Chapter Seven: Hearth
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It's the worst fire you've seen in months.
By the time you arrive, sirens wailing, the seven-story apartment building is entirely engulfed in flames, and the smoke is a dangerously dark shade of gray. The harsh wind stings your eyes as you jump out of the truck, Mike and Sam at your tail.
"Chief, we've got to move, this place is coming down any minute!" Blaine yells to Chief Schuester, whose forehead creases in worry as he looks up at the foreboding building.
"Anderson, Pierce, Evans, you've got two minutes," Chief calls, his voice strained, and the three of you sprint full force toward the front door. A chubby middle-aged man runs toward you, meeting you halfway up the walkway.
"I'm the landlord," he wheezes, eyes wild with fear. "There's one family unaccounted for on the second floor, apartment 2D."
"Get the other residents and get away from the building," Blaine instructs, and the man nods frantically, jogging across the street to the large group of traumatized families.
When you, Blaine and Sam reach the front door, all three of you pause, ripping off your helmets to put on your breathing apparati. You put it on quickly, the motion so familiar to you, and put your helmet back on when your mask is secure.
"Let's move," Blaine's muffled voice calls out. "We need to find the staircase, everyone be on the lookout for 2D." You and Sam nod, and the three of you run into the building.
You know from the second you enter that you don't have much time. The smoke is thick and dark, and the flames lick the walls, surrounding you. You focus your vision, scanning your eyes across the burning front desk, a group of overturned chairs, a staircase…
"Found the staircase," you call, motioning for Blaine and Sam to follow you. You crouch, moving as fast and as low as possible toward the stairs. Running up the stairs, you put as little pressure as you can on the splintering steps, hearing Blaine and Sam at your tail.
"One minute, I repeat, one more minute and you're out," Chief Schuester's voice crackles through your radio, just as you reach the second floor.
You, Sam and Blaine split up, and you move down a flaming hallway, searching for apartment 2D through the thick smoke.
"Fire Department, call out!" you yell, feeling frantic as you pass apartment after apartment, with no sign of 2D. Hearing a crack above you, you jump back, narrowly avoiding a burning chunk of ceiling when it crashes to the ground in front of you.
"Brittany!" you hear from behind you, and you feel two sturdy gloved hands pull you to your feet. Spinning around, you see Sam in front of you, and Blaine appears next to him.
"The walls are burning too much, we can't see the apartment numbers," Sam says, but before you can respond, you hear Chief Schue's voice through both of your radios.
"That's it, get out now!" Chief calls, and you feel your heart sink. A family is still in here, stuck in their burning apartment, and you feel anxious, and entirely helpless.
You're about to protest, or scream, or something, when you hear a loud crash behind you, and see a flaming beam smash into the floor, followed by crumbling bricks.
"Come on!" Blaine calls, and you and Sam run after him, back toward the staircase. Your head is spinning, your mind is racing, but you follow them back, moving as quickly as you can in your crouched position.
You're turning the corner, no more than ten feet from the staircase, when you swear you see it, even through the smoke and movement.
On the wall next to a shut, flaming door, you catch a glimpse of a plaque, and though it's mostly charred, you know from the wrench in your gut that it says 2D.
You hate the feeling in the house after you lose someone.
The common room is normally lively, with some football game playing on the TV, and the guys stealing snacks from third watch's stash. Being the day before Thanksgiving, the kitchen would normally be full, everyone preparing for the firehouse's Thanksgiving Eve lunch.
Today isn't normal, though. A few people are scattered in the common room, mostly keeping to themselves, and the kitchen so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You're on your cot, trying to read, but mostly just sulking, when Tina walks in.
"Hey, Britt," she says, coming over and sitting on the end of your bed.
Closing your book, you try to manage a smile. "Hi, Tina."
"How are you doing?"
You shrug. "I don't know. Trying to stop feeling so guilty, I guess."
Tina gives you a small, strained smile; not patronizing, but empathetic. You know she understands better than anyone the guilt of human loss, you know all the times she's been in charge of someone's life, in the back of the ambulance, only to helplessly watch them slip away.
"Kurt and I were just at Bellevue. Apparently they were dead before we even arrived at the scene, Brittany. There's nothing you could've done."
You close your eyes, releasing a breath. It still hurts, it hurts a lot, but the information releases some of the feeling of guilt.
"Thanks," you say, your voice still a little shaky, but you manage to flash Tina a small smile. "It's just even worse, with Thanksgiving tomorrow, and everything."
"Yeah, I know," Tina says, and squeezes your knee. "Chief called a house meeting, he told me to come get you."
Nodding, you place your book on the side table, and walk with Tina down the hallway to the meeting room. When you walk in, you and Tina take seats on either side of Mike, who sits in the third row. The room is mostly silent, just a few hushed whispers, and when everyone comes in, Chief Schuester walks up to the front.
"Today was a rough day," Chief says, glancing at the sullen faces around the room. "The worst feeling we can have as first responders is helplessness. It's our job to help, and when we can't do that, it's hard to recover from."
"No shit," Puck mutters from the back, and Chief Schue sighs, running a hand through his curly hair.
"The point is, we're family. I consider you all family, and I know you see each other as family too," Chief says, and you nod, seeing the others around you nodding as well. "Family means a lot of things, but most of all, it means leaning on each other when times are hard. The only way we can get through this is by helping each other."
You truly smile, for the first time since the call, because you know Chief is right. You glance to your left and lock eyes with Sam, who gives you a goofy grin and nudges your shoulder.
"Since it's the day before Thanksgiving, we're going to have our Thanksgiving lunch today, because I think we all need it more than ever," Chief Schue says.
"But Chief, no one made anything. The turkey's still sitting raw in the fridge," Ryder says.
With a smile, Chief leans on the table. "I know, so I gave Emma a call, and she may have bought a few things over." A few whoops and claps sound through the room, and you feel lighter than you have all day.
"Anything else, Chief?" Blaine asks.
"Actually, yeah," Chief says, frowning a little. "I hate to bring the mood down even more, but I want to talk about Christmas. As you all know, Emma and I are going away from Christmas Eve to just before New Years, so I had to find a chief to fill in for that week."
"I swear, if he says a name that begins with S and rhymes with blue, I'm going to throw up," Kurt groans, and you nod in agreement.
"I'm sorry, guys. Deputy Chief Sylvester's going to fill in that week, but you can bet I didn't have a say in it. She even volunteered. That being said, I expect you all to treat her with respect."
There are more than a few grumbles as you all file out of the meeting room, but when you turn the corner into the common room, you feel yourself gasp, and hear several others gasp as well. The long dining table is filled with dozens of plates and bowls of food, and each place is set beautifully, not a fork out of place.
"Emma, did you do all this?" you ask, and she gives you a warm smile.
"Oh no, definitely not. My sister owns a catering company, so she and I brought it all over from her store. I just made it presentable," Emma says with a blush.
"Well, it looks absolutely incredible!" Kurt gushes, and everyone sits down, thanking Emma numerous times for the food.
When you sit down between Mike and Sam, you look around the table at your house, everyone cheering each other up, and you smile, eternally thankful for your firehouse family.
Thankfully, the rest of your shift is uneventful after lunch, because as much as you love your house, you need the comfort of Santana, and of your father, who you, Santana and Sam are driving to Boston tonight to see.
When you get home, you take a long, hot shower to try to wash away the ache in your chest, and put on comfortable leggings and a sweatshirt for the car ride (Santana's sweatshirt, which you have no intention of returning) while you wait for Santana to come. When you hear the key in the door, you smile, like you always do, and grab your overnight bag from the hall.
"Hey, you," Santana says as she shuts the door behind her. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and she's wearing one of your sweatshirts.
You both start laughing when you realize you're wearing each other's sweatshirts, and Santana smiles at you before pulling you into a slow, sweet kiss.
"Ready to go?" she mumbles into your lips, and you give her a quick peck before pulling away.
"Yeah. Do, um, do you think you could drive for now?"
Santana looks at you, her eyes soft and warm. "Of course I'll drive, Britt. Are you okay?"
"Not really, it was a pretty awful day. I'm still a little spooked."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I'll tell you about it tonight, I just…" You don't think you can talk about it without breaking down, with the burnt 2D plaque still flashing through your head.
Santana, who understands you so perfectly, takes your hand and presses a feather-light kiss between your knuckles. "Okay. Come on, let's go grab Sam."
Santana takes your keys, and you walk down to your car, throwing your bags in the trunk before sliding into the passenger's seat as Santana sits next to you behind the wheel.
You pick up Sam at his apartment (not without a "Get in, Trouty" from Santana, of course), and begin the four-hour drive to Boston. Santana drives for the first two hours, and you hold her hand over the center console, alternating between looking out the window and watching her drive. You always think Santana looks beautiful, but there's something especially radiant about her when she drives, scrunching her forehead in concentration every time she changes lanes, and softly singing along with the radio.
Sam takes over driving for the last half of the trip, and you and Santana cuddle in the backseat, you resting your head on her shoulder, and her arm wrapped comfortably around your waist. At some point you fall asleep–you learned to be able to fall asleep anywhere, and quickly, back when you were on 24 hour shifts–and you wake up to Santana running her fingers through your hair.
"Hey," you whisper, when you're fully awake, and you press a kiss to Santana's cheek.
"Hi, sleepyhead." Santana laughs, but you can tell it's strained. "Sam said we're five minutes away."
"You sound nervous."
"A little," Santana admits, leaning her head on top of yours. "I am really excited, trust me, but this is your family… your dad."
"My dad's even more excited to meet you. I'll bet you a brownie sundae that he'll end up liking you more than he likes me."
Santana laughs, throwing her head back. "A brownie sundae, huh?"
You smile, wrapping your arm around her waist. "I don't mess around with desserts, San. This is a serious wager."
Santana shakes her head and smiles, her full dimple smile that you love so much, and you know you've succeeded in settling her nerves for the time being.
"Here we are," Sam says, and you feel him pull the car into the driveway. Turning to look out the window, you can't help but smile, seeing the cozy house in Brookline you spent eight years of your life in.
When Sam turns the engine off, you walk around to the trunk. You grab Santana's bag, shooting her a wink, and she laughs and rolls her eyes when you make Sam take your bag.
"Dad, Mary, we're here!" you call, when you unlock the door and walk inside. Santana holds your hand tightly, and you squeeze it, rubbing your thumb over her knuckle in reassurance.
"B!" you hear, and you smile when you see your dad emerge from around the corner.
"Hey, Dad," you say, and release Santana's hand to give him a hug. It's been a while since you've seen him, you don't get a lot of vacation time, and you've missed him.
"It's good to see you, B," he says when he pulls away, before turning to Santana with a big smile. "You must be the Santana that Britt can't shut up about."
"It's so nice to meet you, Mr. Pierce. I can't thank you enough for letting me come stay, I really appreciate it," Santana says, reaching out to shake his outstretched hand.
"You've got yourself a sweetheart here, B," your dad says, and you grin, lacing your fingers with Santana's again, because you really do, and couldn't be happier. "You can come anytime, Santana, anyone who makes my B smile like that is always welcome here."
Santana smiles, and you laugh, pecking her on the cheek. You know that she knows she has nothing to worry about, you can feel her nerves settling.
"Hey, Pierce!" Sam says, coming in with your bags.
"Sammy, how's it going, bud?" Your dad claps him on the back, and Sam grins.
"Tough day today, but I'm alright. Where's mom?"
"She's in the living room, come say hello," your dad says, leading the way down the hallway. When you walk into the living room, Mary beams at you, and stands up from the couch.
"Britt, you didn't mention how gorgeous your girlfriend is," Mary gushes, rushing forward and wrapping Santana in a hug. "It's great to meet you, Santana."
"Mary, I've sent, like, a thousand pictures of us."
"Well, the pictures don't do her justice, honey."
Santana blushes, and you see her trying to fight off a smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Evans, it's great to meet you too."
After Mary hugs you, she runs off to find Sam. Glancing over at Santana, you smile when you see her staring wide-eyed at your dad's piano.
She walks over to it, and runs her palm over the smooth, black surface. "It's a baby grand, Britt," she says, in awe, as if she's looking at a diamond. "It's beautiful."
"It is, isn't it?" a voice says from behind you, and you turn around to find your dad smiling at Santana. "I wish it got used more, no one ever plays it now. Mary used to play, but she can't anymore with her arthritis."
"You should play, San," you tell her, and she looks at you, and then at your dad.
"Yeah?"
"Absolutely, B tells me you're quite the virtuoso," your dad says, giving Santana a nod. Santana smiles at the compliment, and after you give her a reassuring smile, she sits down at the bench.
You're captivated every time she sings and plays, and this time is no exception. Her fingers dance across the pearly white keys as she sings Adele's Turning Tables, and when she plays the last note, your whole family applauds, making Santana duck her head and grin.
"I just have a keyboard at my apartment, so I love playing real pianos like this," Santana says.
"We'd love to hear you play more while you're here," your dad tells her, and Santana agrees that she will.
"San, you're amazing, you sounded so beautiful," you tell her, though you never feel like you have the right words to express how perfect she is. You know she understands, though, with her dimple smile and the kiss she gives you.
"Ready to go up to bed?" you ask Santana, and she nods. You love your family, but it's late, and with the events of the morning are catching up to you, you just really need Santana.
Tangling your fingers with Santana's, you walk down the hallway toward the staircase. She pauses for a moment in the hall, and you see her grin at a mounted photograph of twelve year-old you, your foot on top of Sam's back as he lays face-down in the dirt of your backyard, with your fist raised triumphantly in the air.
"There are plenty more of those upstairs," you laugh, pulling Santana along as you walk up the stairs. "My room hasn't changed since I was eighteen, so the dial's stuck on 2006."
"Should I keep my eye out for Backstreet Boys posters?" she teases.
"Excuse me, I was an NSYNC girl all the way."
Santana laughs as the two of you enter your childhood room, when she sees that you have two NSYNC posters on your wall, as well as ones for Britney Spears and Avril Lavigne. Flopping down on your bed, you watch Santana as she looks around your room.
"Approve of my high school pop icons?" you ask, winking as she lies down next to you.
"Totally, I should sing 'I Want You Back' at the next open mic night, and maybe wear one of those metallic leather jackets," Santana says, and you laugh, playfully swatting at her shoulder.
"You're such a goof," you tell her, and roll onto your side, taking her bottom lip between yours and kissing her sweetly.
When you get back up, you wash up quickly, and Santana does the same, sensing how eager you are to get in bed. It's not that you want to have sex (though you don't think you could, with your parents and Sam right downstairs), you just want to tell Santana about what happened, and have her cuddle with you, because after terrible days at work, nothing comforts you more than being in her arms.
After you both climb in bed, you reach over to your bedside table and turn off the lamp, letting the comfortable darkness surround you as you pull up the quilt and tuck your head above Santana's chest. For a minute you lay in silence, feeling her heartbeat under your cheek and listening to her soft, soothing breaths.
"We lost a whole family today," you whisper, feeling the full extent of the pain by saying it aloud. "The fire started in their apartment, all four of them were dead within a few minutes."
"God, Britt, I'm so sorry." Santana holds you tighter, pressing soft kisses into your hair. "How are you holding up?"
"I know it sounds horrible, but I hardly ever cry anymore when this happens. It hurts like hell, obviously, and I can't help but feel guilty, but we lose people too frequently," you say, grabbing Santana's hand that's draped across your stomach and lacing your fingers through hers. "Thinking about all the people we've saved lets me get through it."
"You're right. A lot of people are only alive today because of you, Britt, and if it helps at all, I plan on reminding you every single day how proud I am of you."
Tilting your head up to look at her, you brush back a strand of her hair that glows silver from the faint moonlight, and softly press your lips to hers, feeling the emotion you've been bottling up release as you slip your tongue between her parted lips, drowning in her kiss.
"I love you."
It slips out, a soft whisper against her lips when you pull back, but you wouldn't take it back, not when you know nothing else to be more true.
Santana's eyes widen, glowing like hot embers on a cool night. "You do?"
"Of course I do. You make me feel more special and incredible than I've ever felt before."
"You are, Britt, and you make me feel just as amazing." Her smile is impossibly wide, and you can't help but kiss her nose, making her laugh. "I love you too. God, I really, really love you."
You start your mental list of things you're thankful for before you even open your eyes. When you wake up, Santana's head is tucked under your chin, and your arm is curled over her waist, keeping her close to you. Feeling her steady breaths, you smile, and bring a hand up to run through her silky dark hair. You're definitely thankful for being able to wake up to Santana wrapped in your arms.
You keep up your tally all day. You're thankful for Sam, who goes down to Pavement early in the morning to bring back breakfast sandwiches and coffees for everyone. You're thankful for Mary, who spends the better part of the morning and afternoon making Thanksgiving dinner, and only lets you and Santana help a little– 'you're both guests, I don't care how long you lived in this house', she told you. You're thankful for Mike and Tina, who call you from Tina's aunt's house to wish you Happy Thanksgiving, and for all of your other firehouse friends. You're thankful for your dad, who listens as you tell him about the fire, and advises you how to move on.
Most of all, you're thankful for Santana. You're thankful she's your girlfriend, that she trusts you and believes in you, that she loves you. You're thankful she let you bring her home for Thanksgiving, and for letting you love her.
You have a lot to be thankful for.
"Sam, B, Santana, dinner's ready!" your dad calls from the kitchen. The three of you sit in front of the fireplace playing Monopoly, which you and Sam are pretty good at, but Santana is awful.
"Seriously, Britt? I've landed on your Boardwalk three times in the last five minutes, I've got no money left," Santana complains, and you laugh, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.
"Come on, let's go eat dinner, I'll lend you one of my five-hundreds when we come back."
"No way, you've already 'lent' her half your money," Sam argues, and you turn around, sticking out your tongue at him.
"Sharing is caring," you deadpan, and Santana laughs, threading her fingers through yours as you walk into the dining room.
The table is full of food when you walk in, and you can't fight your grin when you see Santana's eyes widen, and the small smile that stretches across her lips.
After everyone sits down, you've all filled up your plates, and Mary says grace, your dad clears his throat.
"I know we all want to eat, but let's all say what we're thankful for first," he says, and looks at Mary. "Honey, you want to start?"
Mary says she's thankful to have everyone home, and that we're all healthy and happy. Your dad goes next, thankful for having kids he's so proud of. Sam jokingly says he's thankful for the food, and then that he's thankful for all of us and the firehouse.
"How about you go, Santana?" your dad says, and you grin, squeezing her hand under the table.
"Okay," Santana says, smiling at you, and then at your dad. "I'm thankful that you guys let me have Thanksgiving with you, because I haven't had a real one in a long time, so this is really special."
"We're so glad to have you, Santana," your dad assures, and Mary nods in agreement. "You're up, B."
"Well," you say, "I'm thankful for one thing: family. You guys, my firehouse family, and the girl sitting next to me. I'm so lucky to have all of you."
Your dad, Mary and Sam smile at you, Santana leans over to kiss your cheek, and you know you couldn't wish for anything more.
As always, the official art for this chapter, and the rest of the art for this fic, is on my Tumblr (snixxlixx) under the tab "fic art".
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-Dawson