She could smell it before she could really see it. It was overwhelming, nauseating in its stench. It smelled like rotted meat, left out in the open without someone disposing of it, and Santana gagged against the pile rising up her throat. She felt it next, damp and sticky, matting her hair to her neck and the sides of her face, dripping in thick droplets down her back. It was drying to her skin, sticking beneath her nails, and Santana couldn't seem to get it off of her. If she shook her hands, it barely dripped off; if she wiped it against her clothes, she could only feel more, coming off of the fabric of her shirt and jeans to further stain her hands.
It was everywhere. No matter what way she turned her head or even her entire body, there it was, splashed up along the walls, seeming to ooze up from beneath their surface as though staining from the inside of the walls out. It was soaked into the floors, making her feet slip and slide as she tried to walk, and as Santana hurried her steps, cries of disgust and fear choking her throat, all she could seem to think was how had this happened, where was all this blood coming from?
For all this blood, it couldn't be just one creature, just one person who had died…there was so much of it, such a sheer vast quantity, that it must have been dozens, maybe hundreds. But why couldn't she remember what had happened…how could she not know how her own hands had been stained with so much blood?
She tried to call out, to ask for acknowledgement from someone, anyone who might be present with her, anyone else who might help, who had also survived. But she couldn't seem to force out the words, or even form them all the way in her mind. They slipped and dripped away from her like the blood from her body, blood that Santana knew was not her own.
She didn't recognize her at first when she approached. The blood had stained her blonde hair a dark red, her features were nearly obscured by its heavy strands, and she walked with a stooped, shuffling gait that was not characteristic of her at all. But as Quinn drew closer, Santana knew nevertheless that it was her. Her words returned in a whooshing breath, and she opened her mouth, intending to call out to her, to hold out her arms and draw her close, to check whether she was okay and rejoice that she lived at all.
But the closer Quinn came to her, the more Santana's heart began to race, for there was something terrible wrong with her slumped shoulders, with her dragging steps and her slackened jaw. There was something terribly wrong with the emptiness in her eyes, with the way she looked straight at her yet didn't seem to see her at all…
88
"Santana…Santana…Santana!"
Quinn was shaking her. Santana could feel her hands on her shoulders, gripping her firmly, and she twisted fiercely, trying to duck out from her grasp. Any minute, she was sure, the other girl would get a tight enough grasp on her that she could lean forward and pierce her skin with her teeth without effort. Any minute, and Quinn would make her just like her, ending Santana's life. She fought her, trying to get her hands up enough to push at her hands or scratch her nails down her face, but her arms were being held down, and she couldn't seem to get them loose. Quinn had her too tightly…Quinn wasn't going to let her go.
"Santana, calm down! Santana…"
It took several more instances of hearing her name before it occurred to Santana…how was Quinn talking? She had yet to hear a zombie speak, and she had always assumed that like in the movies, they weren't capable of it. Yet here was Quinn's voice, sounding no different than normal, except maybe a little louder and more urgent than it usually might. Quinn was speaking, and didn't that mean…couldn't that mean that maybe she wasn't really a zombie after all?
"Santana," Quinn repeated, and for the first time Santana opened her eyes, letting them slowly take in and try to make sense of what exactly it was that was happening to her.
The only sight in her line of vision initially was Quinn's hazel eyes, bright with concern and what looked like a glimmer of barely concealed fear. Santana searched, eyes darting up and down Quinn's form, but she couldn't even see a speck of blood on her, let alone the amount that had covered her in her last envisioning of her. She sucked in a breath, eyes moving past Quinn to seek out the appearance of the rest of the room, but the bright lighting of Quinn's bedroom revealed nothing out of the ordinary. No blood, nothing but the almost overly neat interior of a room marred only by Santana's clothing, discarded on the floor.
"You were making noise in your sleep," Quinn supplied for her, giving her an explanation for Santana's continued confusion as she slowly sat up, her head still turning side to side. "You were starting to kick…I thought I'd better wake you up. It was just a dream, Santana. You know that now, right?"
"Right," Santana nodded, but her voice was shaky even to her own ears. "I know."
She cleared her throat, taking in another slow breath, noticing that Quinn didn't back off to give her space. She was still leaned close to her, her hands on her shoulders, even as she loosened her grip.
"Are you okay?"
Santana looked back at her, noticing then for the first time the strain in Quinn's features, deep, darkened circles beneath her eyes. Although Quinn had showered the day before, her hair was limp today, and Santana wondered if she had slept at all, or just lay beside her, watching her sleep instead. Santana was still chilled, more from the remnants of her dream than from the temperature, goosebumps riddling her skin even as sweat gathered at her neck and hairline, and she felt emotional, having to focus on her breaths to keep tears from spilling out her eyes against her will. Still, seeing the weariness in Quinn's face, she nodded, swallowing.
"Yeah. Okay."
For a few more moments the two of them remained in their positioning somewhat awkwardly, Quinn holding onto Santana's arms leaned over her, Santana half sitting up against her pillow. Then Quinn released her, moving to simply sit beside her again, and quiet resumed, broken only by the sound of their not quite even breaths. Santana could sense Quinn glancing at her frequently, could just see it out the corner of her eye, and after a few moments' debate, she shifted closer to her, letting her arm and shoulder come in contact with Quinn's, letting her head fall against hers, almost in perfect alignment with the curve of Quinn's neck and shoulder. She wasn't sure if she was making the gesture for her own comfort or for Quinn's reassurance, but maybe it didn't matter. After another few seconds, Quinn's arm slid behind Santana's back, wrapping around her waist to pull her slightly closer against her side.
"It's day time," Quinn said finally. Santana was very much aware of her hand, resting against her hip, her thumb lightly rubbing over its somewhat prominent bone. What she wasn't sure about was if Quinn herself was aware of what she was doing, or if it was entirely unconscious. "I think it's around 3 pm. Do you want to get up?"
Santana considered this, weighing out the option. She knew that if she didn't get up, she would be unable to sleep at night, and that would be a fairly scary thing, to be awake at night and all too alert to all the possible dangers outside their door. But on the other hand, she was still so tired, her body physically aching with weariness that was as much physical as mental and emotional. And it was strangely comfortable to lie against Quinn in this manner, letting herself rest in this way.
"No," she said simply, not bothering to provide an explanation, and Quinn accepted this, not asking for one.
"Okay."
Neither spoke for a minute or two. Santana could feel Quinn's breathing, slightly stirring her hair, and her thumb continued its slow, gentle caress over her hip. It was making her feel sleepy again, her body growing heavier and more relaxed at her side, so that when Quinn broke the quiet, she was startled by the sound of her voice.
"Do you want to talk?"
The hesitation in Quinn's voice seemed to indicate that Quinn herself didn't want to, but rather seemed to feel that if Santana did, then she should at least offer to listen. Santana turned her head slightly, without entirely removing it from her shoulder, to look up almost cross eyed at her, her brow furrowing.
"About what?"
"I don't know, Santana, that's why I was asking you," Quinn rolled her eyes. Her thumb stopped its movement across Santana's hip, but her hand stayed there, lightly cupping its curve. "About something. Anything. The dream, what we're going to do today, anything that's happened so far…just…anything."
Again, it sounded to Santana like Quinn didn't want to herself, and she could feel the new slight tension in her body against her own as she asked. Santana shook her head before laying it back down against Quinn's shoulder.
"Definitely not, across the board. Talk is overrated."
"I don't know, you've never exactly been the strong and silent type," Quinn commented, her voice wry. "Definitely not quiet, at any rate."
"I know a little blondie who makes a lot of noise herself," Santana riffed back automatically, nudging Quinn in the ribs with an elbow. "At least in the bedroom…oh, wait, where are we now, again?"
"Like you can talk," Quinn needled back, giving her a returning playful jab that was still somewhat harder than Santana's had been. "You can, for sure- mostly pornographically."
Santana laughed, her face relaxing into a genuine smile- the first that she could remember in the past two days. For a few seconds she truly forgot everything that had happened, everything that was frightening and uncertain about what could happen in the future, and just enjoyed herself in a moment with her best friend.
When it hit her, a few moments later, that Quinn might be the only person in the world she could ever have these moments with anymore, that for certain, she would never again have them with her mother, her father, or Brittany, Santana's mood plummeted, and she started to fidget, trying to thrust her sadness away from herself and refocus her thoughts on something, anything else. She didn't move away from Quinn, wanting the physical contact in spite of the fact that it was not with the person she would have chosen first, but after a brief period of her restless movements, Quinn interrupted.
"San, you're crushing my arm here. Move yourself or move me, but move something."
Letting out a breath, Santana leaned forward, allowing Quinn to retrieve her arm from behind her. She didn't try to lean back against her, but as she sat up, back straight, and picked at the sheet covering her legs, she could again feel Quinn's eyes on her. The other girl sighed, then took hold of her shoulders, pressing down on them gently. As Santana turned her head, surprised and a little confused, Quinn kept pressing at them, trying to get her to lie down.
"Here. On your side, San."
Santana turned, as Quinn had directed her, giving an exaggerated sigh as she did. She figured that Quinn was just wanting to find a way to pull free from her, give her arm a break, but to her surprise, Quinn too lay on her side, her body pressed close against Santana's back as one arm loosely draped over her waist, her chin resting on her shoulder. Essentially they were spooning, something that was nearly unprecedented between them. Nearly, but not fully…as Santana lay back, trying to relax against Quinn, she remembered vaguely waking up in this position, months ago in the hotel on Valentine's Day, and how they had slept until they almost missed the check out time, pulling away when they finally dragged themselves out of bed and constantly suppressing sheepish grins and nervous giggles any time their eyes accidentally met.
But this felt different; for one thing, Santana was vividly aware of every part of Quinn's body against hers, rather than barely awake after orgasms and way too much alcohol. She could feel Quinn's warm skin through the thin fabric of her t-shirt, her breath softly stirring her hair, and she knew how hard Quinn was trying to be there for her, how concerned she must be to offer this to her. Maybe in Quinn's way she was trying to make up to her, and so Santana sighed out again, slowly letting her hand move to cover Quinn's, on her stomach.
"How can we do this, Quinn?"
"Looks like we're managing it okay, as long as you don't start kicking or snoring too loudly," Quinn said lightly, giving her hip bone a light tap with her thumb that Santana guessed was supposed to be playful.
She knew that Quinn knew this wasn't what she was talking about. Rolling her eyes, Santana flicked the back of her hand lightly.
"You know what I mean, Quinn. All of this…everything," Santana flicked her wrist somewhat limply, giving a tired gesture to encompass her meaning. "How do we just keep doing this, every day, every hour, when we really don't know what the hell we're doing at all?"
Quinn paused before giving her response, seeming to be trying to give her answer to her the proper consideration it deserved. Santana felt the arm around her waist squeeze lightly before she responded.
"I don't know, Santana. We just do. We do what we have to, the best that we can, for as long as we can. That's all we can do. We don't really have any other choice."
It wasn't an answer at all, not really. But Santana would have to accept that as the best Quinn could give, because she was right, really. What had she expected her to say?
She couldn't have gone back to sleep, then, even though she still didn't want to get up and start her day. She wanted to remain in bed with another human being's arm around her, feeling a physical reminder that there was someone with her in the world still, that someone cared enough to try to provide even the mildest sort of comfort she could. Still, even the presence of Quinn's arm around her couldn't chase off all the thoughts still drifting through her brain, and Santana swallowed, closing her eyes against the hazy images in her mind even as she spoke of them aloud.
"Quinn…that man. The way he looked when I…shit."
"Stop it, Santana," Quinn cut her off before she could attempt to continue, and Santana could feel her shaking her head against her shoulder. "Don't. He wasn't a man, not anymore. You didn't do that to him, what he became. All you did was make sure he didn't stay that way, and if he was any kind of decent guy at all before, that was what he would want anyway. Just stop thinking about it."
"How do you just stop thinking about something? You don't pick your thoughts," Santana retorted, shifting her legs slightly and feeling them press back more firmly against Quinn's. She felt Quinn bump her own against hers gently, nudging her as she responded.
"You can. You just do it, Santana. Just pick something to focus on and don't let anything else get through. Count sheep if you have to. Sing the most annoying song you can think of…I can help you with that one if you need," she threatened with a hint of a smile in her voice, as Santana reached back to nudge her a little harder.
"Yeah, no thanks, smartass. Uh…songs, songs….how about songs that are people's names?"
"Do we have to sing them all, or just think of examples?" Quinn questioned, adjusting her hand slightly so it lay against Santana's hip.
Santana shrugged. "I guess just think of them, I don't know all the words….um…Rhiannon. Carmen. Maria."
"Roxanne," Quinn added, her voice softer with thought. "Jude. Eleanor Rigby. Sadie. Lucy. Rita. Jojo…"
"Okay, off the Beatles kick, hippie wannabe," Santana smiled, giving her hand another flick. "Um…Athena. Mary Jane. Katie. Angela. Angie. Irene. Madeline…"
"I don't know half those songs, I think you're just making up names off the top of your head," Quinn accused, and Santana could hear her smirk even without seeing her face. "Where exactly is there a song about a Madeline?"
Santana didn't want to admit that this particular song just happened to be by the old 90s band Hanson, which would indicate that she knew more than "MMMBop…" that actually, she had their entire first CD memorized. Flushing slightly, she ignored her, continuing to list songs as her own voice started to get softer, sleepier in tone as her thoughts stayed focused in this direction.
"Jessie. Norma Jean. Daniel. Leevon…."
"Now who's on a hippie times kick, Elton John lover?" Quinn teased, but her voice was soft, even gentle, as she added a few of her own. "Caroline. Gloria. Um, Rhonda…Mary, if you count all the religious songs…"
"Gertrude…John…Haley," Santana added, her eyelids already growing heavier as she spoke through a drawn out yawn. "Paulina…Maggie Mae…Earl…Michelle….Layla…Beth…"
She didn't realize her mistake until she heard Quinn draw in a sharp breath behind her, felt her heartbeat suddenly hard and fast against her back, and felt her arm tighten around her waist, almost to the point of pain. Quinn said nothing, but Santana could hear her breathing louder and more unevenly than before, could feel the sudden tension of all her muscles against her body, and suddenly fully awake, she tried to turn over to see her face.
"Quinn? Are you okay?"
Quinn's voice took some time in coming, and when it did it was rough, almost angry. "Go to sleep, Santana."
"She's probably okay, Quinn," Santana tried, twining her fingers through Quinn's and squeezing. She noticed that Quinn didn't squeeze back, that her skin was cold and stiff against hers. "Shelby would do anything to protect her, you know that. I'm sure she's holed up like we are, even-"
"I said go to sleep, Santana," Quinn repeated, even harsher in tone, as she pulled her fingers from Santana's and then pulled away from her entirely, turning over to rest on her other side so her back was turned to her.
Several minutes passed with only the still erratic noise of Quinn's breathing showing any signs to Santana that she was still awake at all. Wide awake now, Santana lay there, wanting to speak to her, wanting still to apologize and reassure her, as Quinn had tried to reassure her, but having no idea of what she could say to genuinely help. One thought, only slightly related, repeatedly came to her mind, and she sighed, addressing her tentatively.
"Quinn…you didn't want to do it, did you? Brittany…you didn't want to have to-"
"Of course I didn't!" Quinn snapped, raising her voice to almost a shout, even as she kept her back to Santana, curling herself up into a tight ball, arms wrapped around her legs. "Don't be an idiot, Santana, how the hell did you not already know that? Now shut up and let me sleep!"
At almost any other time, Santana's anger would have been piqued at her sharp response to her. But now she just felt sad, sad and somewhat ashamed of herself for her own responses…both now, and much earlier. She went quiet, as Quinn had asked, but after several minutes of hearing the other girl's breathing continue to rasp in and out at a pace much too fast to possibly be able to fall asleep, she rolled over onto her opposite side, scooted closer to Quinn, and slowly looped an arm over her curled frame, working it around her shoulders and upper chest. When Quinn didn't pull away, she stayed, closing her eyes. Just before she drifted back to sleep, she was distantly aware of the dampness of what must have been Quinn's silent tears, dripping down onto the back of her wrist.
