Vivid Violet: Sam & Santana

There were a million reasons why Santana and Sam should have never worked, but there was one reason why they did. From the moment he picked her up in Columbus after her grandmother died, Sam had become the one person that Santana could depend on. Brittany hadn't bothered to come back from Boston for the funeral, and Rachel hadn't even pretended that she would take off from the show to accompany her back to Lima. Puck was stationed overseas and Kurt had some big deadline at Vogue and Quinn hadn't even answered her email. In fact, Santana had lost touch with most of her old friends from McKinley after Finn's funeral, so she was surprised when Sam volunteered to drive to the airport to get her.

"Here, let me," he offered when he took her bag and slung it over his broad shoulders. She tried to maneuver her oversized rollerbag off the carousel, but Sam snatched it up too. "I'm in the satellite lot so we'll have to talk a little. The other one was full."

"That's okay, it's nice out," she replied softly. She hated how quiet and her gravelly her voice sounded, but hours of crying next to a stranger on a plane tended to do that. It was spring and warm in Ohio, and it reminded her of lazy afternoons making out with Puck in his truck after football practice freshman year. "Hey, thanks for coming. I know it's out of the way."

Sam looked over at his ex-girlfriend and smiled that big fishy smile of his. Santana could see why she wanted him all those years ago and why both Quinn and Brittany had fallen for him. Sam was a genuinely nice guy. "No worries, I got you, San," he promised, and she knew that he meant more than just the ride. He'd already told her that he would be at the funeral, and since she really didn't talk to her parents, she was glad for the support. She'd been pretty awful to Sam but losing Finn had changed something in all of them. She had been the one to hold him that day in the choir room, and everything before that moment didn't matter anymore.

He handed her a little bouquet of flowers once they were back at his car, an old beat-up thing that Burt had helped him get a good deal on when he graduated from high school. "They're supposed to symbolize spirituality and confidence," he told her as she inhaled the violets. "I figured you could use a little of both right now."

She put the flowers in an old coffee mug and sat it in her window after Sam had dropped her and her luggage off at her parents' house. It only took her an hour before she felt stifled from being in her childhood bedroom. She found herself texting Sam, begging him to come get her so she could avoid listening her mother argue with her father about something that really didn't matter yet again. He didn't even get the chance to throw the car in park before she was jumping back in the passenger seat.

"I see you like the flowers," he said, nodding up toward her open window and then fingering the small bunch she had tucked behind her ear.

Hours later, after they'd eaten greasy fast food on the hood of his car down at the lake, Santana reached over and squeezed his hand. He didn't let go until he was unlocking the backdoor at the Hummels to lead her down to the basement. The two of them slept chastely side by side, just happy to have the comfort of someone else after being alone for so long.

"I don't like New York," she told somewhere around 2 a.m.

"I don't know where I belong," he replied in response.

"Me neither," she admitted.

"Maybe after tomorrow, we can figure it out together."

He was soft where she was hard. He was quiet where she was loud. He was gentle where she was bold. He was kind and sweet where she was bossy and demanding. He was sure where she was frightened. But the thing that they had in common was that they were both lost, but on that night, they were one step closer to being found.

Two months later, she writes Quinn an email with their new address in Austin. She never responds.