Pezberry Week – Time Travel: I had an idea of what I wanted to happen, and it makes sense in my head, but it might not play out that way for anyone else. So I'm not sure this worked out, your thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Too confusing? Didn't make sense? Whatever, I'm happy to hear it.
*0*0*
This Time Around
*0*0*
There was something lovely about being the child the family doted on, Rachel thought. Being the apple of their eye, the one that was destined for so much but if she failed she was still a huge success. It meant constant love and support, adoration and being the talk of the family.
However, that child was not Rachel. No, her cousin, Patricia, she was the child the family loved. Rachel, she was the one they tolerated, with their fake smiles of interest and their condescending pats on the shoulder when she spoke of her dreams of making it big on Broadway. It always left a bitter taste in her mouth afterwards, and gradually her relationship with them sizzled out. But, she at least had one family member, aside from her fathers, who adored her, supported her, and believed that she could make it if she tried.
Her great aunt Aggie, a true psychic and the one Rachel was convinced she had inherited her gift from, loved Rachel with every ounce of her being. She saw the potential in her, she saw through Patricia's fake smiles and venomous compliments, and that made Rachel a happy camper. She would do anything for the older woman, and that's exactly why she found herself covered in dust and sweeping back her hair from her face as she climbed up into her great aunt's attic.
"Do be careful up there, Rachel! I've got a lot of precious things. Try not to touch too much. I don't want anyone getting hurt," Aggie called up from the bottom of the step-ladder, making sure she had gotten up safely.
Rachel frowned but decided it best to not comment on what she'd said, and instead gave a quick survey of the room before replying.
"I will, don't you worry! Nothing will get broken," she had called back down, wondering if Aggie's hearing aid was still working properly. She'd need to get her fathers to check that out before they left. Maybe they needed to check her medication, too.
Seconds later, the head of her father popped up into the roof space. He looked round at what they were faced with and figured it was enough for Rachel to handle herself. He could be used elsewhere in the house.
"I'm going to talk her into having a yard sale sometime soon. There's no way she'll need all that stuff," he commented, shaking his head. Rachel agreed, knowing Aggie did not need all this as her father disappeared again.
The attic was dusty, but not creepy like so many attics were. It really was just a room tucked under the rafters, and her great uncle had tried to make the place into space for him to practice his putting swing for his golf game, although that had failed miserably. So it had plenty of light, proper wooden flooring, and the walls had actually been papered a nice blue colour, lightening the place up more.
Around the room, there were boxes and piles of belongings, a treasure trove of items to be explored. Yes, it was all neatly stacked against the walls, leaving the 'putting green' clear in the middle of the floor, but it still looked like a goldmine. Who knew what Rachel was going to find.
Surveying the room with a quick glance, she noted old costumes and clothes hanging over a couch that was buried under a mountain of boxes and bags; a magical looking dolls house, fully restored and furnished by the looks of it; and a jewellery box lying out on a newspaper covered desk.
Cut-outs and clippings drew her eyes in, and she read headlines of home invasions, increase in robberies, murder during a home invasion, and arson attacks; something most peculiar for her aunt Aggie to keep, especially since none of these articles took place in Lima. Then again, with her aunt's psychic gift, and many others Rachel didn't know much about, maybe she was trying to contact the dead person involved to help them. That would not surprise her one bit.
Advancing closer, Rachel couldn't help herself from inspecting things further, but of course, as soon as she was at the desk, her eyes abandoned the clippings and honed in on the jewellery box. She really should have been sorting through the things into bags and boxes, and taking them downstairs, but having a look around wasn't going to hurt anyone.
Lifting the lid of the jewellery box, she noted eight rings, each immaculate and shining bright back up at her. She never knew her Aunt liked the more fanciful types of jewellery. Normally the woman just wore a gold band, her wedding ring, no diamonds, no gems of any type. So this was a special treat.
They varied in colour and size, amber and gold, sapphire and silver, ruby and rose gold, all pulling her in. She needed to try them on, it was a must. Pursing her lips, she realised she couldn't decide so shut her eyes and waved her finger over the box.
Other hand crinkling against the news clippings on the desk, holding her steady as she swirled her finger in the air, Rachel pressed her finger forward and jabbed at one of the rings. The most simple of rings in the set was under her point, a nicely cut diamond in a platinum set and ring, unobtrusive and although not understated, still classy.
Picking the ring up, Rachel didn't think twice before slipping it onto her wedding finger, and admiring the sight. It actually fit her surprisingly well, which she hadn't been expecting, and it went rather nicely with her skin tone. She was definitely going to ask her aunt about these rings later.
It was as this point, Rachel felt like the air had been sucked out of her lungs, and she gasped for breath, falling to her knees. Her eyes clenched shut in gut reaction, and she gripped at the floor, grasping for the purchase, but couldn't find any.
There was an overwhelming sensation of falling and then a thump as she landed on the ground. Rachel gasped for breath and tried once more to find purchase beneath her. She felt grass, damp grass, and her eyes flew open.
She was no longer in her aunt Aggie's attic, but lying flat on her back, staring up at the stars, who even knows where. Bounding up off the ground, Rachel looked around frantically. She was in someone's yard, someone's gated yard. How the hell did she get there? And she was wearing different clothes, why was she wearing different clothes?
The skirt she had elected for that day, along with her unicorn sweater was gone, and now she was wearing sleek black pants, heels, a burgundy shirt, and a black jacket over the top. This was not her normal Rachel Berry attire, and she looked down at herself in shock.
Spinning around again to get a better look of where she was, Rachel looked up at the giant house she was standing in front of. The lights were on, and the sight was rather intimidating. Whoever's house she was standing in front of was wealthy, exceedingly wealthy, and by the gates and high walls, they liked their privacy.
She needed to get out of there. She needed to leave, immediately. None of this made sense, but she was sure whoever lived there wasn't going to be happy to find some strange girl standing in their yard, having someone made it past their security system.
Looking at the fence for some kind of gate out, Rachel froze when the door of the house behind her started opening. The sound of the door opening and then the light being casted out onto the lawn had her caught in plain sight, and she clenched her eyes shut for whatever was about to happen.
"About time you showed up, Berry. You were meant to be here half an hour ago, what did you do, walk?" a familiar voice barked, and Rachel spun around in shock, seeing a much more mature looking Santana standing in the doorway.
She was older, stunning, but older than the seventeen year old Rachel had only seen yesterday. This was…was this her house? Looking at the imposing building once more, she gripped at her chest for air and shook her head. Had she concussed herself when she fell in the attic? Was this a dream?
"Berry, for fucks sake, get in here before you freeze my house," Santana yelled, finally pulling Rachel's attention back to her.
Not wanting to piss Santana off before she knew what was going on, and not wanting Santana to manhandle her inside, Rachel walked across the yard and into Santana's house. The entry way was vast and sparsely furnished, a staircase leading upstairs on her right, and from where she stood she could see further into the house, at the immaculate looking living room.
The whole place screamed opulence and wealth, and Rachel needed to blink twice to come to terms with what she was seeing. Her aunt Aggie always told her that if anything strange happened, she needed to suss out the lay of the land, just in case, and form a plan before taking action.
Before Rachel had time to say anything or comment, a large and clumsy looking dog came barrelling from the living room and pounced onto her, wagging its tail excitedly, with his paws clicking against the wooden floor. She squealed in surprise, not used to animals actually approaching her. Her aunt said they could sense she had powers and kept their difference, so this was most unusual.
But then again, what wasn't unusual about this? Five minutes ago, she was standing in her Aunt's attic trying on rings and now she was apparently in Santana's house, god only knows when, and with a dog trying to put his paws on her shoulders.
"Bruiser, down boy," Santana called, her tone strong but not fierce. She nodded for Rachel to follow her, and began heading through the house, her bare feet padding on the floor as she walked.
The dog, Bruiser apparently, dropped back onto all fours and did as he was told, which had Rachel raising her eyebrows in surprise. Though, really, of all the things she's going to be surprised about it's the fact Santana had her dog trained impeccably. Really, Rachel?
"You named your dog Bruiser?" she asked after a second, finally following Santana into the living room. The other girl motioned for her to take off her coat, which she did, and then took it from her hands, putting it away in one of the rooms leading off the living room.
"Huh? It's still Bruce. Bruiser for short. What of it?" Santana narrowed her eyes, looking confused and a little pissed off. Nicely done, Rachel.
"Nothing…just…sounds intimidating." He looked intimidating, too, sitting proudly on the floor at the end of the couch. He was just one big clump muscle, his ears relaxed, his eyes soft, but he was still huge and he was watching her like a hawk.
"It needs to be," Santana answered, nipping into the kitchen behind them, coming back with a bottle of wine.
That had Rachel frowning, but she guess she understood. In a house like this, Rachel would want additional security, too. Though, what Santana was apparently locking out on the other sides of those gates, she didn't know.
Santana wandered back with two glasses of wine and handed one to Rachel. She accepted because she didn't know what else to do. This was so surreal. All her aunt's life lessons were flying round her head, and she was trying to sort out some kind of plan.
Scanning the room quickly, she spotted a newspaper and her eyes bugged with excitement. Sitting forward on the couch, she spied the date and just about fell off the side of the couch, her wine sloshing in her glass.
"You already drunk?" Santana remarked, taking a generous sip and eyeing her up carefully.
"Oh, no. No, not at all," she said quickly.
Eleven years. It had been eleven years. Holy crap, eleven years! She was sitting in Santana's living room eleven years on, and goodness, Santana had done well for herself. If she'd done so well, had Rachel done well, too? Were they friends? How were they friends?
Only yesterday, Santana had barked an insult her way in the hall and shot her a filthy glare just for breathing. They weren't friends, they weren't even close. So why was she now sitting in Santana's living room eleven years on like this was normal for them?
There was so many questions, so many things she wanted to know, but she was there for a reason, and she needed to work out what. There was no way she had been sent there by luck. This was on purpose, it had to be, because Santana had been expecting her. One minute she was in the attic trying on rings, and the next she was lying on Santana's front lawn being yelled at to come inside. How had that worked?
Rings…trying on rings.
Looking down at her hand, she expected to see the ring from before, but it was gone. Her aunt's words of warning made so much more sense, now. She told her not to touch things, and of course, Rachel hadn't listened because she didn't see the harm in it, and now there she was, sipping wine with Santana Lopez eleven years in the future.
"So how do you want to do this?" Santana asked, pulling Rachel back from her thoughts, and she looked at the other woman like a deer in headlights.
"Do this?"
"Yeah. Do you want me to speak first, or are you going to?" Speak first, about what? What the hell was Santana talking about?
Rachel's facial expression must have been giving her emotions away, because Santana's eyes narrowed and she gave her a calculated look. Doing anything to push the focus from her, Rachel quickly answered.
"Why don't you go first, and just start from the beginning," she said, thinking that was vague enough to sound smart.
"No," Santana replied, shaking her head before cocking it to one side. "I don't think I will. I think you need to start talking, start explaining, and deal with whatever this is." She would, Rachel would if she only knew what she was meant to be dealing with.
Flicking her gaze around the room, Rachel watched as Bruiser moseyed off out of the living room, and swallowed nervously as the heat from Santana's gaze increased. She wasn't going to let up, and she fully expected Rachel to start talking. How the hell was she meant to do that?
A sudden knocking at the front door saved her, and Rachel relaxed in relief, watching as Santana sighed, her frown remaining in place as she got up. Rachel watched curiously as she headed for the door, wondering if someone else had found themselves thrust forward eleven years into this mess.
"Oh," she squeaked abruptly, reaching out, feeling an overwhelming sense of dizziness. The room was spinning and she was seeing snapshots of paper clippings, the paper clippings on her aunt Aggie's desk, news reports, shots of people mourning, an outcry of sadness and anger, and then she slipped from the couch and hit the floor.
The body of renowned singer, Santana Lopez, was found this morning in her home. Police are saying her murder is linked to the spate of home invasions currently occurring in the surrounding neighbourhoods, and have refused to add whether or not they have any leads. Santana's fans have taken to voicing their shock of her death and paying their respects by-
And then the voice in her head stopped, the loop was cut, and Rachel found herself on the floor in Santana's living room, watching her move closer and closer to the door.
"No, wait!" she shouted, but Santana had already opened the door, and it was shoved roughly into her, knocking her back to the ground.
A scream followed, and Rachel watched in horror as three masked figures charged inside, all bearing arms, coming towards her, holding Santana down, the barking of Bruiser, the growling and then a yelp and everything went black.
*0*0*
Feeling a thump, the damp grass beneath her fingertips, Rachel began gasping for breath and searching the area frantically. She was back outside the house, back on the lawn, back to where she started.
"Berry, what the fuck are you doing on my lawn? Did you trip or something? Get in here," Santana barked, starling her. She hadn't seen the door opening, nor had she heard it, and seeing Santana in one piece, no blood on her brow, had her stumbling over herself to get to her.
Santana walked inside before Rachel could reach her, and shutting the door behind her, Rachel only had a second before Bruiser was back, charging excitedly towards her and trying to welcome her in.
"Bruiser, down boy," Santana said, pulling on his collar to bring him backwards, getting him to sit. He was wagging his tail, staring directly at Rachel, and she gave him a nervous smile. Looking round, back outside, she saw nothing out the ordinary in Santana's front garden, and through the gates, she could see the street, also perfectly calm.
Everything felt off, however, and she couldn't get the images and words out of her brain. She needed to stop this. She needed to fix this. Santana couldn't die. She couldn't let her die. Rachel wasn't going to allow that to happen. No way. It had been horrific witnessing the first few seconds of the attack, and she dreaded to think what the rest of it was like. Santana couldn't go out like that, Rachel needed to change it.
"Santana, we need to leave," she said quickly, following the woman into the living room, dropping all pretences of idle chatter.
"What?" Her words had Santana frowning as she opened a bottle of wine and brought the two glasses over to the coffee table.
"We need to get out of here," Rachel repeated, still standing with her coat on, and glancing back to the door every so often. Bruiser had followed them, and was sitting at Santana's feet, not bothered in the least by her frantic nature.
"I'm not going anywhere, Berry. You set this whole thing up, the least you could do was appreciate my condition of a home-turf setting," Santana replied, rolling her eyes before having a hefty drink. That was the last thing she needed.
"What? What are you- Never mind, we should go get drinks or something instead." Whatever pretences Santana was under about Rachel's visit there that night had to be pushed to the side. There were more pressing issues at hand, like her personal safety and life.
"Drinks? I have bar in the next room, a bar I've already paid for. Why would I want to go out and fork out money for booze I already have sitting here? And we can't talk in a bar, unless this is your way of telling me everything you said was a lie." Santana held up her wine glass and waved it at her as proof.
"Santana, I have no idea what you're talking about, but right now, I need you to listen to me. We need to go."
"Of course you don't, you never fucking listen. Nothing's changed, and I shouldn't even be surprised. You're incapable of change." Her words were angry, and there was a dark mask falling over her features, making Rachel frown. She was bitter and resentful about something Rachel had done, which made no sense because they weren't even friends in her time!
"Santana, please," she begged, needing her to listen, just for once. If they were friends at this point in time, why wasn't Santana listening to her?
Moving closer, Rachel sat on the couch next to her and reached out for her hand. "We need to get out of here," she pleaded, but Santana's lip curled up, and she shot off the couch.
"Don't touch me," she growled, striding across the room, making Rachel's chest ache.
"I'm sorry, I just, I think we should get out. Maybe take Bruiser for a walk or something." That sounded like a great idea, a superb idea.
"No. Alright, just no," Santana replied, shaking her head. "You came here to talk, and that's what we're going to do. You need to come clean and say whatever it is you were so desperate to say because I can't keep doing this. I won't do it again."
"Santana," Rachel whined, clenching her fists in desperation.
She needed her to listen. She needed her to get out of there. Why, why, why was Santana being so stubborn? Didn't she understand that his was important? Didn't she get that this was vital?
"Santana, it's not safe, okay? People are coming, and they're going to hurt you-"
"The only one hurting me right now is you. But, I should be used to that by now, don't you think?" There was so much venom, so much anger behind her words, Rachel almost crumbled on the spot. What had she done? What had she done to hurt her so bad that every word out of her mouth was ignored?
"Look, I get you want to yell at me, but please can you do it while we go for a drive or something?" Any attempt, any excuse, was being used, because time was running out and Rachel was growing desperate.
"No, I'm not going out. I'm not pandering to your every whim. I did it for years, no more."
"Santana, I don't-"
The abrupt knocking on the front door had Rachel in hysterics. Santana frowned at her and shook her head, advancing for it, but Rachel wasn't having any of it. She threw herself in front of Santana, gripping her body to stop her moving.
"What the fuck are you doing? Get off me, Rachel, right now before-!" Santana screeched, angrily trying to get the woman off her. Her nails scratched Rachel's arms, her grip would have bruised her skin, but she would not relent.
It didn't matter, though, because with a solid bang, the front door burst in, and it was happening all over again. This time Rachel blacked out before the violence started.
*0*0*
When she landed again, she was expecting the dampness, anticipating it, and she wasn't let down. Whatever was happening to her, she was stuck until she sorted it out. All she could rationalise was that she was here to change the future, and she would keep getting sent back until she succeeded.
Somehow, and Rachel was going to demand answers from her aunt when she got back, she was stuck in a time loop, with one aim only: stop Santana's death.
Getting up off the ground, Rachel heard the door open and watched Santana stick her head out. She rolled her eyes upon seeing her, and Rachel began to head over.
"There you are, Berry. Get in here already. It's bitter out," Santana said, opening the door wider for Rachel to come inside. Shutting the door behind them, Santana took Rachel's coat without a second thought, and hung it up, leaving her standing there, her thoughts frantic as she tried to suss this situation out.
The familiar sounds of Bruiser's paws on the floor gave Rachel enough time to see the dog barrelling at her. She knew it was coming, so raised her hands to pat his fur when he was close, but Santana wasn't pleased with his greeting.
"Bruiser, down boy," she said firmly, pointing him away.
Like before, he did as he was told, trotting back into the living room, hitting the side table on his way. The lamp shook with the force, and Santana cursed him for being so clumsy, but Rachel's eyes had focused on something else.
A phone.
Of course!
Why hadn't she thought of this before? Was she stupid? She could call for help!
Santana continued yammering on about something, Rachel wasn't listening, while she fetched the wine. With her at least out the room, not being directly in the way, Rachel charged over and grabbed the phone frantically.
Dialling the emergency number, she waited to be put through, desperate to hear someone's voice on the end.
"Who are you calling?" Santana asked, coming back into the room.
"The police."
"What the fuck for?!" Santana shouted, coming over, sloshing wine on the carpet, looking enraged.
"We need them," she answered simply, and then was put through. Santana was looking at her like she was crazy, but she wasn't, she was sane, completely sane.
The operator was quick to clarify all the information she had spewed at her, even with Santana yelling at her in the background, and then informed her that help would be on its way and arrive within ten minutes.
Ten minutes. That was quite a long time. That might not be good enough.
Just as she was going to tell the operator that, all hell broke loose.
There was no knocking, no warning, but the door being busted open, and in they charged. Calling the police hadn't worked, and if anything, it actually sped things up. It was a no go. She needed to do this another way.
That was the thought she held onto when Santana was shoved to the floor, and her scream reverted round the room.
*0*0*
"Berry, you're thirty minutes late. Almost thought you weren't coming," Santana called out, finding Rachel sitting up on her lawn. "What are you doing down there? Get inside."
She was numb. Santana was back, standing in front of her, unharmed, unhurt, and yelling at her like always. Seconds ago she'd been on the ground, bleeding, but now she was there, in one piece, and demanding Rachel get her ass inside.
This was twisted. This was crazy. This was terrifying. Rachel had never felt so helpless in her life. What was she meant to do?
Finding herself inside, having been pulled in by Santana who was ranting at her in Spanish for making her go outside without shoes on, Rachel let her pull her coat off and hang it up without protest. Even when Bruiser came barrelling at her once more, she accepted his paws stomping on her toes in excitement, and she heard the words before they even came out of Santana's mouth.
"Bruiser, down boy."
Was this how it was always going to be? Was she always going to be repeating this same moment, right up until they smashed down that door again? Was she forever going to be stuck like this?
"You alright? You don't look good," Santana asked, and Rachel saw the worry in her eyes. Her statement didn't even sound like an insult, so she must have looked horrible. But who wouldn't?
"Just…just not feeling well," she confessed, shrugging her shoulders. It wasn't like she could come out with the truth. She'd seen how well that had worked.
Surveying the room, while Santana grabbed her a glass of water, Rachel took note of the pictures around the place. There were a lot of photographs, but none personal, all some artist's shots of a building or a landscape. Black and white, harsh against the walls, very Santana, she mused. Eventually seeing the stack of personal photos lining the bookshelves on one side of the room, she went over to look.
Surprisingly, she saw herself smiling back at her, arms wrapped round Santana's body in some way or the other, and even a few with her kissing Santana, either on her lips or her cheek. They were intimate, they were personal photos one would take with their partner, and there she was, lining the walls of Santana's home, eleven years on.
What crazy ass future had she fallen into?
"You were wrecked that night," Santana said, chuckling bemusedly, as she handed Rachel her water and nodded to one of the photos on the shelf. "Do you even remember it?"
In this one, Rachel was sitting on Santana's lap, arms wrapped around her neck, whilst also holding a glass. Santana's hands were round her waist, lying low on her back, probably preventing her from falling off, and she had a grin on her lips with half of her mouth covered by Rachel's. They actually looked really happy.
"No, refresh my memory," she said, turning to look at the woman in a whole new way.
"It was Quinn's surprise party for us. We had dinner that night, in that little restaurant you loved, before it moved, and we were planning on heading home to have sex, great sex," Santana replied, nodding with a dazed look over her face. "But, when we got back to the apartment, Quinn had all our friends there to congratulate us on making it another year, another year when they all thought we'd never make it." Her expression grew sombre, and Rachel frowned, wondering what she had just thought about.
"Anyway- I can't believe you don't remember this – but we came home, pretty sure my hand was up your dress, your mouth was on my chest, and we fell into the living room, completely prepared to have sex on the coffee table. Only the lights came on around us with them all cheering. Well, cheering turned to screaming, and to hide your mortification, you hijacked the vodka shots from Puck and downed about eight of them in the bathroom before joining the party."
Who was that girl? That didn't sound like Rachel at all. But then again, she wasn't exactly jumping into Santana's bed back in her seventeen year old self, so clearly some changes had happened over the years.
"Were we happy?" she asked, sensing that they weren't happy now. All that Santana had said earlier hinted at it. The girls smiling and kissing in these pictures were long gone, and in their place lay hearts filled with venom and sadness.
"Yeah, we were," Santana answered simply, turning away from the memories decorating her living room.
To Rachel, they clearly still meant something for Santana, otherwise she wouldn't have kept them. There had to be more to it than that. Rachel was there, talking to a woman who she apparently dated for who knows how long, a woman who didn't seem over her, who seemed to be hurt and furious with her depending on what she said, so why?
Was she meant to unravel that mess? Was she meant to find out what when wrong and fix it?
That seemed like the only reasonable explanation she had, and spinning to ask Santana another question, Rachel was cut off by the sound of knocking at the door.
"Ugh, who's that at this time?" Santana groaned, moving to answer it. Rachel didn't get a chance to call out. And shutting her eyes, she listened to the ruckus that followed.
*0*0*
"I wasn't finished!" Rachel yelled, landing on the damp grass again, flinging herself onto her feet, clenching her fists and stomping her foot as she raved. "I need more time!" she continued to shout at the sky.
How was she meant to do this? How was this even possible with so little time?!
"Berry! What the fuck do you think you're doing? Get in here," Santana barked, leaving her door ajar for Rachel to follow. She growled under her breath at the injustice of the whole situation before doing just that and heading in.
"Some things don't change," she muttered, shutting the door behind her.
"Huh?" Santana was standing there, waiting on her coat, and had heard her. Not seeing the harm in explaining, Rachel decided to expand on what she'd said, a side of resignation slipping out of her.
"You always call me Berry. You open your door and yell Berry, not Rachel, but Berry. Bruiser always moves to greet me, he knows me, and in about twenty minutes tops, someone is banging on that door-"
"The door? No one's going to knock on the door tonight." Santana brushed her off and led them into the living room.
Bruiser had come to meet her, but Santana deflected his greeting by reaching down and pushing him the other way, sending him to his bed. He did as he was told, and Rachel situated herself on the couch while Santana fetched the wine. It was all so predictable; so predictably horrible.
"Santana, what am I doing here?" Rachel asked, deciding to pick up where they left off and work out what was going on. For that to happen she needed to understand everything. She had twenty minutes, twenty minutes to learn as much as she could and formulate a plan.
"What?"
"Why am I here tonight?" She knew she was there to talk, but what about, she had no clue. Santana hadn't been clear on those details in all her ranting.
"Is this a fucking joke?" Okay, wrong move, Santana looked pissed.
"Santana, please, I need you to tell me what I'm doing here tonight."
"Are you seriously telling me you don't know?"
"Please, Santana, I need you to say it."
"You came to…we were talking about getting back together, but you didn't want to do it over the phone, and I didn't want to go to New York on what might be one of your freaking whims," she sneered, looking royally put out at having to explain.
"Getting back together?" So they were apart, they had separated.
"Rachel, if you came all this way just to tell me it was over, you should have saved yourself the fucking money."
"Santana, let's just say for argument's sake, I can't remember the last six months of my life, can you fill me in? Cliff notes version,"
"Cliff notes version- oh I ought to kick your fucking ass," Santana growled. "Is this a sick joke? Are you getting off on this? Feel better about yourself for making me feel like shit again? Or did you just come down here so you could laugh about me when you went back to those socialite bitches you call friends?"
"What did I do to you to make you hate me so much?" Rachel asked abruptly, halting Santana's rant. It took her momentarily by surprise, and she frowned, confusion clouding her gaze, before opening her mouth to reply.
"You…you…you shut me out." It was such a simple sentence, but the ramifications of those actions had Santana looking broken and haggard as she said them. "I had given you everything, all of me, and it wasn't enough for you, so you shut me out and made it so I had to walk away to end a relationship only you wanted out of; and I'll never forgive you for doing that to me."
It was like a punch to the gut, backed up by familiar knocking on the door. Santana paused, as if unsure whether she should get it, her eyes looking intently at Rachel's. Before either of them could look away, the door burst open, and the recurring nightmare Rachel was in began.
*0*0*
When she arrived back the next time, Rachel crawled up off the damp grass, wiping her hands on her coat, and moved towards the front door, pre-empting Santana opening it. Right enough, a split second later, the woman herself appeared.
"Berry, come on in." Santana gave her a causal nod, and Rachel smiled back tiredly in return. She knew Santana couldn't remember each time before, but Rachel certainly could and her head was still reeling from it.
Eleven years hadn't apparently done anything for Rachel's character, and she was ashamed to hear that she would hurt someone who loved her so, who she claimed to love back.
The thumping of paws, the clicking of nails on the floor, and Bruiser appeared, getting ready to greet her like he always did.
"Bruiser, down boy," Rachel said, waving him away as she shrugged out her coat.
She hadn't actually expected him to listen, but he did. He stopped where he was and planted himself on his ass, looking at her as if she was to give him more instructions. Rachel's mouth opened in confusion, and Santana wasn't far behind in her surprise.
"That's weird. He listened to you. He never listens to anyone but me," she mused, shooting her unruly dog a bewildered look.
"That is weird," Rachel repeated, looking at Bruiser closely. "Do you remember me?" she asked, wondering if the same thing, this time loop, was happening to him, too.
"Pft, don't be ridiculous, Berry," Santana scoffed, shaking her head.
However, Bruiser sprung to life at this point, trotting across the floor, tail wagging wildly, tongue wagging in an almost friendly manner, and then planting himself at Rachel's feet. Santana stopped laughing to look at her dog, wondering if he had become possessed, while Rachel grinned like Christmas had come early.
"You do remember me," Rachel whispered, reaching out to cup his face in her hands. "What does that mean?" she wondered, even more confused.
"What the fuck have you done to my dog?" Santana asked, moving closer for a better look at him. It looked like Bruiser, it moved like Bruiser, but it wasn't behaving like Bruiser. Maybe Rachel was some Dog Whisperer type.
No, she wasn't, Santana knew that much already.
Intrigued by this new discovery, Rachel headed for a seat on the couch while Santana fetched the wine, and she promptly instructed Bruiser to do certain things. Dog tricks and training like 'sit', 'stay', and 'rollover' all worked well. But when she asked him to do a figure of eight around the living room, she hadn't exactly expected it to work.
He had a much better understanding of what was going on than she realised, and this had to mean something.
"Do you know what's going on?" He whined in repose, pawing at the floor. "Do you know how to save her?" she whispered, and he rewarded that question with a bark and a tail wag.
He knew, he knew, good heavens Santana's dog knew how to save her and this had to be the craziest thing she'd ever experienced! Oh, she couldn't wait to tell her aunt Aggie of this development when she got back. If she got back, but getting back meant saving Santana, and she still didn't really know how to do that.
The woman herself sat down next to Rachel and handed her a glass of wine. Accepting it with a thanks, Rachel reached out and took the glass. As Santana pulled her hand away, though, she almost dropped the damn thing.
Her eyes had to be deceiving her. Her eyes absolutely had to be deceiving her.
"What's that?" Rachel asked, a chill running through her body.
"What's what?" Santana asked, following Rachel's line of sight and looking round her knees and the floor.
"Your ring," she whispered, seeing the familiar diamond platinum ring adorning Santana's finger.
"Rachel," Santana said, sounding so wounded, and she looked up to see a pain she'd not witnessed before. "Don't tell me you came here to ask for it back."
"I gave it to you," Rachel repeated, blinking several times at the thought. She'd given Santana her great aunt Aggie's ring, the very ring she'd tried on to get there. Why had she done that? Why had she given Santana that ring? And why was Santana wearing it on her ring finger?
"You…Rachel, are you for real right now?" Santana chocked out. "I thought…I thought we agreed that you wouldn't…Okay, no, you want the engagement ring back, I get it. It's a family heirloom, so why wouldn't you," Santana rambled, quickly
"Engagement…engagement ring," Rachel mumbled, feeling like her head was going to explode. She'd given Santana an engagement ring. She'd asked this woman to marry her. Santana had said yes.
What had happened in eleven years?!
"Keep the ring," she suddenly said, pushing Santana's outstretched hand back at her. She couldn't, she couldn't take that from her. "The words I said when I proposed still ring true, keep the ring," she babbled, needing Santana to put it back on.
That hopeless look she'd seen in her eyes, that sadness and pain, Rachel needed it to go away, because in minutes that front door was going to be bursting in and there was no way Rachel was having Santana endure that fate with a broken heart. Absolutely not.
Taking the ring back in hand, Rachel watched as Santana inspected it between her fingers. Rather than put it back on her ring finger, she put it on the other hand, a clear signal that despite Rachel's best efforts, Santana had been wounded by her questions, and the damage had already been done.
*0*0*
The next time Rachel landed, she was standing directly outside Santana's door, fighting back tears. She tried to wipe them away, tried to hide the evidence of her sadness, but it was difficult. Santana had loved her, adored her, wanted to marry her, and something had happened to change that, something Rachel had done. She had hurt her, and now she kept hurting her by being unable to save her.
"Rachel, are you crying?" Santana asked, pulling the door open suddenly, surprising her. Rachel hadn't even heard open.
"No, no, I'm not," she lied, and Santana saw straight through it. However, the look Rachel gave her told her enough that Santana didn't say anything else. She ushered Rachel inside and took her coat.
Saving time, and not wanting to repeat a conversation she'd already gone through, Rachel let Bruiser jump all over her when he came wandering in, and she greeted him in equal excitement. He was going through exactly what she was, and they were in this together.
"Bruiser, down boy," Santana said, clicking her fingers to get him to leave her alone. He didn't exactly do as he was asked, but instead followed Rachel as she headed into the living room. Santana hadn't had any influence over him.
Letting her get the wine, Rachel took a seat and awaited her return, settling into the couch and taking a shaky breath. This was torture. This was absolute torture. She knew now that the clock was running out, and yet she couldn't rush things along because it led to absolute chaos.
This whole scenario apparently involved the slow and steady approach, unfortunately.
"Where would you normally be at this time tonight?" Rachel asked, trying anything to take her mind off the insurmountable pressure she felt with each passing second.
"Bruiser and I would just be hanging out here," Santana called back.
"And tonight we're to talk about us getting back together?" she checked, trying hard not to make it sound like a question, but failing.
"You sound unsure about that," Santana mused, coming to take a seat next to her, wine glasses in hand.
"I'm not, I just…you want us to get back together?" she checked, needing to explore this further. With the revelation of the engagement ring, which was still sitting proudly on Santana's hand, Rachel needed to think in more detail.
"Rachel, you were the one that called me," Santana replied, frowning a little.
"I did?" Okay, how come that hadn't been mentioned until now?
"Yeah."
"I did." Apparently, she had called her, there was no room for argument. "What did I say?"
"Are you high? Did you fall and hit your head?" Rachel winced at Santana's tone and shrugged her shoulders, shaking her head as she did so.
"No, no. Please, I'm just having trouble remembering." An impossible time remembering.
"You were drunk, weren't you? I fucking knew it. I knew it couldn't have been real. You wouldn't just call like that, out of the blue, you wouldn't. But no, I'm too fucking stupid to realise when you're drunk dialling me," she called out, waving her hand about and pointing at Rachel.
"Santana, what did I say?" This was more important than Santana thinking she was right about being drunk dialled.
"You can hear it yourself, you left the damn message." Reaching over the couch, Santana pressed the button on the answer machine, and crossed her arms, awaiting its start. Rachel's gaze honed in on the flashing light as message one began to play.
"Santana, hi. It's Rachel, as I'm sure you can tell. Look, I need to talk to you, I need to see you. We need to meet. I'll fly out and we can sort this all out. There is so much to sort out. It was never meant to be this way, and I think if we work together we can fix it. We can fix this. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for what happened. I should never have pushed you away. I should never have done that. I cut you out of my life, and I regret every second of it. I want us to be together again, and I know this is out of the blue, but I love you, I do. I want us to be how we were in the beginning, the first days of when this changed for us. And don't think I've forgot about you, Bruiser. I miss you, too buddy. I miss our walks. We used to all take walks together, and I miss that, I miss you so much Santana. We should really talk. Call me back, I beg of you. I'm sorry, and I want to do everything possible to save this, to fix us." The message ended, and Rachel sat transfixed with it. She had sounded frantic to begin with, so unsure and nervous.
"You know what I don't get," Santana murmured, shaking her head with a humourless smile on her face.
"What?" Rachel asked, letting that message sink in.
"You never liked Bruiser. You always called him Bruce, and I don't think you ever took him for a walk." Gosh, she may not have liked him before but she loved him now.
"I didn't?"
"Of course you didn't. He was eight weeks old when I left, Rachel. He couldn't go outside. He hadn't had his jags yet," Santana muttered, shaking her head.
"He was too young," she summarised, frowning.
"Yeah." Santana looked at her as if to say 'what of it?', but the question never left her lips.
"What age is he now?" Rachel asked, turning to look at said dog. He was wagging his tail and sitting up proud.
"Just over a year." Rachel blanched at that because he was huge! But there were more important things to think about, like her message.
"So if I've never taken him for a walk, why did I say…?" Had she…had she…was the message cryptic?
"I don't know, but it should have been enough for me to realise you were drunk," Santana replied, taking a good swig of her wine and trying to fight the hurt flash across her features. Rachel's chest ached for a split second at the sight, at Santana's dismissal and wrong assumption, and then it went away.
"I wasn't drunk," Rachel added, feeling that was an important part to point out.
No way was she drunk. Rachel knew exactly what she sounded like drunk and that was not it. She was needy, clingy, ad if talking to someone she was attracted to, she was flirtatious as hell. That was not a drunk Rachel. That was a scared Rachel, one trying to tell herself something.
"How did we get together?" she asked.
"Let me guess, you don't remember that, too?" Santana spat, growing angry again.
"Santana, please, please just answer my questions."
"You came to me senior year, you were acting weird and shit. I brushed you off, thinking you were crazy, but your words rang true on some level. Three weeks later when you announced that you were moving to New York with Kurt, I asked if I could come too…and then…" Santana paused mid-sentence, rolling her tongue over her lips and teeth, taking a heavy breath.
"And then?"
"And then you said that I could, on one condition," Santana mumbled, frowning and looking off into the distance, as if recalling a long forgotten detail.
"What was the condition?"
"I was to…you said that at some point in the future, you were going to be knocking on my door, acting strange, talking nonsense, and hurting you in the process, but if I listened, if I helped, everything would turn out alright."
"And what did you say?"
"I made a quip about how you were always acting strange, talking nonsense, and that you couldn't hurt me if you tried. Two out of three isn't bad, I guess," Santana shrugged, brushing that moment off before continuing. "That seemed to be enough for you, and we moved to New York for the fall."
"I was going to knock on your door…knock on your door. I didn't knock on your door. How did you know I was outside?" Rachel asked, looking at Santana with a newfound desperation, replaying the words and realising why that was so strange.
"What?"
"You keep opening the door, how do you know I'm outside?"
"I heard the cab pull up."
Rachel had never encountered a cab. Maybe it wasn't important, maybe she was talking nonsense. But still, why had she been so specific about knocking on the door. She needed to unravel this situation, work out what was going on, what she needed to fix, and fast so that the next time she at least stood a chance of saving Santana.
"Think Rachel, think," she moaned, pacing the floor. Bruiser watched, curious, and Santana shot her a confused look, too. It felt like she was hitting breakthrough territory, but then nothing.
No matter how many times she paced, no matter how many times she analysed the situation, the knocking on the door, the door bursting open, Santana getting hurt, Bruiser getting hurt, all of it still continued to happen. She was powerless to prevent Santana's death, and her best efforts weren't working.
She wouldn't give in, though. She couldn't. This was someone who she had fallen in love with once, someone she wanted to marry, and that meant something to her. She was never going to give up.
*0*0*
Every time Rachel fell back to the beginning, she grew more and more weary, until exhaustion and pain was settling in. She wasn't getting this right. Bruiser, whether inside or outside, couldn't stop the knocking on the door, couldn't stop the door being bust in, couldn't stop the flash of newspaper headlines and news reports shooting in Rachel's brain, showing her what happened if she failed.
She couldn't save her. No matter what she did, she couldn't save her. She felt useless. However, if she must, she'd do this a thousand times until she got it right. She had to save her. She just had to.
Landing back outside Santana's house, Rachel wandered up to the door and dropped her head on it with a bang. She really could use a sleep, but no, Santana came first. Raising her fist, she knocked on the door multiple times, and waited for it to open. She heard Bruiser bark from inside, a constant stream of barks coming through the wood, and then shushing from Santana. He ignored her completely, and when the door opened, he darted out the gap, and continued to bark into the street.
"Bruiser, get back over here now," Santana called, shooting Rachel an apologetic smile. "Damn dog."
Rachel smiled at the woman she was trying so hard to save, taking in her features, admiring her. She was just as, if not more, beautiful than she was at seventeen, and Rachel allowed this simple moment to wash over her.
It would all be over, in twenty minutes, it would all be over. So until then, she was going to memorise the face of the woman she couldn't save, and revel in the way those eyes looked at her. Santana was still standing in the doorframe, Bruiser barking wildly in the garden, and without giving it a second thought, Rachel reached out and placed her hand on Santana's cheek.
She was gorgeous, and there was so much to her, so much Rachel had apparently experienced and thrown away, so much she'd never get to experience now because she couldn't save her.
"You're so beautiful," she admitted, allowing this moment of honesty.
Santana gave her a bemused look, and reached out herself, her hand taking a grip of the front of Rachel's coat, and pulling her closer. She went, willingly, and found her body pressed up against hers. Santana's scent, warm, rich, full of spice, full of love, enveloped her, and she lost herself in it.
If this was all Rachel was going to get, if these moments, were all she was going to have because of her inadequacy, then she was going to make them worth it. From everything she'd learnt, Santana was still in love with her, still trying to make what was left of their relationship work, and it was Rachel who had been the problem.
Well, for that moment, Rachel wasn't going to be the problem; Rachel wasn't going to let Santana down again. She was at least going to give her something she wanted.
Leaning her forehead against Santana's, Rachel's other arm wrapped round her neck as she closed the distance. A soft peck to her lips, one reciprocated, and then again, this time a proper kiss. Her lips brushed Santana's softly, carefully, and her delicate movements were returned in kind. It was slow, unsure, but with a deep sense of longing behind it.
Her heart was singing to her, her head spinning, with each kiss, one becoming two, two becoming three, each increasing in passion, in want, in need, until Santana's tongue darted out across Rachel's bottom lip. She was powerless against the moan in the back of her throat, and she felt an overwhelming rush in her system at Santana's throaty groan in response.
The moment would have been perfect, absolute perfection, if it hadn't been for Bruiser going absolutely mental outside.
"Bruiser, for God's sake, shut up and get back in the house," Santana cursed, pulling away to glare at her damn dog. Rachel chuckled into her neck, not wanting to pull away just yet.
Bruiser didn't seem to want to listen to Santana, either, and continued his frantic barks, whimpering and whining, running back and forth across the garden.
Finally focusing on the situation at hand, Rachel eyed the street through the gates and while she expected to see something, anything, untoward, there was nothing. It felt different, however. Bruiser, who recognised Rachel every single time, and normally didn't misbehave, was going crazy.
She grew worried, fearing that this was a lead up into the inevitable end she had witnessed far too many times that night. The sound of a car pulling up on the other side of the wall, out of sight, had fear exploding through her system, running up her spine, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, and her hands began shaking.
She'd never witnessed them arrive, but now she was going to, and while a part of her wanted to shove Santana inside to protect her, Rachel was frozen to the spot. The sound of footsteps drawing near, matching the sound of Rachel's thumping heart, had her pulling Santana closer, despite how little space there already was between them still.
When the figures finally came into view, Rachel just about collapsed, her body unable to handle all the emotions flooding her system, and tears starting running down her cheeks.
"Hi there. We were driving by and heard your dog. It sounded like something was wrong, and we just wanted to check that everything was alright," the police officer said, nodding next to Santana, towards said animal who had suddenly stopped barking.
"Shit, I'm sorry. He got out and just went a little crazy. Nothing's wrong at all. He normally never barks. It won't happen again," Santana replied, leaning into the doorframe and rubbing her forehead.
Rachel tuned out the conversation at that point and rubbed the back of Bruiser's ears. He had brought the cops right to her doorstep, right to them. She felt like sobbing, and tears sprung to her eyes as she looked down at the happy looking dog.
"I love you so much, Bruiser, you have no idea," Rachel whispered, bending forward to ruffle his ears. She could take a breath, she could breathe easy, because the police were right there. They were right there.
Surely nothing bad could happen with them right there!
Content to stand there and pet Bruiser while Santana spoke with the officer, Rachel tried to count minutes in her head. She knew it probably hadn't been more than ten, but she could hope.
Eventually, the officer's radio teemed to life, and he stepped away from the gates, putting himself out of hearing shot. Rachel wandered back towards Santana, looping her arm round her waist from behind and planting her head on her shoulder. Feeling that Santana's safety might be in jeopardy with this new development, she just wanted to hold her in her arms. Thankfully, Santana didn't seem to be bothered by her show of affection.
"I've got to go. Try keep your dog inside if he barks," the officer called, finally off his radio, waving over the top of the squad car before diving into it.
Santana and Rachel stood there frowning, Bruiser coming to stand next to them. They watched as the car pulled away from the kerb and drove up the street somewhat slowly. There were no lights, no sirens, and Rachel couldn't understand why he was in such a rush before given how slow he was going.
Only when he was further up the street did she understand. A van that had been parked roared to life when the squad car drew nearer, and it whipped out of there faster than she thought it would have been possible. That's when the sirens blared and the lights blinded, casting shadows all over the street as the officer pursued.
When the finally were out of sight, Rachel felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and clearly Bruiser did to because he jumped about the garden excitedly, as if wanting to play. She laughed into Santana's neck, an overwhelming sense of relief flooding her, and planted a kiss on the side of Santana's mouth.
"What's up with you?" she asked, spinning in her arms, looking at her pensively.
"I'm just so happy," she replied, pecking Santana on the lips once, smiling to herself, and letting the moment wash over her.
The light-headedness and dizzy feeling hit her from leftfield, and Rachel briefly considered having been wrong, having screwed up, but then the images that flashed before her eyes said otherwise.
A team of criminals who have been carrying out vicious home invasions has been arrested today. Details of the group are unknown, but it is believed they are responsible for the spate of home invasions over the last few weeks, several which have involved bloody assaults on homeowners, and the hospitalisation of at least six people. No one was willing to comment on the details of the arrest but-
The voice died away, and Rachel's grip tightened round Santana, trying to hold onto her, but it was too late. She could feel her disappearing, and then the air was being sucked from her lungs again. She clenched her eyes shut, feeling like she was being blinded, and then everything went black.
All she heard was the sound of knocking.
*0*0*
Rachel woke, gasping for breath with her fathers leaning over her, checking if she was okay. Searching the room with her eyes, confirming that no, there was not an over excited dog bumbling about nor Santana Lopez perched somewhere, Rachel relaxed, and gripped the side of her head.
"Oh sweetie, I think you hit it when you fell, are you okay?" her dad asked, and she nodded, still confused.
After convincing them that yes, she was okay, and no, she did not need to go to the hospital, she was sent downstairs to have a seat. Doing as she was instructed, Rachel sat in the living room with her aunt, who was watching some kind of cop show, and sipped a glass of water.
Was it all a dream? Had Rachel dreamt that entire thing? It certainly seemed crazy enough to be a dream, but maybe it was just crazy enough to have been real. Her open-minded perspective on what was possible and what was not didn't come in handy here. On one hand, she knew things like that were so improbably, but on the other hand, it had seemed so real, it had felt real.
"Nice ring," Aggie said, cutting through the sound of the commercials playing and interrupting Rachel's thoughts.
Rachel's eyes widened in surprise and she glanced down to her hand, still seeing said ring on her finger. It felt strange seeing it there, especially when the image of it on Santana's hand rang through her mind. Rachel looked back up, expecting to be told off for going through her things, but Aggie was grinning at her, no hint of annoyance in sight.
"I told you not to touch things."
"I'm sorry," she said, taking it off her finger and reaching out to hand it to her. Aggie accepted the ring with a chuckle and a shake of her head.
The older woman went back to her show, which left Rachel frowning. Did Aggie know what had happened? Was she aware of what Rachel had been through? Rachel had to ask.
"What-" she began to speak, only to be cut off.
"You saved her," Aggie said, giving her a proud smile. "That's all that matters; you saved her. Your future self would be proud of you."
"My future self?" So she had travelled in time. That was…new.
"The very one who clipped those newspaper articles out and tucked this ring away, she'd be proud." Aggie's smile didn't dissipate and Rachel reached for head again, wondering if this was also part of some dream.
"She…are you saying that I…that this happened so that I could rewrite the future, a future I haven't even experienced yet?"
"We all have one moment in time we'd like to change, this was yours, and you did good." Apparently that was meant to explain everything, but it didn't. Rachel had a million other questions buzzing about her brain, and no way was she letting this topic slide.
"Why didn't I die?" she questioned, dropping the topic of time travel and past and future selves.
"Hmm?"
"In the home invasion. She died, but I was there, too. The flashbacks, or flash-forwards I guess, all centred around her death, but never any mention of me being there. So why didn't I die?" Rachel had watched the beginning of those attacks, and every time afterwards, despite her being there, all the news clippings and footage she saw claimed only one death, Santana's death, and no one else being there.
"You were seeing the future as if you had been there that night, but only up unto a certain point. After that, you were no longer a part of the history, ensuring you didn't die when it went wrong," Aggie explained, and Rachel struggled to follow that train of thought.
"But how? I left her a message on the answering machine, I knew ahead of time-!"
"Yes, you did. This wasn't your first attempt." Okay, her great aunt needed to be checked out by a doctor. What was she saying?
"So I've gone before-" Rachel should have felt more bewilderment at having been a frequent time traveller, but by now it just seemed normal.
"You never made it in time. In the first reality, you never made it. You were always late, and you were always the one who found her." Gosh, that had to be horrific for her future self, especially now that she knew the history. She had already attempted to save Santana again and again, but how would she have felt if she had only been given one shot?
Devastation, pure and utter devastation.
Pushing that thought from her mind, Rachel pondered the other questions she was curious about.
"I don't understand how this works. What now? Am I going to have to repeat those actions? Am I going to have to call her and talk to her and do this all again? And I going to-" she rambled, wondering if in eleven years' time she'll have had to phone Santana asking to talk about getting them back together under the pretence of saving her life.
"She's save, in this life, she's safe. You've seen enough, know enough, to prevent the mistakes of the last attempts, and you can alter it," Aggie said, not giving you a direct answer, but giving you enough of one to piece together.
"Won't that alter the whole future though?"
"Time doesn't quite work that way." Oh, how helpful.
"Time makes no sense," Rachel whined, shaking her head.
"And thank goodness for that, otherwise you'd be finding her body eleven years from now," Aggie said softly, giving Rachel a pointed look.
"She's safe, though, right? She's not going…nothing bad is going to happen to her in this life, right?" Rachel hadn't endured what felt like months of emotional torture to have Santana die hopelessly in this path. No way.
"She's safe," Aggie confirmed, and Rachel accepted that answer as enough and dropped the subject all together.
It was better not to question it. She had the most important answer of all; Santana was safe. She'd done exactly what she was meant to do, and she'd prevented her death. The girl was safe.
*0*0*
On the Monday morning that followed, Rachel found herself walking over to Santana's locker. The girl wasn't paying attention, too busy searching for something inside, but when she noticed her, Rachel received a foul glare.
"Can I help you?" Santana sneered, and Rachel fought the emotions coursing through her system. Even at Santana's worse, she didn't deserve what was meant to happen to her, and Rachel was so glad to have the mean cheerleader back.
"I'm going to do something, and if you want to punch me afterwards, that's totally allowed, but please don't punch my nose. I'll accept whatever you want, just don't hit my nose."
Santana narrowed her eyes and Rachel took a deep breath, expecting the inevitable from her next action. Moving forward, Rachel wrapped her arms round Santana, ignoring her body stiffening quickly, and gave her a hug, needing to have this embrace.
She was safe. She was always going to be safe.
"What are you doing, Manhands?!" Santana barked, but not pushing Rachel away.
"I know it seems like no one cares about you because you're mean and push everyone away, but I care. If you ever need anything, I'm here," Rachel answered, not wanting to chance her luck and ending the embrace quickly.
Santana was giving her a 'what the fuck is going on' look, but no violence had occurred so she was rather optimistic about how this played out.
"Just, take care of yourself, okay?" Rachel said, biting her bottom lip. She needed the girl to take care of herself, because if something happen, some sort of freak accident occurred, Rachel would probably have break down if Santana died.
"You alright? You're kinda freaking me out," Santana questioned, looking her over carefully.
"Yeah, I'm…I'm fine." Santana didn't buy it for one second by the look on her face, but Rachel was already walking away.
She'd done her bit. She'd made sure she was safe, whether she wanted to or not, and there was nothing more to worry about. Heading off down the hallway, Rachel smiled and let out a shaky breath.
Stopping quickly, she recalled something from one of the many conversations she'd had with Santana during the time loop and started laughing to herself.
In senior year, she'd approached her 'acting weird and shit' but somewhere along there, her words had rung true for Santana. That meant in three weeks' time, Santana was going to be coming to Rachel asking to move in with Kurt and her in New York. Without meaning to, things were exactly on track, going in the same direction they previously were. The only difference now was, Rachel knew what to expect.
She knew there would come a time that if she wasn't careful, she'd end up losing Santana by shutting her out. The consequences might not be so dire, but Rachel remembered the ring on Santana's finger, the look of adoration in those photos, and that kiss outside her house. She wanted that, she wanted all that, and there was no way she was going to let it slip out of her fingers this time around.
*0*0*