Thank to anyone who has been reading! This chapter is a bit shorter for some character development/background info. Please review, they make my day. Enjoy!
Chapter 4:
The wooden chair rocketed at him from across the room. Puck ducked just in time to hear the heavy cherry splintering against the wall instead of his skull. And then she was coming at him. A whirlwind of raven locks, gnashing teeth, and glinting brown eyes, Santana had unsheathed her knife and pressed it to the front of his throat before he even had time to fully right himself after dodging her impromptu projectile. Her lips were pulled back in an almost animal showing of anger and her face was as close to his as it could be without actually touching. He eyed her bandaged arm, but the steal in her countenance made it clear she was blind to any pain, and to the blood slowly ebbing through the gauze.
"Go ahead, Puck. Tell me again what it is you want us to do."
She snarled at him, and Puck could smell the whiskey on her breath, surely only providing additional fuel for the rage that was ravaging her system. Twenty minutes ago, after she and Brittany had robed themselves and he had relayed the message, Santana had simply sat, mouth open, eyes glazed over with shock. However, now, hunting him down in his own bungalow, Brittany no where in sight, Santana was the picture of rage.
"Santana, I...please back up. Let's talk about this rationally." Puck breathed out tentatively, his Adam's apple bumping the blade as he swallowed thickly. As much shit as he gave her, and as much as he pretended to be in control every second of every day, in moments like these, when Santana was gripped by fury and had that same dark look in her eyes as she did when she took a life, like death rolling in thick black clouds, Puck had to admit that she frightened him. However, he couldn't rationalize where the fury was coming from.
"Santana," he pleaded again as she only glared, tight lipped at him, "this job is too big for just us. Believe me, I'm not happy about it either, and I understand you're pissed about your arm, but we have no choice. The boss says we have to team up with Quinn and her gang. And I know she pisses you off as much as me, the bitch is a pain in the ass, but you've got to admit that she's a damn good operator and so are the rest of them." Puck breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the look in her eyes shift as she withdrew her blade. However, he was only further caught off guard when her free hand reached swiftly up, palmed the back of his skull, and shoved sharply downward as her knee rocketed up in tandem. Puck heard the muffled crunch as his nose hit her kneecap and immediately knew that it was broken. The pain was searing and his eyes immediately began to tear as Santana's hand continued pushing his head downward and he was soon on his knees, clutching his face and trying to blink away the vision blurring mist.
"You have no idea how I feel, Puckerman." she hissed in a voice low, laced with hatred and some other emotion Puck couldn't quite pick up on. She towered over him, pacing around his body, and he looked up at her bleary eyed and dazed. When he saw her eyes, he recognized the look that had swept over them just before she crushed his nose; it was fear. Puck's heart faltered slightly at the animal way she stalked, the wolf-like burning of her unwavering gaze; if there was one thing true throughout nature it was that a frightened animal was infinitely more dangerous than an angry one.
"Why are you afraid of her?" he whispered somewhat nasally. Her eyes flashed and she sucked in a hissing breath and the knife was again to his throat.
"No. Don't you dare. I am not afraid."
"Yes you are." he responded for lack of better judgement. And then she was standing, cocking a foot back and letting it fly at his ribs. He cried out in pain and fell to his side on the carpet. Her leg was pulled back again and he closed his eyes and tensed, fearing the worst, but no impact came. He warily opened his eyes to see Brittany had appeared from out of no where, her arms roped firmly around Santana's body, dragging the struggling Latina away from him.
"No!" she screamed, "let me go! Let me go! Let me go!"
By the last repetition, Santana had stopped fighting and instead had turned her body into Brittany's and was hiding her face in the tall blonde's neck. Her body shook and Brittany stroked her hair. That was the first time Puck had seen Santana cry.
Santana sat alone in the cove. It was her private space. Even though she was welcome, Brittany chose to stay away. She respected Santana's privacy. Santana smiled at the thought. She loved Brittany in a way she had never loved anyone. She loved the way Brittany was willing to sacrifice for her. No one had ever done that for her before. And she was more than willing to do the same. She would lay down her life for Brittany in a heart beat. Because she loved her, because she never wanted her to hurt, but mostly because she knew, she couldn't live a day without Brittany. A life without Brittany wouldn't really be living at all. She knew Brittany felt the same way. They lived because of and for each other. Santana had thought she had felt that way about only one other person. But when push came to shove, she had sacrificed everything only to be left out in the cold, so she left without mercy. Looking back now, Santana only felt hatred for Quinn. She also felt disgust with herself. She could see the appeal of Quinn, the vein, physical want that had sustained their relationship, but it was nothing compared to what she had with Brittany. Quinn and Brittany were elemental opposites in Santana's world. Brittany was water and Quinn had been electricity. Quinn shocked her system, buzzed and crackled throughout her limbs. Brittany soothed and enveloped her, holding her together, buoying her somewhere between earth and sky. In the end, she had burnt out on Quinn. She couldn't contain that kind of energy and her system had short circuited. But with Brittany, she was immortal. She could somehow drift, drown in her abyss, and yet it was what sustained her. She could breathe her, make her a part of her, drink her in until she was fit to burst. But Santana was afraid she might lose that. Brittany would never leave her, that was true, but Quinn would most certainly take her from Santana given the opportunity. She remembered the inhuman look in Quinn's eyes the day she had left. The emerald hardness of those green orbs, sharp, cutting, and unyielding when she had told Santana that she would ruin her if she ever got the chance. When Quinn had threatened Brittany during the last mission, Santana knew she had given away how much Brittany meant with her reaction, and now Quinn did indeed have the perfect opportunity to ruin her. And Puck was aiding it. With Quinn so close Santana wouldn't be able to function let alone do her part in carrying out a job. Just the thought of Quinn in the same neighborhood as Brittany made her skin crawl and her heart seize up with a jerking, breathless pain. And now, they would be sharing a house, crammed into cars together, sleeping right next to each other on stakeouts. Santana shivered at the thought and hugged her arms about herself and she winced as her hand hit the still-fresh gash on the opposite arm. She raised her hand in front of her to see her fingers were tacky with blood. Quinn Fabray's wound was still seeping. And this was just the beginning.