A/N: I don't own Glee nor the characters. This is definitely AU and probably OOC, but that's what I get for writing this kind of story. Currently, this is a one-shot prequel thing, with hopefully more of this universe coming later. Please let me know if it works.

Hunkered back against the wall of a dirty building, pulse pounding in her neck and chest, sweat beading on her forehead and blood rushing through her ears, Rachel Berry could feel all the plans she had made for her life slipping away. Good bye Julliard. Good bye countless voice lessons and vocal training. Good bye Broadway. Good bye future she had so meticulously planned out, down to the month and day when she could.

The cause for this bemoaning was standing in front of her, body shaking, gun held tightly in trembling fingers, the muzzle dangerously close to her face. Large blood-shot eyes held equal parts desperation and anger as the obviously jonesing addict demanded more than what Rachel could give him.

"I told you, sir," Rachel tried again, expertly hiding the tremors in her voice, "All the money I have on my personage is in your possession. I simply do not have what you are looking for. Now, while I have done everything in my power to help you with your ill-advised profession, I think it would behoove you to let me go."

"Shut up, bitch! Shut up!" The mugger thrust the gun at her face again, making Rachel eep and shut her eyes, biting back her tears. If this truly was her swan song, she would meet it with dignity.

While Rachel had taken the well advised classes of self defense and always carried a large container of pepper spray with her, rape whistle secure around her neck, the reality of a situation that would utilize any of those safeguards had overwhelmed her before she could do anything. Without warning, her purse had been ripped from her hands; with it her pepper spray. Then, using the shock that made her freeze, Rachel had been shoved backwards, what she knew had to be a gun pushed into her temple. Quickly understanding that a drug addict had accosted her, high and strung out, fingers scarily close to pulling the trigger, she feared making any sudden moves or going for her whistle wouldn't be a good thing. For once in her life, Rachel was at the total mercy of someone else. It was terrifying.

Putrid breath blew across her skin, bony fingers from the hand not holding the gun starting to wildly run over and under her clothes as if looking for hidden treasure. Rachel's stomach turned. If what she imagined was going to happen, happened... The mugger's hand squeezed her wrist hard enough to leave bruises, and she stifled her pained exclamation, biting her lip between her teeth, drawing blood. She had neither watches nor bracelets, so he quickly moved on.

Registering that circumstances were only going to get worse before they hopefully got better, Rachel found herself putting into good use years of meditation and recitation. Listing Broadway shows by date written and date performed in her mind, she was only dimly aware of the mad mutterings grunted into her ear, the rustling of fabric while the druggie searched for something else to pawn. The necklace her fathers had given her when she graduated high school was ripped from her neck; she had foolishly thought she could conceal its existence. The lozenges in her coat pocket were similarly taken. Some part of her mind recognizing that denying what was happening could be dangerous for her, Rachel tried to shake herself away from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. It was small blessing that her skirt didn't have any pockets. Hopefully he'd skip that.

That thought, however, hadn't needed to be answered. Out of nowhere, a fist and knuckle jabbed into a bundle of her attacker's nerves. The side whose hand held the gun suddenly sagged bonelessly, and he screeched, overbalancing as half of his body weight wasn't supported anymore. Seeing that for the opening it was, Rachel pushed against his chest as hard as she could. That finished his downward fall, the man crashing to the ground on his face, gun pinned under him. Rachel stared down at him, frozen, before the sudden rush of adrenaline told her she was free.

Skirting widely around the groaning man, Rachel looked up to see who had saved her. Long leather jacket that led down to black leather biker gloves, a deep vee'd fashionably ripped black shirt underneath; black leather pants, boots, and – seriously? – a black mask that wrapped around the figure's head finished the image of how a vigilante comic book superhero would look, conceivably, in the real world. Shrouded in deep shadow, Rachel hadn't quite determined the gender of her rescuer until the imposing figure walked forward, past Rachel (not sparing her a glance), reaching down to haul the still whimpering man up by his belt, scooping up the gun and slipping it into the leather coat with the other hand. Roughly forcing him to stand on his feet, a sharp female voice snapped out, "Shut up, idiot, you're not having a stroke. Probably'd do you a hell of a lot of good, though, wouldn't it? Make you that much more the life of the party." A tanned hand slapped him across the face when he attempted to struggle, "Nuh uh, sparky. Save it for the cops."

Dragging him bodily over to a flickering streetlight, the woman took a zip tie out of her pocket, quickly and efficiently securing his wrists around it and behind his back; she'd had to knee the man in the gut first, but Rachel doubted she felt bad for doing so (and she'd be lying if she didn't get a sort of thrill out of seeing it, even if she didn't believe in violence). Studying her handiwork and taking the gun out to disarm it, sliding it back into place with a smooth 'click', the bullets disappearing back with it into a pocket, the woman twirled around, heading straight at Rachel.

Feeling like she was in some weird dream or fiction story, Rachel quickly dropped to find all of the bits and pieces that had rolled out of her purse when the man had flung it away. Even if some sort of costumed hero saved her, she wouldn't be the kind of person who gawked and stuttered. No, Rachel Berry was the kind of person who would gather up all of her effects, kindly thank the woman for saving her, make herself presentable, call and wait for the police to arrive, file a report in timely fashion, and go on with her day.

Finding the last of what she could remember being in her purse – a roll of breath mints, probably unusable now – Rachel sighed deeply and brushed her hair back from face. A glove-encased hand appeared before her eyes, and before she even realized it was there, the woman had helped her up. Looking up into a deep brown gaze, something in the woman's facial structure sparked familiarity, but she quickly shook it away. There was no way someone she knew or associated with would be crazy or foolish enough to risk their life doing… Doing whatever this woman did.

"Well," Rachel brushed herself off, straightening her clothes and shouldering her purse, clearing her throat and looking up at the much taller woman, "Even though I think it absolutely foolhardy for you to have risked your life to stop him… I appreciate it. Thank you."

The woman crossed her arms across her chest, and Rachel got the impression she was being studied intently, a frown firmly on the part of her face Rachel could see. There was silence between them, the man having given up blubbering some time ago, only the ever present sound of New York City filling the void. Finally, when Rachel was seriously considering that maybe the woman was actually insane and snapped into (or out of) an episode and she should start thinking about backing away before the woman attacked her, the woman shifted and growled out, "What… Are you doing in this part of town?"

When she opened her mouth to respond, the woman continued, "At this time of night, I might add."

Rachel bit back her first response that she was an adult and highly capable of taking care of herself. She knew that would sound petulant and unfortunate with the current circumstance. Pulling the collar of her coat closer to her neck, Rachel looked up at the woman through her eyelashes, biting her lip before remembering it was hurt. She didn't like that the woman was making her feel ashamed. "An acquaintance of mine lives near here. I was just taking a shortcut I knew – "

"Acquaintance!" the woman snorted, shaking her head, looking off to the side as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. A long dark ponytail slid across her neck, and yet another spark of recognition flew through Rachel, starting to combine with the feeling that she'd heard that voice before. Priding herself on her perfect pitch hearing, she knew that given more time, she'd figure what it was – who it was – that reminded her. "Some kind of 'acquaintance' who lets you walk these streets alone, at night. Tell me, do you both have a death wish for yourself?"

Rachel bristled. She drew herself up straight. "Who are you to presume that I need protection like some kind of 'damsel in distress'?"

The woman stared at her, then smirked. "Really. You are one of a kind. I save you from a mugging that very well could have ended with your death, and yet you protest that I take liberties in assuming you need protection."

Rachel flinched at the reminder of how close she had come to grave harm; she planned to schedule an extra hour of therapy to deal with the issues that would undoubtedly manifest.

Seeing that she had no response, the woman dropped her arms, softening her stance. Reaching out a hand to brush away the bangs from Rachel's forehead before the smaller girl could react, callous rough fingers gently probed the bruises the – Rachel swallowed – muzzle of the gun had left. Her brain finally catching up with her, Rachel jerked herself away. "Who's taking liberties now?" she sniped, glaring up at the bemused brown eyes watching her.

"How's your wrist? Did he touch – hurt you anywhere else?" Ignoring her, the woman started studying her body intently, gaze running up and down Rachel.

"Look, I don't know who you are, and though I fully appreciate you… You disposing of that ruffian in a surprisingly neat and pedestrian way, I'm fine."

"'Neat and pedestrian'," was echoed in an amused tone.

Rachel blinked. "Well, yes. One punch and he was out of commission. I'm assuming you targeted his central nervous system?"

The woman nodded. She opened her mouth to respond, but something caught her attention, her eyes unfocusing as a hand went up to her ear. Exchanging quick and quiet words with someone through what was probably a transceiver, various emotions flowed across her face, evident by the set of her lips. Though the mask did a good job of obscuring the woman's identity, she had a personality that wasn't restrained by the cloth barrier. Anger and annoyance seemed the predominant expressions, Rachel's ears catching bits of pieces of what sounded like furious Spanish the woman had lapsed into.

Police sirens split the air, Rachel's first thought being that someone in the neighborhood had finally done the right thing and called in the attack. Where he had been sitting pretty sedately, twitching occasionally, the drug addict started yanking at the zip tie, struggling. Watching him warily until she was sure he couldn't escape, Rachel turned back to the woman. Only to see empty space where she had once stood. Frowning, Rachel berated herself for feeling disturbed and …letdown?... by her disappearance.

Once the responding officers had arrived and taken her attacker into custody, the taller male officer muttering something about 'damn Panther upstaging them again', to which Rachel responded with an indignant huff that if the woman (she found herself chuckling at the name while being unable to say it didn't fit the powerful aura she exuded) hadn't been there, they may have well been dealing with a crime scene of a different sort. One that would have probably involved more paperwork due to the coroner being called and all that went along with it. Dutifully shamed, he took her statement. Honestly, Rachel was relieved that the police force had knowledge of the mysterious 'Panther', as it validated her experience and refuted the part of her brain that was screaming at her that the whole thing was a fantasy dreamed up by a rattled Rachel.

Declining the offer of transport to the hospital, as well as an escort to her original destination (really, Rachel wasn't trying to test fate, but what were the odds she'd get accosted again in the next two blocks?), she jotted down all of the information given to her by the policemen into her Blackberry. She was determined that the man would get prosecuted to the full extent of the law, even if that meant she had to spend all of her free time in the police station or prosecutor's office, putting the case against him together all by herself.

Watching the taillights of the police cruiser fading into the distance, Rachel swallowed, firmed her shoulders, and raised her head up high. She would not be cowed. Gripping her can of pepper spray tightly in her hand, she started walking up the street again. It would only take about ten minutes if she power walked, and Rachel was the queen of power walking.

Coming to an intersection, Rachel waited for the light to turn green. Nervous energy thrummed through her; lack of movement was admittedly making her anxious. Few cars crossed in front of her, which made her feel a little better. Now that she was more out in the open, if something happened – though the possibility of another incident being highly remote, she reminded herself – it would be more likely that help would arrive in a more timely fashion.

Forehead and wrist throbbing slightly, bottom lip stinging a bit from where she had licked away small clots of blood, the adrenaline having drained while she had been giving her statement, Rachel had to admit that she wouldn't have minded Panther's company.

The light turned green, followed shortly by the glowing white man that signaled it was okay for her cross. Rachel found herself launching out of a standstill, shoes slapping against the asphalt as she sprinted forward. Feeling an embarrassed flush crawl up her neck, she slowed and went into a more sedate pace as her feet hit sidewalk. She hoped no one had seen her mad dash.

A low chuckle from her right made the breath whoosh out of her lungs. Spinning around and raising the pepper spray in an offensive maneuver, a strong palm and fingers wrapping around her hand stopped it. "Careful, Broadway Girl," Panther's smooth voice teased, Rachel's ears straining to catch the words over the pounding of her heart, "Don't want ya feeling bad if you make me cry, now would you?"

"Goodness gracious," Rachel yelped out, tearing her hand away and stuffing the pepper spray into her purse, "I should spray you anyway!" Glaring at the woman with as much righteous fury as she could manage, she took in deep breaths to center herself.

Still conscious of the dark clad woman next to her, Rachel willed her heart to calm down, something making her pause. "Wait…" She spun around, looking up at Panther with suspicious eyes, "Why did you call me 'Broadway Girl'?" Once again, something nagged at Rachel that this mysterious woman wasn't the stranger she appeared to be.

Panther's eyes didn't widen. Smirking, she placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward, meeting Rachel's suspicion with amusement, "You don't like the name? I'm hurt."

"No," Rachel shook her head, "Regardless of your feelings – whatever you have towards me probably nothing more than obligation to see me safe – that particular nickname suggests a familiarity that we do not have. Unless, of course…"

"Unless?"

"We have a prior association. Away from this superhero…" Adverse to referring to herself as a 'victim', Rachel searched for a better word or phrase, "Superman/Lois Lane dynamic."

"Ohh?" A slow smile crossed across the woman's face; if she concentrated just a bit more, Rachel was sure she'd be able to recognize the person that smile and voice belonged to. "I'm flattered you think I'm like Superman, but isn't it a bit premature to say we're dating? It would take more from saving you from a mugger to make a relationship. Normally something like a coffee date comes first."

"I – what?" Spluttering, Rachel realized that she was standing on the sidewalk with a woman she knew nothing about – no matter if she knew her or not, engaging in a conversation that served no purpose. In fact, Panther had skillfully deflected each question Rachel had brought up. "Oh, you're good," she narrowed her eyes at Panther's dancing brown gaze, throwing her hair back and returning to walking forward.

If Rachel truly thought about what was happening, she would most likely feel a little disturbed. But this woman had saved her, and a case of transference or overwhelming gratitude was keeping her from freaking out too much.

Panther fluidly fell into step next to her, arms crossed nonchalantly behind her back. "I try."

Pointedly ignoring her for half a block, Rachel finally spoke up, eyeing the taller woman curiously, "How can you be here?"

"I'm corporeal."

Stifling her chuckle at the perfectly deadpanned response, Rachel tried again. "No, I mean here. Walking with me. I would think a person like yourself would have a better use of your time, such as finding a new transgression to thwart."

Panther regarded her silently, then shrugged, the leather of her jacket creaking, "I would, yes. But when I find a girl foolish enough to ignore common sense twice in one night…"

Rachel figured that would be the best answer she'd get. Perhaps the person Panther had been arguing with earlier was filling in. Of course, there could also be the possibility that Rachel was applying tried and true comic book tropes to something she really had no idea about. This whole situation truly would not make sense if she tried to wrap real life around it.

Spying her destination up ahead, Rachel was surprised to find that she didn't know if she wanted to speed up or drag her feet. While infuriating and arrogant as Panther was, she was also intriguing, and Rachel owed her if not her life, her wellbeing.

Not coming to any decision, she continued the pace she was already keeping. To speed up or slow down would draw Panther's attention, and Rachel wasn't sure she wanted that. Stopping right in front of the intercom she needed, Rachel took a deep breath, reshouldered her purse, and looked at her rescuer. "I… Thank you," she pushed out shyly, tucking her hair behind her ear, trying not to look away from neutral brown eyes, "For halting what could have happened, and for…" She paused, not sure what it was she wanted to say. How childish would she sound if she thanked the woman for keeping her company?

Panther nodded, her face adopting a more serious look than she'd had for the last five minutes. "Just don't make it a habit of walking where you shouldn't. New York has cabs and the subway for a reason." Then, relaxing her stance again, she smiled, "Here, hold out your hand."

"Why?"

"Seriously? Just do it."

Seeing that Panther wasn't going to do anything until she acquiesced, Rachel sighed and brought her left hand up.

There was a light clinking of metal, and Panther's warm fingers dropped something into her palm. Looking down at her hand in shock, Rachel's other hand went automatically up to just below her neck, feeling for something that wasn't there. "This is – I can't believe I didn't think about this. Panther, this means a lot to me. Thank you," she said in earnest.

Panther nodded again, shrugging as she slipped her hands into the pockets of her jacket and started to make her way backwards. "Don't make me save you again, Broadway Girl," she said sternly, the quirk of her lips softening the warning. With one last tilt of her head and unreadable expression, Panther turned and jogged down the way they had come, quickly slipping back into the shadows.

Watching her form disappear, "Why…?" still on her lips, Rachel looked down at the necklace in her hand again. In the light of a nearby streetlamp, she pulled the small gold star pendant up to her eyes, reading the words her fathers had had engraved: 'For our future Broadway star'.

"Of course," she hummed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Carefully slipping the necklace into her pocket, determined to get the broken chain replaced as quickly as she could, Rachel took one more glance down the street before locating the correct intercom.

Slipping through the opened door, preparing answers to the inquiries she'd most likely get about her appearance, Rachel stepped into the elevator and wondered if she had taken identifying who Panther was seriously, because she hadn't figured it out.

And, awareness of the necklace in her pocket making her smile, a hand beginning to play with it distractedly, she wasn't certain she wanted to.

Having made sure the small girl safely entered the apartment building, the woman watching her called in to report her ETA, and was gone.