The Fourth, The Fifth
Part Three
An idea hit her on her way home from work one night.
It was just some stupid quarrel between younger kids, a group of boys obviously ganging up on another. She was just going to walk on past, her eyes glued to the ground like she wasn't seeing anything, but one of the boys shoved the loner hard enough to send him crashing down on the cement. It wasn't serious, his ego was bruised more than anything else, but she felt compelled to do something. It was time to trust her instincts, she'd decided, and there was no going back now.
"Hey!" It wasn't exactly smooth, but it was loud enough to command the group's attention and to silence their laughter. "Leave him alone." They just stared at her incredulously as the boy picked himself up off the ground.
"Why don't you just stay out of it?" One of the boys had the audacity to spit at her, and she almost punched him right there and then. It had been a long day, and her patience was already worn thin. Even though she was trying to be a better person, she wasn't above hitting some asshole kid.
"Listen you little fuckers, if you don't run along home I'll kick all your sorry asses and send you home to your mommies black and blue." Apparently, getting in their faces a little was all it took to get them to back down. The group quickly dispersed, leaving Santana alone with the boy.
"Thank you." His gratitude was written all over his face. It nearly hurt, but she smiled back, just a little.
"You're welcome."
It didn't hit her until she was nearly home, the cold night air biting at her through her sweatshirt. It was simple, but like always, once it passed through it stuck.
She could help people.
It started off as simple as that.
Santana didn't let the tears break free until she had locked the front door behind her. It was incredibly quiet inside, almost alarmingly so, and it did nothing but make her cry harder. She was thankful that Isabelle was asleep, at least. She didn't want her little girl to see her like this, not now, not ever. She was the only thing disturbing the stillness of the apartment, her shoes making quiet thuds as she kicked them off and let her coat slide off her shoulders and to the floor.
Somehow, she managed to make it to her bed, where Quinn was already awake and alert. She must've heard her crying. Had she been that loud? She couldn't tell. Nothing seemed to be getting through. Not even when Quinn pulled her down on to the bed, gently stripping her down to her underwear and holding her close.
"Baby, what happened?"
Santana couldn't even find the words to express it, couldn't figure out a way to explain it that didn't sound horrifyingly detached. She opted instead for clinging to her, hoping, praying that she would start feeling again soon.
For the next few days, all she felt was numbness.
Santana just couldn't get Quinn out of her head. It was like no matter what she was thinking, her mind always went in a giant loop back to her. It was like some six degrees of separation bullshit and she was getting a little sick of it. More because it kept getting her into trouble, and less because she didn't like thinking about Quinn.
She didn't know when it happened, again, but she really, really liked thinking about Quinn. Staring at her, studying every move and every smile, or, more often, the lack thereof. Quinn definitely caught her a few times, making warmth spread across her cheeks.
It was all some serious déjà vu, and she wasn't sure if she liked it.
She was watching Quinn again, reveling in it, when she noticed the look on her face. The way everything seemed to fall, her eyes overcome with sadness, anger, irritation. It usually only meant one thing.
Puck.
Of course, he had to be an asshole again, all about paying bills. Like that was their biggest issue, not that fact that he was a total douchebag that was treating Quinn like shit because he got her pregnant. Before she knew it, the anger was flaring again, and in a momentary lapse of judgment she stood and let loose.
"Puck, will you just shut the fuck up." Again, not smooth, but it got her point across well enough that she didn't really care. "Trust me, we're all sick and tired of listening to your whiny baby crap. If you're not gonna fucking help her out, then be a good boy and leave her alone. She doesn't owe you shit."
It took everything Santana had not to take a step backwards when Puck spun to face her, quickly getting in her face. This was escalating a lot faster than she'd expected.
"Well, I'm sick of you getting all up in my business, Lopez. Why don't you go annoy someone else, because I'm tired of listening to you be a bitch. Oh, I forgot, that's kind of just how you are."
"What the fuck-"
"Seriously, go suck another dick or something so I don't have to listen to you whine at me about stuff that's not your problem."
"Noah." Quinn's voice bit through them, but it didn't deter him one bit. His face was mere inches from Santana's now, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck beginning to stand. It had been a while since she'd actually been scared during a fight, and even longer since she'd admitted it. It didn't really stop her from provoking him. One of her vices, she supposed.
"Well, just so you know, I don't do that anymore. I guess that means no more 2 a.m. booty calls because all the chicks stopped putting out when they heard you got a girl pregnant. Sorry."
For a moment, they just stared at each other, like they were waiting for the other to back down even though she knew neither of them would. It still caught her off guard when he lunged, a right hook catching her on the cheek, sending her to the ground. To be honest, she wasn't expecting him to hit her that hard. She was easily half his size, it was just cruel. But still, the punch made her entire head erupt in pain, making it difficult to register that she was prone. The cold tile against her skin was the only thing helping her regain her senses, the pain behind her eyes slowly shifting from sharp to a dull ache.
She blinked rapidly, clearing her vision, enough to see that the boys had leapt to her aid. They had to physically prevent Puck from attacking her further, a fact that would've made her smirk if her head didn't hurt so badly. As bad as it was, irritating Puck was a disturbing amount of fun, and she couldn't help but he a little proud. Almost more inappropriate was that warmth that spread across her chest knowing that they had cared enough to put themselves in the middle of their fight.
Quinn was staring at her too, she quickly realized, a look that read a little like thankfulness and a lot like love.
She needed to get the girl out of her head, for her own good.
She wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for when she walked into the mall. All she knew was that she needed some sort of outfit, and that she had a wallet full of cash to spend. The quick and obvious conclusion was that she needed something that would hide her identity as much as possible. She didn't want anyone figuring out who she was. More than anything else, it would be awkward.
First she found the coat. It was simple, black with a zipper, snug enough that it didn't hang off of her but thick enough to conceal the fact that she was a girl. The pants were just as simple, black pants loose enough that she could move freely in them. A nice pair of black boots completed her clothing. They looked like they could take a beating, which was important.
The last thing she managed to find was the mask. It was nestled in with the clearance costume stuff, a remnant from Halloween. It wasn't like there was a whole lot to choose from, but it was black and would cover her entire head. She snagged a higher-end voice changer at the same store, just in case she ever wanted to talk.
As she was walking back to her car with her bags, she couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous this whole situation was. She had just bought a fucking costume so she could fight crime, or do good, or whatever. Like some sort of goddamn superhero.
She was nothing like a superhero.
Okay, maybe like Batman. Or the Punisher.
She grinned.
Santana wasn't going to lie to herself, protecting people felt fantastic. In the two short weeks since she'd decided to actually go through with the vigilante idea, she found herself going out more and more often until she was wandering the streets every single night. Most of the time, she didn't run across anything she could actually do, but it was well worth it when she actually did.
It wasn't like she was stopping murders or anything like that, but the people were also so grateful. Grateful that there was someone looking out for them, even if they were hiding behind a mask. Maybe it was better, she could be whoever they wanted her to be. Who they needed her to be. She liked to think that she inspired hope, courage, but it was probably just her projecting. To be honest, she didn't really care.
It was nice not having to hide for a while. She could be whoever she felt like being, instead of upholding her stupid reputation every second. At night, she could just be herself. The new her, or the old her, she wasn't really sure how to define it.
It felt good, and she wasn't going to stop. Not when it was her only escape. For a few hours every night, she got to be who she wanted. Who she was.
For the first time she could remember, she could stare at herself in the mirror and feel proud.
All she could think to do was cry.
She'd never felt so numb before, not even after the accident. Everything was passing by in a blur and all she wanted to do was stop. So she cried, and held on to Quinn like her life depended on it. If she let go, she would get lost, and she knew she'd never be able to find her way back.
Not from this.
"It's not your fault, Ana, it's not your fault." Quinn just kept mumbling in her ear, and she couldn't tell if it was the sincerity in her words or all the crying that was making her sick to her stomach. "You'll be okay, we'll be okay. It's not your fault."
'How is this not my fault?' She wanted to scream back at her, but she couldn't find her voice. It had been missing since they'd left the hospital, hours ago. She refused to lose it in front of the doctors, she wouldn't be vulnerable in front of them just to get their pity and their empty words. Home was safer, but not safe.
She just felt so sick.
There was no equivalent. It was worse than dying, worse than watching others die. Worse than being responsible for someone else's death. She was responsible for this death, too, but it was different than the others she'd seen die.
It had been her kid, her baby boy.
She sobbed harder against Quinn's shoulder, her fingers digging so deeply into her back that she knew it had to hurt. Quinn didn't mention it.
She's not really sure why, but she's compelled to walk through the park.
It's not exactly safe, she knows, since the sun had just dipped below the horizon and the park was the darkest place in Lima. She was having a difficult time caring about safety, anymore, which probably was a sign of something horribly wrong in her psyche. She was having a hard time caring about that, either.
Her outfit shielded her from the biting cold, but she couldn't help the shiver that shot down her spine as she wandered along the path towards the lake. Whether it was from cold or something else, she really didn't know, but she didn't turn back. The sound of her boots against the dirt was the only thing disturbing the eerie silence that hung over the park. Ducking past some large bushes, the lake came into view, and Santana couldn't help but smile behind the fabric at the way the moonlight reflected off the water.
That was when she noticed a figure sitting by the water's edge, hunched over. It became apparent that he was boy as she cautiously approached him, not much older than her. His arms were wrapped loosely around his knees. She nearly jumped when he spoke.
"It's gorgeous here, isn't it?" He didn't even bother to look back at her as he spoke, seemingly unafraid of the person coming up from the darkness behind him.
"Yeah, it is. I've never been here at night before." She still wasn't really used to the voice changer, and she flinched slightly at the way it made her sound. He still didn't seem alarmed, so she stepped forward, sitting down on the grass beside him.
The last thing she noticed was the gun clutched in his hands, glinting in the moonlight.
"I've always liked it here. It's nice to get away every once and a while, you know?" He was smiling, softly, sadly. It remaindered her too much of Quinn. "I like getting away from my life."
"Me, too, but you probably could've guessed." Santana was surprised at how at ease she sounded, despite the way adrenaline had already started coursing through her, making her heart race wildly in her chest. Thank god she sounded calm, because she definitely didn't feel it. She wasn't scared, not really, it was just the gun that put her on edge. He switched it to his left hand, extending his right out to her.
"I'm Kyle." They shook hands. It was weird how unthreatening he was, and it wasn't just because she knew she wouldn't die if he decided to open fire. He just seemed to benevolent it was hard to be scared. Scared of him, at least. "I know you're like a vigilante or whatever, so you can't tell me your real name. Can I get an alias, at least?"
"I don't really have one."
"Really? You can't just go around fighting crime, or whatever you do, without an alias. It's kind of lame."
"Yeah, I know. I haven't really been able to come up with anything."
"Well, what can you do? I mean, are you good at anything in particular? That kind of helps with picking a name."
"I can't die." She wasn't really sure why she was telling him this. It just seemed like the thing to do, so she did it. His only reaction was a soft laugh. "No, seriously, I can't."
"Wow, that's a pretty big claim to live up to. You must be pretty good." He obviously didn't believe her, but he humored her, and that was better than most people bothered to do. "I think I'd hate it, not being able to die. It's like the one thing you should be able to control."
"I hate it too, actually, but it's more about the actual dying part than anything else."
"What's it like?"
"It sucks. There's not really any other way to put it. Dying hurts, and it sucks waking up because I always feel sick afterwards. Most of the time I throw up, which is not very fun. It's just not a good experience in general."
He smiled slightly, grip tightening on the gun. Santana felt her muscles involuntarily twitch, at the ready just in case he made a move. He didn't.
"Are you here to try and stop me?" It was a simple question, but the way he asked it made Santana's heart ache. "I don't think you can, so you can stop trying if that's what you wanted to do."
"I didn't really have an agenda, I was just walking through the park, actually. I'm not psychic or anything."
"I just can't take it anymore, everything they say about me. I'm just…I'm done with it. It hurts too much now." His eyes were focused on the water, and she did the same.
"I know I can't stop you from doing what you want to do, but I promise it'll get better. You'll grow up, and they'll grow up. Things will change, it just takes time."
"I don't think I have time. And what would you know about it, anyway? You don't know how terrible it is just to go to school every day."
"You're right, I don't. I haven't been bullied, really." Santana took a deep breath, fingers pressing hard against the soil as she supported herself against the ground. "But, I used to be one of them. God, I was so terrible to people, and I didn't really have a reason. It just made me feel better about myself, made me forget who I really was for a while. I loved it, for a long time. I loved the power it gave me. It was the only thing that made me feel good about myself. But, when I realized what I could do, I realized that I was meant to do so much more with my life than be an asshole to everybody."
Kyle was silent, either he didn't know what to say or he was waiting for her to continue. So she did.
"I go to school every day and I see the people that I hurt, how upset they look, and it makes me sick to my stomach. I know I can't take back what I did but I'm sure as hell trying to repent for it. Whoever's treating you like shit, I'm sure they'll either realize what they're doing and stop, or you'll graduate and get the hell out of this place, and you'll never have to see them again. Lima isn't the end, it's the beginning."
For a long moment, there was just silence. Kyle stared out at the water while she stared at him.
"You sound like a fucking golden-age superhero right now, not gonna lie." His grin made Santana let out the breath she'd been holding.
"Yeah, I know it came out corny as hell, but I meant it."
"I know you did."
Slowly, Kyle stood, putting the gun into the backpack strapped tightly to his back. Santana quickly followed him upright. He just smiled at her for a moment, before he started walking back towards the path, stopping and turning before he disappeared past the bushes.
"I'll come up with a name for you. I'm sure you'll hear it around."
With that, he turned and left.
Quinn looked sad. She always did, now.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Santana's touch is gentle on Quinn's arm, uncharacteristically so, as she can tell from the look on Quinn's face. They still hadn't gotten used to the fact that they were being civil, now, and she could tell that Quinn never quite knew what to say to her. She couldn't blame her.
"What is it?" Quinn was standing far too close to her, and for a moment, her point was lost in the faint smell of the pear perfume she knew Quinn loved. It reminded her so much of before, too much, of nights spent in Quinn's bed with her arms wrapped around her. They had never stopped to think what it actually meant.
She just missed when everything was simple. When Quinn and Brittany were the only two people that mattered, when it was easy to just be with them, before it was so important that everything be tagged and categorized. She knew it was her own doing, but it didn't make the sense of longing dissipate one bit.
"This is for you." A moment of fumbling was all it took to find the envelope, its weight surprising between Santana's fingers. It was the fruit of her labor, the entirety of her first paycheck. Fear gripped her tightly as Quinn took the envelope from her hands, deftly opening it. It wasn't a good sign when she let out a quiet sigh, looking up to catch Santana's gaze. All she could do was stare and hope that she didn't look as terrified as she felt.
"Santana…" It sounded a lot like an apology waiting to happen, but Santana couldn't intercept it before it slipped out. "I can't take this from you."
"You have to." She was speaking too quickly, her words coming out clipped. It was more hostile than she intended, but Quinn didn't look offended. For once, she was thankful that the girl had some understanding of her. "I'm not taking it back. You have to keep it, it's a gift."
"You're working for this money and then handing it off to me. That's taking, not a gift." Of course. She should've known Quinn would be too proud to accept it without a fight. It was one of the things they had in common.
"You need help, don't pretend like you don't. I'm the only one offering, so just take it, okay?"
Quinn looked like she was about to cry. She really, really wanted to look away, but she couldn't. Instead, she blinked rapidly to avoid the tears she could feel beginning to burn in the corners of her eyes. Neither of them really knew what to say, Quinn holding the envelope and staring at Santana, and Santana staring right back. She couldn't figure out what it was, but something between them felt different. Like the walls were finally crumbling down at their feet. Still, she couldn't figure out how to speak, not even as Quinn mumbled a gentle thank you and started to walk away.
'I got the job for you.' She wanted to say, to make Quinn stop in her tracks so she could bask in the smell of her perfume and the warmth of her gaze, but it was like her lips were glued together. Instead, she was forced to stand and stare until Quinn disappeared.
She just wanted her to stay.
If you run first, before the other person has a chance, it stops you from getting hurt. If you don't give yourself the time to get attached, to trust, there's no part of you that will be broken when they leave. And they always leave.
Santana had taught it to Quinn after her first boyfriend broke up with her, as they bonded over ice cream and awful movies. She'd laughed about it, made it sound like a joke, and it was enough to get Quinn to laugh through her tears with her. They both knew it wasn't a joke, even then, before Santana started leaving her trail of broken hearts.
She just wanted to go up to Quinn and tell her that it really didn't work after all, that she gives shit advice and she really should never listen to her. That all it did was leave a huge mess to be swept under the rug. Still, every time she managed to look her in the eye, she lost her words.
Quinn avoided her for a week.
Quinn was holding her tightly when she asked, her front nearly indistinguishable from Santana's back.
"Do you want to try again?"
Santana felt herself tense up, not of her own volition. It happened any time they even came close to talking about it. She'd healed, but there was really only so much of that wound that could heal. There were times when it felt more fresh, and she knew it was one of those times. Still, she didn't lash out and she didn't cry, which was a good sign.
"I don't know." It was the honest answer. She wasn't sure she was ready, not even after a year and a half. Honestly, she wasn't sure she'd ever be ready. Not like before. The doctors had said there was a high chance of her miscarrying no matter what they did, something to do with her body. The ringing in her ears had been too loud for her to focus on their explanations.
"I was talking to Doctor Spencer and he was telling me about our different options. I told him that we thought it was important that we have a baby that was yours, since we already have Izzy, and he said that we could take one of your eggs and implant it in me. That way, we won't have to worry so much about anything like that happening again." Quinn's voice was barely a whisper, and she could feel her muscles beginning to relax. "I mean, we don't have to do it right now or soon, but I wanted you to know that I'm willing whenever you're ready."
Shakily, Santana let out a breath, before rolling over so she was facing Quinn. She pressed a kiss to her lips before settling with their foreheads pressed together.
"Okay."
Santana really didn't know why she agreed to come. She was pretty certain it was just because Quinn had asked. Now they were sitting on her bed, talking, and talking was the last thing she wanted to do. She knew it was inevitable, but all it did was make her feel like shit.
Honestly, though, she'd been awful. She kind of deserved it.
"You're being really confusing. I mean, you act like you don't want anything to do with me, and then you stick up for me with Puck, and then you quit Cheerios and get a job and give all the money to me. You're being really hot and cold. I'm just trying to figure out where we stand right now."
"I don't know, alright? I don't know what I'm doing."
A silence fell between them, and for once, Quinn was the one staring into her lap.
"We need to talk about it. We never did then, and obviously we need to."
"What's there to talk about? We made out. We were drunk, it happens." Quinn didn't even try to look up at her, and she instantly wanted to double back on her words. To just tell her the truth. That it meant so much, it meant everything, but she couldn't deal with it. Couldn't deal with the fact that Quinn so much power over her. That she could break her without even trying. Destroy her completely.
It was terrifying, and she had panicked.
"I don't know what's up with you, Ana, but I want you to know I'm here. I've always been here." Quinn sounds so much closer to breaking than she'd anticipated. It forced her words out as a whisper.
"Don't call me that." Quinn ignored her.
"You just stopped wanting me." Quinn sounds so small, so hurt, and it made the ache in Santana's chest unbearable. It wasn't true, it never was, even if she'd tried to convince her otherwise.
"I didn't stop wanting you. I was scared, alright?"
"You're always scared."
Santana hadn't meant to walk in on their conversation, she really hadn't, but she couldn't help but slow her walk when she heard Puck viciously hiss her name from inside an empty classroom. Slowly, she pressed her back against the wall beside the doorway. With how loud Puck was talking, it wasn't hard to hear everything they were saying.
"I'm gonna ask again, what the hell is going on with you and Santana?" She could practically hear Quinn roll her eyes, and the thought made her grin ever so slightly.
"Nothing's going on between Santana and I."
"Well, Finn said that she keeps coming over and that you guys just lock yourself in your room for hours."
"First of all, she's come over twice, not all the time. And all we did was talk." Quinn sounded more irritated with him than she'd heard in a while. It was nice, she'd kind of missed Quinn's bitch mode. She could be pretty fierce when she wanted to be. "And even if there was something between us, it would be none of your business."
Santana's heart leapt in her chest.
"What the fuck were you guys talking about for hours, then?"
"Again, it's none of your business."
"Well, you should stay away from her. She's a huge fucking bitch and I don't trust her. I know she's up to something."
"You don't own me, you can't tell me what to do. I'll talk to whoever I like, and you can deal with it. Now, please go and leave me alone."
Honestly, Santana was shocked that he actually listened to her, exiting from the doorway moments later. The look of idiotic surprise on his face when he spotted her was well worth the second punch to the face she was pretty certain she was going to receive. She smiled at him, full of false friendliness, and waved.
"Hello Noah." From the way he was glaring at her and how his hands balled into fists, she knew she had some sort of death wish. At least he didn't get all up in her face this time.
"Stay the fuck away from her." He growled. Santana just continued to smile at him with contrived sweetness.
"No."
Sometime during their tense exchange, Quinn appeared in the doorway, gaze flicking from Puck to Santana and back again.
"I already asked you to leave. So go, please." She'd calmed down from their earlier exchange, but she still looked as tired as she'd sounded. Puck just stared at her for a moment, eyes narrowed, before he mumbled something under his breath and stalked off. Quinn relaxed the moment he was out of sight, and Santana pushed her weight off the wall.
"You really shouldn't antagonize him like that. He's hard enough to deal with." Quinn was staring at her with the same intensity as always, forcing her gaze down to the floor for a moment before she's willing to brave it again.
"Sorry. He's making it easy." Santana's breath hitched as Quinn gently touched the spot on her cheekbone that a glaring cut and dark bruise had adorned a few months before. She could feel herself beginning to blush the moment Quinn looked her in eyes again.
"I know, I just don't want you getting hurt again." Almost as quickly as her touch came, it was gone. Santana felt her body relax, but that didn't mean she didn't want it.
"I know."
They were silent, just staring at each other, before Quinn turned to walk away. It was so much like when she'd given Quinn the money that it was nearly crippling, and she felt the need to say something to get her to stop. Anything.
"I don't care." It was so sudden that it made Quinn stop, turning faster than Santana had anticipated. She could feel herself wanting to stumble over her words, the way she always did when Quinn focused on her like that. Like she was the only person in the world. It had the power to lift her up and crush her at the same time. "I'd do it over and over, for you."
"Do what?" It felt a lot like a test that she didn't know the answer to. She didn't really know what to say.
"Get hurt. Take his crap. I don't know, anything."
Quinn just stared, but Santana swore she could see the beginnings of a smile on her lips.
It seemed so natural to find Quinn at the piano. The song she was lazily playing sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite think of it. Slowly, she walked up behind Quinn, who didn't seem surprised at all when she pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
"Hey, baby." Quinn turned before she could pull her head away, capturing her lips in a kiss as equally languid as her playing had been moments before.
"What were you playing?" She mumbled the question against Quinn's lips, prompting her to pull her down onto the bench beside her.
"It's one of my favorite songs. I play it all the time."
"I'm super attentive, I promise." Quinn just laughed, light and airy, before grabbing her hands and placing them over keys.
"Here, I'll show you how to play it." Santana didn't have time to resist before Quinn was showing her fingers where to go, smiling all the while. Not to mention laughing at her failures, much to her dismay.
"Hey! You've been playing piano since you were like, in the womb, so it's not fair to laugh at me." Quinn pressed a finger against her lips, silencing her.
"I'm only laughing because you're cute." Before she managed to open her mouth, Quinn continued. "Yeah, yeah, and I know you did violin instead of piano and now it doesn't make sense. I'm not gonna force you to play if you don't want to."
Santana reached out, brushing a lock of hair behind Quinn's ear before kissing her on the cheek.
"Play it for me."
All she could do was stare as Quinn's fingers flitted across the keys with grace, like it was a well-practiced dance. She realized it probably was, more muscle memory than anything else, her voice just as beautiful as it ever was. Like always, her heart didn't fail to race in her chest as her eyes traced a path from Quinn's fingers to her lips. She formed her words with passion, the way she always had. It was breathtaking.
"You saw her bathing on the roof, her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you…" Gently, Santana scooted closer, reaching out to lightly cup her cheek. It forced her eyes open, and she had the same look that she'd had the first night they'd slept together. "She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne, she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the hallelujah…"
Santana surged forward, pressing her lips against Quinn's. She never finished the song.