Santana

When Santana woke she immediately reached out, looking for Brittany. Finding only a cold, empty bed she let out a sigh and shook her head. It was amazing how quickly one could become used to something, and how resistant to change one could be as well. Santana had spent nearly a century on her own, living a solitary, isolated existence. Almost every night of that time she had slept alone, whether in beds, in caves, or on the streets. Yet after only a handful of nights with Brittany, having the young Slayer in her bed and in her arms seemed the natural order of things.

It had been two weeks since Brittany had stopped spending her nights with the dark-haired vampire, nearly thrice the amount of time that Brittany had actually spent the night, but Santana still woke expecting Brittany to be with her. The girl had utterly and irrevocably changed Santana's life. Santana knew this, accepted it. She could only hope that whatever had caused the blonde to pull away could be overcome. She had faced a century alone, but that was before Brittany. She had been alone before…now she faced loneliness.

Santana sighed again and pushed herself out of bed. She didn't have far to go, however, only slouching into the adjacent room and flinging herself into the deep-cushioned reading chair that abutted the similarly comfy couch in her and Jacob's living room. The apartment was silent. This was a quality she used to welcome, but now it seemed depressing. She had become used to, even appreciative of, the sounds and signs of life surrounding her. She longed for the lilting sound of Brittany's laughter, or the sounds of her constant movement. Even without Brittany around, Jacob's unceasing chatter usually filled the silence. Her fellow demon had changed her life as well. He had pulled her out of a never-ending downward spiral, had given her hope and a purpose. He had given her the opportunity to be a real person, to connect with humanity. He had given her friendship, something she had never really experienced (even when she had been alive). His constant insistence to take nothing seriously, especially not himself and definitely not her, might even result in a sense of humor in her one day.

But Jacob was gone too. He had to go out of town for an unknown amount of time, meeting with The Powers That Be and carrying out a mission for them. Although he constantly self-deprecated, Jacob was actually an incredibly important part of the order of the universe. He was a Balance Demon, tasked with keeping equilibrium between Good and Evil. While he wasn't the only such creature in existence, he was one of very few. And he was a chief confidante of the God-like beings he referred to as The Powers That Be. Whenever Evil made a move for dominance, Jacob was consulted. Santana, and even Brittany, played but small parts in an unimaginably complex cosmic drama.

Santana heaved a sigh and sunk lover into her chair. She steepled her fingers in front of her face and stared blankly past them. She contemplated her present life, which led her to contemplate her past life. She brooded, in other words.

~8~

New Orleans, 1769

In only a few places in the world would a free girl be the product of a Spanish man marrying a woman with black and German parents. In only one place would that girl speak French. New Orleans in 1769 was a confused, struggling place. A French colony that Frenchman refused to habitate, saved from total collapse by the settlement of Germans and free blacks from the West Indies who adopted French culture. At the beginning of the decade it had been controlled by the French, for several years it had been controlled by the Spanish, and now it was apparently in the control of the British.

Not that any of the inhabitants really noticed or cared. New Orleans was a place many people visited or passed through but where few lived. And those that did live there lived by their own rules, not those of some governor – whatever his nationality. It was a place unlike any in North America, a place where everyone acted French and spoke French but hardly anyone actually was French. A place where wealthy blacks from the West Indies owned plantations and slaves. A place where every white man had two wives – one white and one of mixed blood. It was where Santana Lopez had spent her entire life, and, as far as she could tell, would spend her entire life. She wished to escape, but knew that anywhere else in the civilized world she'd just be another octoroon slave.

Her race wasn't even her main issue, though. What set her apart from everyone else was, thankfully, nothing that could be seen with the naked eye. It was hidden, known only to her…and to a few of the traveling wives of aristocrats. For years the 19 year-old had kept her attraction to women, and only women, a secret. But certain expectations of her were threatening to make her future difficult. At nearly twenty she was already very old to be unmarried, especially considering her tremendous beauty. Her father, who was putting on more and more pressure, liked to point out that as a mixed-blood she had twice the options of other girls. She could marry a free black or be the second wife of a white man. Both were valid, respectable options, and there had been many offers…but Santana just couldn't bring herself to accept. People were talking, however, so she knew she'd better make herself accept soon…or join the convent.

She heaved a sigh of frustration as she left the preparation area of her father's tavern and moved into the public area with two steins of beer. Like most nights the majority of the clientele were lustful sailors and merchants, only in town for a night or two. Most usually assumed she was a whore. She often had to set them straight with cutting word, and sometimes a slap to the back of the head. She set the drinks down on the table and turned before she could be engaged in conversation. But she caught sight of something which made her freeze in place. The door was open, and standing in the doorway was a woman.

It was rare, but not unheard of, for a woman to visit the tavern with her husband, son, or brother. But this woman was alone. She strolled further into the room, pulling the door shut behind her. She surveyed the occupants coolly, exuding confidence and power. This woman was unlike any Santana had ever seen. Even the wealthiest of female aristocrats, or the most brazen of whores, still endeavored somewhat to seem meek and inferior.

This woman, who was perhaps the largest person Santana had ever seen, came closer to her and sat at an empty table. Her weight and paleness were signs of great wealth, signaling that this woman had no need to work and had never known a lack of leisure or food. Santana had once seen a portrait of the English King, Henry. He was the only person she could think of who matched this woman in size. The confidence…the power…the signs of wealth…could this woman possibly be some sort of royalty?

Santana shook her head, banishing such thoughts. She walked over to the woman and asked, in French, "What can I get for you?"

The woman grinned and slowly said, "For now…wine."

Santana hurried to fill the woman's request and when she returned the woman said pleasantly, "Thank you, young lady. My name is Lauren."

"Santana."

"You are very beautiful," Lauren said before Santana could leave.

The teenager blushed and lowered her eyes, murmuring, "Thank you." She had never been complimented in public by another woman before…not like this. It caused a thrill of excitement to shoot through her. Again, this woman – Lauren – flouted convention.

"Very exotic," Lauren continued, her eyes carefully studying Santana's face. "Where I'm from, there was little diversity."

"Where are you from?" Asked Santana, her mouth becoming dry.

"Massachusetts originally, a little town there much like a hundred other little towns there. I have not been there in years, however."

"You've been…traveling?" The very thought was intoxicating to Santana.

"Oh yes," Lauren said, leaning forward and gazing into Santana's eyes. "Incessantly."

"You must be very wealthy," Santana whispered, unable to break eye-contact with the other woman.

"Money isn't something I have to worry about," Lauren answered with a chuckle.

Their moment was broken by the drunken hailing of one of the sailors. "Oi! Wench!" He was speaking in English, but Santana had no trouble understanding his words. Due to the cosmopolitan nature of the town, as well as her own complex heritage, Santana was fluent in French, German, Spanish, and English as well as knowing bits and pieces of several other languages, including some African ones.

Santana jerked back up to a standing position, with an apologetic smile and said, "I'm sorry, I have to help him."

Lauren shrugged casually and replied, "That's perfectly all right, Santana. I'll be here."

Santana remained pretty busy as business picked up as closing time approached. Throughout the rest the night she felt Lauren's eyes on her, causing a full-body flush. At midnight she shooed the last customer besides Lauren out of the tavern. When he was gone she awkwardly approached the woman and said, "Um…I have to close now. You have to go…unless…" Santana gulped.

Lauren smirked. "Unless I buy a room. That was my plan from the beginning, my dear. I was just…enjoying the atmosphere."

"Oh, okay then…"

"How about you show me to my room?"

"Yeah…" Santana nodded and motioned for Lauren to follow her. They climbed a flight of stairs and went down a hallway. "I'll put you at the end. You'll have a little more privacy that way."

Lauren nodded and followed for a moment more. As they approached the door Lauren said, "Earlier…your eyes lit up when I spoke of my travels."

Santana stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "Yeah," she said wistfully. "I've always wanted to see some of the places I hear about from my customers." She sighed. "But I can't."

"Why not?"

"A million reasons," she said with a shrug, evading the question.

Lauren stared intently at the girl. "What if I said I'd take you with me?"

Santana's head jerked up in shock and she gazed for a moment at Lauren with wide yes. She lowered her head again, swallowing nervously. "What…what would I have to do?"

Lauren chuckled and reached forward, covering Santana's hand, turning the knob and pushing the door open. "Does it really matter?"

Santana stared through threshold into the dark, empty room. She hesitated only for a moment, Lauren's question echoing in her mind. Does it really matter? Meaning: is there anything you wouldn't do to escape this place with a powerful, wealthy female protector?

"No," she whispered, stepping forward and walking into the room. Lauren followed suit, closing the door behind her, blocking out all of the light from the hallway. "I…I can't see anything."

"Good," responded a voice. It was Lauren's…but harsher, colder. The next moment she was assaulted by a tremendous, piercing pain at her neck. She felt herself being pressed against Lauren's soft body, heard her breathing frantically. Then she lost consciousness.

Two days later the demon Satana awoke and had to claw out of a fresh grave.

~8~

When her alarm went off at 630am, Brittany was already awake. She had been awake all night. Every time she closed her eyes horrific images assaulted her. Images of death and torture and blood. Images of the carnage the vampiress Satana had wrought across five continents.

Brittany sighed and rolled out of bed. She walked into the bathroom and entered the shower. As the water washed over her, Brittany went over the past two weeks in her head. For a week Lauren's words had haunted her. Every time she looked at the woman she loved she heard the demon's voice. Finally she decided to do something about it. Hiding from what Lauren accused, pretending nothing was wrong, was not the answer. She decided that she needed the facts. She needed to know exactly what her lover had done. She thought that the truth had to be less ghastly than her imagination.

She was wrong.

Rachel was busy with her plans for serenading Finn so, knowing it was a mistake, she turned to Kurt. He readily agreed. They were soon spending every free moment combing through Holly's library and the Watchers' Diaries for any mention of the vampiress Satana. They began at the beginning: 1769. Reports of murders in New Orleans. Dozens dead, beginning with the owner of a local tavern/inn and his daughter. From there the plague of death spread, and it was given a name: Satana.

The plague, the demon, the vampire- whatever you wanted to call it- contained cruelty matched only by Satan himself. The Watchers of the time spoke of her with a mixture of awe and horror. This demon killed for pleasure as much as for food. She was a master of torture, she was a pure sadist. After reading an account from one of the very few to escape alive from Satana, Brittany literally became sick.

Brittany shut the water off with more force than necessary, almost snapping the knob off the wall, and exited the shower. She finished getting ready and showed up at school with a scowl on her face. It only deepened as she walked into the library to find Kurt already there, smiling smugly.

He'd been wearing the same look for the past week. He hadn't actually said 'I told you so', but the sentiment oozed from his pores.

"Morning," Brittany said curtly, slinging her bag over the back of a wooden chair and sitting down. "Where were we?"

"1850s," Kurt said with a small smirk. "Your girlfriend had just killed a fisherman and his family in Greece."

"Right," Brittany bit out. She angrily flipped through some pages, not absorbing a thing. Why was she putting herself through this? Why involve Kurt? Was she punishing herself? Doing penance? Brittany blew out a breath and shook her head. That wasn't her. She was a mover, someone always racing forward, not some navel-gazing brooder.

She slammed her book shut and tossed it onto the table. "We're done with this. I don't need to know every little detail."

Kurt shrugged and continued perusing the page. "If you say so. I'm sure if I'd fucked a mass murderer, I'd want to ignore it as well."

Brittany gawked at Kurt for a moment before standing up, slamming her hands on the surface of the table and yelling, "What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you getting pleasure from this?"

Kurt stiffened in his seat. He slowly lifted his head and locked eyes with Brittany, not flinching at all at the fire in her eyes. He calmly set down the book he had been studying and stood as well. "Because," he began icily, allowing all the anger and resentment that had been building inside him to seep into his voice, "my best friend in the world, the only person I've ever loved besides my parents, is dead. She was killed needlessly and pointlessly. And you decided to start sleeping with one of the things that killed her. You had the gall the flounce around here constantly with 'I just got laid!' energy while Mercedes was rotting in the ground." He straightened and sniffed haughtily. "So, yes, I'm glad you finally realized what a mistake you were making, and I'm enjoying seeing you wallow in guilt a little."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Brittany ground out, face red with anger, "but I don't feel guilty at all for sleeping with Santana."

Kurt rolled his eyes, clearly not believing her. "Then why put yourself through this? Why find out every little detail? Why not just…move on?" Kurt chuckled. "It's not like you're in love with…it."

Kurt's words impacted Brittany like a slap, causing her to rock back on her heels, eyes widened in shock and realization.

Seeing her reaction Kurt froze, disgust etched into his face. "You're in love with that…thing? What is wrong with you, Brittany? It's not human!" Kurt rarely lost control, but now he was yelling. "That creature is a demon! An evil, disgusting thing! It has no feelings, no conscience!" He picked up one of the thick books they had been studying and waved it in front of Brittany's face. "You've read what she's done. What more do you need to know?"

Kurt quieted and stared at Brittany imploringly. Brittany stared back unflinchingly, feeling no need to defend herself against Kurt's rant. After a few seconds of silence, Kurt shook his head and gathered his bag. "You disgust me," he declared, with one last glare at Brittany, before stomping out of the room.

Once alone, Brittany slumped back into her chair and heaved a weary sigh. The day had already begun, and she was aching to go on patrol.

~8~

Satana smiled cruelly as the man beneath her writhed in pain. She surveyed his naked form critically. He was already bruised, broken, and lacerated. Satana had flayed strips of his skin away and cut off a few of his fingers. She was just getting warmed up with this one, only twenty hours in, and already he had screamed himself hoarse. She lifted the knife in her hand to her lips and licked the blood from the blade. She bounced up and down and giggled as she felt the fear-filled blood hit her system. Most vampires never advanced their palates beyond dumb and bestial, but there truly were many subtleties to blood. The taste changed when tinged with pain or fear or lust. Even love had a particular taste, although Satana found that flavor vile and did everything in her power to eradicate that emotion from her victims.

She stared down at the man once again, only to find him staring blankly at her, slack-jawed. The bastard was trying to go into shock! She hopped off of him and slapped him hard across the face. Once. Twice. Three times, and suddenly his eyes were widening again in pain and fear. "Don't think that you can escape me so easily, Rene. I know how to draw this out for days, and I know how to keep you alert and aware the entire time."

She turned from him and began skipping around the room, kicking the severed heads of Rene's children out of her way. After a few minutes she stopped next to where she had the man strapped down. She leered at him spitefully, then knelt down and picked up the head of Rene's seven-year old daughter.

The man had taken the advice of the Bible to heart, had been fruitful. At forty-five he had sixteen children with his wife. It had taken twenty years for Rene to build the family…Satana had destroyed it in twenty hours. The wife was dead. All of the children, save the youngest joined her.

Satana brought the head in front of his face, which caused him to whimper pathetically. With one hand braced at the back of the head, Satana used the other to manipulate the child's gore-covered lips. In a high falsetto Satana cried, "Daddy! Why didn't you save me daddy? Didn't you love me enough?"

Satana grinned in delight as Rene started sobbing again. She dropped the head and watched it roll off of Rene and land on the ground with a thud. Then she went to the opposite side of the room to where Rene's one surviving child was tied up and whining. She reached down and grabbed the girl by her hair, lifting her off the ground.

She carried the child over to her naked, bloodied father and held her above him. She didn't speak for a moment, simply letting Rene stare longingly into the eyes of his one surviving child. Then, with all her considerable strength, she reared back and launched the girl headlong into the nearest wall. The impact sounded like Satana had thrown a bag of oranges.

Satana started giggling again, and reached for her castration knife.

~8~

Santana meandered through one of Sunnydale's many cemeteries, senses alert for signs of demonic activity. It was unusually quiet, however, which was unfortunate for Santana. She had left her apartment hoping for a fight to take her mind off of her situation with Brittany, but now she was once again alone with her thoughts.

Part of her hoped that she would run into Brittany. They didn't even have to talk, Santana just wanted Brittany to see that she still patrolled even when not with Brittany. She wasn't 'playing good,' she was a force for Good in her own right, with her own mission. She was trying to atone for the horrible things she had done.

She was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of someone approaching. Santana's head whipped up, hoping to see Brittany. Disappointed flooded through her when she saw the malicious face of Lauren.

"If it isn't my old friend Satana," Lauren growled. "Out for a bite to eat?"

"I don't do that anymore," Santana spat, glaring at her sire.

Lauren shrugged. "Who really knows what the mysterious Satana has really been up to for the last century?"

Santana looked curiously at Lauren. After a moment her sire continued, "Look where you are, after all. Allied with a Slayer, coincidentally the most powerful Slayer in centuries, who has the Master afraid for the first time since he had a normal nose. You never did like him…"

Lauren trailed off and peered at Santana suspiciously, "Sometimes – not often, but sometimes – I think this has all been one long con, a power play. It seems crazy most of the time…but if there's anyone with the patience and the mind to pull it off it's you."

Even though she hated Lauren, even though she was firmly allied with good… Even though they had spent over a century apart, Santana still felt a surge of satisfaction at the fact that her sire thought so highly of her. That she believed her capable of such an orchestration, that Lauren thought Santana could be a legitimate threat to The Master. Lauren had been, for more than a hundred years, a mixture of sister-and-mother to her. But Santana squashed that feeling and hardened her glare.

"Sorry to disappoint," she said, "but what you see is what you get. I'm good now. I work directly with The Powers That Be. I'm out here right now to kill soulless demons like you."

"Yeah," Lauren said wistfully, "that's what I believe most of the time. Disgusting." Lauren sneered at Santana and took a step towards her. "So…hero…you came out here looking for a fight. How about one?"

Santana hesitated. Lauren was one of two individuals that she was genuinely afraid of. As a human Lauren had already possessed strength that was almost supernatural, and it had been increased twentyfold and matched with incredible speed when she had been turned. This was combined with a mind that had few peers. There were few foes Lauren couldn't defeat outright, and almost none she couldn't outsmart.

But Santana couldn't just let her walk away again. She took a step forward, got into a fighting stance, and said, "Fine."

Santana and Lauren began to circle each other, their eyes locked. Neither wanted to make the first move, both waiting for the other's focus to waver in the slightest.

"Oh goody!" A vibrant voice interrupted them, sending chills through Santana. She turned to see Brittany, standing on a tombstone, glaring down at both of them. "I was in the mood for a little violence."

Without any hesitation Brittany launched off of the tombstone and landed a vicious kick square in Lauren's chest. Lauren was sent stumbling back a good ten feet before she recovered her bearings. When she did, she looked from Brittany to Santana, weighing her chances, and then turned and ran away.

Brittany and Santana watched in surprise as she fled. "Well that was anti-climactic," Brittany said, disappointed. "I really did need to relieve some tension."

She turned to look at Santana for the first time. "Hi," she said softly, almost shyly.

~8~

There was nothing obviously special about the young woman, nothing that presaged the fact that killing her would radically change the course of Satana's unlife. She was just another street performer, dancing for food or money. She was beautiful, of course, but Satana had seen far more beautiful women in her long life. Hell, Satana was a far more beautiful woman. But something about her caught Satana's eye, something about the way she moved. So Satana stopped, and eyed the girl for over an hour, waiting for her to take a break and go off alone.

Finally she did, touching the shoulder of the older man who had been standing at her side playing a violin and whispering something to him. The man nodded, smiled lovingly at the young woman, and resumed his playing. The girl moved away from the protection of her companion and the light of the street, and Satana made her move. She crossed the street in a blur and was on the woman when she was halfway down a darkened alley.

Her eyes widened in shock as she caught sight of the demonic visage that appeared when she fed. "Diablo!" she cried, terrified. She held up her hands in the form of a cross, hoping to ward Satana off. Satana chuckled caustically, and slapped the girl's hands away.

"Si," Satana affirmed, smiling. Then she went in for the kill, and drank her fill of the woman's blood. Once satisfied she let the girl's body fall to the dirty ground of the alley and went on her way. She didn't think of the young woman again, until a few days later when she was screaming in agony as a soul, loathsome to a demon, was being magically forced into her.

Ironically, the kill that ended the reign of terror of the diabolical Satana had been one of her most innocuous. She had not tortured or tormented the young woman. She had not caused her very much pain at all, and even some pleasure due to the erotic nature of a vampiric bite. Satana had just been hungry, and had fed. The young woman was one of the luckiest of Satana's thousands of victims.

Her family, extremely powerful in the mystical arts and extremely vengeful, did not see it that way.

~8~

"Hi," Santana replied nervously. She looked Brittany up and down before saying, "You look good."

Brittany smiled wanly before saying, "That's a lie. I haven't slept in a week…I must look terrible."

Santana's voice was laced with concern, and maybe a little hope, as she asked, "You haven't been sleeping? Why?"

Brittany winced and turned away from Santana slightly, crossing her arms defensively.

"C'mon, Britt," Santana pleaded. "At least talk to me. At least tell me what's going on. Why…why don't you come over anymore? What's wrong?"

Brittany sighed heavily. She knew she owed it to Santana to tell her the truth. "A couple of weeks ago," she began in a low voice, "Lauren said something that really got to me. She said…"

Brittany trailed off, swallowing nervously. "She…she taunted me with your past. She said you were the most vicious, the cruelest vampire she had ever met. She said that I was sleeping with a mass murderer."

Brittany's gaze flitted up for a moment to look at Santana, who was looking shocked and upset. "I had never really thought about it before…your past. Not really. Thinking isn't really my strong suit. But…well, after that I started doing research…on you. And since then I can't sleep."

Brittany's words hit Santana like sunlight. She felt gutted. She felt like dying. But she still tried to make Brittany understand…

"That wasn't me, Brittany! Please, you have to believe me, you have to understand. When you're turned, sired, the soul – me – leaves the body. I was gone for every single thing that monster did. We aren't the same!"

Tears brimmed in Brittany's eyes as she stepped closer. There was a look of love, of compassion, on her face. She gazed into Santana's eyes and said softly, "I understand that, Tana, I do. I believe you." She reached out and grasped the vampire's hands in her own, squeezing comfortingly. But then her gaze faltered. She stared down at their linked hands with a pained expression, and murmured, "But these hands…they are the same."

Brittany lifted her gaze again and also lifted their linked hands. "These are the same hands that choked the life out of Felipe de la Cruz in Madrid in 1787, that tortured Maria Lopez and hundreds of others. How can I be okay with these hands on my body?"

"And these lips," she whispered, reaching out and brushing Santana's lower lip with her thumb. She bit her own lip at the sight of Santana leaning into her touch even as Brittany excoriated her. "These are the same lips that have sucked the life out of thousands of people, that grinned as you killed entire families. How can I kiss these lips?"

Brittany abruptly cut contact between them. Both girls looked eviscerated by the action. Brittany's face crumpled as the reality of her words once again struck her. "I'm so confused, Santana," Brittany wailed, crossing her arms in front of her, hugging herself. "I don't want to feel this way, baby. I'm so sorry. I miss you so much, Tana." She reached up and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I think of you all the time. Every second."

"Me too," Santana asserted with a hollow voice, sniffling. Brittany smiled slightly at the sentiment. Santana stared at Brittany voraciously, drinking in every detail of the girl. They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment before Brittany took a step back and grimaced.

"I'm sorry," she said again, voice filled with anguish. "I'm sorry."

Then she turned and melted into the shadows. Not even Santana's heightened senses could locate a Slayer when she didn't want to be found.

~8~

When Santana gained awareness for the first time since 1769, she at first didn't remember anything. She just felt tremendous, all-encompassing confusion. She remembered working at the Inn…meeting the mysterious Lauren…and then nothing. Her mind still fuzzy, she stood and wandered aimlessly through the room she was located in. She didn't recognize the room at all. She tried to look at herself in the mirror, but her confusion only doubled when she couldn't see her own reflection.

She was backing away from the mirror, shaking her head in consternation, trying to make her eyes work, when the memories of Satana's life hit her. She physically felt pain as the memories hit her, the memory of a hundred thousand murders – beginning with her own father. It was as if every twinge of pain Satana had ever caused was being revisited upon Santana. She collapsed to the ground, unable to take it, curling into a fetal position and sobbing as the images of the demon's victims pounded into her mind. She stayed like that for over a day, a day of endless, excruciating pain. It was only pure coincidence that she survived those first twenty-four hours. If she'd been outside when the curse had hit her, she would have sobbed and sobbed right up to the second the sun hit her. She had no desire or reason to live that day.

~8~

Later that night - after Santana had wandered blindly home, after she had slumped into her chair and stared brokenly ahead, after Santana had sobbed until she was too exhausted to do so anymore, after she had passed out and began to dream of a world where she wasn't a monster and where Brittany could look at her with only love in her eyes - Jacob returned home.

He already was sporting a frown as he made his way down the stairs to their apartment, but when he noticed Santana asleep in the living room it deepened considerably. Hesitantly he crossed the room until he could see her clearly in the dark. She looked awful. He knew why, of course. She had been losing her mind since her blonde had pulled away from her. Something major must've gone down between them tonight. Thinking of Brittany reminded him of where he had just returned from, and what They had told him.

Jacob sighed and turned away from Santana, unable to face her even asleep. "I'm sorry, kid," he whispered, rubbing a hand over his weary eyes. He grimaced, spared one last glance at his partner, and then retreated into the safety and solitude of his own room.

The End

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed this! Next up is Prophecy Girl...