Title: Some Things Are Meant To Be [Part Eight]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4.5k

Notes: Apologies for the wait on this update. It's only a short one because I got a bit preoccupied with life and writing future chapters for this because I got too excited, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

/

Santana rolls her head back and forth in her hands. She's still crouched down in a dark alley and she hasn't moved in the past ten minutes.

Her heart is pounding impossibly loud in her ears, her chest tightening with every rapid breath she takes and she's covering her mouth, stuck in this state of shock because she doesn't know what just happened. She doesn't know if she's just dreaming a really elaborate dream, that she'll wake up tomorrow morning on the couch, hungover, hurting and still wishing Brittany would notice her, her feelings and for some strange reason decide to leave Jason, or if she actually did just make out with Brittany and almost get walked in on by her fiancée.

Nope. Wait, yeah, that definitely happened.

She flings her head back, welcoming the sharp ache that shoots through her skull as her head collides with the damp brick wall behind her and tries to tell herself to calm down. She tries to tell herself that it isn't a big deal, that it didn't possibly just pretty much fuck up everything including her relationship with Brittany and her plans in life, and tries to pretend like it's all going to be okay.

There's really no way she can see that happening.

She curses to herself beneath her breath over and over, squeezing her eyes shut and she knows it's cold and about to rain and she should be getting home, but getting home means going back to Brittany and she's just not ready for that. She doesn't know when she will be. Quinn's probably out the picture as she's more than likely going to be ears deep in paperwork—she's just started at a new law firm—and Puck... Well, Puck's probably ears deep in something else Santana doesn't want to think about.

So instead she sucks in a deep breath, rises to her feet and decides to walk.

With absolutely no idea where she's going.

/

An hour after walking and over thinking, her stomach grumbled and she couldn't feel her hands and seeing as it'd turned one in the morning, there wasn't really anywhere to go, so she ended up in a twenty-four hour diner. She doesn't have a clue where she is, all she knows is they do these kick-ass waffles and the coffee isn't great but it's warm in her stomach and her hands have regained some type of feeling. Along with her nose.

It's been kind of irritating without her phone, she keeps itching to grab it out her pocket and realizing it's not there, but she's almost grateful for forgetting it because now Brittany can't reach her. No-one can get in touch with her unless they search the streets of the city which is highly unlikely, and so she can bask in this lack of company and get some of her thoughts straight for once.

Well, that's what she hopes until she's tucking into her second plate of waffles and a familiar body slides into the booth opposite.

"What are the chances of seeing you here in the dead of night?" The voice says in a forced Texan twang.

Santana looks up, mouth full of waffles and damn near chokes. "Dani," she splutters and coughs, punching her chest a few times to make sure death doesn't just put the cherry on top of this cake of a night. She sets down her cutlery and takes a long sip of her coffee to help force the food down before answering. "What are you doing here?"

The waitress smirks and folds her hands, placing them on the table. "I just got off work and was hungry," she explains. "This is my local."

"You live near here?" Santana quirks, head tilting to the side. "Where is this place?"

Dani chuckles lightly and eyes the plate. "Just on the outskirts of Tribeca," she replies and Santana snorts her food, finding the irony in that just too amusing.

"Tribeca?" She repeats and rests her head in her hand. "Could you be more of a cliché lesbian?"

The girl laughs again and Santana finds herself smiling for the first time this night. She can't even really remember why she's even here—Oh, yes she can. Her face drops immediately, the hilarity vanishing from the conversation and she finds herself staring down at her half-eaten plate of waffles, suddenly a lot more confused and fucked up than two seconds ago.

"I'm assuming the same reason you've got that face on, is the same reason you're here?" Dani asks, sensing the change in the atmosphere. Santana doesn't respond so the girl reaches over and covers her hand, bringing those dark brown eyes up to her.

It's a bit of a tough situation because it was only a matter of weeks ago that Santana was flirting with this girl, trying to make Brittany jealous and it all sort of went wrong from there as Dani left her and they didn't speak again. Yet she's now sitting here apparently about to explain what's happened between her and Brittany, something Dani apparently knew all along, and damn, she's sure she has other people to tell other than Dani.

Although if she did, she guesses they would be sitting here with her instead.

"Me and Britt—" She starts, but Dani's head cocks to the side. "Me and the bride-to-be," she elaborates, closing her eyes and swallowing the lump in her throat. "We're best friends, and we live together, and after that night where we met, and she saw us kiss," she waves her hand around between them as if gesturing to a previous experience. "Me and Brittany didn't talk..." She gulps. "Until tonight."

The waitress narrows her eyes, but she shows interest and it's refreshing. Santana hasn't had anyone except Brittany genuinely interested in her for such a long time that it feels good, and so she continues with her story. Despite how weird it is. Every word she says, the waitress bobs her head along and leans forward, setting a hand on Santana's once more when she talks about how magical the kiss was and all that—quite literal—gay crap, and when she's finally finished, Dani pinches her lips together in thought and lifts her eyebrows.

"So what are you going to do?"

Jump off a cliff? Maybe.

"I don't know," she admits honestly, shrugging and removing her hand from beneath the other girls, folding her arms over her chest like it'll hold her heart together. "I guess it's up to Britt."

Dani exhales and leans back into the booth, not seeming the tiniest bit rejected by the movement. "I think that might be best," she finally says and Santana's a little shocked. She was expecting the girl to argue, tell her to fight for Brittany or do something but she's not. And the oddest part is, it doesn't even seem like she's not suggesting it so she can get in Santana's pants instead. She seems like she's saying it because she genuinely thinks Santana should let it be. "I mean, you're suffering through all of this and yet she's not. Why should you go through all of it when she's not?" The waitress shrugs. "It doesn't seem fair."

See, it's hard to admit, but Santana's been thinking that for a while. She never really wanted to dwell on it because she always thought Brittany was the best; was an angel, and yet an angel wouldn't do this to someone. An angel who could do no wrong wouldn't make a person suffer if they really loved them, because in the words of Callie from Greys Anatomy, you don't destroy something you love. Yet Brittany's there, destroying Santana bit by bit, making her suffer and not really suffering in return.

It's a little fucked up, knowing that if both of them were suffering it would be a little better but that's just the way it is.

"Fuck," she curses beneath her breath, resting her elbows on the table and letting her head fall into her hands. "This isn't fair."

There's a shifting of movement before Dani slides into the booth beside her, their bodies pressed hovering close. "Exactly," the girl says and strokes her fingers down the back of Santana's arm, getting her to look up. "So maybe you should do something about it."

A bitter laugh pours from her mouth. "Like it's that easy," Santana lets out, falling back in the booth. She shrugs and the corners of her mouth pull in a tight line. "If it were I would've done it already."

"Done what, exactly?"

"Given up on Brittany," she elaborates and Dani's eyebrows twitch in shock. "I would've done that years ago if it were that easy."

The waitress cocks her head to the side like a lost puppy, but her eyes narrow like she's just figured something out. "So you know it's not fair?"

"Shit, Dani," Santana once again laughs out her words, but it's not an amused laughter, it's a mirthless, dead laughter. She can't really say how stupid that question is because she only met Dani a few weeks back, and the girl doesn't know the ins and outs of their entire relationship. She didn't go through it with her.

Like sure, if Quinn was here she'd just continue laughing, but the reminder that Quinn isn't here, nor is anyone else, that she's pretty much sitting here with a stranger and talking about her life, and she doesn't have anyone else to comfort her, makes something beat strangely in her chest. Because she knows if there were one person she could choose to have this conversation with, if there was one person she should have here instead, telling her what to do because she knows that person knows her better than she knows herself, that person would be Brittany.

But alas, she knows that can't happen, because right now, the problem she needs Brittany to help figure out, is Brittany. So fucking ironic. Fuck. When did things get so damn difficult?

"Of course I know it's not fair. I've known it's not fair since the night me and Britt met and continued to stay close." She shifts forward and twists her body slightly. "I've known it since she moved in with me and not her boyfriend. I've known it since she asked me to be her wedding planner even though it was obvious, even back then, what was going on between us." Taking in a deep breath, she closes her eyes and leans an arm over the back of the booth, resting gently. "I've known it's unfair and I haven't done anything because I didn't... I didn't want to," she shakes her head, clenches her jaw.

"But why? Why didn't you want to?" Dani asks softly, her hand now moving to the tanned arm resting behind her, tracing slowly. It's a comforting touch, which is why Santana lets her continue. It doesn't even feel like Dani's trying to seduce her, and as much as Dani's a stranger, she's the only one sitting here in a diner with Santana in the early hours of the morning. That counts for something.

Brown eyes slowly lift as the words prepare themselves to fall off her tongue. "Because I honestly believed me and Brittany were going to end up together," she admits with nothing but honesty in her tone. "I didn't give up because I thought we were meant to be," she shudders through a breath, not even bothering to stop the heat prickling at her eyelids, causing the tears to begin. "So I just kept hanging on and now—" She swallows against a thickening throat, quickly glancing away. "Now I'm here, alone, wanting something I'll never have."

Feeling more than pathetic, she drops her head and lets herself cry. It pains her to her very core, the agony of accepting the truth twisting and spiraling through her chest to accept that this is the finale. That her ending isn't happy and her story isn't going to be one she can tell her grandchildren when she's old because it won't be one that makes them smile. It's too fucking difficult to accept that her and Brittany aren't going to be, because it's all she's really ever believed in.

Now she's kind of questioning everything she's ever believed in, because if she and Brittany can't wind up together, something she was so, so damn sure of, what's the chances of anything else happening? Like her meeting someone else. Her wanting to marry someone that doesn't have golden hair and eyes brighter than the Mediterranean sea. Her starting a family and finally being able to forget about the one that got away?

Jesus. What if that never happens?

"Santana, I—" Dani pauses and looks around, almost as if she's trying to figure out what to say herself. Realistically speaking, there's not much that can be said to her now she's discovered not everything is what it seems. That her happily ever after will never be. "I'm sorry," the waitress finally decides on, her voice hushed and empathetic. "I don't know what to say."

It's in that moment she feels like everything just gets too much. It's in that moment she realizes her walls are lowering, to a complete fucking stranger and the feeling of vulnerability pulses through her being, shocking her into action like a lightening bolt. She shifts away from the girl beside her, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get out of here and away from everything. And it's weird, because the second slides out from the booth and sees her reflection in the windows, she swears something catches her eye, over the other side of the street.

But she's imagining things. She is.

So she shakes her head, buries her hand inside her jeans to grab a twenty-dollar bill and throws the money on the table top.

"Yeah," she whispers and grabs her jacket, throwing it on as Dani stares up at her from the booth with a furrowed brow and a concerned expression. "I'm sorry, too."

She doesn't even give the girl a chance to reply before she walks out the diner, heading toward the nearest payphone. Her breath is staggered, her heart beating impossibly fast and she steps on to the sidewalk across the road before she stops for a second, suddenly feeling this itch at the back of her head. It comes with a tug at the bottom of her stomach, one that makes her feel a little uneasy and makes her feel like she's not alone. So much so that she spins in her place, glancing around the darkened, deserted street, trying to see anything or anyone watching her.

But there isn't. She's all alone, and she needs to just have a break. And if she can't get away from everything, she can at least take her mind off it with alcohol; and there's only one person she knows who won't ask too many questions.

/

She slips a quarter into the payphone, punching in the number and hoping she got it right. It's not like she doesn't call this person a lot, but she sort of sees him more than calls him and so it's not unexpected that she second he picks up and she announces herself, he's all sorts of confused.

"Lopez?" Puck grumbles down the line, his voice scratchy and hoarse. "Not that I mind a hot piece of ass ringing me in the middle of the night as it usually ends up bent over in front of me, but what the hell?"

She takes in a deep breath and peers around the dark streets, cursing inwardly as the rain begins to pour. "I need to get drunk," she explains, flexing her fingers. "And I don't need any questions asked." She pauses, breathing heavily. This definitely is not a good idea. "You in?"

There's a moment of hesitation when she thinks Puck's going to say no. There's a moment of hesitation when she thinks Puck's actually going to turn her down, tell her to go home, to get some sleep and not to call him up in the early hours of the damn morning; or to at least like, apologize to Brittany and sort her shit out. And in that moment of hesitation, she actually sees herself having to go home. She sees herself having to apologize to Brittany and let it all blow over like so many times before as she waits until that day, that wedding day one fucking week away, before the one she loves is taken away from her and she has no other option other than to give up.

She sees it all, and she can't even explain the relief she feels when Puck says this:

"Only if we go to a strip club," he lets the words out through a chuckle that almost, almost makes Santana smile. "I gotta have some ass bent over in front of me, even if it's not you."

It's not exactly her ideal place to go, but she supposes she has nowhere better to be and instead takes what she can get.

Maybe alcohol and half-naked women will be able to distract her.

(Doubtful.)

/

She doesn't exactly have an extensive knowledge on strip clubs considering this is the first one she's ever been to, but it's pretty much exactly what she sees in the movies. It's dark, and dingy, and the floors are kind of sticky, and there are old, grubby men in suits throwing money at girls that Santana's pretty sure have just come out of high school. The bar is half-lit, there's dark red velvet chairs darted everywhere near barely cleaned tables and God, she's going to catch something from being in here.

Well, at least pointing out just how disgusting this place is, is slightly distracting her.

"Puckerman," she says, stepping over an empty beer glass rolling about on the floor. "Couldn't you have taken me somewhere else?"

Puck chuckles throatily as they approach the bar. "You called me at two in the morning to get drunk," he points out. "That means either you wanted to get laid or needed a distraction, and this place will cover both of those."

"Yeah, I wanted a distraction," she agrees and leans on the bar with her elbows, in the only clean spot along it. "Not a disease."

He rolls his eyes and flags down the bartender, holding two fingers up and pointing to the bottle of scotch on the back shelf. "This is actually one of the cleaner strip clubs I've been to, and they know me here, which makes it easier not to be kicked out."

The bartender slides over the two drinks and Puck winks at the guy, which apparently means free drinks or at least put it on his tab. In some ways, Santana's glad she's here because it means free drinks due to Puck's connections, and she can get drunk without questions. Like just now, she just told the guy she wanted a distraction, yet he didn't ask what it was about. And okay, that could be because Puck's an asshole and just doesn't care, but Santana's been friends with him long enough to know it's not.

After all, he can't be that much of an asshole if Quinn dated the guy for years and years.

"So do you want a dance?" He offers and turns around, leaning back against the bar with his elbows, looking out across the club. "I've got a girl I just know you'd like."

Santana wraps her fingers around her drinks and takes a long sip. "I just want to get drunk," she says and winces as the liquor settles in her stomach. "I don't want to get laid." She twists around to match her friend, eyes scanning over the floor to watch the dirty old men throw money at women who most definitely look away in disgust. "That cool with you?"

Puck shrugs. "I'm down with that," he sips on his drink and they delve into silence but moments later, he cocks his head to the side and seems to narrow in on what sounds like a large crowd of men coming into the club. Assuming he's just being nosy, or not even looking at wherever that noise is coming from and instead spotting which poor stripper he wants to take into the back room for a "private dance," she just ignores him and continues drinking.

Moments later, he just shakes his head and asks her if she wants a shot, but says nothing about what he was looking at.

Weird.

/

The night goes on and the alcohol consumption does too.

By the time it reaches three, she's definitely drunk—like, blow chunks, drunk—and the entire room is spinning but it's making her mouth feel funny, her mind and body feel light and she can't focus on Puck, let alone think about all the crap to do with Brittany, so the night has been a success as far as she's concerned. Even if she completely disregarded her awareness of cleanliness and is now cheek down on a sticky table, reaching for a beer she keeps failing to reach.

A hand stretches toward her glass, nudging it closer and she lifts her head off the table to glance at her friend as he says, "You're drunk."

She swipes at her drink, managing to grab it but also allowing some of the alcohol to slosh out the rim. "And I feel great," she slurs out and takes a long sip. "Maybe even good enough to get a lap dance."

"What!?" Puck damn near shouts and slaps his hand down on his thigh, apparently able to hand his drink a hell of a lot better. "You for real, Lopez?"

She bobs her head heavily, not really giving a damn whether or not a lap dance will cost a few hundred bucks. "Definitely."

Her friend cocks his eyebrow but leans forward, looking a little more suspicious than usual. "You know it's not really a lap dance, don't you?"

"Huh?" She splutters out and wipes her mouth on the back of her sleeve. "We're in a strip club," she points out like it's obvious.

"Yeah, and a shitty one at that. Why do you think the bouncers stand by back rooms all night and they don't bother cleaning up this dumb? The owners are more involved in the... other services."

Turning her head, Santana peers over her shoulder toward the back room where two bulky men in black suits stand. Their hands are folded in front of them, their heads straight and a menacing expression is pasted on their face. The red curtain hangs behind them, held up slightly at the corner and from where they're sitting, Santana can see a blurred figure—a customer, she assumes—come out from one of the rooms, adjusting himself down there. It makes her roll her eyes, although due to her drunken state, she's pretty sure she rolls her entire head, but she turns back and hisses through her teeth.

"Maybe not," she slurs, downing the rest of her drink. "Another drink would be good though."

Glass held up the air, she expects Puck to grab it and go get a refill like he's been doing for the entire night, but after a minute, and after a strange ache in her bicep, she glances up to find her friend with that same expression he had earlier in the night. Except this time there's a little something else in his eyes. Whereas before his eyes were narrowed like he was trying to add two and two, his eyes are now a little wider like he's just figured out the answer and doesn't like it.

It's slightly worrying, slightly panicking, and it makes her sit up straighter, cock her head to the side and ask him what's going on. "What the hell are you staring at, Puckerman?"

Puck blinks several times, looking away but glancing back up over her shoulder. "I think—Is that—" He doesn't even finish his sentence, just shakes his head in disbelief and nods his head forward, urging her to look. "Is that who I think it is?"

There's been many times when Puck has made a big deal out of things that weren't a big deal. Like when they used to share a shift down at the local bar; Puck always used to exaggerate when a customer gave them a little shit, saying that the guy swung for him after a lengthy argument so he naturally defended himself by jutting the guy in the throat and knocking him out with a single punch. When in reality, a customer usually complained there was too much soda in their drink and gave Puck a little shit, which he just flipped them the middle finger back.

So it's not really a surprise that when he has this reaction to whatever the hell is behind her, she totally expects him to overreact. But when she takes in his wide eyes, slightly paled complexion and the fact there's a whole glass of whiskey in his hand that hasn't been touched, she thinks that shit, maybe he's actually not screwing with her.

"Puck, what—"

"Just fucking look, Santana," he cuts in, demanding her to do so and this time she doesn't even hesitate, just twists in her seat, hand on the back and glances back at the door she just looked through.

When her eyes finally focus on what Puck was saying, she swears her heart stops beating. Her mouth dries up in an instant, her stomach damn near drops out her ass but there's a slight buzz that springs up inside her chest because walking out of the back room, fiddling with his belt and smirking as he greets the crowd of men now edging over to him, is someone who Santana knows only too well. The guy high-fiving a few of his friends, nodding his head triumphantly as they cheer him, chant "stag sex" for him and gawp as a stripper—the stripper Santana assumes was "servicing" him—comes over and kisses him straight on the lips, grabs his crotch and then winks as she walks away, is also the guy that she could damn near fucking kill for this.

Because that person? Is Jason.

And Santana doesn't know what to do.

/

Uh oh... Not good.

Review if you have any comments! And I'd like to thank everyone who's reviewed previously, your feedback is amazing and I read every single one, taking in notes!