#allthrumyribs

Eduardo Yorba, her late husband, God rest his soul (or the Devil take it, if there is any justice), was not a personable fellow by any stretch of the imagination, and it showed in his choice of residence.  A remote ranch in the middle of the Nevada desert where the only souls around were the eighteen farmhands he had employed to manage some 700 head of cattle, and his newly wed bride.  The closest town, Stillwater, was 10 miles away.

His death had been rather sudden, as most deaths by cattle stampede are, but Santana had been assured by his hires that it had been quick.  She supposed upon reflection later that they were only trying to ease the news of his passing, not knowing that her status was the product of business, and not love.  Instead she had merely spat on the ground and told the hires to leave him for the buzzards before slowly limping back inside to nurse a shiner from the night before.  All but one of the men had left soon after that, assuming that their pay would dry up sure as the bones of their former employer.  The buried him somewhere behind the barn in an unmarked grave, and tipped their hats to the widow before mounting up and riding out.

The only one who remained was an older, mostly silent man who went simply by Sanchez, and may or may not have been a distant cousin to Santana.  Sanchez had offered to sell the cattle on Santana’s behalf, and hadn’t so much as blinked when she insisted upon coming with him for the sale.  True to his word, the entire herd was sold to a man passing through Stillwater for the absurdly generous price of $19.50 a head.  A week later, two dozen men had shown up and taken charge of the cattle and begun driving them further west to whatever fate God might decree.  The grazing fields have lain fallow ever since.

Santana was left with a tidy sum of $13,650.00, plus the unexpected wealth of nearly seventy-four one pound gold bars hidden in a safe in the back of Eduardo’s closet.  Santana would have been infuriated by his secrecy if she hadn’t been so consumed with relief at her newfound financial security.  Sanchez agreed to stay on and manage the property in exchange for room, board, and $32.00 a month.  He tends the chickens, the pigs, the two milk cows, and handles all the repairs, while Santana keeps house and tends a garden that yields enough produce to feed ten people, and sends all the excess into town with Sanchez twice a month in a flatbed wagon to trade for anything they can’t produce themselves.  He stays in the field house about a quarter mile from the house proper, and Santana sleeps soundly every night with a Navy Revolver under her pillow.

She’s pulled out of her recollections by the rolling thunder of hoofbeats getting closer and lifts the rifle to set the rapidly growing figure in its sight.

A few anxious minutes later, she can make out a slumped figure jouncing awkwardly on the beast’s back, swaying dangerously with each pounding gallop.  Santana is out of her chair and backing up towards her front door, rifle still trained on the hunched rider, before the horse can clear the border fence of her property.

The jump knocks the rider loose, and he hits the ground with a groan and a puff of dust while his horse slows to a trot and finally stops at the porchfront, flanks heaving with exertion.  Sidling past the sweat-soaked beast, Santana slowly approaches its former rider, still measuring out his length on the sun-baked dirt.  She stops a full ten feet away, cocks the hammer and curls a finger around the trigger, and speaks.

“You alive?”

The figure gives a high, pitiful moan before flopping heavily onto his back, his head lolling towards Santana.  She takes a step closer.

“Can you stand?”

The man doesn’t answer.  Santana takes three more steps, reaching out with the barrel of her gun to prod at his shoulder.  He moans again, rolls to his side coughing and wheezing, and spits out a mouthful of blood before lifting himself on shaky arms.  He mumbles between coughs, and Santana takes another step, rifle lowered but finger still on the trigger.  She’s close enough now to see that the man’s face, though filthy and weathered, is round and soft.  Hardly more than a boy, she realizes.

A small part of her mind notes that while the boy’s features are too delicate to be considered truly handsome, he is strangely beautiful in a fey sort of manner.  She scowls the thought away as soon as it’s formed, irritated by her own silliness.

“What was that?”

The boy hauls himself to his knees slowly, wrapping his right arm around his belly to grip at a bloodstain at least twice the size of his hand on his left side.  Spitting again, he looks up at Santana with a red and brown stained face and repeats in a soft tone, “Don’- don’ rightly know, ma’am.”

Santana almost laughs at the civil response, but shakes it off as nerves.  She eyes the boy carefully, noting the way his skin is pale and drawn under the sweat, grime, and blood, and decides the poor soul is too close to death to make much trouble for a widowed woman alone.  She lowers her weapon at last and covering the last few feet to knee at the boy’s side.

“Well, best put your arm around me then.  Someone plugged you good, boy, and I won’t have you bleeding all over my property,” she orders gruffly, too used to giving orders to do anything else.  The boy complies with another pained wheeze, chin dropping to his chest as she slowly helps him struggle to his feet.

“Alright now, can you walk?  The house is just there, and we need to get you lying down so I can see what else is to be done.”

“Yes’m.  I think I can walk if you just hold me up a bit.  I’m awful tired, s’all.”

“You’re awful shot, is what you are,” Santana snaps scornfully, but her arm around the stranger’s waist remains firm and supportive.  “Let’s move then.  The faster we get to the house, the faster you can rest.”

Sanchez finds the pair of them struggling to make it up the porch stairs and wordlessly lifts the boy into his arms, nodding to Santana.  Relieved of her burden she hurries to open the front door, directing the hireling to deposit his load on the settee in the parlor, mindless of the still growing bloodstain in the boy’s shirt.  Barking out a list of items for Sanchez to fetch once he’s stoked the coals in the fireplace to flame, she begins unbuckling the man’s belt and pants so she can tug free his shirt.  She glances at his face when she gets to the fly of his jeans and startles to find stunningly blue eyes peering hazily back at her.

“You’re real pretty.  You an angel?”

Scoffing, Santana shakes her head, steadfastly ignoring the way her stomach tightens around the word ‘pretty’.  “Hardly,” she sneers.

He groans quietly when the soaked material pulls against his skin, already sticking to the wound.

She glances at his face again, catching another glimpse of bright blue before his eyes roll back into his head completely.

“Just as well,” she mutters to no one.  “You’ll squirm less if you’re gone, and this isn’t going to be pleasant for either of us as it is.”

She works quickly, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it open, only to gasp in shock and fling it closed again when Sanchez returns with a bowl of warm water inside a larger empty bowl several towels, and a black satchel.

He sets everything in a neat pile at Santana’s side, then drags over a footstool for her to perch on.  She nods her thanks and then brusquely dismisses him, directing his attention to the horse still waiting patiently at her porch.  He stares at her for a moment, suspicious, but only shrugs and clomps out the front door to go care for the steed.

Bewildered, Santana slowly lifts the stranger’s shirt open again, not entirely convinced her eyes weren’t fooled.  But no, there under the heavy cotton material, just above an oozing gunshot wound, is a bandage wrapped over the slight curve of breasts.

The boy is no boy at all, but a woman.

Shaking herself, Santana lets the rest of the shirt fall open.  She’ll deal with everything else later, but first, the wound.

Carefully, she lifts the bowl of warm water and sets it on the floor to her left, nudging the empty one between her feet directly under the injury.  She wets one of the towels and gently washes away as much of the blood as she can to get a better look.  She sighs a little in relief to see that although the shooter may have taken a fair chunk of the boy’s- woman’s side, the bullet never actually seems to have entered her body.  She sends a brief prayer of thanks to the Lord for small mercies.  A graze she can clean up and close, but she’s never actually had to treat a real bullet hole before.

She drags the satchel between her feet and opens it to pull out a still mostly full bottle of whisky.  Yanking the cork, she takes a small swig (nearly choking at the burn in her throat) before dousing the woman’s side liberally.  The brown liquid runs red as it soaks the woman’s shirt before draining into the bowl beneath.  Running the wet towel over the hole again to clear it of liquor and fresh blood, she next pulls out a knife, purposely dulled.

Santana thrusts the knife into the fireplace, nearly singeing her own knuckles in the process.  Glancing at her senseless patient, she allows a shudder to run its course through her, and takes another pull from the bottle to steady her nerves.

(And her hands.)

After a few minutes of waiting with one hand pressing a towel against the woman’s side to help stem the bleeding, she reaches for the knife with the other.  The blade is red at the edges now, and she shudders again at the thought of her next step.  Bracing her weight across the woman’s chest, Santana takes a deep breath, lifts the towel, and presses the knife’s blade to the site of the gash.  The woman immediately begins to thrash and scream, nearly bucking Santana clear off, only to suddenly fall limp once more as she passes out again.

Gagging at the scent of charred flesh, Santana lifts the knife and drops it into the empty bowl, along with the dirtied towel.  Her stomach pitches and roils viciously at the sight of her own handiwork (and the smell).  With trembling fingers she reaches into the satchel again, this time pulling out rolled up linen bandages.  As carefully as she can, she lifts the woman by her shoulders and wraps the bandage round her patient’s waist, covering the sight of the cauterized gash and replacing it with soft fabric.  Once finished, she lets the unconscious stranger slump back down onto the settee, checking carefully for any other damage.  When she finds none, she drops heavily onto the footstool, exhausted and relieved.  

It takes her another twenty minutes before she can stand steady enough to clear all the mess, drape a blanket over the stranger's body, and collapse into her own bed.

(It takes no time at all for sleep to overtake her.)

The smell of sausage cooking is what finally pulls Santana back into awareness, and once she identifies the smell, all sleep leaves her in an instant.

Someone is cooking sausage in her kitchen.

(No one else has cooked in her kitchen since it became hers - not before her husband died, and most certainly not after.)

Grimacing slightly at the state of her bloodstained clothes, she reaches under her pillow for the revolver before sneaking silently out of her room to peer around the corner.  There, standing at her stove, is the stranger from before.

Giving up all pretense of stealth, Santana stumbles into the kitchen, shocked and no little bit exasperated.  Her revolver hangs loosely from her left hand, mostly forgotten.

“Just what in the Sam Hill do you think you’re doing?” she demands angrily, only slightly guilty when the woman jumps and then grimaces as she clutches her side just under where Santana knows her injury to be.

The woman turns to grin at her sheepishly, and Santana is struck with the sudden, foolish thought that she has never seen anything so lovely in all her twenty-two years.  She spends several seconds staring at eyes that shine bluer than the sky at midday, entirely at a loss.

“I just figgered I ought do ya a good turn, since y’did me and Clayton good ones this mornin’, ma’am.  Sure didn’t mean to cause a fuss like ‘at, but Clayton says you took real good care of me anyhow.”  She scratches at the back of her neck under a thick plait of cornsilk hair, somehow looking both apologetic and sly all at once.

Santana can only continue to stare.

“I checked on ol’ Clayton when I woke up, ‘n’ he says yon barn is better ‘n’ any station he ever been at, and since I had no right wakin’ up at all what with my hide bein’ all full of holes, we was both real beholden to ya, ma’am.  I know cookin’ some chow ain’t much a trade for m’life, but I ain’t got much else and I won’t get paid til I finish my run, see,” she finishes reasonably.  When Santana can only continue to stare, the woman shuffles over to the small breakfast nook, pulling out a chair for Santana to sit in, and then moves slowly back to the stove to take the sausages off the griddle.

Snapping out of her daze, Santana stashes the revolver in the waistband of her skirt and ignores the waiting chair in favor of bustling over to the stove, reclaiming her pan and shooing the woman away.  When she starts to protest, Santana simply glowers, pointing to the still empty chair.  “You sit your foolish behind in that chair right this very instant before you go and undo all my work from earlier.  I don’t know if you’ll recall, but you were shot today!  You shouldn’t be up at all, much less cooking.”

The woman ducks her head and trudges over to the chair, collapsing into it with a grunt that makes Santana wince in unwilling sympathy, until her mind catches up to the conversation and she whirls in place, glaring at the woman’s melancholic face.

“Wait just a minute, here.  Who in Heaven’s name is Clayton, and why is he in my barn?  I only saw you ride up, and not-”

The blonde straightens with a shy smile, petulance forgotten.  “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but Clayton is m’horse.  Well.  Not my horse exactly, but he’s the horse I got at Williams.  He’s a real good fella, and fast as the dickens.”  Blue eyes widen suddenly and then disappear under golden lashes.  “Pardon my language, ma’am.”

(Santana is sure if the woman had been wearing a hat, she’d have doffed it and had it twisted in knots by now.  She tries not to wonder why that should make her chest flutter so.)

Still not sure what to think, much less say, Santana turns back to the stove, grabbing down two plates from above it and two biscuits from a basket in her larder.  Distributing the sausage links evenly between the two of them, she drops the plates on the table with no ceremony, confusion and nerves drawing out her ire.  She bows her head over her own plate, murmuring the prayers her mother taught her in Spanish before she knew that no one in her new life would speak it.  When she raises her head again, she finds her table companion staring, slack-jawed with half a bite of biscuit tucked in her cheek.

Feeling flushed for some reason, Santana immediately drops her head again, splitting her biscuit to tuck the sausage links inside.  She eats quietly with her eyes trained on her plate, unused to company for her meals, even before she was widowed.

“You talk real pretty, ma’am.  I ain’t never heard anybody talk like ‘at.  Sounded like the Carson River when you find a real calm part, all smooth like.”

“Santana,” Santana blurts, unable to think of anything better in the face of such open admiration.  “My name is Santana Yor- Lopez.  Santana Lopez.”

The woman grins like Santana just gave her the best gift in the world.  “‘At’s a nice name.  I’m Brittany Pierce, but folks just’ call me Britt, mostly.  Real nice to meetcha, Santana.”

Once they’ve both finished their meals, Santana sends Brittany to bed in the guest room, scolding her not to get up again until Santana permits it.  After she’s cleaned the dishes, she retrieves the satchel from her room and knocks lightly on the door to the guest room, entering when Brittany calls for her to.

Hesitating at the doorway, Santana finds her guest lounging on the bed, fiddling with one of the buttons on her shirt.  She is unaccountably nervous, even in the face of Brittany’s pliant behavior, and it sets her teeth on edge to be so ill at ease in her own house.  She’d resigned herself to a life of quiet solitude, and Brittany represented a disturbance in that life in more ways than one.

“I just wanted to check your side, see how you’re healing,” she hushes, unsure why she’s whispering and too embarrassed to correct it.

Brittany cringes but swings her long legs to the side of the bed to sit upright.

It doesn’t occur to Santana that she’s staring until she’s watching Brittany’s fingers work nimbly along the buttons of her shirt.  Coughing awkwardly and ducking her head, she perches herself on the bed carefully, fiddling with the clasp of her satchel as Brittany rids herself of her shirt entirely.

Wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of whisky coming from the stained clothing, Santana produces a pair of shears that she uses to carefully cut through the bandages wrapped around Brittany’s torso.  She peels the bandages off carefully, checking Brittany’s face for discomfort when she gets to the area covering her wound.

The skin is pink and puckered angrily, but shows only a little swelling, and has stopped bleeding altogether.  Santana feels her heart speed as she leans in to check for infection, one hand braced over the quivering muscles of Brittany’s belly.  There’s no reason for close proximity to this near-stranger to affect her so, but it does.

Gently as she can, she grazes her fingers along the border of the healing flesh, checking for any irregularities.  She glances up to find Brittany staring down at her, her eyes glazed and distant.

“Does it hurt much when I touch it?”

Brittany smiles dopily and shakes her head.  “No ma’am, feels real nice just now.”

Huffing irritatedly, Santana pulls away with a roll of her eyes.  “I'll ask you again in awhile.  I don't think you're quite in your right mind at this very moment.”

“Okay,” Brittany agrees placidly, a beatific smile that sends heat rushing to Santana’s cheeks still plastered across the blonde woman’s face.

Swallowing the feeling, Santana pulls the roll of bandages from the satchel once again and wraps fresh layers around Brittany’s middle.  She can’t help but glance at the other set of bandages that sit above where she works, hiding the hint of Brittany’s bosom.  Her face burns even hotter and her stomach turns in a way that is almost but not quite unpleasant.  She ties off her bandaging and straightens, her breath catching when she meets Brittany’s gaze.

No one has ever looked at her quite the way Brittany does now, not even her husband.

(The comparison makes no sense to her, and yet perfect sense for reasons she can’t even articulate.)

“If...That is...If you’d like to wash up a little I can have Sanchez bring in some water for you.  It won’t be warm, but-”

Brittany kindly interrupts her babbling.  “‘At’d be real nice, Santana.  Thank you kindly.”

She looks down to the linens in Santana’s hands, and it occurs to Santana that perhaps she’d like to change her other set as well.  When she says as much, Brittany’s flush blooms from her cheeks to the tip of her ears and down to her chest.

“I can’t ride for the Express as Brittany,” she explains unprompted, “but as Brett...Mr.  Majors said he ain’t never seen nobody take to horses like I do, and since I’m eighteen and my folks is gone, I’m a perfect candidate so long’s I don’t get no taller.”

Several questions Satana didn’t realize she had are answered by Brittany’s little explanation, and she nods in acceptance of them.  She thrusts the bundle of linens into Brittany’s hands and nods again uselessly when Brittany asks if she’ll help with those wrappings too.

Not able to bear the strange tension thickening the air between them any longer, Santana very nearly bolts for the door, stumbling to a halt just as she reaches the doorway.  Turning back she catches Brittany’s easy grin over her shoulder as she promises to find some clean clothes for Brittany to change into once she’s had her wash.

Brittany just has time to nod, her smile growing wider, before Santana dashes out of the room in search of Sanchez and her own mind.

(She doesn’t seem to have as much luck with the latter as she does with the former.)

It’s been three days of caring for Brittany and checking her wounds, changing her bandages - only the one set, for Brittany had decided quite suddenly after her wash that first day that since she couldn’t ride she needn’t bind herself for the time being.  Santana found herself equal parts relieved and disappointed by that decision, and altogether too flustered by Brittany in general to properly understand either reaction.

(Brittany keeps looking at her like Santana is a feast and she a woman half-starved.  Santana can’t tell if it unnerves her more or excites her.  She makes it a point never to stay in a room with Brittany long enough to find out.)

She’s pinning up laundry to dry in the noonday sun when she hears the crunch of Brittany’s boots approach.  She turns in place to scold her erstwhile patient for not resting more, frown already in place, but the breath gets robbed clean out of her lungs before she can use it.

Brittany is dressed in a pair of Eduardo’s old work trousers and shirt, the cuffs on both rolled over several times so as not to impede movement.  The muted grey pants hang on Brittany’s slim frame only by the grace and presence of a pair of suspenders, and the blue cotton shirt is unbuttoned at the collar to reveal a triangle of creamy white skin.  Brittany’s hair is free from it’s usual plait and falling in soft, golden waves around her face.  Even as a widow, Santana never lets her hair down before going to bed, but on Brittany she can’t imagine any other look.

Ducking her head shyly, Brittany thrusts a fistful of scraggly looking sour grass blooms into Santana’s hand.  Thoroughly bewildered, Santana accepts the cluster of weeds, too preoccupied with the rough catch of Brittany’s calloused fingers against her palms to question the strange gift.

“Clayton and I thought you might like some flowers for your table, Santana.  He says a lady nice an’ pretty as you oughta have somethin’ nice and pretty to look at too.”

“But I-I do,” Santana stammers before she can think better of it.  The wild cant of Brittany’s smile and the flutter in her own chest keeps Santana from regretting a word.  Before she can do anything else, Brittany leans in and drops a light peck on Santana’s cheek, and then she’s strolling back towards the house, hands in her pockets and a tuneless whistle on her lips.

Santana stands motionless for several moments, the fingertips of one hand pressed lightly to her cheek.

(She can still feel Brittany’s lips on her skin.)

Tucking the flowers under her waistband, she finishes pinning the rest of the laundry in a daze, and lifts her chin proudly when she catches Sanchez grinning at her from where he’s reshoeing Clayton.

For as angry at and unmoved by the world she had been in the months leading up to Brittany’s arrival in her life, Santana spends the days after in a near-constant state of bewildered fondness.

Brittany is all at once sweet and wily and clever and strange and gentle, and Santana has never known anyone like her.

She watches as Brittany dances her way around Santana’s once quiet and empty house, filling it with her bright presence and turning it into a home in a way Santana never could.  She picks blooms for the table every morning, sometimes twice in a day if she happens upon wildflowers in the fields where the cattle used to graze.

She slinks into her bedroom (the guest bedroom, that mocking voice insists) like a scolded puppy whenever Santana takes her to task for running or dancing or just generally not resting enough for Santana’s liking.  She slinks, but then she calls for Santana, insisting that it’s much better for her health to rest with company than to rest alone, and Santana can hardly argue with that.  Or at least, she hardly tries.

It is too easy to get used to Brittany sharing meals with her, or Brittany sitting in the parlor sipping iced tea with her, trying to stay cool in the unforgiving heat of Nevada summertime.  Too easy, when she knows that soon Brittany will be well enough to ride again, and is eager to finish her run.  Eager to leave.

Santana tries to distance herself, because she knows that whatever is growing between the two of them is more than simple friendship, and because she is afraid of what Brittany may take with her when she leaves.

(Her heart beats madly any time she thinks of it, fast like the beat of Clayton’s hooves, as if it’s trying to escape.)

Her efforts never last more than an hour or two at best.  Brittany is far too adept at pulling on every heartstring Santana has.

(It’s as if she tied them there herself.)

Their fifth dinner together marks the real turning point in Brittany’s recovery.  Helping Santana in the kitchen is one of the few chores Santana is comfortable allowing her, and when she stretches her arm to reach the molasses on the top shelf of the larder, it’s not until she catches Santana staring that she realizes her side doesn’t twinge at all.

Santana is mostly silent through the rest of their meal preparations, too busy berating herself for not being happy at Brittany’s rapid recovery to notice the cautious, worried glances Brittany keeps sending her.

At the table, she says her grace quietly, in English so Brittany can’t compliment her pretty words, and keeps her eyes on her salted pork and molasses to avoid any accidental eye contact.

When something grazes against the side of her shoe under the table, she makes the mistake of looking up in her surprise.  Brittany seizes the opportunity and hooks a foot around Santana's ankle, peeking through sunshine lashes, artlessly bashful and entirely smitten.  Santana swallows and stares intently at her mostly empty plate, determined to ignore her racing heart.

She cringes when she hears Brittany sigh, and instantly misses Brittany’s touch when it slides away.  Her eyes start to sting and her breath comes in a staccato that she can’t quite hide.

Suddenly her chair is yanked back, causing her to squeak in consternation at the abrupt movement, and then again when Brittany plants herself solidly in Santana’s lap.  She drapes her long arms around Santana’s neck and her long legs over Santana’s thighs, and hugs Santana tight for long moments.

“You’re shaking,” she murmurs against Santana’s temple, and it’s true.

A sob rips through Santana’s chest, and Brittany jerks back at the sound, shock written in her features, plain as day.  “Santana, love, what’sa matter?”

The gentle question coupled with the sweet endearment prove to be too much for Santana’s tender heart, bruised as it is by her worries and missing Brittany before Brittany has even left.  She all but crumples against Brittany's chest, flinging her arms about the woman’s hips and letting her tears fall to soak into Brittany’s shirt.

She whimpers something against Brittany’s breast in between sobs, but Brittany gives up asking her to repeat it in favor of trying to calm her down.  She strokes Santana’s back and pets at her cheeks, pleating them with gentle kisses that must taste like salt for all the wetness they find.  It works mostly, reducing Santana’s crying to great shuddering sighs and nuzzling embraces.  Finally Brittany finds Santana’s chin with her fingers and lifts Santana’s face to meet her own.

Santana lets herself get lost in Brittany for a moment, in the deep, stormy blue of her eyes when she’s worried, and the rosy flush of her cheeks peppered with golden freckles, and the perfect curve of her lips as she pouts in sympathy for Santana’s own red and swollen eyes.

“Now,” Brittany says kindly, keeping Santana’s face upturned when Santana would hide it in embarrassment at her own foolishness.  “What’s goin’ on in that head a yours, huh?”

Swallowing hard around the lump in her throat, Santana tries to explain to her why her sudden burst of sadness wasn’t quite so sudden after all.

“You’re healing,” she begins.  Brittany cocks her head, curious, but lets Santana continue.  “You’re healing so fast, and it’s good, because you were hurt so terribly, and I know it’s selfish and wrong, but it makes me so sad too.” Brittany’s brows furrow together as she considers this, deepening the sad moue of her lips, but before she can speak Santana rushes to continue.  “It makes me sad because I know once you’re healed, you’ll go.  You’ll go because you have to finish your run because you’re good, and honest, and brave, and I’ll never see you again and I don’t think I can bear it, Britt!” she gushes all at once, tears falling once more.  “I didn’t know how lonely I was until you made it so I wasn’t, but now that I know, I just can’t go back to living that way.  I just- I just can’t!”

Brittany stares into her eyes a moment more, clearly searching for something, though what it could be Santana can’t begin to guess.

But suddenly she doesn’t need to, because Brittany is cupping her face and kissing her and all at once nothing else in the whole world matters a whit.  Brittany kisses her sweet and long and slow, like pressing her lips to Santana’s lips is all she wants to do until the end of Creation, and that would be quite alright with her.  When she finally pulls away, it takes a second or two for Santana to realize her eyes are closed.  When she opens them, it’s to Brittany’s smiling face, and the sight of her steals Santana’s breath all over again.

“You silly li’l thing,” Brittany whispers, and Santana can’t find it in herself to bristle at that, even though she doesn’t have a clue what Brittany could mean.  “You think I was gonna up an’ leave, just when I’d found ya?”  

Brittany kisses her again, and Santana has to wrestle herself out of the daze it leaves her in to ask, “But the Express?  You swore an oath!”

Brittany grins her wily grin and shakes her head.  “No I didn’t.  I tolja, Santana, women ain’t allowed to ride for the Pony Express.”  She cocks her head, eyes sparkling with joy so bright it’s almost blinding, and yet all Santana can do is stare in dawning wonder as she grasps the full measure of Brittany’s words.

“You mean-” she gasps, not quite believing, but so desperate to try.

“I mean,” Brittany smirks.  “I’ll ride out as soon as I’m able, and get my mail to the station in Stillwater, and then…”

“You’ll come home,” Santana finishes, tears filling her eyes once more.

Brittany nods, leaning in until their lips are just about to meet.  “I’ll come home,” she echoes, sealing the promise with a kiss.

--------------------------------------------------------------

"I am just trying to explain how Rainy manages to be invisible while in plain sight," the girl pouted as she held up her rainbow colored unicorn toy.

All she received in return was a confused expression from her potential playmate.

"Nothin' you say ever makes sense. I just asked if you wanted to play trucks." The boy whined as he kicked some sand back over the drawings and skulked off, leaving the little girl to stare sadly at her invisible spectrum pony toy.

7:59am - 24 hours to L.S.D.

Blond hair floated up into the air as the woman twirled animatedly on her desk chair. In front of her dozens of computer monitors blinked through images of twinkling stars and galaxies far beyond human reach. This was the life. She would always choose a sea of stars over the annoying crowds of politicians swarming outside her door on any given day.

"Dr. Pierce," a male voice pierced into the calm atmosphere of the room as an accompanying image of a harried Asian man replaced one of the starscape images on a monitor. "We are detecting a significant lag on the NASA network again. You aren't streaming all of our star cams to your office again are you?"

Brittany slammed her feet to the floor and the spinning of the chair skidded to a stop immediately.

"No..." she trailed off guiltily, avoiding the eyes of the man glaring at her from the monitor.

"Dr. Pierce, you know that you can't keep draining our network like this. How are we supposed to be studying that new galaxy if you keep leeching like this?"

"I know, Mike!" Brittany threw her hands up in exasperation. "But it is so boring here in DC. They just want to talk about budgets and expenditures and all I want is to do is marvel at the wonders we have access to here at NASA. I mean. Look at that star! Or that nebula! Or that black hole!"

The blond gestured wildly towards different monitors to point out the little miracles of the night sky, causing Mike to sigh. Dr. Pierce always got so worked up she forgot that others may not be able to follow along.

"Or that rainbow over there!"

Brittany paused. Wait. A what.

"Wait. Why is there a rainbow there?" she muttered as she zoomed in the monitor tracking that quadrant.

"Is it a comet?" Mike questioned as he tried to arc his head, as if he would be able to see whatever Dr. Pierce was staring at so intently.

"We have been tracking all the comets that fly close enough to Earth to be readily visible." Brittany mused. "The public eats that stuff up. This one has closed in so fast that it bypassed all our regular monitoring. It has to be going at least 30,000 miles per hour! And so pretty, too!"

The rainbow colored comet twinkled back at the doctor from her computer monitor.

"I saw it first so I get to name it! This one is going to be called C#-0-255!" Brittany declared, trying to hold in her immense amusement at the name.

"Um." Mike glanced off screen on his monitor. "Should I be writing this down or something?"

"Isn't that a hilarious name? Get it?"

A blank stare looked back at Brittany from her monitor.

"Really?" Brittany sighed out sadly. "Cause the C sharp computer code uses integers from 0 to 255 to code for a rainbow? Nothing? That didn't even deserve a chuckle?"

"Oh. Um. Yeah. C sharp coding. Yeah of course. I  knew that."

Brittany waved off Mike with a sigh and continued to evaluate the new comet, directing the satellites to send out an assessment ping.

"It is very odd that a comet was able to gain enough speed to get past our monitoring arrays, especially something of this size. Actually, it is unheard of in all the years of NASA work that I have read about."

"Which is all of them," added Mike.

"Which is all of them, " Brittany confirmed.

A white information box appeared on top of the imagery of the comet and instantly Brittany's heart fell to her stomach.

"Mike. I need you to immediately gather all personnel to the main deck at KSC. Everyone is to redirect their scopes and monitors to quadrant 345b. Immediately."

Mike quickly scrambled to the phone upon hearing the serious tone coming from his blond boss.

"What should I put out the alert regarding, Dr. Pierce?"

"It is not a comet. We have an asteroid one mile in diameter in our field. And it is headed straight for Earth."

8:37am - 23 hours and 22 minutes to L.S.D.

Errant papers scattered across Brittany's desk as she attempted to shove them and her laptop into her travel bag. The clock was already ticking and she would have to cab it to Dulles as fast as she could to make a red eye to Orlando. Suddenly, her desk phone started flashing red underneath all the papers that had settled on top of it.

All the air escaped Brittany's lungs for what felt like the hundredth time in the past thirty minutes. She brushed the offending papers off her desk phone and took a steadying breath, soothing down her dark blue pantsuit and accompanying NASA lab coat, before tentatively picking up the receiver.

"Hello sir. I am so sorry I didn't call sooner, but I take it someone from Kennedy Space Center called and briefed you?"

"What is done, is done," a man nervously chuckled on the other end the phone. "I was told briefly about the meteor, or whatever it is, but I would really rather hear it from the official NASA Administrator who discovered it."

Brittany straightened to attention at the reminder that she wasn't just a scientist puttering through her lab anymore, but the one in charge of the most important Space Administration in the world.

"Yes, Mr. President. What I had initially assumed was a comet, one I called C-0-255-" she paused for laughter at her name and is met again with disappointing silence, "... actually turned out to be an asteroid. It is a little over a mile in diameter, made up primarily of iron, nickel, and palladium, and is traveling at a speed of approximately 31,000 miles per hour."

"Okay, that literally means nothing to me."

"Right. Um. Well if this was just a comet it would likely melt and burn out upon entering the Earth's atmosphere. Which would be amazing and just make a really pretty light show for everyone to watch from their porches while they kick their feet up with a beer."

"But it is not a comet. It is a meteor or something?"

"An out of control asteroid right now. It will be a meteor once it enters the earth atmosphere, which is due to happen in about-" Brittany glanced quickly at the watch painfully counting hours and minutes on her wrist, "-twenty three hours and nineteen minutes. And since it is made of metal it won't completely melt in the Earth's atmosphere."

The President fell quiet on the other end of the phone line.

"Damage estimate?"

"Considering the size of the asteroid this morning and the speed NASA clocked it at I would say it will hit the Earth with the power of a one million megaton bomb. Everything within two hundred miles will be flattened instantly and the dust that it knocks up will cause an extinction event on scale with what happened to the dinosaurs 65 million years ago..."

At this information the President did the last thing Brittany expected - he laughed.

"Um. Sir?"

"You know, Dr. Pierce," he started with a nervous chuckle. "I read this exact concept in a book the other week."

Brittany let out a breath that ruffled her blond bangs while she mentally went through all the possible books the President could have been reading lately on asteroids.

"I am not sure I know what book you are talking about. And I have read, and written, most of the books on the subject."

"Oh it was a really fun read. It was called 'Till the World Ends.' It has been on the New York Times Bestseller list for the past few months, so my wife harassed me about it until I finally gave it a try. The plotline is nearly identical to what is happening right now. And everything worked out just fine in the end. In fact, I am going to put in a call and I will have the author meet you at Dulles. She can fly with you to KSC. I think she is just who you need to figure out this whole 'world ending' issue."

A solid thud resounded through the phone connection as Brittany's head slumped forward to smack into her desk.

"Sir, with all due respect, I think this is a job best left to professionals and not science fiction authors-"

"My assistant already has her on the line! Get to Dulles airport as soon as possible and she will meet you on the plane. Good luck, Dr. Pierce. The world is depending on you!"

10:46am - 21 hours and 14 minutes to L.S.D.

Brittany tapped impatiently on the track pad of her laptop as she scrolled through the biography of the writer she was unexpectedly paired up with on the task of stopping world annihilation.

Santana Lopez. Age 29. Author of four different sci-fi novels, the most popular of which was 'Till the World Ends,' a novel about an intrepid female astronaut teaming up with an astrophysicist to stop a meteorite from smashing the world to pieces. No known scientific background - just ridiculous fictional writing credits.

The blond sighed heavily and buried her face in her hands.

"This cannot be my life right now," she moaned.

"Hey on the bright side, you might not have much of a lifetime left."

Brittany whipped her head up to the voice coming from the plane aisle. Standing there was a beautiful dark-skinned brunette in tight black jeans and an even tighter red top. Brittany skimmed over the newcomer until she met a pair of eyes that were smirking playfully back at her.

"The name is Santana Lopez," the brunette said as she held her hand out for the doctor. "That is, if you are done staring. We only have twenty one hours left to save the world and all."

Brittany let out a loud scoff and ignored the author's hand as she slipped into the plane seat next to the blond. There was no way this smart ass was going to add anything to the top scientific team in the nation.

"Look," Brittany said, "The only reason you are here is because the President of the United States ordered it, and for some reason I don't want to lose my job in the last few hours I have left. There is no way the author of second rate sci-fi trash is going to help make the calculations that will keep a giant piece of space rock from destroying the human race."

Santana gave an exaggerated pout.

"Excuse you. I made it onto the New York Times Bestsellers list with that book of sci-fi trash!"

"You were #21 on the list. That is hardly making a splash on the charts."

The brunette cocked her eyebrow and smirked again.

"You googled me."

Brittany rolled her eyes and returned to running calculations on her laptop.

"You googled me, and you ogled me," Santana said as she leaned into Brittany's shoulder.

Red flashed over Brittany's cheeks as she slammed down the lid on her computer.

"Why are you even here!?" squeaked the doctor. "I couldn't even find records of where you attended university. You don't even have a background in any sort of science do you?"

Santana screwed up her face in thought.

"I did take a class on Astronomy in high school."

Brittany stared back at Santana blankly.

"But, full disclosure, that was because I thought I was signing up for an Astrology class. I really just wanted to see if my Scorpio ass would mesh well with the hot, blond Libra cheerleader."

"Fantastic," Brittany deadpanned. "At least you will be able to work out how compatible you are with the several ton piece of iron that is going to crush us in a few hours."

Santana threw her head back in laughter, dark brown hair cascading over her shoulders. Brittany shook her head to quickly clear her thoughts. No. Not now. This lady was a joke. Plus the world was ending in a few hours.

A book slid into her field of vision, blinding her with its garish pulp-style cover.

"I assume you haven't even read my masterpiece, Dr. Pierce." Santana commented as she wiggled the paperback in front of the still blushing blond. "I hear this book is going to save the world."

Brittany tore the offending object out of Santana's hands and gave it a once over.

"There is an astronaut with a space suit that shows off her midriff on this."

"Hot, am I right?"

"And a female scientist in a lab coat with no pants."

"Gotta reel the gay ladies in somehow."

"They are shooting the meteor with a laser gun."

"Okay," Santana conceded. "That part doesn't actually happen in the book. My friend Rachel does all the cover art for my novels and she said that laser guns are far more dramatic. I mean, come on. We all know that laser guns are taking it one step too far."

Brittany leveled her blank stare at the animated author once more.

"Yes. The laser gun was the point where I drew the line, obviously."

"Look, you know what they say. Don't judge a book by its cover."

"I am going to go out on a limb and say that I am very comfortable doing just that in this case," Brittany said as she tossed the tacky book back into the author's lap.

With a flick of her wrist, the book is vaulted back on top of the scientist's laptop.

"Well, you can't use your laptop on the flight so your choices appear to be between reading my lovely, world saving piece of literature, or holding an hour and half long conversation with me," Santana responded with a smirk as she leaned in towards Brittany expectantly.

Brittany snatched up the book once again and opened it wide to block out the laughing brown eyes, but the pages didn't block out the gorgeous tinkling laughter that echoed through the cabin around her.

12:41pm - 19 hours and 19 minutes to L.S.D.

The book soared through the air, narrowly missing Santana's face, before slamming into the cab window.

"I can't do it," Brittany yelled in frustration. "I physically cannot read any more of that garbage. I don't know why I even humored you enough to try in the first place."

Santana lovingly scooped her mussed book up off the floor with a pout and placed it back in Brittany's travel bag anyway.

"I really don't see how reading about the 'hot' astronaut shoving her tongue down the throat of the 'totally-bangable' scientist is conducive to stopping the meteoric destruction of the planet."

"Ooo did you make it to page 235 where they start going at it on top of the scientist's desk at NASA?" Santana asked eagerly.

Brittany buried her face in her hands.

"God, now I can't get the thought that the President has been reading horrible lesbian sci-fi erotica with his wife out of my mind."

"Oh. I didn't even consider that. Huh."

The unlikely duo rocked back and forth in awkward silence as the car rushed them ever closer to the Kennedy Space Center. Brittany glanced down at the timer on her watch, feeling the decreasing numbers burn into her mind.

"Only 19 hours and 15 minutes until L.S.D.," she mumbled.

"I did not take you for the mind altering substances sort, Dr. Pierce," Santana stated with an arched brow. "Also, the world is potentially ending so maybe you should get your priorities in order."

Brittany groaned and scooted even further away on the backseat of the cab from the offending author.

"L.S.D. - Last Second until Destruction. NASA is all about acronyms to save as much time as possible; although, I suppose their efforts are wasted when it comes to individuals like you."

Santana ignored the end comment and gave a solemn nod.

"Makes sense. This whole experience is trippy as fuck."

The blond glanced at Santana from the corner of her eyes.

"I hope you realize that you are basically just here for a glorified field trip," Brittany grumbled. "You have no qualifications, other than maybe the ability to read the asteroid's star sign and some possibly some weird fetish for spacesuits and lab coats."

Santana turned to openly face the glum scientist. The bright Florida sun streamed in through the windows to reflect off of bright blond hair and catch in the doctor's progressively narrowing eyes. Despite the glaring looks and negative comments that she had been receiving all day, Santana's new partner actually was quite stunning. Or maybe she really did have a thing for lab coats.

"I think maybe you should be more open to ideas that aren't your own. You never know where a helping hand or thought may get you," Santana stated with the customary smirk.

"It got me to Cape Canaveral where an asteroid is going to land directly on top of us in 19 hours."

Santana hummed in response.

"Well at least that is oddly convenient."

5:23pm - 14 hours and 36 minutes to L.S.D.

Brittany's fingers flew across her keyboard in the KSC data room. Complex calculations scrolled across the screen as a simulation ran displaying the meteor travelling through the atmosphere - pixilated computer designed rockets bouncing harmlessly off of the huge rock - which then slammed into Florida, causing little skulls to pop up all over the screen. The blond groaned in frustration and tossed another paper ball covered in useless numbers at the brunette author spinning on the computer chair next to her.

"The atmosphere isn't even going to be enough to hold back the debris of the asteroid if we hit it directly in space. That creates 1.5 tons of small rocks that could create scatter array impact on Earth. The umbrella effect means nothing!"

"Umbrella what now?" Mike questioned in confusion.

"That is some serious science there," Santana nodded solemnly.

"Um..." Mike murmured as he pointed to Santana. "Does she have the clearance to be in here? Who are you even?"

"Oh, haven't you heard? That's Santana Lopez, the New York Times Bestselling author," Brittany exclaimed sarcastically as she clacked away at her keyboard.

"Oh, haven't you heard? I only made it to number 21," Santana snarked back as she spun away in her chair.

Mike glanced nervously back and forth between the duo and started to back out of the room, away from the awkward tension.

"Okay then. You have this under control then. I guess. Um, I will just go run simulations down the hall then," he said with a wave as he scurried out the door.

Santana straightened her chair out to face Brittany and glanced over at the calculations running across the computer screen.

"I am here whenever you need a consult," Santana said seriously as she leaned further over the scientist's shoulder.

Brittany firmly pushed the other woman back into her chair, avoiding eye contact with the distracting author as much as possible.

"I think I can manage."

"Suit yourself," Santana hummed with a smirk as she returned to her spinning.

Across the computer screen the Eastern seaboard lit up with animated red skulls again.

10:45pm - 9 hours and 14 minutes to L.S.D.

"You know the really shocking thing here?" Santana pondered aloud as she spun.

"That the world is ending in 9 hours?"

"That I haven't gotten a movie deal on all this yet. This would make a fantastic fucking movie."

12:07am - 7 hours and 52 minutes to L.S.D.

"I think Michelle Rodriguez should play the astronaut. She has got an ass that won't quit and will totally be able to sell the sex scene on page 235."

1:03am - 6 hours and 56 minutes to L.S.D.

Another explosion of animated skulls appeared over the computer simulation monitor, which caused Brittany to sadly slam her face into the keyboard. 157 tries. 157 failures.

"Okay," Brittany started with a sigh, "I know I am probably going to regret asking this..."

Santana scooted her chair closer to the other woman.

"Oh really?"

"Don't make this any harder than it already is. What is the genius idea they come up with in your novel that saves the world?" Brittany questioned as she shifted her face across the keyboard to study the brunette.

Santana stared back, excitement evident in her eyes.

"Are you ready for this?" Santana paused dramatically. "They open a portal to the fourth dimension."

Brittany remained still and blank faced on the keyboard.

"You see, it makes total sense. If you have a 2-dimensional object, it casts a 1-dimensional shadow. If you have a 3-dimensional object, it casts a 2-dimensional shadow. So by that logic, if you have a 4-dimensional object, it will cast a 3-dimensional shadow. Create a 3-dimensional shadow and then you will have a portal to the fourth dimension that can swallow up the meteor! It is simple mathematics really," Santana explained excitedly.

The blond stared back unmoving.

"Dear God, we are all going to die."

4:52am - 3 hours and 7 minutes to L.S.D.

Brittany stumbled through the bathroom door and headed straight to the sink. None of her calculations for how to divert the meteor, or destroy it before impact, were panning out. It seemed like her concepts were about as useful as Santana's ridiculous plot-point of opening up the fourth dimension. With a groan at the thought of the author, Brittany turned on the sink and uselessly splashed cold water on her face in an attempt to wash her mind clean of thoughts of Santana, rainbow colored asteroids, and the world ending.

"So this is where you are off doing your mad science then?" Santana's voice cut through the silence of the bathroom. "Not exactly the backdrop I would have painted the scene with."

Brittany tore down a paper towel from the dispenser and wiped off the water dripping from her face and hands. Sighing, she turned and walked toward the wall, collapsing against it as she slid listlessly to the floor.

"We only have three hours left until show time, so maybe you should be back in there doing whatever it is you do with those numbers that fly across your computer screen," Santana continued.

"Aren't there some spacesuits you should be defiling somewhere?"

"Har har," Santana sarcastically laughed, sliding down the wall next to Brittany. "The whole bit where you make fun of all my ideas as being nonsense is getting old really fast. How would that make you feel if people constantly brushed you off like everything you said was illogical gibberish?"

Brittany sat in silence as Santana's words washed over her, bringing back the feel of sand beneath her fingertips and the ever present heart sinking. She tried to focus on the tiny shifts of the author's arm against her own as they breathed.

"How come you aren't even the slightest bit worried about any of this? Of the world ending?" Brittany asked quietly.

Santana glanced to her side, the tiny, seemingly ever present smirk once more overtaking her face. At this point, Brittany had seen it so much that it seemed familiar, calming even.

"You aren't the only one who did some Google research before we met," Santana said simply. "I learned all about how insanely smart you are on the World Wide Web. The one who invented the first telescope that could see beyond the Hubble. Who pioneered using the echolocation from dolphins to pinpoint exact dimensions of planets. Who discovered a whole new color of the rainbow. The gorgeous genius with eyes as bright as the stars she studies."

Brittany scoffed at Santana's over the top prose despite the blush covering her cheeks.

"No wonder you only made it to number 21 on the list," she mumbled.

Santana laughed her off as always and went to stand. She stretched out her shoulders and turned with an open hand towards Brittany. The blond stared at the offering before tentatively slipping her own hand to meet it, letting the author pull her to her feet.

"You know, all those genius scientists like yourself say that if you walk through a doorway it causes your brain to reboot and start with a nice, blank slate," Santana said softly, hand still holding Brittany's own, keeping her close.

"Great. Well. Doesn't help me much because I  think I am just going to live out my final three hours here in this Bathroom of Shame."

"See, that doesn't work for me. I need you to get it together and make the 4th dimension, or whatever you have to do to save this world, 'cause I think that you have plenty of other things to discover and invent, and I think I am gonna make it into the top 15 on the Bestsellers list at the very least if we live through this."

The joke fell flat into the cavernous bathroom. Santana waited for some sort of banter in return from the other woman, or a move to escape from her silly comments, but Brittany seemed content to just stare at where the tips of their shoes nearly met on the tiled floor.

"Okay fine. Santana Lopez to save the day then."

Her tanned fingers reached up and directed Brittany's chin upwards until her eyes were level with Santana's own, leaning in to tip their lips together. Santana swallowed the small gasp from Brittany's mouth and gently pushed further into the kiss. The movement spurred the blond into motion and she deftly pulled Santana's bottom lip between her own, savoring the sensation for a moment.

A precious moment. That was gradually ticking down. To nothing.

Suddenly Santana felt herself stumbling backwards as Brittany pushed the author back.

"I can't believe you just did that when the world is about to end," Brittany yelled as she stormed out of the bathroom door.

"Some people would argue that is a really good time to try and kiss someone they just met!"

"You are impossible!"

"Well, it got you moving, didn't it? You'll thank me when your brain reboots!"

5:17am - 2 hours and 42 minutes to L.S.D.

Brittany slid back into her seat in front of the main data bank monitors, Santana close on her heels. The blond reached down under the desk, taking out her travel bag and rummaging through it to find an old, worn unicorn toy with rainbow colored hair. She carefully placed the toy next to her monitor.

"I must be going mad to even consider anything you say," Brittany muttered as she scooted her chair to face the computer. "I mean, how would you even get the support to make a dimensional portal?"

Santana returned to spinning playfully in her chair next to the scientist.

"Well, in my book they just used the launch pad for the astronaut's ship since it was already there."

Brittany froze at her keyboard.

"The ship was called the WMHS Pocket Rocket."

"Wait. What?" Brittany exclaimed as she grabs the other woman's shoulders.

"Hey, don't judge my naming conventions. Readers eat this shit up."

"No, not that," Brittany waved off the author as she began typing with renewed vigor. "No one cares about what is in your pockets. But the launch pad... Just one wouldn't be enough power to create a show in three dimensions, or size to stop a mile large meteor, but here at the Space Center we don't have just one launch pad. Between Cape Canaveral and Merritt Island we have three! And they spread out in a big enough triangulation that they would cover the direct landing of the meteor. We just need to amplify the power levels to cause the circuits to arc from launch pad to launch pad and..."

"Good thing I convinced you to walk through a doorway and reboot, huh?" Santana teased with a smirk.

Brittany rolled her eyes as a blush covered her face and her fingers darted across the keys.

6:36am - 1 hour and 23 minutes to L.S.D.

Green smiley faces lit up the Eastern seaboard across Brittany's computer screens as the simulation showed a large, electrified spherical shadow atop a black portal, swallowing up the meteor as planned. Brittany, Santana, and Mike's jaws all dropped in unison.

"Holy shit, this is actually going to work," Brittany said as they stared at the screen in wonder.

"I'm a fucking genius!" Santana yelled, complete with exuberant fist pump.

Brittany twirled her chair around to face Mike.

"I am going to need all ground crew to report to designated launch areas," Brittany directed to Mike. "We need to get everyone we possibly can working to put in extra power boosters and we only have one hour until L.S.D. Let's go save the world!"

7:48am - 0 hours and 11 minutes to L.S.D.

Brittany twisted her fingers nervously as the screens on the main NASA control deck flickered between the three launch pads. Electricity jumped from pad to pad on the monitors and seemed to even fill the data room. Santana glanced over at her partner and gave her a gentle nudge.

"Hey, you forgot the last ingredient here," Santana whispered.

Brittany's eyes went wide and Santana could practically see all the equations running double time through her mind to check her calculations.

"It is just to believe," Santana said quietly. "You have to believe in your science. In my fantasy. If you believe in me a little bit, too, I wouldn't say no to that either."

Santana took a side step closer. The electricity that once filled the room now seemed to zip along Brittany's body where it nearly touched the other woman.

"Mostly you just have to believe in yourself, Brittany. You did it. You are going to save the world," Santana granted with a smile.

Brittany's breath caught in her throat.

7:58:55am - 0 hours and 5 seconds to L.S.D.

Santana's hand bumped lightly against Brittany's. She exhaled. There are worse places to be when you are this close to a mind-altering moment.

7:58:59am - 0 hours and 1 second to L.S.D.

Brittany's pinky reached out to wrap around Santana's.

Afterwards - When hours and minutes matter in a different way

Sunlight filtered through the blinds and hit the dark hair spread out on the pillow across from her, causing gleaming white reflections to dance across the deep brown backdrop. Brittany let out a small smile, drawn in by the living artwork of constellations in front of her.

Santana tickled her bare calf under the sheets that wrapped around them with her toe.

"What is that big brain of yours thinking about?" Santana teased as her fingers tripped down Brittany's back.

Brittany hummed contently and arched slightly into Santana's touch, letting the warmth of the sunlight and her girlfriend/hero/pain-in-her-ass seep into her body.

"Is it that you can't believe you aren't the smartest person in the room right now?" Santana joked.

"As if. More like I can't believe we saved the planet because the President reads lesbian porn."

"Excuse you. We prefer the term erotica."

Brittany scoffed and whipped the pillow out from under her head to smack Santana.

"Whatever. I guess it has its uses for planetary defense and all," she admitted with an eye roll.

"You just wait until my next book," Santana commented as she stretched closer to share her pillow with Brittany. "It is definitely going to save lives when the zombie apocalypse happens. Now, if only I could talk Rachel out of the green silhouette cover and title of 'Wicked'..."

"Urgh. Please fire your publicist immediately," Brittany groaned over Santana's inevitable laughter.

Santana's giggles died down and the two stared at each other across Santana's remaining pillow. Chocolate brown eyes twinkled back at her with the lights in her dark sky of hair. This wasn't exactly where Brittany pictured she would be, but it was certainly more interesting than her space filled computer monitors, and a hell of a lot better than being in a giant 200 mile wide crater in the ground.

"Wanna act out page 235 again?" Santana whispered with a smirk.

"Yes please!" Brittany yelped as she shoved the sheet covering them out of the way and made a grab for her universe.

---------------------------------------------------

The soft whirring of the panel finally stops and as Brittany leans back, resting her weight on her palms pressing into the mattress, a soft smile breaks out across her face.  She’s been stationed at Lunar Base Delta for a little over six months and the twinkling expanse of space that greets her every morning still fills her with wonder.  Even as a fourth generation Docking Specialist, growing up with the stories, pictures, and videos of space, and even after hours of simulation, nothing compares to finally being at the base.  The blues, whites, and muted browns of Earth are the only splash of color in an otherwise vast expanse of black and Brittany smiles wider this time, feeling pride that the melancholy that afflicts almost everyone when they first get here no longer washes over her.  Even with the technology allowing for almost seamless interaction with those back on Earth, there is a disorientation that comes from realizing how far away you actually are from your family and friends back home.  The structure of daily life on the base, as well as required personal time in the holo-modules with loved ones back home, are designed to help ease the transition from Earth life to lunar life but it can be a hard transition for some people, sometimes taking almost a year before they can shake off the melancholy.  It was a tough adjustment for Brittany at first but now, the wave that she gives the view in the panel above her bed is another comforting part of the start of her day rather than a reminder that for the next five years, this moon is her home.

Sliding her legs over the edge of her bed, she presses a button on the wall, the lights in her room gradually turning on.  With one last look to the open panel above her, Brittany touches the screen and sends the panel closed again.  This morning ritual was her second favorite part of the day.  As if on cue, the bedside screen beeps in a distinct pattern and she smiles for an entirely different reason as her favorite part of the day shimmers into focus on the screen next to her bed.  “Hi, Santana.”

“How are you so perky in the morning?”  The gravelly voice emerges from behind a curtain of dark wavy hair and Brittany waits with a grin as Santana sits back up, efficiently tying her long hair back into a bun, the sleep creases on the side of her left cheek making Brittany’s heart melt a little in her chest.  Yawning, Santana squints at Brittany through the screen, seemingly unaffected by the bright grin aimed in her direction.  “You look like you got a full twelve hours sleep instead of the four we actually got.  It’s gross.”

Giving in to the amusement she feels at Santana’s distinct lack of morning appreciation, Brittany laughs and checks the urge to trace the screen over Santana’s face.  There’s something there between her and Santana, something that’s been building since they were paired together their third year in specialist training, but for some reason, Santana keeps her at arm’s-length.  Content with Santana’s friendship in the beginning, Brittany held a tight rein on her growing feelings for Santana, never pushing her but making sure that she knew that Brittany was there.  These past few months since they’ve been stationed together have tested Brittany’s ability to keep her feelings in check, the preparation for receiving the new radar system for the station ensuring that when they weren’t stealing a few precious hours of sleep, Brittany and Santana were side by side.  The diagnostics checks alone were time consuming but after the asteroid storm last month damaged a third of the main docking station, the repairs needed to ensure that they could receive the transport ship meant long, grueling hours both inside and outside the base.  And while Brittany’s muscles hated the long hours and her brain was in dire need of some down time, she knows that deep down she wouldn’t trade a single moment spent working with Santana for anything in the world.

Smiling wider, Brittany lets some of her happiness over seeing Santana’s face first thing in the morning blend with her eagerness to get the day started, despite the overtime they put in last night.  “I can’t help it.  I’m excited.  Today’s the day, Santana.”

Her back protesting the movement, Santana groans a little as she stretches her arms above her head, missing the flush covering Brittany’s cheeks as her t-shirt rides up a little bit on her stomach.  The soreness in Santana’s arms and shoulders, coupled with her tossing and turning most of the night, had her feeling moody and irritated this morning when she first woke up.  But as Brittany’s smile never dims, despite the scowl Santana knows is covering her face, she feels her cheeks curving before she can stop it.  She may be exhausted but there is just something about a smiling, happy Brittany first thing in the morning that always manages to make Santana’s stomach flutter in a way that’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

“Well, that’s assuming that Captain Reynolds is even on time.  He kept us waiting for two damn days with parts for the heating system last time he took this run.”

“I remember.  You looked adorable in your thermal suit.”  Catching Santana off-guard with her comment, Brittany hides her grin behind her hand, pretending to yawn as Santana looks away and clears her throat.  Giving Santana an out, Brittany grabs her watch from the bedside table, clicking it into place on her wrist and holding her hand up as she waits for Santana to do the same.  “I’m sure given the importance of the new radar system he’ll be on time today.  Are you ready to synch?”

At Santana’s nod, Brittany clicks the button on the side of watch, an echoing beep coming through the screen as Santana does the same.  With one final look over Santana’s sleepy face, Brittany smiles and reaches her finger up to hover over the screen in preparation to end the call. “I’ll see you after breakfast, okay?”

“Sounds good.  I’ll meet you in Bay 12.  Have a good morning, Brittany.”

Santana beats Brittany to ending the call and as the screen slowly darkens, Brittany gives in and traces the faint lingering outline of Santana’s cheek before the screen turns black, the main menu popping up with small beep.  Inhaling deeply, Brittany lets her breath out slowly and stands up into a full body stretch.  Heading to the small bathroom to get ready for the day, Brittany can’t help but let out an excited noise, eager after all these months of prepping to finally have this day arrive.  The day she takes over as lead Docking Specialist and for a project as important as this one, she’s grateful knowing that it’ll be Santana at her side.  Catching the dopey look on her face as she glances in the bathroom mirror, Brittany shakes her head and focuses, brushing her teeth as she starts to plan her day.

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With the bay doors whooshing closed behind her, Santana tucks her modified computer unit under arm and heads down the first set of stairs, her eyes already scanning for Brittany’s blonde hair as she gets to the first landing and continues down to the main floor.  The bay itself is quiet except for the usual hum of electronics and the constant white noise of the air filtration system doing its job of keeping them alive inside the base.  Looking at her wrist, Santana can’t control the small rush of excitement as her watch shows just a short time to go before Captain Reynolds is expected to make his approach.  Santana approaches the main console, getting her computer hooked up, and booted up, to synch with the mainframe.  Concentrating on going through her checklist for the system, she doesn’t hear Brittany come up behind her until she feels a teasing finger poke the back of her ribs.

“Jesus!”

“Nope, just me.”

Rolling her eyes at Brittany’s grin, Santana laughs anyway, glancing down at the items in Brittany’s hand.  “Are you all set?”

“Almost.  I just have to put on my space suit and do my final checklist on the connector pod.”

Entering a few commands into her computer, they both look over as the lights on the connector pod turn on.  Continuing to type, Santana side eyes Brittany as she walks over to the standing locker behind the console.  “You know nobody calls it a space suit, right?”

“Because they’re lame and anal retentive.  They called them space suits in all the old movies we watched growing up and if it was good enough for them, it’s good enough for me.”

Santana’s fingers stop typing as Brittany removes her work jacket and pants, standing in front of the open door of standing locker in just her tank top and underwear as she pulls one of the suits from a large hanger.  Santana allows herself a moment of ogling as the lean muscles in Brittany’s shoulders and back flex and release as she pulls the heavy suit in front of her, her long legs stepping gracefully into the heavy boots attached at the bottom.  A loud beeping noise has Brittany turning around quickly, a sly smile on her face as she catches Santana watching her.  Realizing the beeping is coming from her computer, Santana turns around, her cheeks warm as she sees that she accidentally hit a wrong key on the keyboard.

Muttering under breath, Santana adjusts the end of the command and hits ‘enter’, closing out the window on her screen to prevent her from doing any more damage.  She can hear Brittany shuffling around behind her and Santana removes a small connector module from her pocket, intending to head down to the pod to hook it up and let Brittany finish getting ready but Brittany’s amused voice stops her.

“Um, Santana?”

Turning around, Santana’s cheeks warm once again as she sees Brittany waiting patiently for her, confused as to why Santana would leave before the suit was fully on.  “Oh, uh…sorry.  You mean you can’t get the back?”

Santana’s attempt at a joke gets a small laugh from Brittany but Santana can feel Brittany watching her as she gets closer, the scrutiny in her eyes carrying more weight than just being unable to close her suit.  “Are you okay?  We can do this, you know.  After all our training, guiding a successful dock will be nice and easy.”

Taking a few moments to seal the back of Brittany’s suit, Santana rests her hands on Brittany’s shoulders and turns her around, all traces of playfulness gone.  “Training is just that, Brittany.  Training.  This is the real deal with a real ship and real cargo that we are responsible for.  I hope it’s nice and easy but we shouldn’t think it will be.  We have to be prepared for anything.”

Grabbing Santana’s hands before she can step away, Brittany takes a small step closer, her gaze flickering between Santana’s eyes before she gestures to her suit.  “I am prepared.  I’ve got my emergency space suit on just in case and I’ve triple run the diagnostics check on the bay and the connector pod.  Your computer behind you is flashing green so I know you’re ready.  And I’m ready for this.  We are so ready for this, Santana.”

The smile that Brittany gives her loosens some of the tension in Santana’s shoulders, the infectious enthusiasm inherent in everything that Brittany does coming through in the excitement she can see in Brittany’s eyes.  And Santana knows that despite Brittany’s easy going manner right now, what she said is true.  Everything has been checked and rechecked and checked again because that’s the kind of person that Brittany is and not for the first time, Santana feels a rush of affection for the woman standing in front of her.  Squeezing Brittany’s hands lightly, Santana pulls the head cover from the pocket of the Brittany’s suit, reaching behind her to hand Brittany a headset once she pulled the head cover over her head.  Grinning at Brittany as she puts the headset on, Santana shakes her head as Brittany watches her.  “You look like a little kid in that getup.”

Picking her tool kit up from the table next to her, Brittany clips it to the utility belt on the suit, her leg muscles already feeling the strain of carrying the extra weight.  Smirking at Santana, Brittany smacks her lightly on her ass as she passes her, winking as she heads down the stairs.  “Lucky for you, I’m not.”

LINEBREAKLINEBREAKLINEBREAK

“Lunar Base Delta 5-9-4, this is the Argonaut on approach.  I’m in the pipe, five by five.”

Snorting at the captain’s phrase, Santana looks down at the tracking system, pulling the mic on her headset closer to her mouth.  “We read you, Argonaut.  Be aware that asteroid proximity has increased by eight hundred meters and we recommend advancing thrusters by thirteen percent.”

“Copy that, 5-9-4.  Advancing thrusters.  ETA twelve minutes.”

“Acknowledged.”

Santana takes a moment to look over the main console at Brittany, her body language that of an eager child, despite her protests to the contrary earlier.  Glancing one more time at the console to make sure everything was still progressing as expected, Santana observes Brittany as she prepares the bay to receive the new radar system, handling the levers and lifts with ease.  Since her preparation earlier was impeccable, it only takes a few minutes before Brittany moves to the connector pod and starts the most important part of her job.  Pride rushes through Santana at how capable Brittany is at this, knowing that she got that way through hard work and at times, sheer will pushing her to get better and better at a task until it became second nature.  Being assigned the responsibility of receiving the radar system was a big deal, for both of them admittedly, but the smile Santana shares with Brittany before they each return to their tasks is full of admiration for Brittany alone.

Warmed by the smile Santana sent her way, Brittany jumps the two feet off the main platform to the floor of the connector pod, listening to the call and response between Santana and Captain Reynolds as he gets closer to the base.  Stepping through the decompression chamber, Brittany flips the caps off the safety switches, using the key on her belt to unlock the panel for the emergency door.  After the ship docks successfully, she’ll step out and seal the main door, decompressing and equalizing the connection between the bay and Captain Reynolds’ ship, allowing for safe passage between the two areas.  It should go nice and smoothly but still, she feels better with the panel ready for the emergency door, understanding that in the event of an accident, it’ll be the only thing preventing the entire docking bay from being in danger.  

At the six minute count, Brittany moves to the control board sticking out from one of the walls of the pod, entering her code and unlocking the four metal arms from their resting position.  It’s her job to line them up so that they catch on the docking frame located on the front of Captain Reynolds’ ship and with half an ear to the conversation happening on her headset, she moves closer to the window to spot the ship with her own eyes.  With a low whistle, a grin splits her face at the beauty of it moving through space and approaching her bay.  Her bay.  She didn’t think it was possible for her smile to grow any wider but it does as she hears Santana hand the controls over to her, Captain Reynolds’ voice greeting her warmly over the headset.

“Argonaut on final approach, 5-9-4.  T-minus three minutes.  Docking frame is in omega position and thrusters are reversing at fifty three percent, gravitational pull holding steady and within normal limits.”

“Reading you loud and clear, Argonaut.  Docking arms are released and ready and coupling protocol has been initiated.  Ease your descent by seven degrees and increase thruster reverse by five percent.  Let’s get hitched, Argonaut.”

“I thought you’d never ask, 5-9-4.  Preparing to…”

The sound of a warning alarm blares through Captain Reynolds’ connection and Brittany turns to look back at Santana as she stands up at the console.

“5-9-4, I’m reading imminent impact on the starboard side.  Please confirm.”

Pushing a button, Santana swipes the image on her screen to holo in front of her, the real time images revealing a second asteroid hidden behind the first one.  Before she can turn the image to access the situation, the second asteroid collides with the first one, the gravitational pull of the moon and the velocity of the ship pulling it out of the other asteroid’s shadow.  Quickly calculating the trajectory, Santana looks through the observation window as she sends commands to the captain through her headset.

“Argonaut, advance thrusters now!  Captain, you’ll have to push yourself ahead of the projectile.  You’ll come in hard to the connector pod but it’s designed to withstand more than what the weight of your ship will throw at it.”

Locking eyes with Brittany across the docking bay, Santana speaks urgently to her.  “Brittany, set the arms to auto and get out of there.”

Glancing down at the data scrolling across the computer at her side, Brittany shakes her head and slides the controls to manual.  “I can’t.  It will take me too long to program them for the new velocity of the ship.  I’ll have to throw the levels manually and hope they catch.”

“You can’t be down there for impact.”

“I thought you said the pod will hold?”

Santana’s brain is filled with numbers and calculations and engineering logistics and despite knowing the weight of Captain Reynolds’ ship with and without cargo and despite understanding the support structure of the connector pod, there isn’t a single part of her that’s willing to risk her knowledge against Brittany’s life.  “It will but you shouldn’t be in there when it happens.  You need to…”

“5-9-4, brace for impact on the connector pod.  It looks like the projectile is going to clear my ship but I’m coming in hot.”

Even with her stomach trembling with fear, Brittany thinks to grab one of the emergency helmets, locking it into place with a soft hiss as the oxygen tank located in the back fills the mask with breathable air.  Cold sweat is dripping down her back as she watches the image of the ship getting closer, her hand on the master lever for the docking arms.  There is complete silence on her headset as the three of them wait for the ship to hit and less than a second later, with a prayer in her mind, Brittany throws the master lever just as the ship collides with the connector pod.  Holding her breath, Brittany looks up at the status lights above each arm, all four of them holding at a solid green.  Before Brittany can turn to Santana with a happy shout, a wrenching sound drops her stomach, the light over one of the arms flashing red.

“Impact!  Impact!  The projectile has clipped the back of my ship, 5-9-4!”

The force of the asteroid hitting the ship pulls everything to the right and judging from the sound, Brittany figures she has a few seconds before that docking arm pulls clear of the connector pod.  With her heart sinking, Brittany turns around and sees Santana sprinting from the main console towards the pod, her voice shaking with the force of running.  “Brittany, get out of there!!”

Time seems to slow as she looks at Santana, regret in her eyes as she jumps forward and before Santana can react, Brittany hits the button for the emergency door, sealing herself into the connector pod just as another horrible tearing sound echoes around her.  Brittany watches as Santana throws herself at the door, banging frantically on the glass as the inches thick material prevents Santana’s fists from making much noise at all.  There’s a lump in her throat at the look on Santana’s face but Brittany has to push it away as the warning lights and alarms start to flash in chaos all around her.  Stepping towards the manual override release lever, she has just enough time to pull it before the seal breaks around the docking arm, air rushing out through as the decompression chamber starts to misfire.  Weightlessness sets in and she has to grab onto one of the safety rungs, moving hand over hand until she reaches the compromised docking arm.  Understanding that she has a few minutes at best to try and stop the connector pod from being carried away with the ship before she’ll probably be killed, Brittany makes the decision to try and release the lever for the broken docking arm manually. With the impact over, if Captain Reynolds can right his ship and she can pull the arm off of the docking frame, the other three arms should be enough to complete the coupling and allow for the emergency seal to kick in and close the hole.

Brittany can hear Santana screaming at her through her headset, Captain Reynolds’ panicked voice pleading with her as well to get out of there.  Ignoring their pleas, Brittany spares a quick glance through the glass of the emergency door, her heart clenching hard at the look of horror and distress on Santana’s face, her fists continuing to beat against the glass. Brutally pushing away her own fear and distress, Brittany flips the switch on her audio to off, forcing herself to tune everything else out.  All she can hear is her breathing, the harsh sound echoing in her helmet as she opens the kit attached to her belt.   She can feel the pod trembling under her hands and she knows that Captain Reynolds is fighting to hold the ship in place, trying to give Brittany a precious few more moments to attempt to save herself and the ship.  Brittany knows that if she doesn’t get this fixed, the captain will have no choice but to undock before he risks compromising the integrity of the entire bay, not to mention his own ship.  And if he undocks, Brittany understands that she’s as good as dead as he’d no doubt take some of the connecter pod with him.

Pushing forward, she hooks her feet beneath one of the footholds, her body tilting to the side before she can grab onto the edge of the frame.  Her hands are sweating inside the thick gloves of her suit and despite her urgent attempts to control it, her heart continues to pound violently in her chest.  The alarms and alarm lights are blaring and blinking and she fights to tune them out as well, her only focus on the six inches of space between the two coupling units.  Gritting her teeth, she grabs one of her specialized wrenches and latches it onto of the levers, pulling down as hard as she can in the hope that she can get the arm to unlock from the other side, knowing it’s her only chance to try and get the alignment right and save herself.  The lever barely moves and so she redoubles her efforts, her shoulders straining against the effort.  She can see the captain through the small window in the pod door and she sees him scramble to the other side of his console, the walls of the pod shuddering as he realizes what Brittany is trying to do and he steers his ship to trying and relieve some of the pressure on the broken docking arm.

The quick burst of static in her headset startles her and she realizes that Santana hacked into the computer system, overriding her muted communications system.  “Brittany, what the hell are you doing?  Get out of there!”

“I just need to unlock the lever and Captain Reynolds can reconnect, even with the damaged arm.  It’s our only chance to save the pod.  I can do this.”

“I don’t care!  Get out of there and let him undock and rip the pod to shreds for all I care.  You’re going to die if you don’t get out of there right now.”

Shaking her head, Brittany gets a better grip on the wrench and pulls harder, a new alarm joining the others as her oxygen tank lets her know that she’s dropped below fifteen percent.  Exhaling sharply, Brittany vents her frustration at her luck of having grabbed a helmet that wasn’t prepped with a full oxygen tank, using her anger at her oversight to inch the lever down a little further.  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.  Come on…COME ON!”

Her legs are shaking as she struggles to keep her feet in place, desperation forcing her breath to rush in and out faster and she knows that she’s using the last of her oxygen too quickly but she can feel the lever giving way which means the docking arm is almost loose.  She can hear other voices now in the background of the docking bay as Santana speaks to her again but they all fade away as Santana pleads with her again, the edges of Brittany’s vision starting to dim as her oxygen tank begins to inch towards empty.

“Brittany…please don’t do this.  You can’t do this.  Don’t leave me.  You can’t leave me, you hear me?  Goddammit, please.  Open the door and we can get you inside, okay?  Brittany, I can’t lose you so you just open the fucking door right now, okay?  Brittany?  Brittany!”

The sound of Santana’s voice brings tears to Brittany’s eyes and she wants to answer her but her oxygen tank just gave the final warning sound and with one last inhale, Brittany pulls with everything she has.  She feels the wrench give way in her hands as the lever clicks down, the arm unlocking and allowing the coupling of the pod and the ship to complete.  As the decompression protocol kicks in, the emergency seal filling in the space around the broken arm, gravity knocks Brittany onto her back.  Exhaling, Brittany manages to weakly raise her arm in a thumbs-up, the alarms suddenly stopping before everything goes black.

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The feel of something warm in her hand pulls Brittany from the dark, her eyelashes fluttering before squinting against the bright lights above her.  Turning her head slowly, Brittany realizes that she’s in the medical wing, the mask over her face pushing cool oxygen back into her lungs and she breathes in gratefully.  Glancing down, she sees that it is Santana’s hand that’s she’s holding, Santana’s head pillowed on her other arm as she sleeps against Brittany’s side.  Even with the comfortable chair under her, Brittany knows that Santana’s back is going to be unhappy from being in that position so she squeezes her hand, reaching up to pull the mask down as Santana jolts upright.

“Hi.”  Scowling at how weak and raspy her voice sounds, Brittany tries to speak again only to have Santana shaking her head, reaching up to gently replace Brittany’s oxygen mask.

“No, no.  Don’t take that off and don’t try to talk, Brittany.”

An alarm beeps above Brittany’s head alerting the medical staff that she’s awake and a few seconds later, a nurse steps into the room, smiling as she rests her hand on Brittany’s foot under the covers.  “Welcome back, Miss Pierce.  We’re very happy to see you still with us.  You gave that one right there quite a bit of a scare.  She hasn’t left your side since they brought you in yesterday.”

Blushing at the nurse’s statement, Santana tries to remove her hand from Brittany’s, glancing over quickly as Brittany tightens her fingers, keeping Santana’s hand there.  Ignoring the amused look on the nurse’s face, Santana sits up a little straighter and with all the dignity she can muster while holding hands with Brittany, Santana nods towards the open door of the room.  “Shouldn’t you go and get the doctor or something?”

With a shameless grin, the nurse pats Brittany’s foot one more time, her eyes twinkling as she looks between the two women.  “I’ll page Dr. Ripley now.  She’s going to be happy to see that you’re awake, Miss Pierce.  I’ll send word to Captain Reynolds as well.  When he hasn’t been regaling the nurses with your tale of heroism, he’s been bugging them for an update about your condition.  Now, you keep that mask on and just rest and Dr. Ripley will be with you shortly.”

Before Santana can glare at the nurse as she walks out, Brittany reaches up to remove her mask, drawing Santana’s attention back to her.  “Didn’t you just hear the nurse?  You shouldn’t take that off, Brittany.  You’re so stubborn.  Why are you so stubborn?”

Santana’s voice breaks on the last word and Brittany knows that she’s not just talking about removing her mask, her chest constricting at the look on Santana’s face.  Licking her lips, Brittany brings her other hand to Santana’s face, pulling her closer as she looks at her.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, Santana.”

Silently, Santana watches her, the depth of emotion in Brittany’s eyes finally pulling aside the barrier that Santana set up between them.  Echoing her words from the day before, Santana moves even closer, wrapping her free hand around Brittany’s wrist as she keeps Brittany’s hand on the side of her face.  “I can’t lose you.  I don’t know what I’d do without you, Brittany.”

Sitting up slightly, Brittany pulls Santana to her, her mouth gentle as she kisses Santana for the first time.  It’s not how she imagined her first kiss with Santana to be, with her lying on a hospital bed after almost dying, but it’s still more perfect than she could have hoped for as Santana returns her kiss.  It ends sooner than Brittany would have liked as Santana gently eases her back down to the bed, placing the mask back over Brittany’s face with a smile.  “You need to keep this on.”

The disappointing sound that Brittany makes has Santana’s smile growing, a dimple peeking out as she reaches up to brush some of Brittany’s hair back from her face.  “I know.  Believe me, I know.  But you need to get oxygen into your body so you’ll feel better.  Once the doctor says that you don’t need the mask any more, we can resume what you started.”

Laughing as Brittany wiggles her eyebrows, Santana indulges them both and leans up to place a kiss on Brittany’s cheek, her eyes and voice serious again as she looks into Brittany’s eyes.  “I’ve been so stupid all of these years.  Keeping you at arm’s-length for reasons that I don’t even understand anymore and for what?  Seeing you in that connector pod and thinking you were going to die without me ever telling you how I felt about you…I promised myself that if you made it, I wouldn’t waste any more time on stupid reasons.  And you’re here now, with me and alive and…I love you, Brittany.  I love you so much, my brave, incredible girl.”

Despite Santana’s warning, Brittany has to remove her mask, her heart beating wildly at Santana’s declaration.  Resting her hand against Santana’s cheek, Brittany’s soft voice is earnest as she looks at Santana, this moment healing her better than any medicine could.  “I love you too, Santana.  To the moon and back.”

Xx

The tow truck comes and hauls her car to one of the shops in town. You drive her there and wait for her. You can hear her yelling at the mechanic, you know she won’t get taken advantage of.

But you still wait.

She’s surprised to see you outside. She puts her phone back in her pocket and saunters over to your truck.

“Just have to be the better person, huh?”

Her voice is smug and teasing, but light. She seems relieved to see you.

“You know it.”

“Well, guess I got a chauffeur now. Can you take me to that Best Western we passed on the way into this podunk town?”

You feel your stomach warm.

“Sure. Hop in, little lady!”

She sends you a stern glare as she walks around the truck, “No.”

You smile.

Xx

You and Santana both get rooms. Your friends are already hours away and you still don’t want to leave her here.

Yeah, she’s an adult and she can take care of herself.

And yeah, it’s not like you’re friends or anything.

But… you like her.

And you’re a good person.

And… you’re selfish. You get to spend time with her. Maybe make her stop being so competitive around you.

Maybe you can at least be friends.

Xx

You’re still toweling your hair from the shower when there’s a knock on your door. You smile.

No one else knows you’re here.

You open it up and she’s there leaning against the door with a six pack of beer in her hands.

She smiles when you open the door wider and let her in.

Xx

You’re on the patio outside of your room. You’re near the pool, so it’s like you’re on the pool deck.

The beer helps.

She shares stories of her crazy adventures. The bad storms, the danger, the almosts.

She tells you why she started. How she got started chasing storms.

“I just had to. I had to get out of my small town. I had to get away from everything. I had to feel that adrenaline… that push.”

“Yeah. It’s…it’s not like anything else is it?”

“No. I don’t know if anything else will come close.” She looks at you. She looks at you with eyes that are dark, searching.

You feel it in your bones.

You clear your throat.

“I wanted to be a weather girl. Even went to school for it. But, my boyfriend at the time had the idea to chase that summer before senior year. And… I was hooked.”

Her eyes darken a little. Boyfriend. Why did you say boyfriend?

She swigs her beer. You change the topic to equipment.

Xx

The six pack is gone and you’re still out here talking.

You haven’t stopped talking.

The heat has died down and the sun has finally set, and you don’t want the spell that’s been cast over you to end.

“Santana?”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

She scoffs, “I don’t hate you.”

“Then why all the sass, the shit?”

“You’re the best there is, Britt. You’re always there. You’re always right there with me. And anytime I make a lead, gain on you, you’re there before I know it. And next time you’re twenty steps ahead of me. It’s frustrating.”

You laugh.

“Stop! It’s true. I want to be the best. Just me. But you’re always fucking there!” She smiles and looks at you. “You’re always there. You’re always in my mind. It’s like this never ending torture.”

“Oh, thinking about me is torture?”

“God yes!”

She laughs and your stomach buzzes.

It’s not the beer.

Her laugh is genuine and full. It’s like music.

She stops and looks at you. You can see her look at your lips. You can see her want to inch forward.

She hesitates.

You don’t.

You lean over and kiss her.

You feel electricity all over your body.

The same goosebumps you get when you see those dark clouds start forming, those same goosebumps prickle down your spine, your arms.

She hums and you get dizzy.

You deepen the kiss.

She lets you.

Xx

She lets you push her down on the bed.

She lets you take her top off. Her bra.

She lets you touch her everywhere.

She moans into your mouth.

She’s like fire.

She’s like a storm.

You want all of it. You want to chase it as far as you can. You don’t want to stop.

When she’s inside of you. When she’s everywhere all at once. It feels big.

The rush you get from her touch, from her kiss, it’s more than anything you’ve ever felt.

Xx

Her calm smile sends butterflies shooting everywhere.

“Britt?”

“Yeah?”

“That surpassed close.”

And you smile, and laugh, and kiss her.

Because it did. It definitely did.