She wanted to sit down to watch the people below her amble about, just as drunk as her but far more jovial than she felt she'd ever be again. But as intoxicated as she was, Santana doubted she'd fall forwards as she'd wish. She was far more likely to fall backwards and crack her skull on the concrete only two feet below the ledge she was sitting on instead of thirty stories below as she wished.
So instead she stood, just sober enough to stand still and watch those same people dissapear from view and new people walk below her. Some of them disappearing into the hotel she was standing on the roof on, lips locked together and moans escaping their throats. Or, so she assumed, she was too high above street level to hear. She stepped down from the edge to pour herself another glass of beer, setting her nose over the rim of the glass to smell the heavy grapefruit and pine scents it presented to it's drinkers.
She'd learned a long time ago not to be picky with her beer. She was a teenager after all, and most of the parties she'd needed to go to as a Cheerio had featured the worst kind of macro brews available. But she was about to jump off of the ledge in front of her and swallowing down what she equated to horse piss in her last night alive seemed like a disservice. So Stone's Double Bastard it was.
It was bitter as all hell, yes. And oh so aggressive with it's flavors, but she appreciated that about it. And Puck had been happy to supply her with two bomber bottles of it and a quarter of the best sativa in Manhattan. Or so he said. It was good though. Damn good, miles ahead of what she'd thought was fucking amazing back in Ohio.
So she was high and drunk, back to standing on the edge of a ledge of the hotel they were staying in in New York, watching the people, cabs, and regular cars (few and far between) on the street below. She already decided that she'd die tonight, and nothing and no one would stop that. There were plenty of reasons why, none that she wanted to burden herself thinking about. As she drank down the last of her beer she set set the glass on the edge and stood back up, breathing deep and closing her eyes. She wasn't quite ready yet but her impeccable balance would guarantee she'd stay standing where she was.
Though Santana had promised herself she wouldn't delve into the obvious train wreck of how the people she loved would react when they realized that she was dead, she was already thinking about it. Her mother was barely ever home. Always somewhere else. Seattle, Hong Kong, Dubai, St. Petersburg, Rio. It wasn't exactly that they didn't speak often. In fact her mother had made a promise that they'd talk every other day if not every day. No matter where she was they spoke to each other.
Santana's problem with this was that she hadn't been in her mother's physical presence since Christmas. And she needed that closeness to someone, her Mami especially. She couldn't help but wonder if she'd still be doing this tonight if her mother was there to wrap her arms around her and tell her that everything would be alright. That she'd make it so. She couldn't fix this though. She wasn't there to wrap her arms around her daughter and make her feel as protected as she ever had.
Now that she thought about it, Santana wondered if her Mami had managed to get a flight to New York. She'd asked her to try and make it to Nationals if she could. To see her perform as she hadn't in a long time. And then it was only Cheerios. But now it was music, which she loved more than she'd ever liked cheering. Climbing down off of the ledge, she pulled out her wallet from her jeans, pulling out one of the last four joints she had. She lit it and set it to her lips, inhaling once the excess paper had burned away.
It was slow burning and sticky so she'd rolled it hollow and that worked perfectly. It tasted like a mango peach smoothie, and god knew she was all about that, so Puck couldn't have picked a better strain for her under the circumstances. She still didn't know how the hell he'd managed to find someone to buy such good shit from in such a short time, but it didn't really matter. What did matter was finishing this joint and getting back up on her ledge and then falling off of it. She hoped there'd be no one beneath her. She didn't want to hurt or kill someone else while trying to kill herself.
Halfway done with the joint in her hand, Santana climbed back up, blowing rings inside of each other once she was steady. She kind of wished she had another beer. Not the same one though. It was a pretty serious palate wrecker, but maybe an imperial stout or something would be opposite enough to be tasted. She was thinking about that, and which she might like, when the door thirty or so feet behind her opened and someone stepped out. She didn't bother turning around or coming down from the ledge. She didn't give half a shit about some stranger seeing her up there.
"Santana!" She heard. In a voice she knew immediately. She scoffed. Of course. Of fucking course it had to be Rachel to find her before she could jump. It couldn't have been someone else? Anyone else? As much as she'd claimed to hate the tiny ball of loud mouthness and enthusiasm, she loved her just as much as she loved everyone else in that club she'd spent so long calling stupid.
She wasn't sure what kind of impact seeing this would have on Berry and her future in the city. She didn't want to ruin anything for her, or fuck her head up or whatever.
"Please come down from there, Santana! You appear intoxicated and you might fall."
"That's the point, Tiny." The look on Rachel's face went from afraid to terrified in exactly one second and Santana knew she got the idea.
"No! Please...come down. We...we can talk about music and I'll even smoke one of those horrible things in your hand with you despite the effect it'll have on my lungs for tomorrow if you just come down and talk with me." Santana couldn't help but laugh. Rachel smoking a joint? She'd have paid to see that a month ago. Maybe she'd pay a little bit of time to see it now.
"Fine. But when they're gone, so am I. Deal?" Santana asked, stepping down from the ledge and tossing what was left of her last joint to the side. The little brunette in front of her nodded tightly, her fists held tightly at her sides.
"Deal, Santana. Now you'll have to...have to show me how to light them. I've never done anything like this. And I doubt it'll do the wonderful things to my voice it does to yours." Rachel said, walking closer towards Santana as the Latina pulled one of her three leftover joints from her pocket and stuck one between her lips before flicking her light on and running it over the paper just to make sure it was dry. When she was satisfied she lit the end, inhaling shortly to make sure the cherry was hot and even before she put the lighter away, taking a deep breath in and pushing out smoke when she exhaled.
"Pretty simple, Berry. Put it to your lips, inhale the smoke, exhale. You're gonna cough but that's fine. Don't go to crazy, alright? I've got water and shit so even if you do you'll be fine." She inhaled twice more before handing the joint to Rachel who took it gingerly between her thumb and index finger and put it to her lips and drew in for a few seconds before she blew out smoke, coughing, but not harshly, before she passed it back to Santana who was laughing.
"Pretty good for your first toke, Berry. I could teach you...or I mean I guess Puck could teach you some cool tricks if you ever decide you want to do it again." Santana said, once again inhaling the sweet, tangy smoke a few times, french inhaling and blowing rings and such just to have fun.
"I'll have you know I have no intention of ever doing this again, Santana. Especially not since you seem set on killing yourself tonight. If anything it'll be something special between you and I. If I can't change your mind that is." Santana shrugged, watching as Rachel tried to blow rings and failed. She let the other girl finish off the joint, pulling the next one from her wallet.
"You can't. And I don't want to talk about why. I'd think it was pretty fucking obvious, Rachel. Can we not talk about it at all? I'm actually finding it pretty cool to chill with you, but I'm going to die tonight and there's nothing you can do to stop me or talk me out of it. Here, light it, you saw me do it before, I know you're a quick learner." Rachel looked dejected but still just as determined and Santana rolled her eyes, taking the joint that was down to the crutch from Berry and tossing it away before slipping the unlit one between her lips. She watched as Rachel replicated her lighting technique exactly, impressed.
"Well, if you'd reconsider, Santana, we could 'chill' together all the time." Santana's brow furrowed above her dark eyes and she bit into her lip. She knew what the other brunette was suggesting, but didn't exactly believe it. As much as she'd made it known that she hated Rachel, (which she didn't) Berry had made it known that she didn't appreciate her humor or her admittedly often lazy, uninterested presence around her.
"You're saying you want to be friends. With me. I'm thinking you're trying to bullshit the bullshitter Berry. For example, just guessing here. You say we're friends, I need one and you know that. So I don't jump off of this ledge here and think I'm going to have someone I can depend on, and have someone that can depend on me, only for you to tell me that you only said it so I wouldn't kill myself? Is that about right?" Santana said, pulling out her last joint and sticking it between her lips. She was high as fucking hell, certainly, but she wanted this to be over with for fucks sake. Besides, Rachel looked angry and she hadn't even passed yet.
"How does that make any sense Santana? You'd only find yourself back up on this roof or some other tomorrow night. No, I'm sincere in my offer. I want to be your friend, and I don't want you to die. So please, don't." Rachel said, appearing sincere, her eyes large and pleading as she exhaled. Santana could admit there was something sexy about Berry smoking. And only with her, which was even better.
"I need to. You don't understand. I'm alone, and as much as you think you and everyone else hates me I hate myself more. I just need to be done, and I'm so fucking tired. I just want some god damned rest and I'll never get it." Rachel tossed out her joint and Santana took the last few draws of her before she tossed hers too, moving to climb back on top of her ledge.
"I don't hate you, Santana. Have I ever said that? Please come down. Talk to me."
"I did talk to you. Deal was when the joints were gone then I would be too." She said, turning to face Rachel, unafraid of the possibility of her falling backwards off of the building.
"Well...maybe...maybe if you're going to jump then I will too!" Rachel declared, walking closer but being cognizant enough to not touch Santana. The laugh that fell from full lips had her stomping her right foot, which was freaking adorable.
"Berry you'd never do that. You love yourself in all the right ways and you're destined for more than anyone else I've ever known. You deserve to see your dreams come true. Look where we are! This is your city. Your home. You can't die now. There are a million little girl's who will need to hear your voice and your story so they can believe in themselves just like you needed Barbra. You know that. So just...just let me go. Please, Rachel." Santana turned back to look at the street below again.
"I can't, Santana." The Latina shrugged.
"Then I'm sorry, Rachel. Goodbye." By the time she'd finished speaking the tiny brunette was standing at her ledge reaching out to pull her in, but Santana was already falling, waving her hand up at Rachel as time seemed to speed back up. She closed her eyes, wondering if the impact would hurt or whether it would just kill her instantly. Suddenly, however, she made impact with something soft but firm, and she was no long falling. She felt like she was floating, but the wind was whipping through her hair. She didn't dare open her eyes, and seconds later she was standing on solid ground again. There were soft, small, hands on her face, thumbs caressing her cheeks and then those hands were behind her pulling her into a hug.
"You're okay. I got to you, thank god." She heard, the voice forcing her to open her eyes. She was confused as fuck and her brain leapt to ridiculous conclusions as she looked at Rachel in front of her, usually tidy mahogany hair wild and wind swept. She opened her mouth to speak, to demand answers, but it just hung open, so she closed it and tried again.
"I know this is...confusing and probably frightening, but I couldn't let you die, Santana, no matter the risks.
"Rachel!" both girls heard, turning towards the door that led down the stairs, Santana's eye's widening as her mother walked through it.
"Maribel...look, I know I'm not supposed to fly in public but she tried to jump, I had to save her!" Rachel said, moving from in front of Santana so her mother could see her.
"Mija? You tried to commit suicide?" She walked closer, taking her daughter's face in her hands.
"Yes."
"Why, baby? I don't understand why you'd want to do that." Maribel asked, shooting a look at Rachel that Santana didn't understand.
"A million reasons. I'm pretty sure you know all of them, Mami. It's simple."
"We'll talk about this in a few minutes, Mija. We have to go right now so I can make sure no one saw that." Santana watched Rachel pull what looked almost like a phone or tablet but seemed to just be a piece of glass, tapping at it's screen for a second before putting it away.
"Ten seconds, Maribel." The older woman nodded, pulling the two girls back over towards to the ledge for a reason Santana wasn't sure of. When her mother looked down at the mess Santana had left she raised her right brow, frowning.
"Really, Mija?" Santana shrugged, turning her head away.
"We'll talk about that later. Follow me." Santana nodded, and watched as the dust on the ground seemed to be pushed out of place as if a helicopter was landing on the roof. Suddenly out of nowhere, a door irised open where previously there had been air and Rachel walked forward, dissapearing inside. Maribel tugged her daughter behind her until they were inside what did appear to be a military helicopter or something, just invisible to the outside.
"Okay, what the fuck? What is this thing?"
"It's a next generation Osprey prototype. My father designed them. Take a seat and strap in. The ride is no where near as rough as a traditional helicopter but it's not exactly comfortable on your first ride." Santana obeyed, taking a seat along the far wall and strapping in to the five point harness.
"Are either of you going to tell me what's up with all this spy bullshit?" Santana asked, her mother motioning her head to Rachel while she walked away up into what had to be the cockpit.
"Not a spy. An agent."
"Of what? And don't bullshit me with some letter agency garbage. They don't have cloak tech. Or so says Britt. Last time I actually sat down and talked to her at least. That was months ago..." Rachel frowned, laying a soft hand on the Latina's knee from the seat next to her as the craft lifted off silently.
"No, they don't. And that's not what this is."
"Uh huh. So what it is then?"
"Shield."