Prompt from anonymous: Rachel/Santana based around the song "I'd Do Anything (Soldier's Lament)" by John Butler Trio.
It's her birthday. It's her first fucking birthday and Santana's going to miss it. Rachel's going to have picked her out a cute little pink cake with white frosting and red flowers that happens to somehow be completely vegan. Rachel will put her in a beautiful frilly little dress and will fix her hair up with barrettes and ribbons that match her little shoes. God, what is Rachel doing to their daughter while she's away?
Rachel will keep her in her lap all day, will hold her tightly as Quinn and Brittany bring out her birthday cake. Rachel will smile gently and kiss the tops of her head before she helps her blow out the candles. They'll all sing happy birthday while Puck plays his guitar. They'll help her unwrap her gifts while she claps and smiles and laughs, her fingers reaching out to dabble in the frosting in front of her.
What Santana wouldn't do to be there, to hold her and kiss her cheeks and fix her hair the way it's supposed to be done. But fuck, just to be there. She's never even going to get to see her daughter in person, is never going to get to sing her to sleep and read her stories and dress her up in awesome clothes.
Will she know Santana? Will Rachel hide all of the pictures and never mention her again? Will she get remarried to someone else that her daughter will call "mom" or "dad" while Santana fades away as a distant memory? No, she would never do that and Santana knows that. But it won't fucking be the same. Their daughter will never really know her. And shit, Rachel's heart is going to fucking break.
Santana hears frantic voices around her and she struggles to open her eyes, her fingers pressing against the open wound in her side. There's blood everywhere. Fuck, it's seeping through her shirt and it's clinging to her hands and it's staining the dirt beneath her. She can feel it, draining out of her body and taking everything she loves with it.
She'll be called a hero, maybe. But Santana will never get to kiss Rachel again; she'll never to get to lay her head on Rachel's chest and listen to her hum while Santana slides her fingers across her stomach and past the waistband of her shorts. She'll never get to tell Rachel that she loves her one last time; she'll never even get to say it to their daughter. Fuck, she'll never —