Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, Fox and Mr. Murphy do.

Author's Note: Future fic inspired by a request for a Soldier!Santana story. Six chapters in all. Many, many thanks to my beta reader, Argent Skye (a.k.a. Fir Chlis); any errors in the story are not her responsibility, only mine.

HOMECOMING

Chapter One

Somewhere near the Persian Gulf, Wednesday, March 8, 2017, 0630 hours

Cpl. Santana Lopez of the Military Police sits on the ground, leaning back against the wheel of an armoured Humvee. She wears combat fatigues and body armour, and she holds a worn greeting card in both hands. The front of the card has a teddy bear on it, and reads "Happy 24th Birthday". The "2" in "24" is added in with a Sharpie marker. Her dark eyes crinkle and her full lips open wide as Santana laughs out loud, reading the contents of the card.

A shadow falls across her.

"Lopez," the figure, another soldier, calls out, "What's so funny?"

Santana looks up, squinting.

"Specialist Puckerman, you useless git! How's it hanging?"

"To the left, as usual. Whatcha got there?"

Santana rolls her eyes, saying, "A birthday card from Brittany, Puck. So, fancy meeting you again."

"Yeah, well, happy birthday. I hoped I'd run into you when I saw that your unit was on convoy escort duty again. Last time, I seem to recall we shared some fine hooch from my flask."

One eyebrow arches as the Latina gazes up. "Don't remind me; that stuff sucked. My birthday was weeks ago. Not that you'd remember."

Puck chuckles, slings his rifle and squats down in the dirt beside her. He pulls out a smart phone from one of his pockets, saying "Got some new photos of Beth. Shelby lets 'Auntie Quinn' visit with Beth regular these days. I can't believe she's so big now."

Closing her card, Santana says, "Let me see. How old is Beth again?"

"Just about to turn seven. Here, she's riding a pony at the fair…"

Santana leans forward, looking at the picture on the screen in Puck's hands. In the photo, a young girl with grey eyes and golden hair smiles from the back of a pony.

"She's really cute, Puck. She looks like her mom."

"Yeah, she does. She'll be a heartbreaker in a few years."

"When did you last see Beth?"

"On my last furlough. Quinn and I took her to the park to feed the ducks. Man, those ducks have no fear. Too used to people feeding 'em I guess."

On hearing this, Santana looks away for a moment, blinking a couple of times. She turns back and says, "So…everybody getting along?"

"Pretty much. Quinn doesn't act like a megabitch. She's been pretty chill, actually. And Ms. Corcoran doesn't really need the money I send for Beth. But I'm not like my piss-poor excuse for a dad. I'm no…"

"…Lima Loser. No, no, you're not, Noah."

They sit for a few moments in silence, as Puck goes through some more pictures. Eventually, Puck stops and looks back at his companion.

"Lopez."

"Hmm?"

"You wanna get together when you get some down time? Y'know, get naked for old times' sake?"

"I…don't think so."

"Why not?" Puck whines, "You and Brittany aren't together or anything. It's not like you'd be cheating. The Puckzilla is still a sex shark."

Santana shakes her head, saying offhandedly, "Been there. Done that. Got the wardrobe."

"But, you're so fine…"

"Puck, this isn't high school anymore. No one cares who I hook up with. People only really care that I've got their back when the shit hits the fan."

"Santana, that hurts!"

Santana grins widely, her teeth flashing, saying, "Not likely."

A tall figure with "MP" written on his arm marches briskly up to the pair, calling out, "Lopez! Stay seated."

"Sarge?"

"The Lieutenant wants me to ride with him. Wants to discuss some b.s. issue while we're pulling convoy duty. You've got command of that gun truck, there, for the duration of the mission. You'll be third in the first group of three Humvees, leading the convoy; there's three more trucks pulling up the rear. Final briefing is in twenty minutes. Understood?"

"No prob, Sarge!"

Puck and Santana watch the MP sergeant stalk away.

Santana turns back and speaks first, saying, "Well, I guess that's my cue. Gotta check out my crew and gear."

"I hear ya, Lopez."

Puck stands and watches, bemused, as Santana carefully places her birthday card in a pouch on her armour, over her chest.

"Sure you don't still love her?"

"What? No! I mean, she's my best friend and all. But, uh…yeah."

Santana rises to her feet, placing her hands on her hips, her left hand resting on the butt of the pistol on her left hip. She looks up and asks, "Don't you have some trucker stuff to do?"

"Yeah, I guess I do. I'm driving the lead cargo truck. See you on the flip side, Lopez."

"Best of luck, Puckerman."

Puck walks away from the Humvee. When he is out of earshot, he shakes his head and mutters under his breath, "Card's over your heart? Denial – it's not just a river, Santana."

On a dusty road, Wednesday, March 8, 2017, 0830 hours

Santana sits in the passenger side rear seat of her Hummer, looking through the armoured glass window to her right. Her helmeted head turns back left and she calls up to the gunner standing in the turret, "Keep alert, there, Young! I know you. Better not zone out on me."

"Heh. No worries, Corporal."

Santana smiles grimly, saying "How's the convoy looking?"

Pfc. Young, a tall, rangy fellow, swivels his turret rearward and calls back, "Five by five…so far."

"Seen", Santana replies, turning and leaning forward, and opens her mouth again to speak to the driver.

Suddenly, the attention of all four soldiers in the truck is directed to the front of the convoy, as a large explosion engulfs the lead Humvee.

"Crap!" Santana spits, "Halt. Halt!"

Her Humvee comes to a stop in a cloud of dust. Through the windshield ahead they see another Humvee stop near the flaming wreckage of the lead truck. Over the radio comes a tinny voice, "Uh, convoy…uh…halt. Ohmigod…uh…Sarge, detail some men to, uh, t-to, uh…"

"Young! Heads up!" Santana barks, "Watch that tree line way off to the left! Rodriquez!"

The MP in the front passenger seat cocks his head slightly in response.

"Keep your eyes on that hut at two o'clock."

"Yes'm!"

The Sergeant comes on the radio, saying, "All right, here's what we're gonna do. Lopez! You take…"

There is a "click" as his voice is cut off, then a loud report which draws Santana's attention forwards again.

Rodriguez shouts from the front seat, "Omigod, there's…there's a rocket team beside that hut. They just nailed the Ell Tee's Humvee!"

Young shouts from the turret, "Contact left! There's a bunch of fighters coming out of the tree line. Maybe company strength. Looks like they're armed with AK's!"

Over the vehicle radio can be heard a rise of panicking voices from the Humvees at the rear of the convoy:

"Wha…what's going on?"

"Is the Lieutenant gone? Whadda we do?"

"Crap, we're receiving small arms fire from 9 o'clock!"

Santana picks up the microphone and starts barking orders:

"Contact left! MG gunners, suppress that infantry and keep them away from the transport trucks."

"Contact right, the hut at 2'oclock relative to the front of the convoy. Young, put grenades on that hut until it's gone, then shift fire and keep the infantry offa the gun trucks. Over!"

A voice cuts in, interrupting her, "Are you sure? What if they…uh…"

"Clear this freq! You think this is hard? Try being gay in the army. That's hard!", Santana snarls. "Fire, fire at will! Over and out!"

From the rear of the convoy, a few hundred metres behind Santana's truck, three turrets swivel left and heavy machinegun fire reaches out to barely visible figures firing from the tree line. Back at the remains of the lead element, Young swivels his turret right and pours automatic grenade fire onto the area of the hut, which is engulfed in a series of explosions.

Rodriguez shouts again, "Contact 3 o'clock. Some more indigs with rifles! Maybe half a dozen or so," and he flinches as a bullet strikes his window, failing to penetrate but starring the glass with cracks.

Santana, meanwhile, has been looking at a map and changing the frequency of her Humvee's radio. She urgently speaks into the mic, saying, "A55 this is A69, adjust fire, over."

When a distant voice answers, Santana proceeds to call in an artillery strike in a box around the entire convoy. For the next ten minutes the convoy undergoes a hail of rifle fire. Santana directs return fire from the Humvees, until the whine of artillery shells fills the air. Explosions shatter the ground around them as Santana turns back to the radio and corrects the aim of the incoming shells.

After another 10 minutes of hell on earth, Young shouts down from the turret, "Ma'am, the lead cargo truck's on fire! Maybe some enemy fighters got through to them."

"Young, keep up your return fire. Rodriguez, stay on the horn. I'll go back and check up on the truckers…I'll use my personal radio to keep in touch."

Santana picks up her carbine, flings open the door of the Humvee and dashes to the ditch at the side of the road. Moving at a crouch along the ditch, she approaches the burning transport truck. She risks a glance over the edge of the ditch. The only person in her line of sight is a body in an American uniform lying crumpled on the ground by the open driver's door.

"Puck, what have you gotten yourself into now?" Santana whispers to herself.

She gathers herself, and launches into a run across the road.

At that precise moment the fuel tank of the cargo truck explodes. Fragments fly around her, some striking her in the head and chest. Cpl. Santana Lopez immediately falls to the ground, like a puppet whose strings are cut.

Lima, Ohio, Wednesday, March 15, 2017, 1730 hours

Quinn Fabray stands looking at her reflection in a hotel room mirror. Her blonde hair is cut in a chin-length bob. She wears a black, knee-length dress, devoid of decoration or accessory.

She turns around and looks at her companion, another blonde, sitting on the room's bed. Quinn calls, "Hey, Britt."

Brittany Pierce sits wringing her hands. She wears a dark grey suit and skirt, clean but a little wrinkled. Her expression is pensive. She starts gnawing at her bottom lip as she looks up at Quinn.

"Yeah, Q?"

"Ready?"

"I…I guess."

A cell phone on the bed vibrates. Brittany picks it up and hands it to Quinn. Quinn quickly scrolls trough the text and looks up.

"Well, it's the funeral parlour. Puck and San have come home."