Shelter
Part One: Calm Before the Storm
Chapter Four: No Time To Regret
Ships: Brittana with Sam/Brittany, Santofsky, Puck/Brittany, Quinntana friendships. Very minor Quick.
Summary: The only thing worse than being reaped is volunteering for someone you love. Because then they have something to use against you. Brittany and Santana learn that the hard way.
Other: This is a Hunger Games AU. Every chapter will be named after a line from a Glee song with contextual or sometimes more literal relevance to the chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.
As soon as Brittany announced that she was volunteering herself in place of young Stacey, the crowd of citizens fell silent. When Santana calmed her erratically beating heart enough to slow to a normal pace, she assessed her surroundings. She swore she could hear a pin drop. She peered into the crowd and saw a small riot form right in front of her eyes. People began to swarm the stage, upset at Brittany's choice. She heard people screaming about fairness and stupidity and rules , and immediately turned to look at Brittany.
The blonde was swaying side to side, almost in a daze. Her eyes began to flutter shut and Santana that Brittany was going to black out. It had used to happen to the blonde often when she was just a girl. She would have some sort of emotional trauma, black out and then lose recollection of the event.
Santana felt a lump in her throat. She stood abruptly, knocking her chair back and ran the few steps it took toward Brittany. She grabbed her hand and almost retreated because she swore she felt an actual spark of electricity when she touched her. She pulled her off-stage and when they were both safe behind the curtain, she felt her body fall limp onto her.
Adrenaline pumping in her veins, she carried the much taller blonde down the stage and looked for someone she could trust. She whipped her head from side to side and saw a group of stage hands and security guards scurry towards her, ready to take the unconscious girl.
"No! Don't touch her!" she shouted at them. No one like them was going to touch her. At that moment, Dave came barrelling down the stairs, his heavy feet stopping when he saw Santana carrying Brittany.
"Santana, you have to give her to someone! Don't be rash. Think about her!" Dave shouted, his loud voice almost being lost in the sea of shouting citizens.
Santana looked down at the beautiful girl in her arms. She let her dark eyes trace over flawless, creamy skin and golden blonde hair. She had never seen anyone look so serene in their life.
"Get me a car," Santana demanded. "I need a car, I can take care of her."
"Santana," Mags suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. "You need to take her to a doctor. She's not well."
"She's fine, okay? I can take care of her!" Santana screeched in the older woman's face. Mags retreated immediately, knowing not to push the topic. She slowly walked backward towards two security guards stationed with her.
"I need a car for the Puckerman boy, a car for myself and David and a car for Santana," Mags instructed with an undeniable sense of authority.
The military-like security officers nodded their heads, in sync, and ran off, in a march-like manner. She turned toward Santana, David and the unconscious Brittany. She was about to ask Dave to hold onto Brittany, because the girl had at least two inches and ten pounds on the short brunette, but when she saw the way Santana was gripping at the covered skin of Brittany's shoulders and thighs, she retracted.
A few minutes later, three cars emerged right below the stage. Mags led Santana, who was still holding Brittany in her tired arms, toward the first one. She dismissed the hired driver and helped load Brittany carefully and safely into the backseat. Santana slid into the front seat of the large Sedan-like car and shut the door. She rolled down the window, and stared at Mags. She tried to relay everything that she was too proud to say in that two second look.
"I'll gather her possessions. Have a safe ride to the train station, sweetheart," Mags nodded and smiled quickly, understanding everything that Santana was communicating and clapped Santana on the shoulder. Santana smiled at Mags quickly before shooting a quick nod of acknowledgement to Dave and driving off at full speed.
Santana sped through the empty streets of her home district, racing to get to her destination. As she drove, her eyes jumped from watching Brittany's figure in the back seat of the large car to out her front window. She passed by familiar sights that plagued her dreams and lingered in childhood memories. The fishery. The elementary school. The small park. And then finally, her destination. The marina.
She slowed the car to a full stop and parked the car on the gravel parking lot for the marina. She then pulled the keys from the ignition and left them on the seat for whoever was hired to collect the car. She opened the back door, silently, afraid to waken the slumbering beauty. She slid her arms under Brittany's knees and shoulders and slowly lifted her.
She felt much heavier than before, now that Santana had calmed down and was no longer in a state of shock and instinct. If it were any normal seventeen year old girl carrying a girl much taller than her in her arms, they would've faltered and probably would have not been able to accomplish the task. But Santana's time in the arena had done her well. The upper body strength and muscular tone had done her quite well and had never left her body because she was constantly training. As a result, Santana hobbled over to the edge of the marina and onto the oak wood planks of the dock.
She stopped at the second boat, a medium-sized boat with the faded words Mi Corazon painted onto the side. She carefully stepped off the dock and down onto the back of the boat, making it rock in the water. She laid Brittany down on the long cushioned seat closest to the stern of the boat. Then, she bent down and felt along the side of the boat until she pulled off a piece of the rubber lining. She dug out the emergency key wedged in the rubber and placed the rubber back on the side of the boat, before untying the rope that attached the boat to the dock. She sat at the seat designated for the driver and slid the key into the ignition. The boat roared, coming to life and she began to drive the boat away from the dock.
Santana stopped the boat's engine about twenty feet away from the familiar dock. She turned around in her seat, looking at Brittany, who was still sleeping soundly. She reached in a side compartment of the boat and pulled out a large fleece blanket. Her father had put the blanket in the boat when Santana was just a girl because she often complained about being cold, but never wanted to stay home on a trip. She remembered how he smiled his wide smile and his warm hands and his old jean jacket. Then, she heard Brittany begin to stir, so, bending down, she gently lay the fleece blanket on top of her.
As she was about to stand, she had a thought in her mind. It would only last a second, not even, but it felt as though different parts of her body were fighting to commit to this thought. She looked, in what can only be described as in awe, at the sleeping girl and leaned forward slightly. Her lips were hovering just a small fraction away from Brittany's. Just when she was about to reduce the space between their lips to nothing, she heard someone walking through the small field toward the dock. She stood, her cheeks heated as though she was embarrassed at what someone had almost caught her doing.
"Hey," she heard a smooth, sweet voice call out. "Do you want to bring her in?"
"No," she turned around to face her only friend from her treasured childhood, Quinn Fabray, the mayor's daughter. "It's okay."
"Okay," Quinn nodded assuring her, and jerked her head toward the huge house resting on a wide bed of green grass. "Let's grab some food before you leave."
Santana nodded and began to follow Quinn toward her extravagant house that made Victor's Village seem modest. As they walked back, she caught, out of the corner of her eye, a tall, dark man whisper something into his sleeve and nod seemingly into nowhere. She chuckled, dryly, at the man and ignored the rest of the security detail that lightly trailed them as the girls walked through the property. She never got over seeing the groups of local men working as security for the Fabray estate. They found themselves at two large French-style doors and once Quinn stepped in front of them, the doors were being pulled open by two men.
"Afternoon, Miss Fabray, Miss Lopez,"
Santana followed Quinn up the spiralling staircase and into Quinn's private bedroom. The extravagant room always had Santana in awe as a child. It had seemed like Quinn held the whole world in her bedroom. There were massive bookcases, lined with aged and faded tales of other lifetimes, a cherry wood desk with various notepads and sketchbooks stacked on top of it, and the thing that had always held the most splendour to Santana, a wide flat-screened television screen in the corner of the room. The television was the second to be in that same position, because Quinn had demanded that her father buy her a newer model when Santana was in the Games.
Santana remembered when she was younger and days were spent with eyes glued to the screen, watching old films of dancing and singing and freedom and happiness. She remembered how she would always wish that she could travel back to those times and be something like a singer, performing for crowds everywhere. But now, she laughed half-heartedly at her childhood ignorance and pushed that dream to the back of her mind. Quinn shut the large French-style doors to her room behind Santana and sat on her bed. She looked expectantly at Santana, who was now leaning against her desk with her arms crossed.
"It's not fair. It's not fair," Santana said, simply. "I- I did everything I could and now-"
"I know. I know, honey," Quinn reached her arms out toward the brunette and Santana walked forward, and sank in Quinn's warm embrace. Santana curled into Quinn's slightly longer body and slowly, tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. "Just let it out okay, S?"
"I have to keep her safe, Quinn. I'm going to do anything to keep her safe in there or she is going to die." Santana sniffled and she felt Quinn's biceps tense at her words.
"Santana, I have to tell you something before you leave," Quinn whispered painfully.
Santana sat up in Quinn's arms, sensing the serious tone in her voice. Her eyes darted between Quinn's, searching for a hint to whatever was bothering Quinn.
"Q, you can tell me anything," Santana laced their fingers together and pulled them toward her lap. "You know that."
"If I tell you this..." Quinn started in a warning tone, "Santana, this will change everything."
"Quinn, what's going on?" Santana pleaded with her friend.
"I... Santana... I slept with someone six months ago," Quinn stated, attempting to be emotionless, and her usual icy facade would've worked, had her hands not been shaking. She began picking at a loose thread on her expensive comforter and Santana covered Quinn's hand with her own, trying to calm the girl's shaking hands.
"Okay," Santana drawled the last syllable, expecting more.
"I had sex with someone and now I'm late. Like really really late. Like if I'm not pregnant, I don't know what's wrong with me," Quinn clarified.
Santana's wild imagination immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. Images of the boys she'd seen around town grabbing Quinn and forcing themselves on her ran rampant in her mind. "What? Did someone-"
"No! But, Santana he..." Santana could see Quinn's inner struggle. What could be worse than her being with child, when she was still a child herself?
"S, he's Noah Puckerman. And I think I might love him."
And for the second time that day, Santana felt her heart stop. Santana was seldom at a loss of words and a loss of thoughts, but Quinn's words had her in an almost catatonic state. The situation would almost be comical, if it wasn't tragic. She looked down at Quinn's stomach, still confused. She saw that her stomach was still slim as ever, but she would bet her life that if she slid the blonde's shirt up, she wouldn't see much of the sculpted abdominal muscles that matched her own. She was six months into her pregnancy and wasn't even showing. She was six months into her pregnancy and going into her third trimester and she hadn't even told Santana. Santana tried to mask her hurt, but she knew that Quinn could see it on her face.
"I am so sorry, Santana," Quinn let her tears fall freely from hazel-gold eyes. She wiped at them furiously as Santana stared into nothingness, mouth open slightly. "I wanted to tell you, I really did, but my dad... He doesn't want anyone to know about how much of... about this."
Santana heard the unspoken words. He didn't want anyone to know about how much of a disappointment she was. About how much of a failure she was. She didn't care so much for Mr. Fabray, but she knew how crappy he made Quinn feel. He was the mayor and he thrived on appearances and reputations. A pregnant teenage daughter would seem like the end of the world to him. Santana ground her teeth together when she thought about how he must have told that to Quinn.
"I'm so sorry but I can't..." Santana said, more to herself than to Quinn. "I can't... I have to... Brittany..."
"I know. I know he won't come back." Quinn choked between tears.
Quinn's heartbreaking sobs finally broke Santana out of her stupor. She took in the sight of her usual strong, stoic best friend crying and mourning a boy who wasn't dead yet, but surely would be in a few months' time.
"Quinn, I promise you," Santana started, locking her trademark dark, mysterious orbs with wet, amber ones. "I will make sure he survives for as long as he can, but I won't- I'll make sure that he's alive long enough to see his baby at least once, okay?"
"Thank you," Quinn threw her arms around Santana and sobbed softly into the crook of her shoulder. Santana rubbed at the top of Quinn's back in soothing circles.
"Whoever said love conquers all was full of shit," Santana laughed bitterly and although the situation was nothing but humorous, Quinn had to laugh too.
"You give him this."
Santana felt something cool and metal being pushed into her hand. She pulled away from Quinn's embrace and opened her closed fist to investigate the object. It was a pin, meant to be worn on the lapel of a jacket. It showed a majestic silver fish, with its tail curved and an golden three-point triton crossing over it. The old Fabray family symbol. She looked up at her friend and nodded profusely. She stood up and gave Quinn one last hug before crossing the spacious room to the doors.
"Santana," Quinn called out. Santana turned around and met Quinn's eyes. The two girls were never the best at communicating feelings, but everything that needed to be said was said through that look. "Be safe."
Santana nodded once again and let out a scratchy, throaty goodbye and turned away from Quinn, not looking back once.
Santana watched through the small, circular window as the familiar landscape of blue skies and bluer seas seemed to roll away from her in the distance. They had been on the train for about two hours now and Brittany had yet to wake up. She had been sitting on the worn, red armchair in the blonde's room for most of the trip. It had always brought chills to Santana's back thinking of how many girls had been in the very room she was in only to die a bloody violent death weeks later.
It would be a lie to say that she hadn't been hiding away from Dave, Mags and especially Puck. She couldn't face him. Not when she was condemning him to death and forcing her best friend's child to be fatherless. Instead, she chose to watch the hills and the seas distance themselves from her, preparing the way for the invasive buildings and giant fortress that was the Capitol.
She occasionally looked back at the slumbering girl, who was curled up on the bed larger than anyone's, seldom a Victor's or the mayor's family's, beds back home. She looked so peaceful, too peaceful for the impending events. She shifted in her sleep and Santana felt her whole body tense. She slowly stood from the seat and began to walk out of the room. If anyone caught her in the room, she wouldn't know what she would say.
She slid the compartment door open and closed it slowly as she exited the room. She let out a breath of relief, and she turned to her right to walk to her room, between Mags' and Dave's. She found her path blocked by a dark, muscular boy who despite his size and height, had never looked more like a little boy than in that moment.
"I- I didn't mean to…" he spoke quietly. " You know..."
"Okay," Santana responded quickly. "You should- I'm going to my room."
Then Santana turned but before she could walk away he spoke again.
"I'm never going to see my baby, will I?"
It felt like her entire body stopped. She whipped around in surprise and opened her mouth, trying to gather words to answer him with.
"I- I'm…" She began to apologize, but then realized that an apology wouldn't help the situation at all. "No."
She walked away from Noah Puckerman, not turning back to look at the sad boy. If she had, she knew that she would break. So instead she calmly made her way to her room and shut and locked the compartment door. She got down on her hands and knees and crawled toward the edge of her bed. She bent lower and reached her arm underneath, patting the wooden frame until she hit something glass.
From under her bed, she pulled a glass bottle filled with vodka, an old alcohol and her favourite. She untwisted the cap of the bottle and tossed it aside. She swirled the liquid inside the bottle for a moment, as if contemplating her next move. But she knew what she was going to do. She threw her head back and drank a large gulp of the fiery liquid before moving it away from her plump lips to her lap.
"That felt good," she sighed, talking to no one but herself.
She thought about how the next few months would play out, but her mind felt blank. She had no idea what was going to happen. She didn't know how she was going to kill Puck, because even though she wouldn't be pushing a knife into his chest, she would ultimately be the cause of his death. She didn't know how she would teach Brittany, who wouldn't hurt a fly, how to kill someone and even if she succeeded, she didn't know if Brittany would ever actually kill someone when faced with the challenge. She did know one thing. It was the same thing that she always knew. Although no one knew, it was the driving force of her cryptic actions over the past three years. She needed to keep Brittany alive.
So she began to drink again.
I reposted this chapter because of a few things that were bothering me when I reread it.