Hi guys! Here's chapter 19, I hope you like it, sorry for rambling with this AN.

To the reviewer who encouraged me to update and to not "abandon" this story. Rest assured, my darlings, I will NEVER (ever) abandon this story, but I will take my time to update. I'm not going to rush something just to update and publish something I am not happy with. That said, I hope I dont let you down, because you guys never let me down.

To J, the wonderful reviewer who took the time to review previous chapters (And yourdorkalways too!). You are an angel. It was after reading your review, I opened up a Word file for this chapter. You said you were going to try to answer all the "book club" questions. Well, I greatly enjoy your reponses, and I'm going to hold you to that goal!

And to my fabulous regulars: Caitlyn, Rosetta, Rosalie, APlatt...Cheers! Here we go again...

She walked out of the meeting room after hours of press junket training, and headed towards the parking garage. No more work commitments until March, when her press tour started. The whole ride down the elevator, Santana thought of things to do on her vacation. Tan until she got three shades darker, never mind that it was winter. Troll eBay for hours on end until she found that vintage Chanel suitcase she'd been coveting since she was sixteen, but never had the time to bid on. Escape to a tropical paradise and drink out the entire bar. Spend an entire day lying in bed with her lover. Now that was a capital idea. The thought of it made her want to get home fast even more.

The doors parted and she walked towards her car, digging around in her bucket bag for the keys that were sure to be buried in the bottom. She wasn't really looking where she was going, and she felt herself collide with another person, which was strange for a deserted parking garage.

"Whoops! Sorry about that!" she said, without bothering to look up, ready to walk past.

"Wait," the voice said, grabbing her by the wrist. Santana pivoted around and faced the person, who turned out to be a scruffy man, a little older than she was, and he was clutching a briefcase. His hair was sticking out in certain places that made her think he could be a cartoon character, and the way his ratty T-shirt and jeans clung to his bony frame was a dead giveaway that he didn't come into this building much.

"Yes?" she asked.

"You're Santana Lopez!" the man shouted abruptly, his voice echoing through the garage. The loudness of his voice startled Santana, and she and it was then that she realized this encounter was anything but ordinary. This strange man just referred to her as Santana Lopez, not Santana Madison. Who was he and why did he know who she really was? She was certain she didn't know him.

"Yes…who are you?" she asked apprehensively, finally giving up on searching for her keys.

"Only your greatest fan, Santana. Don't you know who I am? Why didn't you write back? Didn't you like my present?" he said, stepping towards her.

Oh god.

She had seen him before. This was the guy she had seen before, in the lobby of her apartment, offering to help her with her things when she had too much to carry. This was the guy, who had offered to buy her drinks at cafes. This was the guy who had sent her that creepy tribute box over the holidays. Ethan…no…Edwin…Edwin McCarthy.

It was like she was watching her life story unravel in a horror movie, and the same stranger kept popping up because there weren't enough extras.

"Don't get any closer," she asserted, and when she saw his face fall a little, she added a firm "please." She didn't know this man's limits.

"Oh, but Santana, I can't do that when I've finally got your attention! After months of looking for you, you are one tough cookie to track down!"

Well, yes, because she didn't like staying in one place at a time. Which is exactly what she was thinking at that moment.

She was going to drive off if she had to fucking hot wire her car. Which she could've done in her sleep, considering the stuff she and her cousins used to do back in Lima Heights Adjacent. But luckily she discovered her keys were in her coat pocket when she retracted her arm and stuck it closer to her body. She backed up as quickly as she could in stiletto boots, and ran for her car.

"Wait! Santana!"

"No! You get away from me before I call the police!" she screeched, jumping into the front seat, locking the doors. She backed out of her spot, swerved off, and didn't stop until she reached the confines of her apartment.

"Jesus Christ, Santana. What's wrong with you?" he said as she slammed the door, locked it and kicked off those precious Christian Louboutins of hers, throwing them against the wall. She ignored him, and in a panic, ripped off the Tiffany charm bracelet she'd had since high school and threw that too into the potted plant by the umbrella rack. She continued, letting her hair out of the messy top-knot she had put in that morning. The expression on her revealed a shakiness in her core (And no, not that kind).

"Call the police, right now," she asserted, and he bounced up from the couch.

"What? What's going on?" he repeated, alarmed. He grabbed her and shook her slender frame until she would tell.

"What's going on is that I think someone has been following me for the last couple of months, or at least like tracking."

"Like a stalker?" he asked.

"No, I don't think so. Maybe like an obsessor…"

"That's a stalker, Santana. Is he still following you?"

"How do you know it's a he?" she questioned. He raised his eyebrows. Fine. Maybe that was a given.

"What does he want?"

"I don't know! He was at the parking garage. And he's the guy who sent that package. And we've seen him before, I swear." She was rambling now and her voice cracked against her will. Santana had dealt with unwanted attention her whole life, but this was different.

"Hey sexy!" a voice hollered, and when she looked up, she saw that the trunk that had honked had a sweaty man in his mid forties that had a myriad of tattoos and piercings. Gross. It was even enough to freak out Puck, who at fifteen years old, was still unsettled by such things, no matter how badass he claimed he was.

"Fuck off!" she yelled, and flipped the man off. The truck whizzed away after the man yelled "Bitch!" Whatever, middle aged men had no business with teenage girls anyways, it was just plain creepy.

"What'd you do that for, Santana? He could have run you over and tased you or something." One day, Santana's spirit and sass would get her in trouble, and Santana was too strong willed to realize it.

"Did you hear what he said? I'm with you, jackass."

"Okay, okay, baby. Calm down." He grabbed her, her face snuggling into the crook of his arm, inhaling the scent of the generic brand of laundry detergent he'd been using because he had claimed hers was too feminine. He would never know this, but every once in a while, she would sneak one of her own T-shirts in there, and it would emerge smelling like him. He used his other arm to dial 9-1-1, and when he mentioned who was calling, the police were there in no time, listening to her ramble some more.

"Now, Miss Madison, there is no reason to be scared. We have his name and address from that package you showed us, and we'll have him in no time," the officer said, leaving a steamy ring on her coffee table, by not bothering to use a coaster. That was the last time she was ever going to offer a drink to a law enforcement officer.

"I'm not scared!" she snapped.

"Shh, babe," Puck cooed, rubbing his hand up and down her arm.

"I'm not! I'm freaked out, and I'm nervous, and I'm a little violated, but I am not scared! So stop treating me like I'm made of fucking porcelain!" Puck knew that was somewhat true, because he had seen Santana scared before, and this was not it. She was just frazzled. Santana had to have dealt with unwanted attention her whole life, and this wasn't that different. Her antsiness was only heightened because of the stress she had been under lately. This was no way to start off a vacation.

"Obviously she's not scared, so please stop harassing my girlfriend," he said to the officer, man to man. To be honest, he wasn't that freaked out about it either. He had seen much worse, and Santana Lopez was the kind of girl who could take care of herself.

"Look, we're just trying to help. My team has just notified me that they have the man in custody, and it seems that he is quite the fan of yours, Miss Madison. We've found collages and scrapbooks dedicated to you, but only dating back August. At this point, it's hard to say whether or not we can book him for stalking, but you can certainly press charges."

August.

That was when they re-met. Shit. A wave a momentary guilt passed through him, wondering if he was at fault for not looking after her well enough, but it left as she squeezed his bicep from her spot next to him on the sofa.

"Well, that's not really necessary, I think. Unless you think he's dangerous," Santana said to his dismay.

"It's textbook. Single. Lives alone. Anti-social. Not too many friends. But there's no history of violence."

"That's fine, I hate lawyers anyways. I think it's enough of a warning to be arrested, right?"

"Santana, baby, are you sure about this? What if he keeps following you around? He might take the whole thing as a taunt, like it's a challenge or something," Puck protested.

She waved him off.

"Just consider it; this guy could be a fucking psycho, and you just don't know it. This could only be the beginning. Better safe than sorry!"

"I don't want to send him to jail. Somebody out there loves that man, and he hasn't done me any real harm. I don't want to send him to jail," she said again. What was she supposed to do, send a man to jail for something as innocuous as an infatuation? In fact, if infatuation didn't exist, neither would her and Puck's own relationship.

"Jesus fucking Christ. I feel like I'm going to catch a disease just sitting in this tacky ass chair," she bites, trying to take up as little space possible on the hard plastic.

"Who asked you to come, Princess?" he bit back. The clear, but hard barrier between them takes some of the edge off his voice though.

"Your mother," she said, smirking as she crossed her arms over her chest. She'd worn her lowest cut bustier just to tease the fuck out of him. To show him what his selfishness had cost him, what he was missing.

"Really now?" Things were getting interesting.

"Yup, only jail can bring me and your mother together, darling," she said sarcastically. Allison had asked her to visit after hearing how desperate and sad her son sounded in his phone calls.

"It's juvie. Hardly jail."

She swiveled her head around a couple of times.

"Hmm…scary butch female attendant? Concrete floor probably stained with the blood of various ghetto knifings? 'Help' carved into this plastic screen? Hmm…looks like jail to me."

"Why are you being such a bitch?"

"Because you left! You went off on some crazy ass adventure randomly and left me to sing a fucking duet this week with Mercedes. At least I'll win and get that gift card to Breadstix. You could have at least invited me along, I would have been game," she sniped, referring to his midnight ATM run…

"At least," he shrugged nonchalantly, "Can't deny you need me, babe."

"Whatever, I have Brittany."

"Brittany can't do the things I can."

"Plenty of others can."

"So why haven't you found someone yet?"

She uncrossed her arms uncomfortably, and looked around if there was anyone else in the visiting room to focus her attention on, but there wasn't.

"Come on, Lo. Pop another button for me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Puckerman. I'm not flashing you in juvie."

So now it was juvie.

"But don't look too disappointed," she responded to his crestfallen expression, "I considered it for a second."

"Well, you want a restraining order, right?" asked the officer, running his hand through his salt and pepper hair.

"Of course," they both said at the same time.

"Okay, well I would advise you to lay low for a bit, Miss Madison. You know how the press can be. Take a break. Stay out of the limelight."

"Oh, I plan to. But I only have a month off, that's hardly long enough for a true vacation."

"Don't talk to me about paid vacation. At least you get breaks," the officer joked.

"That's true," she agreed.

"Although I do have a major press tour in a month. I'm going to be swamped. What should I say if they ask me about it?"

"That's a question for your publicist, but I assure you Miss Madison, the people of America would much rather know other things about you than who's stalking you."

She blushed, and he nudged her, the hand that was coasting along the small of her back, slowly creeping up the back of her shirt.

"All right, is everything in order then?" she said quickly, rising abruptly from her seat before either of them could do something uncomfortable, like pop a bra strap (him) or moan and awkwardly try to disguise it as a cough (her).

"Uh, yes, I suppose. I'm going to set up a couple of squad cars across the street. Keep an eye on you. Don't let those damn lobbyists know, or else my boss will never hear the end of it. Tax dollars, shmax dollars."

She tried a noncommittal laugh. He snorted.

"Okay, take care now Miss Madison. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call."

"Absolutely. Thanks for your help, Officer. I'm so glad we have law enforcement officers like you, now that is just a prime example of tax dollars gone to good use," she said sweetly, blinking a few times for good measure.

This was turning into another one of her and Puck's stupid cat and mouse games. That was how fucked up their relationship was. In the midst of a crisis, all they could think about was sex, teasing, and fucking with the police.

He stifled the laugh threatening to escape his lips, as she lead the officer to the door and bid him goodbye. When she returned to her spot on the couch, Puck was crouched over laughing.

"God, Santana. I don't know how you fucking do it. 'Prime example' was gold," he laughed.

What could she say? She was a damn good actress.

"But seriously, are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm going to be fine," she said, a little bit annoyed at all the attention she was getting. Nothing happened! He noticed she didn't say that she was okay, just that she was going to be.

"What do you want?" Puck asked. It had been long since he realized nobody could ever change Santana Lopez's mind. All anyone could do was offer to help, and maybe she would let you in.

"Just tell me something happy," she sighed, thinking of the lazy summer days when she and Brittany used to lay on her comforter and Brittany would just say whatever cute things came to mind. Bunnies. Rainbows. Marshmallows.

Not really what he was going for there. "Okay, well…" he started. He had been thinking about this for a while now, after watching Santana get to live out her dream life (except for the job part), he figured he deserved it as much as she did. "I'm going back to school. Might as well cash in on that military benefit."

"Really?" she snorted. Puck and school?

"Hey! I thought you were supposed to be supportive and shit, you're my girlfriend."

"Fuck that. Doing what? Where?"

"I don't know, whoever will take me. I think social issues. I'm good with that shit."

"Yeah, yeah you are."

Well, he might have been just a Jewish boy from the middle of nowhere, but even Santana had to admit that every once in a while, the guy did have some great ideas. Because honestly, sometimes the most complicated of problems had the simplest of solutions. And if that was all it took to fix society, then surely he was the best dumbass for the job.

"I'm glad. I'm proud of you, I guess," she said, giving him a kiss.

Now she could finally be the one to say it back.

Okay, so what'd you think? I love hearing your feedback. Dont worry, I wont drag out this stalker thing and make it cliche. It's just a catalyst for what happens next. :)

Questions to think about and answer if you wanna make me happy:

1) So the theme this chapter was infatuation. How does this apply to Puck and Santana, and is it enough to withhold a relationship? From where I'm sitting, it kind of seems like it is...for now. Does it have to do with how they always come crawling back to each other?

2) What are your thoughts on how a lifetime of unwanted attention has shaped Santana's personality? I think it has to do with this feeling of (perhaps false) invincibility she thinks she has. Think about one of my favorite movie quotes, "Just because you're beautiful doesn't mean you can treat people like they dont matter."

3) Super bonus! This is left over from last chapter. Consider Nana Connie's statement. "Let the cake cool before you frost it." What the hell does that mean! And what does it have to do with anything!