly with the blonde who saunters in behind her. You recognize them from pictures as Rachel and Quinn, and you smile as they make their way to your booth.
"I see her!" Rachel calls across the room, attempting to run through the diner in her high heels. Several heads from nearby tables turn toward her, and Santana shakes her head next to you.
"Here we go," Santana mutters as she stands up, but you see the small smile that breaks free on her lips.
"Santana, I'm so glad to see you," Rachel says, pulling Santana in for a hug. You stifle a laugh when Santana stiffens, awkwardly patting Rachel on the back. It still amazes you how Santana completely hates being touched by anyone, but with you, she loves cuddling, and holding your hand, and being close to you.
"I saw you in class two days ago, Berry," Santana says, rolling her eyes.
"She can't help being dramatic, it's in her blood," Quinn pipes in, finally cracking a smile. "It's good to see you, Santana."
"You too, Q." Santana smiles. "Guys, this is Brittany. Britt, this is Rachel and Quinn." Before you can respond, Rachel grabs both of your hands.
'Brittany, Santana has told me so much about you! Normally I'm the one who talks too much, but when you come up in conversation, I just can't get her to shut up."
"How about we sit down?" Santana firmly suggests, and you can see the pink tint in her cheeks. Grinning, you squeeze her hand as you slide into the booth, and Rachel and Quinn sit across from you.
"So, are you two…?" You gesture to Rachel and Quinn, before realizing it's probably not the best thing to ask someone when you first meet them, and you feel your face heat up. Rachel laughs, thankfully, but Quinn huffs.
"Why does literally everyone think I'm a lesbian?" Quinn asks, throwing up her hands, and Santana cracks up, bracing her hand on your shoulder.
"Because you totally are, Fabray," Santana says, smirking.
Quinn scowls at Santana. "Just because I'm single doesn't make me gay, you know."
"Well, Brittany, I do have two fathers, but I'm not gay myself," Rachel says, looking back at you. "I'm actually in a committed relationship with Brody, my boyfriend of seven months."
"Tool," Santana coughs, and Rachel gives her a stern look.
"I know you like to make that joke because he's a mechanic, Santana, but Brody doesn't find it very funny."
"Not a joke," Santana mutters, and you make eye contact, giving her your 'Be Nice' look. Her eyes immediately soften, and she squeezes your hand under the table as the owner, April Rhodes, approaches your booth.
"My two favorite customers!" April says when she sees you and Santana. Handing out the menus, she winks. "Well, my favorites who I haven't slept with. And I see you brought guests. More lesbians?"
You and Santana laugh, while Quinn raises an eyebrow. Rachel takes the menu, immediately scanning her eyes over it.
"Do you happen to have any vegan options?" Rachel asks, looking up at April expectantly. Rolling her eyes, April points to the bottom of the menu.
"Down here, if you hate yourself that much. Now, can I start you ladies off with some Mimosas?"
"Yes, please," Quinn grumbles, and Santana and Rachel both nod.
"How about you, hun?" April asks you, and you flash her an apologetic smile.
"No can do, April, I've got a shift in a little while."
"I'll tell you one thing, I've never let work stop me from having some booze. I've gotta be pretty drunk to handle some of the assholes that come in here, you know." You and Santana share a knowing smile as April scribbles on her notepad. "I'll get you some coffee, Brittany."
Once April walks away, Rachel folds her hands on the table and looks at you. "So, Brittany, Santana says you're a firefighter."
You nod. "Yup, I've been one for six years."
"Gosh, it must be thrilling. Brody's been talking about joining the Fire Academy, now that his shop is going under. I, for one, think it's an excellent idea, because it's so much more financially stable than working in an auto shop."
Santana rolls her eyes at the mention of Rachel's boyfriend, and you shrug. "I mean, I guess it pays okay, but most of us do it because we love to save lives."
Smiling, Santana squeezes your hand under the table. Quinn gives you a look you can't really decipher, before she speaks.
"It's dangerous though, right? Running into burning buildings and stuff," Quinn says, and Santana's eyes burn, her gaze piercing into Quinn.
"It absolutely is, no question. But it's part of the job, and it's necessary," you say, unsure of what Quinn's getting at.
"I just… I don't know, Santana, maybe this is out of line, but getting in too deep, when there's a high chance of Brittany getting hurt, or worse, are you sure that's something you're ready for?"
Santana stands up suddenly, startling you, and you look at her, wide-eyed. She's angry–livid, really–and she glares at Quinn with a hot fury you've never seen from her.
"Do you think I haven't considered that, Quinn? Do you think I don't worry every single time she leaves for a shift?" Santana asks, her voice raised and shaky, and you're frozen. Your limbs, your mouth, nothing works, and you watch Santana become more and more heated.
"Well, I do. I'm always worried for Britt's safety when she's on a shift, but I trust her. I can handle being worried, because I know she's out there saving lives, and trying her damn hardest to be safe. So yes, this is 'something I'm ready for', because I care about Britt a hell of a lot, and her job is a part of who she is."
Santana rifles through her wallet, pulls out a twenty, and throws it on the table. "We'll come back another time when you can get your head out of your ass and be happy for me, Quinn."
Santana storms out of Fork in the Rhodes, leaving Quinn and Rachel at the table with dropped jaws. You watch Santana all the way to the door, and turn to Quinn when the door shuts behind her.
"I care about Santana a lot too, and I promise I'll try as hard as I can to be safe for her," you say to Quinn, and you leave the booth, walking to the door.
When you step outside, the bells jingling above your head, you see Santana leaning against the wall of the diner with her arms crossed, and her eyes squeezed shut. She breathes heavily, trying to calm herself down, you think.
"Santana," you say softly, and you know she probably hears the worry in your voice. You keep your distance, you don't want her to blow up at you, but you're there, you're there. "What happened in there? Why'd you blow up at Quinn?"
"Because she was being selfish, and fucking inconsiderate," Santana says, opening her eyes, but stares out at the street.
"I think she was just trying to look out for you," you say, and Santana's gaze snaps to you, her eyes burning.
"No, she's not looking out for me! She was skeptical and judgy from the first time I mentioned you, and she'd only met you for like, two seconds before she went off about your job. She didn't even take the time to get to know you, and how fucking amazing you are!" Santana's yelling now; you've never heard her yell, especially not at you.
"Santana, you need to cool down. Go take a walk or something, I'm going to my shift. Tonight, you're going to talk to me about what the hell's going on, because this isn't you," you say firmly. You're not mad, but worried. This fury, you've never seen it from her, and it scares you.
Santana looks at you for a moment, her burning eyes wide and uncontrolled, before casting her gaze down to the ground.
"Okay," Santana says, her voice small, and your heart, it shatters a little, because you care about her so much that it hurts you to see her so wrecked. You look at her for another second, before turning away to walk to your car.
"Geez, Pierce, what crawled up your ass this morning?"
You brush past Puck, and walk into the kitchen to get coffee. You know if you respond, you'll probably say something you'll regret, so you pour yourself a cup and wave him off. You can feel Tina and Mike's eyes on you from the table, but you ignore them, sitting down at the far end of the table, and you scroll through the news headlines on your phone. You can't help it, you shut down when you're angry, you always have. You don't like confrontation–you hate it, really–and you know that talking when you're mad usually ends up in an argument.
Engine Eighteen, Squad Six, Ambulance Thirty-two, child in distress on Twenty-Seventh.
You're relieved (or, as relieved as you can be with a kid in danger), to have something to get your mind off of Santana, at least for the time being. You put on your gear quickly, and you're the first in the truck, Mike hopping in a full ten seconds after you.
"Whatever it is, we're here for you, Britt," Mike says, squeezing your shoulder as the truck drives off. You nod, giving him a grateful smile, because you still don't trust your words.
When you arrive at the scene, you see a woman standing in the middle of the road, waving her arms frantically. As soon as Puck stops the truck, you and your company jump out and jog up to the woman.
"What's wrong, ma'am?" Blaine asks, and you see Chief Schuester jog up to you from his car. The woman chokes out a sob, looking at Blaine with tears running down her cheeks.
"My daughter, she… she's in the play structure, in the backyard, and… the telephone pole came down…"
"What's her name?" Blaine asks the woman, who finally catches her breath.
"Natalie, her name's Natalie. Please, get her out of there," the woman pleads.
"Eighteen, go to the backyard, but do not approach the structure until I give further orders. There could be a live wire. Sam, Puck, go to the garage and try to find a wooden ladder. We can't use the metal ones with active wires," Chief Schue says, and Blaine nods, leading your company to the backyard.
When you turn the corner into the backyard, you can't help but gasp. The roof of the wooden play structure is caved in from the telephone pole, and sparks spurt out from multiple loose wires.
"Chief, this is bad. We need to get her out of there immediately," Blaine yells, and Chief Schue nods.
"Go tell the girl not to move, and find a route in," Chief orders.
You all run to the structure, but keep your distance from the wires. Through a hole in the side of the wall, you see the head of a little brunette.
"Natalie? We're the firefighters, can you hear us?" Blaine calls up.
"Yes," a shaky voice calls out.
"Are you hurt at all?"
After a beat of silence, the girl speaks. "I...I don't think I am." You lock eyes with Blaine, and put your finger up, taking a step closer.
"Natalie, my name's Brittany," you say. "You're being so brave, but I need you to do me a really big favor, and sit as still as you can. Do you think you can do that?"
There's a pause, and then you hear Natalie's small voice. "I think so."
"You're doing great, Natalie. We'll come up and get you as soon as we can," you say, and turn to look at Blaine.
"I'll get her, I'm small enough to fit through the hole," you say. Blaine looks at Chief Schue, who nods quickly.
"Be fast, Pierce. Scope out the wires before you go in, don't even get close to them."
You nod, and Sam and Puck appear, each holding one end of a ten-foot wooden ladder.
"Set it up at the hole, Pierce is going in," Blaine tells Puck and Sam, and grabs the baseboard from Tina and Kurt. "Alright, Pierce, go on up. When you're ready, we'll send up the baseboard."
"Will do," you say, and brace your hands on the sides of the wooden ladder. You take a deep breath before climbing up, careful not to put too much pressure on the wooden rungs. When you get to the structure, you see Natalie sitting in the corner, eyes wide, the top of the telephone pole barely two feet from her.
"Hey, Natalie. You're doing such a good job," you say as you climb through the hole into the unstable structure. You see a wire hanging off to the right of the pole, and a spark spits out, making Natalie yelp.
"It's okay, just focus on me," you tell her, and you squeeze her hand with your own. "I'm going to get you out of here." Natalie gives you a tiny nod, her dark brown eyes wide with fear.
"Alright, send up the baseboard," you call down, and a moment later the plastic yellow board slides up the ladder, the tip protruding into the hole for you to grab.
"Okay, Natalie, I'm going to lie you down on this board, and you'll be down in no time," you tell her, pulling the baseboard into the structure. Setting the board down flat, you scoot yourself forward on your knees until you're right in front of Natalie.
"I'm going to pick you up now, oka–"
You're cut off by a loud creak, and the floor begins to cave in as the telephone pole shifts down, splitting the wood in the floor with a splintering crack. Natalie screams, and you throw yourself over her as a few small beams of wood from the ceiling fall on top of you.
"It's okay, I've got you," you pant, but you see the loose wire from before, now swinging violently in front of you as sparks shoot out of the tip.
"Pierce, report," Chief's voice shouts through your radio. Fumbling to get your hand up from your position on top of Natalie, you hold down the button with shaky fingers.
"We're okay, but a little stuck now," you say.
"Can you still get her down on the baseboard?"
"Negative, Chief. The wire's swinging right in front of the board and the hole, we can't go back that way."
You look around frantically, trying to find another way out, and then you see it: a small gap between the telephone pole and the wall, at the back corner of the structure.
"Chief, I need the ladder repositioned to the back, next to where the pole came through. I can carry her out, if I squeeze."
"Copy that, Pierce. Move quickly," Chief Schue says.
Removing yourself from Natalie, you kneel on one knee. Natalie looks up at you, her eyes wild and scared, but you grab her hand.
"Natalie, I need you to wrap your arms around my neck and hold on, okay? I'm going to bring you out."
"Okay," Natalie whispers, and sits up, wrapping her small arms around the back of your neck. Wrapping one arm around her waist, you slowly stand up on wobbly knees. You have to hurry, you know the floor is still unstable, you can hear the telephone pole creaking.
Making your way to the back of the structure, you walk as lightly as you can, determined not to put too much pressure on the cracking floor. When you reach the gap, you peer down, and see the wooden ladder leaning up against the side of the structure.
"Alright, Natalie, hold on tight," you tell her, and, turning around, you brace your free hand on the side of the telephone pole. Slowly, so slowly, you place your foot down on the first rung of the ladder, and you see Sam and Puck at the bottom, securing the base. As you go to put your other foot down, the pole shifts, creaking loudly, and the movement wobbles the top of the ladder. Natalie sobs into your jacket, and you clench your teeth, gripping your free hand on the ledge of the structure as you place your left foot on the second rung down.
You get down the rest of the ladder quickly, hardly noticing the flashes of light as you climb down, and when you lay Natalie down on the waiting stretcher, you let out a sigh of relief.
"Britt, that was a close one," Sam says, patting you on the shoulder, and you give him a small smile. Before you can respond, something flings itself around you, and you stumble back a step.
"Th...Thank you for saving my daughter," Natalie's mom cries out, and you squeeze her back, before pulling away.
"It was no problem, I'm glad she's okay," you say, and turn to Natalie, who looks up at you with her big, brown eyes.
"Thank you," Natalie says, finally smiling, and you can't fight off your grin.
"You were really brave up there, Natalie," you say, and you squeeze her hand before walking back to the truck with your house.
You can't help but smile when you get home and see Santana's car parked in your driveway. You gave each other keys a few weeks ago, and when you come home from work after a long day, and she's there, it's one of those little things that makes you giddy and feel all warm inside. It feels really… domestic, you guess, but you love it.
But, you still have to talk about this morning. You're worried, but you feel much better now. And when you walk into your apartment, and see Santana making dinner, clad in one of your FDNY t-shirts and a pair of your sweatpants (rolled up three times, which you think is the cutest thing ever), you think she must feel better too.
"Britt," Santana says with a smile, when she sees you walk in. She wipes her hands on a towel and walks over to you, catching you by surprise when she pulls you into a tight hug. You stand there for a moment, wrapped up in each other (which, you think, you both really need right now), before you pull your head back from her shoulder and kiss her forehead.
"Hey."
"It's all over the news, Britt, you saving that little girl from the play structure. You were incredible," Santana says, and your eyes widen.
"It is?"
Santana laughs. "Yeah, the headlines are calling you the 'Playground Protector.'"
You shrug, casting your eyes down. "Hardly. We both almost got electrocuted and crushed."
"But you didn't," Santana says, tilting your chin back up with her finger. "From the interview I saw, the girl and her crazy-ass mom are really grateful."
You laugh, giving Santana a quick peck on her lips, and she smiles at you. "C'mon, I made spaghetti."
"San, you didn't have to make dinner," you say, as she brings two plates to the table. Santana sets the plates down, and sits in her seat across from you, before shrugging.
"I wanted to," she says playfully, shooting you a wink, but suddenly drops her gaze. "And, I also wanted to apologize. This morning, me yelling at Quinn, and at you, that was completely uncalled for. I guess, I was on edge all morning, and she just made me snap."
"You were anxious from the moment I told you I wanted to meet them," you say, twirling the strands of spaghetti around your fork. "It's like, you had this idea in your head that it was going to go badly before it even happened."
Santana bites her lip and looks down at her plate with her forehead creased, which you've learned is her 'thinking-of-the-right-words-to-say' face. A silent moment passes before she looks back up at you, her eyes dark and contemplative.
"You know, in my whole life, you're the first person I've ever asked out."
You drop your fork onto your plate with a clang, because you're honestly shocked. Santana's charming and flirty, and usually radiates confidence. "No way."
"Way," Santana says with a small smile. "It's always been the other way around. I let so many potential first dates slip away because I didn't have the courage to ask them out, and then I never saw them again."
"Well, I can't really complain about that. If one of them had said yes, I might not have been able to snatch you up for myself."
Santana laughs, and laces the fingers of her right hand with your left on the table. "I have no idea how I did it, honestly. I just started talking, and before my mind could catch up and go into panic mode, I'd asked you out."
"And I'm so glad you did," you say, bringing your joined hands to your lips and softly kissing the back of her palm. "So what is it that kept making you hold back?"
Santana sighs. "I have this… thing, I guess, with rejection."
"It kinda seems like more than just a 'thing'."
"Yeah." Santana nods, and shifts her eyes to the side. "So, you know I grew up in Louisiana, obviously. I haven't really told you much else, because it kind of sucks to talk about."
"Take your time," you tell her, squeezing her hand.
"Okay," she breathes, closing her eyes for a moment before looking at you. "My family was really conservative. Most of the community was, so it wasn't abnormal. My parents were the types who would, like, go to their super offensive Church every Sunday, and send hate mail to abortion clinics. So, naturally, they were really homophobic, and I knew it."
"God, Santana," you say, appalled that she had to be surrounded by so much hate. "How'd you live like that?"
"I liked them well enough, when I was able to ignore all of it. When I realized I liked girls, I knew I had no intention of coming out."
"So, what happened?"
Santana picks at her cuticle. "There was this attractive girl at my school, with these super accepting parents, and she was an out and proud lesbian. I was… fascinated, I guess, that she was so comfortable with herself, and pretty soon she and I started hooking up. We never went to my house, but my parents were out of town one weekend, so I thought it would be okay."
Santana's eyes begin to tear up, and you rub circles on her palm with your thumb. "They came home early, and caught us making out on the living room couch. I… I had never seen them so angry before. They practically threw the girl out the front door, and my dad was so livid, I thought he was going to hit me, or something."
A tear runs down her cheek, and you feel yourself tearing up as well. "San," you whisper, and you tug on her hand, urging her to come closer to you. Getting up from her chair, Santana comes over to you, and you pull her into your lap. She wraps her arms around your neck and tucks her head into your chest, releasing shaky, wracking sobs that scare you. You've never seen Santana cry, not like this, and you're not sure what you're supposed to do.
Threading the fingers of one hand through her hair, you pull her close, rubbing soothing circles into her back while you press kisses on the top of her head. After a few minutes, she calms down, and takes a few shaky breaths.
"They didn't talk to me for my entire senior year of high school. It was like, the silent treatment, but for a whole year. I basically spent all of my time at Quinn's house, and after high school, we took off for New York together. I haven't seen or spoken to my parents since the day I graduated. I don't think about it much anymore, but that blatant rejection will always sting."
"You deserve so much better than that," you say, not sure if it's the right thing to say. You're not sure if anything you say is the right thing, but Santana leans into you, pressing her lips to your collarbone.
"I know, which is why I'm so glad I have you."
"I'm glad I have you, too."
Santana sits up a little, looking into your eyes. "So, I don't take rejection well. And now that I'm with you, I guess I had this weird anxiety about my friends rejecting you, even though there was no way in hell that they would, because you're perfect."
You can't help but smile a little–because if anyone's perfect, it's Santana–and you press your lips to hers, drawing her in and kissing her with all the emotion you're feeling.
"I want you to come home with me for Thanksgiving."
Unsurprisingly, her eyes widen in shock. "Actually? After all that, you want me to meet your dad?"
You rub the creases out of her forehead and quickly kiss her nose. "Yeah, I do. I've wanted you to meet him since, like, the day I met you, and he's wanted to meet you for about as long. And I want to bring you even more now, because I want to show you that not everyone is going to be as awful to you as your parents, and that you have a family now who cares about you."
"Britt." Santana gives you that look: the "I seriously adore you, how are you even real?" look. You know it, because you give her that look, like, eighty times a day.
"Is that a yes?"
"Of course it's a yes, silly. I'd love to come home with you for Thanksgiving."
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As always, the OFFICIAL art for this fic is on my Tumblr (snixxlixx) under the tab "fic art".
Until next time,
Dawson