Warnings: I don't own Glee or any of the characters or any of the songs I may use. This will include lesbian sex, maybe some hetero but it's not likely. Possibly Finn bashing, I'm not entirely sure how yet, but I'll try to find a way.
I can't remember a time when I wasn't in the public eye. From a young age I'd been in the spotlight and I hardly minded. It started with small roles in television shows or commercials, but those weren't enough, those weren't nearly as fulfilling as the stage productions I'd always felt so much more drawn to. I remember how innocent it all was, just me doing what I loved, and while that hasn't changed, I had to come to realize how becoming a household name took away from that normal teenage experience.
I was about sixteen when it happened for the first time, I'd just gotten through arguing with my dads that I should be able to go out and enjoy New York on my own. Normally I'd listen to them but the more they denied my, at the time, seemingly reasonable request, the more frustrated I got until finally I just stormed out of the apartment. I'm sure they called security or something but I was out of there quickly. New York really was a beautiful city, and to this day I still appreciate it's beauty, but I suppose no sixteen year old should be walking the streets of any city alone at night. I didn't make it very far, before my nerves finally set in but I just brushed off the feeling of being watched.
Central park, while beautiful by day, had an ominous feel about it at night. I was strolling innocently through, enjoying the feeling of not being under a watchful eye all the time. A few people were obviously in the park, a couple against a tree, someone sleeping on a bench, and if I'd been more watchful, maybe I'd have noticed the man that came up behind me sooner. I was at about the center of the park when I noticed him, always a few feet behind me, but the fewer people there were around us, the closer he got, and I tried to pick up my pace but he began to as well.
"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing?" He mumbled cockily as he came up next to me.
"Uh," I resisted the urge to reply, slipping my hand into my pocket to feel for the small phone I'd set to silent earlier.
"Ain't it late for you to be out by yourself?" He was looking around too, monitoring the dwindling number of witnesses just as I was.
I focused on the single form resting under a pile of newspapers on a bench we were approaching, "I really should be going."
"Really now, well, let me help you back," he smirked maliciously and grabbed my arm.
"Let go, please," I demanded, tugging away but his grip tightened.
That horrible smirk was plastered on his face, the only feature catching any light in the darkened surroundings. I felt the bruise forming on my arm as the man tried to pull me off the sidewalk but I put up a fight. I'd always been small for my age but that was the only time it became a real problem. Somewhere over the sound of my heart racing as I panicked I heard my name being shouted. Before I was entirely sure what was happening, the man stumbled back and let go, and somebody else had tugged me into their arms. I struggled at first before soothing words were mumbled into my ear.
"Rachel, I've got you," my daddy repeated over me.
"Daddy?" I asked, tears finally spilling down my cheeks.
"Of course, Sweetie. I've got you okay?" He held me tightly.
I nodded against the tree trunks of arms that I'd grown so familiar with.
My daddy carried me back to the hotel that night and rather than pointing out the lesson I'd learned, we chose to leave the event unmentioned, outside of the few therapy visits I'd been ushered into. Being as rational as I usually tried to be, I accepted responsibility for leaving, and that the attack could have happened to anyone, and even that I'd been lucky my father had caught up with me, but I couldn't help but develop an aversion to situations where I'd be left alone. I knew my dads noticed, but again, we didn't voice it, just silently accepted it.
The second time we all realized it was much more troubling, but far less dramatic, happening at least a year after the first.. It was simple, I'd just left a show and when I went to sign some autographs, this time my dad was close by, but he couldn't have stopped it. I was signing a picture of me when something silver flashed before my eyes and over the commotion, I could hear the sound of metal sliding over metal. Once more arms surrounded me and while they weren't the trunks that comforted me the first time the feeling was there.
"Security!" The smaller man shouted behind me, as some girl gripped a lock of my hair. The situation was more stressful than it was dramatic, and I'd managed to walk away from it with just a new haircut rather than any therapy sessions.
That's when my fathers first brought up the idea of a personal bodyguard. I wasn't entirely opposed but a full time guard really seemed too much. But we began the process of interviewing, bodyguard after bodyguard. Men who seemed to have their fill of tattoos and scars filtered in and out of our home, each with their own list of qualifications. All of the interviews were really the same for the most part.
"So, what qualifications do you have, as a, um, bodyguard?" One of my fathers would ask.
I remember gun use, knife skills, boxing, stun-gun use, karate, EMT training, and even the ability to use nun chucks being listed.
"Do you work well with kids?" My fathers would follow.
These answers varied more widely from, "I have kids," to, "I hate them."
The deal breaker was always when they'd turn to me, "What do you think?"
"I don't believe you'd be right for us, but thank you," was the usual polite response.
Only one interview was really memorable. A tall, even by my short stature, dark haired girl swaggered in. She was one of the last few of the dwindling number of people left to be interviewed. Her slouch was off-putting, and her expression was bored, but something about her seemed to convey far more than she let on. Her interview was the only to really stray from the norm that had been set.
"Hello young lady," Daddy began, "Are you in the right place?"
"Interviews for a bodyguard, right?" She pulled a yellow sticky note from a pocket inside the worn leather jacket she wore.
"Yes, well," Dad took up, "You seem a bit young."
"I get that a lot," a small smirk tugged at her lips.
My fathers looked between each other unsure but decided to continue the interview, "Well, what qualifications do you have?"
"Four years of boxing, three of kick boxing, a self-defense class at some community center, and some weaponry skills," she shrugged. It was hardly the most impressive list but the way she said it, so nonchalantly, made it sound like anybody could have.
"Well," dad sounded nervous, "How did you, I mean, someone as young as you," he paused to think of a way to phrase it, "How did you get into this business. I mean how old are you really?"
"My uncle was a former bounty hunter, when I moved in with him he sort of got me into it too, but didn't like the idea of letting me put those skills to practice," that smirk didn't falter as she told the story, and I couldn't help but find it a bit charming. She avoided the last question.
"And your parents?" Daddy intoned.
She quirked an eyebrow, her smirk finally being diluted.
"Well," Dad looked to Daddy, as they did at the end of every other interview, "We'll get back to you."
"Wait," I chirped, looking up between them, before looking back to her, "Maybe she'd be good for the job, I mean," I tried to rationalize this while they all had their eyes on me but I had no good reasoning.
"I'm closer to her age than anyone else here," she came to my aid, for the first of many times, "I'd look more natural at her side than some hulking meat-head with nun chucks," she laughed, "and I'm not very noticeable to begin with."
"Are you okay with traveling?" I asked before my dads could argue.
She nodded, looking me over curiously now, as if she'd just noticed me.
"We'll have to get back to you, and your, uh, uncle," Daddy finally announced to the girl.
I stood up and held my hand out to her, smiling as she stood, "I'm Rachel Berry."
"Santana Lopez," she took my hand and shook it before looking to the two men at my side, they hesitantly repeated the gesture before she left.
"I don't know," Dad said as he watched the door.
"I think Rachel's already made up her mind," Daddy laughed as I blushed and returned to my seat.
I, personally, never met Santana's uncle, but as she'd agreed, he had no problem with her traveling. As far as I knew he'd been more approving of her choice to work with me than any job she could have gotten as a bounty hunter. She stopped by the apartment at first a few times, but she didn't really start working with me until Daddy and I were meant to be going to California. She was at the door at four o'clock that morning. Just a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a briefcase. Her hair was in a messy bun, she had on darkly tinted sunglasses, and that same worn leather jacket.
"It's good to see you're so prompt, Santana," Daddy held out his hand to the girl.
"Part of my job, right, Mr. Berry?" She asked wearily as she shook his hand.
He nodded and offered to take her bag but she just shook her head.
"Good morning," I offered through a yawn.
"If you say so," she smirked in amusement and offered to take my bags, well not so much offered as took the biggest and set her duffel bag on top.
I couldn't help but wonder what was in the briefcase she gripped so tightly but I brought my eyes up to the girls face, "Why do you have sunglasses on. It's still dark out?"
"They look cool," she made it sound like the most obvious answer.
"That's impractical," I mumbled, "Shouldn't one in your profession be more aware of appropriate practices?"
She quirked a well maintained eyebrow at me, "As someone who, most likely has no clue about my profession, should you be questioning my methods?"
I couldn't fight the glare as she smirked at me, "I see no purpose, but I suppose you're right."
"I am, trust me," she assured cockily.
I huffed at her attitude, I really couldn't imagine a whole plane ride with her now.
"Glad you two seem to be getting along so well," Daddy teased.
We loaded into the taxi quickly, Daddy making small talk with Santana, and I couldn't help but watch her. Her features were so controlled, a curiously arched eyebrow here, a light smirk her, an interested tilt of her head, but all you could read was the control, no real emotions beyond amusement could be seen. It was interesting, and I began to see one of the purposes of the glasses. Soon we were at the airport and Daddy was giving us our tickets. Santana once more took my bag, and she watched the entire process as her briefcase was checked.
"Are you two hungry?" Daddy asked as he stood up and stretched.
"I'm fine, thank you," Santana assured.
"A bit," I replied.
"Alright, I'll go see what I can find," he nodded, before walking off.
I looked to the girl in the seat across from me, her arms were crossed but her shoulders were relaxed, I couldn't tell what exactly she was looking at but it seemed to be forward, "How old are you, really?"
"Does it matter?" She asked, not looking to me.
"I'm curious," I looked her over for any defining hints, "What about your briefcase?"
"What about it?" She asked, tilting her head to look at me, really look at me, over the edge of her glasses.
"What do you keep in it?" I questioned.
"Just being curious again?" she smirked again.
I glared at her slightly, not enjoying the way she avoided the questions, "Do you plan on answering any of my questions?"
"Yes," she smiled innocently, "See, there ya go."
I felt my glare deepen, and a plastic wrapped sandwich landed in my lap.
"Peanut butter and Jelly," Daddy clarified, before holding one to Santana, "I figured you'd want it at some point."
She smiled, "Thank you."
I watched her curiously over my sandwich as I unwrapped and ate it, but she slipped it into a pocket on the side of her dark pants.
We boarded the plane and Santana took the isle seat while I sat in the middle. Daddy fell asleep almost immediately while Santana settled as well, her arms crossed over her chest and her glasses still blocking her eyes. I couldn't tell if she was asleep right away, but as we took off she maintained her position.
"It's rude to stare," she mumbled.
"I wasn't," I started but couldn't finish the argument, "I thought you were sleeping."
"I wasn't," she assured, "So anymore questions for me?"
"Are there any you'd actually be willing to answer?"
"I guess you'll just have to find out," she pushed the glasses up to rest on her head, turning to look at me.
"Where are you from?" I started.
"Around," she replied.
"Anywhere in particular?"
"Ohio, New York, and New Jersey," she ceded.
I pressed,"Cities?"
"Yeah, those," She agreed.
I felt myself wanting to glare at her once more, "Did the one's you lived in have names?"
"Yes," she smiled.
"How about pets?" I tried thinking of simpler more vague questions.
"A dog," she answered, "Lives with my uncle."
"Does it have a name?"
She nodded.
"Fine, well, what grade are you in?"
She had to think about it for a moment before she answered hesitantly, "I should have started my freshman year of college this year."
"Freshman?" I repeated, somewhat shocked and offended, "How could you possibly be a freshman. There's no way you could be older than me."
"Home school," she answered simply.
"That's no excuse, I'm home-schooled with a tutor and I'm just in the eleventh grade," I couldn't help but whine.
She laughed at that, "I'm not jetting across the country."
"That's still no excuse," I groaned, "I should be further along."
"You'll finish sooner or later," she assured.
"So, how did you get away with answering so few questions?"
"Your dads know what they need to know," she disclosed.
"Which is?"
"I'm going to protect you."
The rest of the plane ride was similar, me asking questions that she mostly dodged. She refused to disclose so much, it was hard to believe my dads had actually entrusted my safety to her, but I couldn't entirely blame them since it was partially, or I suppose, mostly my decision. She didn't make an effort to avoid my questions, instead she just ignored them and waited for the next. By the time the stewardess came to offer drinks and lunches I knew that she was home-schooled, took classes at the community center regularly, and she may or may not have been flirting with the stewardess to get me an extra pillow.
Daddy woke up to eat his sandwich and order a drink, drawing the obviously older woman's attention away from Santana. She hardly seemed pleased but as she came back with two drinks, I couldn't help but find myself entertained. The woman blocked the aisle for a few minutes before Santana finally dismissed the woman with a smile and a yawn. She replaced her glasses over her eyes and crossed her arms once more, leaving me unsure, once more, as to whether she was asleep. I really did sleep for the rest of the flight until I felt my pillow moving.
"Plane's landing soon," a voice came from next to me.
"What?" I groaned, bringing my hand to my eye.
"The plane's going to land, trays up and all that," she repeated, and I lifted my head to see I hadn't been laying on the pillows but the girl that had got them for me.
She rolled her shoulder slightly as I apologized, "Sorry."
"It's fine," she assured.
As we got off the plane Daddy lead us to a taxi cab where we once more loaded in. Santana kept her briefcase in hand this time as we drove to the hotel. Daddy got us checked in and I was surprised when he handed Santana one of two keys and kept the other, leaving me to look between them. He explained that we'd be sharing a room so we'd only need one key. He made his way to his own room, claiming he was tired, but warned us to stay nearby the hotel and remember that I'd have a busy day tomorrow.
"Let's go to the room first and then we can do whatever you want," she planned, once more taking my suitcase.
"Alright," I followed her to the room, where we settled in. It was a nice suite with a small living area and past that a large room with two beds.
She let me pick the bed nearest the window before laying her bags by the bed. She kicked off her shoes and sat on the bed, pulling the briefcase onto her lap and unclasping it.
"What do you keep in there?" I asked curiously, looking over from my suitcase.
She quirked her eyebrow as she usually did when she wouldn't answer.
"Really, if we're going to do this you should at least give me some sort of information. I don't know anything about you, the least you could do is disclose what you're carrying so my father and I aren't surprised to find you arrested for carrying some illegal substance or tool. For all we know you could be some sort of criminal, and you carry that thing like your life depends on it."
She smirked at that, "Mine doesn't," she moved something in the case, "But yours could." She ceded and waved me over, turning the case for me to see.
I moved to the side of her bed and my eyes widened slightly. Inside the briefcase was a series of neatly organized weapons. A stun gun, some knives, two cans of pepper spray, what looked like a flashlight, a case of some sort of pellets, and a gun. I couldn't help but focus more on the gun than anything else.
"It's not real," she mentioned, catching me staring at the weapon, "It's a pellet gun. Just for distraction."
"And you know how to use all of this?" I asked, drawing my eyes away from the case to look at her.
She nodded, moving her hand indecisively over everything before taking a can of pepper spray and tossing it towards me.
I caught it nervously, avoiding the top, "What's this for?"
"In case I'm not around," she assured, "Fair warning though," she stood up and took my hand with the can and pointed to the front, "If you spray yourself, I will laugh."
"Shouldn't you teach me how to use it then?" I asked nervously.
"Point it forward and spray," she shrugged, taking what looked like two pocket knives and slipping them into pockets inside her jacket. She re-clasped the briefcase before looking up to me.
"What are those for?" I asked curiously.
"Just in case," she replied.
"In case what?"
"In case I need them," she started dodging again.
"For what?"
She didn't bother answering this time.
"Fine," I opened a bag before pulling out a swimsuit, "Can we go down to the pool?"
"You're in charge," she shrugged and went to the other room.
I looked through the door curiously before closing it and changing.
I lead her down to the pool after calling Daddy and letting him know where we'd be. Santana sat silently on a lounge chair by the pool while I pulled off my clothes and dove in. I did a few laps before going back to the edge where Santana was , I assumed, watching me from.
"Why don't you get in?" I questioned.
"I'm working."
I rolled my eyes, "You're just watching me."
"What was it you think I'm supposed to do?" She asked.
"More than just babysit me?" I suggested, pulling myself out of the pool.
"Really now?" She looked me over as I sat on the edge of her chair.
"Yes," I looked around quickly, "Come sit by the hot tub with me."
She quirked an eyebrow, "Why?"
"So you can make sure I don't boil," I supplied, taking her hand and tugging her with me.
She followed reluctantly and sat on the edge with her legs crossed while I slipped in.
"So, how do you learn to use so many weapons?" I asked, relaxing in the heated water.
"YouTube."
I stared at her in shock.
"It's not that hard," she looked around, making sure no one was around before pulling out her pocket knives. She showed two tools, they both looked like bent nails with slight differences. "These are for lock picking, aside from the obvious, knife, file and all the rest."
"What situation could possibly require you be able to pick a lock?"
She smirked cockily, putting the tools away, "You'd be surprised."
"Well," I rolled my eyes, "What other lessons have you taken at community centers?"
"Few," she sat thoughtfully, "Boxing, kick-boxing, self-defense, cooking, and dance?"
"Cooking and dancing," I laughed, before teasing, "Well aren't you Miss Holly Home-maker?"
"You laugh now, but you never know when those skills come in handy," she scowled.
I nodded, trying to speak past my laughter, "I'm sure you'll make a wonderful dancing chef one day."
She continued scowling.
"What kind of dance?" I asked once my laughter subsided.
"Oh, now you're interested," she rolled her eyes.
"Very," I nodded, "I mean, what kind of dancing do bounty-hunters in training partake in?"
She glared venomously at me, and I knew it was one more question I wouldn't be receiving an answer to.
"What can you cook, then?"
Her glare softened before she replied, "Mostly breakfast."
"Like what?" I asked curiously.
"Eggs, bacon, the usual," she supplied before questioning my look of disgust, "What?"
"That's horrible," I declared.
"And what would you suppose I eat for breakfast?"
"Waffles."
"What are you vegan or something?" She questioned.
Her face fell as I nodded.
"Oh god," she groaned.
"What?" I demanded.
"You aren't going to get all preachy, are you?"
I gaped, "No, I'm not going to get preachy about your choice to mutilate small defenseless animals."
She gave me a pointed look.
"I can't force you to eat anything you don't want," I assured.
"Great, because I'm thinking steak," announced.
I glared at her as she stood up and stretched, holding her hand out to me.
I took it and she pulled me out of the hot tub.
I pulled my clothes back on and we made our way back up to the room. It was freezing in the elevator, and as much as I hated it, Santana managed to get me to wear the jacket. She mentioned not wanting to see me shaking like a little chihuahua. I tried focusing more on the warmth than the fact that I was wearing cowhide but her laughter kept reminding me. She couldn't hold it back as we made our way up stairs and once we were in the room I threw the coat onto her bed and grabbed some clothes before rushing into the bathroom.
Half an hour later I emerged clad in shorts and a t-shirt. Santana was sitting on the couch, the television was on but the volume was too low to make anything out. In her hands was what looked like a nutcracker. I moved to sit next to her and saw her quickly flip one handle over her fingers quickly before the tool landed completely back in her hands and I could see a smaller blade at the top.
"What is that?" I asked curiously.
"Butterfly knife," she mumbled, flipping the tool again until it was closed this time she did a sequence of flips and twists until the knife was upside down in her hand.
I watched carefully, trying to follow the movements but the knife moved to quickly in her hand, "Will you show me how to do that?"
She snorted, "I'm pretty sure being your bodyguard doesn't consist of letting you lop off fingers."
"Well, you can do it," I held out my hand for the knife.
"It's almost like you're suggesting that since I can do it, it must be easy," she smirked slightly.
"Well, it can't be too hard. It's essentially a toy," I pointed out.
She laughed, "As much as I'd love to just hand this over and let you test that theory out, I'll hold off." She handed me the remote and closed the blade before slipping it into her pocket, "Why don't you just pick something to watch."
"Will you teach me something? I'm not a child," I argued.
She pointed to the remote in my hand, "That is a remote control. It changes the channels on that," she pointed to the television, "And if you'd kindly press a button, any button, I'm sure you'll eventually land on something interesting."
I couldn't help but gape at her, "I know how to work a remote."
"Then I hope you wouldn't mind putting those skills to use," she requested.
We settled on the couch watching some movie. She mostly just played with her knife while I watched. When it was over she suggested we should probably eat. She dug around the drawers until she found the room service menu and handed it to me. She got a burger while I ordered a salad. When it finally came she wouldn't let me answer the door. After tipping the deliver boy she handed over my "Rabbit food," and put her burger in the fridge.
"Why don't you eat?" I asked over a forkful of salad.
"I eat," she shrugged.
"What about your sandwich earlier? You didn't eat that, you just stuck it in your pocket," I reminded.
"And ate it on the plane," she added.
"When?" I asked surprised.
"After you watched me flirting with the stewardess and before you drooled on my shoulder."
I blushed slightly at that, "I wasn't..." I trailed off.
"It's fine, really, I've heard the sight of me working the Lopez charm is a magical one," she grinned cockily, "But I worked hard to get you that extra pillow."
I rolled my eyes, "You convinced that poor woman that you actually intended to call her, and I'm pretty sure you threw her number away."
"You know, it'd be really awkward if she was working the flight back to New York," she mumbled.
"That would be terrible," I agreed.
"She might not be too nice about bringing us drinks," she pointed out.
I scrunched my face at that.
She pulled out her cell phone quickly, "You have an interview in the morning and then a meeting or something in the afternoon."
"When did you become my assistant?" I questioned.
"Trust me, I'm not in any hurry to get your coffee or keep any memos, but I'm supposed to get you there safely and on time," she explained.
"So, you're actually taking this seriously," I asked.
"Why wouldn't I?" She questioned.
I shrugged, "You're like ridiculously young, smart, and you look like you should be a cheerleader or a model."
I couldn't help but hate the smirk that seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face, "I was," at my curious look she clarified, "When I was little I was a cheerleader, but then I moved."
"Why'd you move?"
She gave me her usual look.
"Well, why didn't you keep cheering?" I tried.
She shrugged, her smirk melting away, "Just lost interest in it. Like I said, boxing and kick-boxing became my thing."
I ventured further with my next question, "Will you show me something some time?"
"I think you misunderstood my job," she announced, "I'm supposed to keep you safe, not let you cut off your fingers, not show you how to swing your fists, just keep you safe."
"You gave me pepper spray, why can't you just show me a few things?"
She looked me over in thought for a moment before holding out her hand, "Give me your cell phone."
I placed the phone in her hand.
She typed her number in and showed it to me, "If you ever need me and, for whatever reason, I'm not around just call me and I'll be there. Until then, I'll think about teaching you something."
"Like what?" I asked, unable to hide the slight excitement.
"How to be on time for appointments," she said as she stood up and stretched, walking past me to the room.
"Something real," I argued, following her.
"Trust me, being on time is real, so is a good night's sleep," she dug some clothes out of her duffel bag before going into the bathroom.
I just huffed, and went to turn off the television and check the locks on the door. I got in my bed, it might have been a bit annoying but Santana was right, it was late and tomorrow would be busy. Eventually the shower shut off and I watched the door as the girl stepped out. She was dressed in a black tank top and matching boy shorts and I couldn't help but blush as I looked her over.
"I'm sure we've discussed this staring problem of yours before," she pointed out, running her fingers through long black hair as it hung loosely like it had been the day we met.
"I'm not, you were just taking for ever and," I worried my lip slightly, "I wanted to say goodnight."
"Go ahead then," she was amused as she held her hand to the light.
"Goodnight, Santana," I mumbled.
"Night, Rachel," she replied, turning off the light and slipping into her own bed.
A/N: So, I know I kind of have a lot of stories going on at once but I kinda feel like once I get a good idea I can't let it go. Hopefully you guys like this, and I will definitely be catching up with PDD and Control, I'm not as certain about SHV and SDS but I'll try. Um, thanks to everyone who reviews and comments in any of my stories, I really do appreciate them. Criticism can only improve my writing.
