Santana has run through so many scenarios in her head, working herself into hysterics thinking about all the things that could go wrong and all the things that could be going wrong already while she's been trapped in here. She's imagined herself having to face both a Brittany who is gaunt and sick from worry and a Brittany finally unafraid and untroubled. She has thought about how she can navigate comfort from behind a protective glass window, planning how she can wipe away tears with her words instead of her thumbs. She's rehearsed words, repeated them in her head and let them slip from her lips and echo back to her against the walls of her cell. She's framed reassurances that aren't lies, explanations that aren't entirely truths; she's thought of anything—absolutely anything— to make the cold plastic of the handset feel less jarring.

Honestly, she just wants to see her.

She wants to see her smile and capture the light of it so she can imagine it while she's entombed in her cell at night staring up at a dull gray ceiling, lighting up the world.

She wants to let her know that none of this is her fault, that she'd do it again in a heartbeat if she had to, that she'd have done it earlier if she had known.

She has needed to see her from the moment she realized she couldn't; she almost resigned herself to the fact that wouldn't, so when Quinn told that she could, she started planning almost instantly; she has so much to say in this thirty minutes that she has it planned by the second. She's been so anxious for this moment to come that she hadn't even for a second considered that maybe her visitor isn't Brittany.

And it's not.

When she's lead to the small visiting booth and sat—sectioned by only hard glass and poorly constructed wood—across from a small brunette blast from her past, it's sheer shock that keeps her rooted to her seat. She doesn't have words to articulate her surprise and even if she did, she's so shocked, she doesn't even think to reach for the handset.

It's the small, timid smile she receives that springs her into action and even with the headset pressed to her ear, no words seem to find their way to her lips.

"I hope you don't mind me visiting you, Santana. I heard you were in New York and Quinn said you wouldn't mind if I stopped by so—"

Well, apparently some people don't change.

"You can cut to the chase, Rachel. I mean, it's not the stripper pole that a certain someone predicted, but I'm in jail; you're not visiting me at my house,"

Rachel smiles, but it's tightlipped. There's something sad lurking behind dark eyes, something almost akin to pity. Santana is planning all the ways she can kill Quinn for this already.

"You know I didn't mean that, Santana," There's the lilt of genuine sincerity in her tone that even now—even though she hasn't seen Rachel Berry since high school graduation—makes her feel kind of bad for not trying harder with Rachel back then. She thinks that if she had tried back then, then even now, they'd probably still be friends. She hates that kind of thinking though; she's already got enough what ifs on her plate to last a lifetime and it's really beginning to look like she'll have a lifetime with nothing to do but ponder them so she's trying to live in her now and her right now is Rachel Berry, the first real visitor she's had since she's been trapped in here. Rachel Berry who is offering her a smile and no judgment and isn't that the most Santana can ask for when it seems the whole world is painting her with the hard, harsh angles of a monster?

"So tell me then, what have I missed? Broadway debut? Tony award? Finally marry Finnocence?"

Rachel gives a short honest chuckle, shaking her head softly.

"No, none of that. I'm sure you'll be out of here in time to see it though,"

It's Santana's smile that's tightlipped this time because as much as she wants to believe it, the longer this trial drags by, the more she begins to believe that she's already living her forever.

"Well, maybe not the last one," Rachel adds quickly.

"Oh?"

Rachel shrugs, which is probably the most nonchalant Santana has ever seen her about anything let alone about anything that has to do with Finn.

"Finn and I broke up years ago," she admits. "You can say 'I told you so' if you want,"

Honestly, Santana doesn't want to.

If anything, she's sure Quinn's already beat that dead horse so she just shrugs instead.

"If I know anything, it's that sometimes things don't work out the way you want them to, you know?" she doesn't mean for it to sound so melancholy but the sadness taints her tongue, choking the conversation from its very roots.

Rachel pinches her lips into the saddest smile Santana has ever seen. Santana would probably roll her eyes at it if she wasn't the person who warranted it.

"There are a lot of people out there supporting you, Santana," Rachel says softly, soft enough that Santana has to press the handset closer to her ear to hear the words clearly. "I certainly don't condone violence, Santana, but you didn't get here because of whimsy or some irrational urge for destruction; you're here because you love someone so deeply that you were willing to trade your life, a promising one at that, for her protection. Most people only wish they could be so brave,"

"I doubt anyone considers what I did brave,"

Rachel flashes her one of her bright, made-to-light-up-stages-at-the-end-of-encore-performances kind of smiles.

"I wouldn't consider it anything but," she murmurs. "You know your life could be a Broadway bound musical," she jokes, "I'd write it myself. Think of it, Chicago the sequel. It would be the only sequel better than the original. A story of devotion, love, true friendship and courage,"

Santana's own laughter startles her as it bubbles from her throat. She feels like she hasn't laughed in years, yet here she is, laughing with Rachel Berry of all people.

"Hey, Berry," She had honestly not know what to expect when she realized that it was Rachel who had come to see her, but now, she's actually kind of glad. It's a little bit pathetic, but she actually feels the lightest she has in a while.

"Lopez," The sound of the guard cuts into her sudden calm. "You have one minute left,"

She nods her acknowledgement, turning back to Rachel who is smiling softly at her.

"Yes Santana?"

"Thanks for coming to see me,"

"You're welcome,"

"Berry?" She calls again before Rachel can put down the receiver. Her high school self would probably have some choice words for her if she saw her now, clinging onto a modicum of a friendship with Rachel Berry of all people.

"Will you come back and sing it to me?" she asks, "When you write the score for you future Tony award winning musical?"

Rachel grins so brightly it's almost blinding.

"Of course,"

"And Berry?"

"Yes?"

"Don't you dare think about playing me on Broadway,"

"I wouldn't dare, Santana" Rachel laughs, "I wouldn't dare,"

/

"Well, aren't you popular today, Lopez,"

She's halfway back to her cell when Kennedy, the only prison guard she can on a good day maybe tolerate, spins her right back around.

"What?" she asks, confused.

"Looks like you have another visitor,"

So, sorry the updates on this are taking so long! College and work are crazy but I think, don't quote me, that updates might be coming much quicker soon! Also, please review! Pretty please =)