a/n: This idea would not leave me alone. So here you have it: alternative realities!Dantana inspired by other shows with popular f/f ships.

[1/6]

She's expecting ideas or suggestions. She's hoping he's got a plan to get them both out of this insane mess she's gotten them into. He's supposed to be the smart one, isn't he? What she's not expecting is a panicked fucking recap of things that she already knows.

Fucking hell.

"So, let me get this straight: You get fired from your job at the Diner the same day that Sandy comes to collect the money you owe him from that time you sold drugs for him."

"It was medical marijuana." Santana interrupts him. He can ramble all he wants, but that doesn't mean she's just going to sit there and not comment.

"You give him a Sheets-N-Things $50 gift card to hold him over for the next 48 hours, which somehow works – " she doesn't get why he's so surprised at that. Sandy Ryerson loves that stupid store. Maybe he's still pissed Santana saw the card lying on the ground before he did.

"...while you find a way to make the additional $950 you owe him that does not involve prostitution."

"Or more drugs." His glare needs some work, is all Santana thinks when he looks her way. They need to start practicing their bitch faces in the mirror more often.

"Instead, you decide that the depressed lady who jumped in front of the subway that same night was the perfect person to rob from because you felt you looked enough like her to steal her identity." The judgment is just dripping from his words.

"We looked exactly alike." Santana snaps. She's made mistakes, but to hell if he's going to be judgmental about any of them. Like he would have done any different. Or any better.

"So, you go to her home which is some ridiculous Gossip Girl style mansion in the Upper East Side and find out that she's some reclusive heiress. You try to empty out one of her bank accounts and you somehow pull it off." He's back to sounding impressed, which is a good sign.

"Bank managers are dumb." Santana responds. His smirk is perfection, though.

"But then you get kidnapped by some other chick."

"Karen."

"That also looks exactly like you, but this one is a P.I. and she kindly informs you, once she's figured out you're not the heiress – "

"Claire."

"That you're a clone."

"Yup."

"That's it?"

"That's it, Kurt."

"And now you're fucking the heiress's best friend."

"Dani."

"Jesus Christ." he says, as he collapses on their shitty couch.

They are so fucked.

She thinks she might be having some sort of panic attack. She can tell Carmen is still rambling on and on with her damn science and stupid explanations while the rest of the clon – of the group is hunched over her desk looking at her computer, but Santana can't hear a thing. She's heard enough and it's already making her sick. One thing does stick out the most – even if deep down she knows that it's completely selfish of her to focus on this one problem in particular.

"Monitor?" her voice comes out softer, rougher than she expected it too. It doesn't matter, because they all hear her anyway. Karen stands up straight and leads Coral, who seems to be two seconds from saying something incredibly stupid, away.

Carmen comes over to her and grabs her hands gently. It registers in Santana's mind that this is the first time any of them have actually touched her like this, skin to skin. It sends a chill up her spine.

"She's been watching over Claire her whole life."

The explanation somehow makes more sense the second time around. She goes from heartbreak, to disgust, to anger, in seconds. Santana pulls her hands away, grabs the nearest coat and heads out. She ignores the calls of her name.

It registers a few minutes later that she's actually wearing Coral's coat. Seems appropriate, since Coral is somehow an even bigger judgmental bitch than she is. And if she ends up getting a little blood on it, well that would just be icing on the cake now, wouldn't it?

"Did you even love her?" She's shaking. They're at the mansion, in the middle of the goddamn dinning room with a table that seats 12 people. Santana's sure not even half of that have ever sat there.

"Of course I did! Everything I've ever done was for her!"

"Bullshit. You spied on her her whole life." She answers back. Dani doesn't get to play the victim here. Claire is dead. Jumped in front of a fucking subway right in front of Santana's very own fucking eyes. Dani doesn't get to be the one that hurts right now, she just doesn't.

"She's always been depressed and suicidal and she would have killed herself years ago if it wasn't for me. You think I did all this for kicks? She was sick, mentally sick – "

More of Carmen's earlier ramble comes to Santana. She explained that they were all sick. There was an error in their coding. A virus. How it manifests or when isn't certain, but for Claire it did when she was just a kid. It made her go crazy.

"... and it was my job to look out for her. And the one night she slips past me..." Dani's sobbing now. Can barely keep going. She remembers another thing Carmen said.

Monitors. We all have them, except for probably you, Santana. Odds are they're trained and dangerous. We have to figure out who they are and how to protect ourselves.

Looking at Dani now, Santana don't see some trained assassin. There isn't some genius scientist. There's only a girl, who looks somehow both younger and older than she actually is. She's not armed and she's not dangerous. She's... she's not the enemy.

Santana wipes at her own eyes before softly speaking again, "Her diary says she couldn't understand why you were still around."

Her diary said more than that. How Claire knew Dani was in love with her. How she didn't love her back. How she didn't understand why Dani didn't just let her leave the house. How she didn't understand why Dani didn't just let her go so that they could both find peace.

Dani manages to calm down long enough to answer, "She kept telling me to leave, but I couldn't...I can't."

Santana sees the guilt in her eyes; the heartbreak. She feels responsible for what happened.

Santana takes the steps necessary to reach Dani. She reaches out and cups the blonde's face. Dani doesn't even flinch. She kisses her, hard. Their teeth clack against each other as Dani's hands scramble to grab a hold of Santana.

Santana tries to let her know, to make her understand that there wasn't anything she could do. Their fates were sealed the moment they were made.

Made.

They can't escape. Santana can feel the tears coming hot and fast as she begins to accept it.

Fuck.

Dani kisses back harder though, almost as if trying to make a point. Santana pulls back and looks into her eyes. They're both out of breath, panting from the lack of oxygen brought on by the kissing and the tears neither of them seem to be able to stop.

Santana sees a sliver of hope in those beautiful brown eyes. She lets her head lull forward gently, resting her forehead against Dani's.

Hope.

Somehow it's enough to keep them both from drowning in their pain.

"The first time we had sex, did you know it wasn't her?" She's sure she knows the answer.

"The second we kissed." Dani confirms her suspicion.

"Why did you keep going?" Santana's not sure the answer matters anymore. Not really. Not when they're in bed, and Dani's sitting up to read. She's wearing her glasses and her hair is in a messy bun and she's wearing a large T-shirt and not much else. But still, Santana rolls onto her right side to stare at her while she waits for the answer.

"Because she finally got what she wanted...and I guess I wanted to be able to do the same." Dani turns to looks at Santana.

"It's been 2 years. We escaped." Santana whispers.

"We did."

"Did you even love me?"

"I do."

It's the only answer Santana needs.

(Inspired by Orphan Black)