Title: Can't Count On Anyone But You

Rating: PG-13 for language

Genre: Romance, Drama, Zombies (Totally a genre)

Pairing(s): Quinn/Santana

Summary: Quinn, Santana, and a horde of zombies in a convenience store.

Warnings: There are zombies. In case that bothers you. Also, mild spoilers for Season 3.

Disclaimer: If I owned it, would I be writing fic for it? Probably, but I don't own it.

Author's Notes: This is so old. But I re-discovered it and tried to touch it up some. Hopefully it's not too awful!

Title is from "Sad Girls Por Vida " by Pretty Girls Make Graves.

XXX

Santana peered around the edge of the convenience-store shelf. She couldn't help it. That echoing, rattling cacophony of moans was burring into her mind. It was ripping away gory chunks of her sanity and trying to pull her closer, drown her. With a ragged breath, Santana turned back to Quinn. The other girl was obviously affected too. Her hazel eyes were wide and wild and strands of pink hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. Santana managed to keep her voice cool and steady even though she was trembling and her heart was trying to break through her ribs, "Ten zombies out there, Q. They'll break the glass pretty fucking soon."

Quinn ran a hand through her hair, fingers tightening around the hilt of her machete. They had stolen two of them from an army surplus store about ten miles outside of Lima (Santana truthfully had no idea why there was an army surplus store, but that wasn't the point, considering they had forms of defense now). Quinn cursed under her breath, her chin trembling.

One of the ghouls threw itself particularly harshly against the glass, causing it to shake in its frame. Thankfully, they had no intelligence or logical thinking abilities whatsoever and they didn't think to try to pull open the door. Instead, they simply moaned louder. It seemed almost desperate, feverish. Santana could smell them and it burned the lining of her nostrils. Acid rose in her throat and her heart leaped up to punch her in the roof of her mouth. Santana gritted her teeth so hard it hurt. You're stronger than this, Lopez, Santana thought, don't let these assholes get to you.

Santana then rose somewhat unsteadily to her feet, shifting her grip on her machete. Her breath shuddered past her lips and she forced heavy words out of her mouth, "Quinn, I can't hear any by that back exit. I'm going to take on these bastards while you run." Her tongue felt swollen in her mouth. Yes, she was scared. She was fucking terrified. They had never come across more than five zombies at once, and they had been together. Santana knew there would be no way she could fight the ones outside the door without getting infected or ripped to shreds and devoured. But she could hold them off and maybe Quinn could get away. There were some safe towns that apparently had bases for civilians on the run just a few miles away. Quinn could make it. She was pretty much a badass and Santana had a lot of faith in her. When this whole zombie apocalypse had broken out, Quinn's inner Resident Evil had broken through. Santana couldn't have ended up with a better zombie slaying partner.

"Santana, I'm not running," Quinn replied, her voice loud and sharp as she rose to her feet so she could look Santana in the eyes. The zombies started violently throwing themselves at the glass again when they caught the movement but Quinn didn't seem to care. Instead, she stabbed a finger into Santana's chest as though the Latina was a child who had been misbehaving, "You can't take all of them by yourself." She punctuated each word with another jab of her finger. Santana opened her mouth to argue but was interrupted by Quinn's hand gripping her chin tightly, almost bruisingly. She pulled Santana into a kiss.

It was rough, messy, everything and nothing all at once. Quinn's free hand ran roughly through Santana's hair, pulling her close. The kiss broke and the feeling of Quinn was overpowering. Santana almost forgot about the cadavers trying to get inside so they could, you know, eat them, "Look, Santana, stop trying to be the goddamn hero. Either we fight together or we run together. There's no in-between. I love you and I'm not going to just…leave you behind. We stick together even if I have to find handcuffs and attach you to me, dammit!" Quinn kissed her again and Santana felt like she was part of some sort of cheesy chick-flick―except with lesbians and zombies.

When they broke apart this time, Quinn stepped back. She stared at Santana with that HBIC expression painted across her face. Her voice was startlingly calm even as she swallowed thickly, "Are we going to run or fight?" At that moment, Quinn looked hilariously out of place. She was the girl with the pink hair and the piercing hazel eyes, the machete clutched in her right hand making her seem a lot smaller. Santana would have laughed at the absurdity of it all had the situation been different.

Instead of that, she gave Quinn a reassuring, 'I'm Santana Lopez and I'm a BAMF' grin, "Handcuffs, huh? I'd like to try that if we don't die." Quinn gave her some sort of death glare and Santana allowed herself a short laugh before she said, "Let's go kill these fuckers!" They'd be followed by the ghouls if they didn't. Yes, they were faster but the zombies never tired. They would eventually catch up―when Quinn and Santana were tired. It would best just to eliminate them now. Or get killed now. Either way, they were going to solve this.

Santana reached out with shaking fingers. She squeezed Quinn's hand and said in a tone less afraid than she felt, "I love you." Quinn returned the words in a voice gruff with nerves. Santana released her hand and together, they stepped into clear view of the picture windows at the front of the store. Decaying bodies with bloody, lacerated fingers and gaping maws were clawing at and colliding with the window. Santana's heart hardened in her chest. Who cared if these zombies had once been real people? Who cared if they could effortlessly rip her to pieces?

With Quinn by her side, Santana could face absolutely anything.