Act II

"Can I make an observation?" He speaks up and you turn your head slightly from your laid out position on the couch to look at him. He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses, "It's been over a month since we began these sessions and when we first started, you were a little... hostile. You definitely didn't trust that I wasn't going to hit you on the head with a bible."

"So sue me. I've got trust issues with therapists." You roll your eyes.

He smiles at that, "See but now that you've opened up more, I don't exactly see the whole 'self-destructive behavior' thing that you keep going on about."

You laugh bitterly. Has he not been paying attention this whole time? Did he somehow forget about last week where you spent most of your session telling him about that one time - shortly after your breakup - where you locked yourself in your new apartment and attempted to bake blueberry breakfast cupcakes all day until you ended up crying yourself to sleep?

Breakfast cupcakes are ruined for you, now. They only serve as reminders.

"I mean sure, you engaged in a relationship with someone knowing that the probability of it going all wrong was exponentially higher than normal. And you basically put yourself in a place where you could very easily get hurt in the same way that scarred you all those years ago." He goes on and you look at him expectantly, "But, it sounds as if you actually came out on top in the end."

"Wanky."

"I'm serious, Santana." He laughs lightly, "I really think you did."

"How could you have possibly even come to that conclusion after everything I've told you?"

"Look at where you are now. You accepted yourself. Through all of that, everything with Brittany, you came out of it truly accepting yourself. Your sexuality and your faith finally coexisting in harmony. That's something you had to really work for. Something that you had to build on your own and it shows because even when things ended with Brittany, that's the thing that held steady."

"I don't think I'm that religious." You say, knowing that you still haven't found a home church here in New York City.

"But your faith is still there. You're not a spiritual recluse anymore nor are you a Christian crusader. You've found your own comfort level. You've finally found what fits you."

He's right. You hate to admit it but he is. It's not like you haven't tried to find a church either. You just haven't found one that felt right. But you know you miss it. You miss hearing the word and even more so, you miss worship.

"So, I'm good with God and I'm good with my sexuality. Self-love blah blah. That's your big observation?"

"Well actually, what I really I wanted to ask about is what was it that happened more recently." He says, quirking an eyebrow.

"You lost me, glasses."

"Santana," He laughs, shaking his head like it's obvious, "It's been over two years since you ended things with Brittany. And you're only now starting therapy because of it. So what was it that changed recently that brought you into my office?"

You blink back at him, like a deer in headlights.

"It's just an observation." He shrugs, "And you don't have to tell me, but honestly I think it might help."

You roll your head away and look back at the ceiling, sighing. He's right. Plus, you are paying him so really you might as well just come clean and tell him.

"I saw her." You finally say. "She's here. In New York City. The reason I even sought out therapy was because I ran into her and now…" You shake your head, all of your feelings flooding into you at one time.

"And now you're scared." He finishes knowingly.

"Yeah," You nod your head in defeat. "I'm scared I'm gonna fuck it up again."

"Okay, good." He clicks his pen, readying himself, "Let's start from there, then."

Chapter 16: New York City

Walking into the familiar building, you head straight to the 12th floor and make your way to Studio Room 1. Rachel called you in for a last minute session and you didn't even have to ask which room you needed to go to because she very annoyingly only chooses that one.

She even permanently affixed one of her gaudy gold stars to the door. That's how annoying she is about it.

Once you walk inside though, you're surprised to see a young black woman instead of your irritatingly loud jewish friend. You stop mid-step and look back at the door to make sure you didn't somehow forget how to navigate the halls of the place you've been spending most of your time these past two years.

After confirming to yourself that you are in fact at the correct room, you check the clock next, wondering if you're too early or possibly even too late.

"Don't worry, you're probably in the right place." The woman sitting on the couch laughs and you sigh in relief, checking the time again before glancing around the room and back out towards the hallway. "If you're looking for Rachel Berry, she's late."

"Honestly, I should've known." You shake your head and move further into the room, taking a seat at the console.

"So I take it she's always fashionably late to her own sessions?"

You raise an eyebrow as if it's obvious, "I'm pretty sure she held onto her surrogate's uterine walls until she was at least a week past her due date."

The woman laughs at that and you crack a smile. "She told me to meet her here but if you need to set up or something then go right ahead, I'm sure I'll be out of your hair soon. I'm Mercedes, by the way. Mercedes Jones."

"S." It's second nature by now, giving her the name you've been going by since moving back to the city. What can you say, you've got trust issues with people digging into your past.

"S?" She turns her head as if she's thinking it over, "You do keyboard work, right?"

"Bingo." You smirk, your reputation precedes you. "So tell me, Ms. Jones, why does the great and honorable Berry want to meet with you?"

"It's possible that she's pissed at me for sending her on a wild goose chase to track down someone that probably doesn't even exist."

"Taylor Swift?"

"What? No," Her eyes narrow, likely wondering if you're serious or not, but when you smirk again she chuckles. "Not Taylor Swift, no. This woman named Santana Lopez."

At your name you literally choke on the air you just inhaled and you start sputtering out incoherent words until Mercedes gets the hint and passes you a glass of water from a nearby table.

It's a long silent minute as you collect yourself, knowing that Mercedes is most likely already piecing two and two together.

"You're her, aren't you?" She says softly, "You're Santana Lopez."

You nod slowly, "Why are you trying to find me?"

"Oh wow, you really don't know." She sits up and clears her throat. "Take Your Place. It's been making the rounds in a lot of churches."

"My song?" It can't be. "Wait, where did you even… or, how did you even..."

You shake your head in an attempt to calm your mind. You never officially released that song. You've never even copyrighted it properly because it was never meant to become something that's just another generic track on a generic album. Plus, that song has been tucked away to the back of your sheet music and your mind. There's also only a handful of people that even know how to play it, let alone know the words, and those people are all probably still in… that one city you refuse to talk about.

So who's out there singing and playing your song without your permission? And how the hell did it reach all the way out here to New York City?

"You're fully credited as the songwriter by the way. But I always figured you've been turning down offers left and right for permission to record it officially.

"That's ridiculous..." You let out a shaky breath, still trying to process the new information. "Anyways, they won't be able to find me unless they know where to look."

"Oh trust, I know that." She laughs, "I've tried. Dang, Rachel Berry must be a fairy godmother or something."

Before you can ask more, the door swings open and Rachel saunters in like the diva she thinks she is. Or - you guess - like the fairy godmother she thinks she is.

"Santana! You made it!" Rachel practically yells, moving to hug you but you hold up your finger in warning.

"Berry, if you don't tell me what's going on, right now, I'm walking out of here."

Unfazed by your bark, Rachel easily moves on to greet the other woman in the room. "Mercedes, it's so nice to see you again. Clearly I've delivered," She smiles sweetly while motioning towards you, "I believe you owe me a feature, now?"

"I gotta hand it to you Rachel, I really didn't think you'd ever find her. And so soon after our conversation at that."

"It felt like just yesterday." The smaller girl preens.

"It was just yesterday."

"For the love of god, can someone please enlighten me?" You roll your eyes, "Obviously whatever this is, it involves me somehow."

"San,"

"Don't." You bark back quickly. Rachel knows better than to call you that.

"Santana," She rolls her eyes, "Yesterday after my session, I was walking past the studio Mercedes happened to have booked and overheard the most wonderful voice. A little pitchy, but still, she definitely has potential."

Mercedes scoffs at that, "Yes Rachel, it was so nice meeting you. For the very first time... as you walked right into my sound booth… while I was recording."

"You are so very welcome, Mercedes. Most people become too starstruck when they meet their idols but you were a doll."

Mercedes looks at you with an expression that easily reads, 'Is she serious?' and all you can do is shrug because yes, she is serious.

"Anyways, I walked right in and we got to talking. Come to find out, Mercedes here is working on her first Christian gospel album. So naturally I offered my services to be featured."

"Rachel, you're not even a Christian." You shake your head at her. She can't be serious.

"I'm Jewish, we basically share the same God." She rebuts and you turn to Mercedes, hoping she'll back you up.

"Don't look at me, that's exactly what she told me yesterday."

"Oh my god, just finish this damn story already." You raise your voice, clearly getting more agitated.

"I just thought that with my star power, it could really elevate Mercedes. Get her some much needed exposure. Plus, once she makes it big, I get the extra credit for working with up and coming artist. The nobodies. I mean I basically discovered her."

"Basically she was rude as hell." Mercedes scoffs, then looks at you. "Look, I'm gonna be straight with you, I only had that room booked for two hours and I needed her to leave asap. So I told her I'd accept on one condition and since I thought you were a ghost, she had to find Santana Lopez and get her to record Take Your Place with me for the album."

"Which, as soon as I heard your name, I knew it had to be you, Santana." Rachel smiles proudly, "You know, since that whole thing in India-"

"No." You shake your head. You don't want to hear any more of this nonsense. You've already made your decision. "No. I won't do it."

"Santana…"

"I said no, Rachel."

"S, I'm really sorry." Mercedes looks apologetically at you, "Honestly, you don't have to do this. I swear I really didn't think she'd actually find you. I had no idea she already knew who you were."

"Well luckily enough, you'll get to know each other, too. I already spoke to the studio and Santana is officially assigned to work on your album." Rachel chances a glance to you, already knowing you won't take that piece of information well.

"Hold up, what now?" This time it's Mercedes holding her finger up, "I already hired a piano guy. And paid him."

"Already taken care of."

"You can't be serious." You ask incredulously, "I had a full schedule. You can't just do that."

Rachel shrugs, "You already finished the tracks I need for now. And I'll save the power ballads for the end so I won't need you on my service for a while."

"So what, I'm supposed to just sign my song over just like that?"

"No Santana, I would never ask you to do that," Mercedes chimes in, "I honestly had no idea this is what she had planned."

"What the hell, Rachel?" You stand up suddenly, needing to feel the ground beneath your feet. It doesn't help that you know it's not the ground and that you're actually in a building 12 stories up.

"I just want you to work with her, Santana." Rachel moves slowly to stand in front of you, her voice low and soft, "We both know you needed something like this. And, I know you want to. At least try it? It might help. You've been so down the past two years. A gospel album might just be thing that picks you up."

You look into her eyes and you know she means well. You know she's trying to get you out of your shell again. She really is a good friend to you but it's stunts like this that really make you question her sanity.

"Okay," You exhale slowly, "I'll work with her. But it's still a 'no' for the song. I can't do the song. It just wouldn't feel right."

"That's fine, then. Just work on her album. No song." Rachel turns back to Mercedes for confirmation and she nods.

You take a calming breath, "Alright fine. Let's do this."

Mercedes' music is different. It's not the usual Christian pop shit that you initially expected from her, but actually really heartfelt and well thought-out pieces. And as much as you want to be bitter for getting forced into doing this, at the same time you're actually kind of into it.

It takes you until the third session with Mercedes for you to finally ask the one thing that's been on your mind.

"If you don't mind me asking," You swivel in your chair during lunch one day, "How did you come to hear my song?"

Mercedes only smiles coyly, "I was probably one of the first to hear it actually. I think that's why I'm so attached to it."

"One of the first?" You're so confused. What does that even mean? "Who showed it to you?"

She doesn't respond right away. Instead, she puts down her fork and looks you straight in the eye, "A student of yours. From Indiana."

Your jaw tightens at her mention of... that place, and Mercedes notices.

"It's really helped people through some tough times, Santana. You should embrace it. Be more proud of it."

"I am proud of it." You snap, "It just… reminds me of too much."

It's not that you've regressed. You still very much love yourself and are more comfortable with who you are than you've ever been. And although your relationship with God isn't what it was two years ago, at least you're not as jaded in the way you once were.

"Do you still go to church?"

You shake your head, "Sometimes I'll go to a random one just for praise and worship. And I know it's totally ridiculous but even here, in New York City, I still feel like I stick out like a sore thumb."

"Because of the whole lesbian thing?"

"Oh my god, do I smell like a golf course or something?" You gasp and Mercedes laughs lightly. "I know it's silly. If being out is my big hang up then this city should be where I feel most comfortable. But I don't know. I think some part of me thinks I'll still be judged by others because of it.

"You should try my church. Seriously. I can one hundred percent tell you we don't care about any of that."

You don't answer her and just let her words float in the air. It has been a while since you've tried a new church. And if you're being honest, you have been missing the word. But you'll have to get back to her on that. At least for now.

"You're incredibly talented, Santana. You could very easily be working on your own album, you know." Mercedes changes the subject and you're grateful. "Honestly, I wouldn't be opposed to featuring you on this album, as well."

"Oh negative." You laugh, "I have too much anxiety for the limelight."

"I hardly think making it big in the 'Contemporary Christian' music genre is what's considered limelight."

"A light is a light. Anyways, I prefer more of the background work. It suits my brooding style." You narrow your eyes playfully and she laughs.

"Well, you're definitely good at it. You've got quite the reputation as a studio musician."

You scoff, "Only because Berry won't leave me the hell alone. She'll record a studio version of literally every song she's ever sung and most of the time, they're power ballads with heavy piano or keyboard tracks."

"That's insane. She's insane."

"Yeah," You chuckle, knowing that's the understatement of the century. "But on the bright side the studio pays me by the hour and we all know how much of a diva she is. Always late, always wanting multiple takes. Plus, she always tells other artists to request for me."

"So, basically you're rolling in studio musician dough."

"Yeah, basically."

"She's a good friend. You're lucky to have her."

"Yeah," You roll your eyes, smiling with Mercedes "I'd never admit that to her, though."

By the fifth session, you've gotten a lot more comfortable with Mercedes. You've even helped her rework some of the sheet music for a few of her songs.

You're sitting at the piano in the recording booth, ready to play the next track that you've rewritten, when Mercedes voice floats into the headphones. "Thanks again for doing this, Santana. I don't have a crazy huge budget like Rachel, so I'm grateful to even get to work with you."

You smile at her, and take the compliment.

"Trust me, I'd rather be playing to the sound of your voice than Rachel's. You're doing me a favor."

You watch from the other side of the glass as Mercedes laughs. You like her. She's like a breath of fresh air and honestly, listening to her music this whole time has made you seriously consider her offer to visit her church. If they're anything like her, you definitely won't feel like you don't belong.

When you arrived for today's session, she asked if you wanted to stop by at her place after. Something about a handful of people from her church coming over for dinner and it'll be a good opportunity to meet a few of them. Outside of the church with no pressure.

You told her you'd think about it because there's no way you'd be able to focus on playing anything properly if your freaking out about meeting new people later today.

Once you finish the track, you leave the booth to listen to the playback with Mercedes but to your surprise, there's someone sitting in your usual spot. A boy. Young, maybe a few years younger than Mercedes.

"Um?" You stutter in your step and Mercedes turns to you.

"Oh, sorry." She swats at him to stand, "He just got here. I hope you don't mind. I asked if he can stop by on his way home. I was hoping he'd be able to convince you to join us tonight."

"That's… weird." You arch an eyebrow and stand still as the short scrawny boy walks up to you with a wide smile.

"Ms. Lopez," He finally speaks and something about it gives you pause. "It's been a while."

He holds out his hand and tentatively, you shake it. He called you Ms. Lopez. There's no mistaking that. You don't recognize him as one of your students, but still, there's something familiar about him.

He laughs knowingly, "It's me. Jake."

Jake. Jake… Jake. "Oh my god…" Your eyes immediately tear up and so does his. He told you all those years ago that he was thinking about that name as his true one. You can't believe it. You can't believe you're actually seeing him.

"Jake." You say his name and can't help but smile widely at how fitting it sounds, You hold him at arm's length, "Oh wow, look at you! Look at how handsome you are."

"Thank you, Miss." He blushes, cheeks turning a shade of pink.

"How are you? Are you happy? You look happy."

"I am," He smiles, "Mercedes, takes good care of me."

"Oh. Oh." You look between the two of them, eyes widening slightly, "Are you two dating?"

"God no. He's like my little brother, Santana." She scrunches her face up in disgust and you watch as he sticks his tongue out at her.

"We're roommates." Jake explains, "And we both work part time at the church."

There it is. You get it now. Jake was the one that showed Mercedes your original song. He was the first to sing it, afterall.

"So," Mercedes smiles at you, "You'll join us for dinner tonight then?"

You laugh, knowing that there's no way you're not going to their stupid dinner now. Even though Jake is another reminder of your time in Indiana, you're so incredibly happy to see him again. You're happy to know that he's doing well for himself.

You just hope he knows enough to not ask about what happened.

It's not long before you're walking into Mercedes and Jake's apartment. It's cute, and actually very homey. You don't have many younger friends so you feel slightly dated but you hope you don't look it. Who are you kidding, you could never look it.

Besides, Mercedes is at least in her mid-twenties and you're barely thirty-two, so you can't think of yourself as elderly just yet. You just can't stand next to Jake, he can't even legally drink yet and honestly that's just too insane to think about.

"This place is pretty big…" You look around and note the slightly larger than normal living space for an apartment in Bushwick. You're surprised because honestly, the place is really roomy for just two people and there's no way they can afford the rent here, especially if they only work part time a church.

"It's a perfect fit for the three of us." Mercedes smiles proudly.

"We have another roommate." Jake explains quickly and you nod, understanding that there's a third income to tie it all together. Someone that probably doesn't work part time at a church, you think. "You want the official house tour?"

You smile, motioning for him to lead the way as he shows you the living room, kitchen, and small balcony with a few planters with soil. He tells you they've tried growing plants at one point but nothing sprouted so now they just water the dirt for fun, hoping that something will miraculously grow from it eventually.

When he walks you down the hallway to the bathroom, your eyes catch on something in one of the bedrooms.

There's no mistaking it. It's your keyboard. The one you lent to Brittany when she mentioned her interest in practicing more. The thought alone tricks your mind into thinking you can actually smell her again and you're thrown for a loop.

Did she give it to Jake to have? Did she not want anything that reminded her of you? She must've, you're staring right at it.

"Is this your room?" You breathe out, not looking away from the keyboard, "Why is this here?"

Jake doesn't respond. Or if he did, you didn't hear him because your mind has already taken over. He must've known it was yours when she gave it to him. She had to have told him. Or maybe she didn't. Maybe she just gave it to him without a second thought.

"Santana?" The sound of her voice pierces through your body and for a second you don't believe your ears but then, "Santana, what are you doing here?"

Your heart is beating so fast you'd think you just ran a marathon. There's no other way to describe what your feeling besides panic. But you focus on your breathing and you steel yourself, turning around slowly.

You take it all in. Her everything. Her eyes are bluer than ever and you have to fight the urge to smile just from seeing them for the first time in over two years. Her blonde hair is up and in a ponytail, a bag over her shoulder, and a suitcase at her feet.

"Brittany."

AN: I love you all so so so much. Thank you for believing in me and this story.