Santana's fingers spidered over the bare, pale skin on Buffy's back, tracing spirals around her shoulder blades and spine as the blonde lay on her stomach, Angel's course sheets wrapped around her waist. Santana rhythmically mumbled 'Tan Enamorados' just to keep herself under control. Buffy was so perfectly still that she may have been asleep, the cut on her arm already healed. Santana leaned down and gently kissed her shoulder, feeling the tickle of the the ends of her hair and the subtle smell of rain and sweat and vanilla exfoliator. She didn't ever want to leave this near-perfect place. This was different from the nights she'd spent with Brittany. This was more honest. She wanted Buffy more than she could ever imagine. Needed her. She wondered if Buffy needed her back.

"What was that song?" she asked sleepily, her pale eyelids closed.

Santana smirked. "Just some cheesy old song Sofia listens to."

"It's nice," Buffy smiled, dream-like.

Santana sat up and threw her shirt over her head. "I should go."

Buffy jerked her head up and spun around, holding the sheets over her body. "Go where?"

"Don't worry. I'm coming back. It's just that we left our phones at The Bronze and I think the others might be starting to get worried."

"Oh," Buffy sighed, relieved, "I'll come with you."

"You should get some rest."

"Here?"

"Well, maybe go home when the sun comes up. We've already defiled Angel's apartment enough."

Buffy smirked and watched Santana pull her dark denim jeans on.

"I'll come over in a couple hours, okay?"

"Wait," Buffy stammered, sitting up in bed with white sheets pooled around her, "Aren't we going to talk about this?"

Santana blinked at the blonde. "Talk about... what?"

Buffy looked slightly pained. "This isn't something I do often. In fact, this is something I do never."

Santana sighed, smiling slightly. "I get that."

"Do you? It's not that this is the first I've been with a girl, it's the first time I've been with anyone, and-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Santana said quickly, approaching Buffy and putting her hands around the girl's warm face, "Don't go to the rambly place, okay? Everything's fine. You and I are fine. Give me an hour, tops. If you're not already there, I'll be waiting at your bedroom window. Okay?"

Buffy arched her brows and nodded, though she wanted to clasp Santana's wrists and keep her there. "Hurry," she said quietly.

Santana nodded and rushed away, throwing her leather jacket over her arm. She had leapt up the first step on the staircase to the ground floor of Angel's apartment building when she heard the door opening again behind her. She spun around to see Buffy rushing out in an over-sized t-shirt.

"Buffy-"

"I love you," she blurted out, a giddy, girlish smile on her flushed face.

Santana stared down at her, a warm feeling bubbling in her unbeating heart. "I love you, too, slayer," she said, and leaned over to plant a kiss on Buffy's pink lips.

She bounded up the remainder of the steps with a blithe smile on her face. Something in her felt perfectly content. More than content, she thought, as she recalled every touch and facet of Buffy's body. Buffy, the first person who was ever really hers, who belonged to Santana and who Santana belonged to. She felt brilliant on the most transcendent level that even as she walked outside in the heavy rain, in the electric blue dark before dawn, she felt perfect.

xxx

Kurt's head was limp against the headrest of his passenger seat, bobbing slightly up and down at every hard bump in the road. Kurt was close to unconsciousness and Blaine, hyped up on caffeine and excitement, had offered to drive them both to the Anderson residence to get some shut eye before the sun came up. There was something attractive about Blaine driving Kurt's banged-up Chevy, his hand gripping the wide, leather steering wheel.

"Do you think Buffy and Santana are okay?" he asked, driving into Akron with his dark eyebrows knitted in worry.

Kurt smiled sympathetically, his eyelids getting heavy. "I'm sure they're okay. Besides, we're no good to them as corpses, so we may as well get a couple hours of sleep."

Blaine frowned deeply, both hands gripping the steering wheel. "There's something I want to tell you, but I'm not sure I should."

"Why not?" Kurt yawned.

"It's something Buffy told me in confidence."

Kurt opened his eyes a peep and side-eyed his boyfriend. "Is it about a certain case of confused sexuality?"

Blaine widened his eyes and stole a quick glance at Kurt. "Well, yeah..."

"Don't think I haven't felt the fog of sexual tension surrounding those two."

Blaine exhaled a sigh of relief. "So what do you think?"

"I personally wouldn't have ever expected Buffy to appear on my gaydar, but there's no denying she has a thing for our favorite neighborhood vampire."

"I don't know. I like Angel."

Kurt furrowed his brow. "Huh?"

"I mean, just... if we're picking a favorite... I like Angel..."

Kurt paused a moment before a smile broke out on his face. "Okay, one of our favorite neighborhood vampires... There's something I should tell you, too."

"What is it?"

"Earlier tonight, before you showed up at The Bronze, I touched Quinn and... something weird happened."

"Weird how?"

"I think I might've read her mind."

Blaine's eyes widened. "You did?!" he gasped, thoroughly impressed, "What was it like?"

"Muddled," Kurt replied, "It was only for a second, but it sounded like dozens of voices talking over each other and one big image of... Rachel Berry."

"So Quinn was thinking about Rachel?"

"I don't know. I mean, I stopped touching her hand and it all went away. It was only there for a second but it was really unnerving. To have a new slew of thoughts overriding my own. Especially thoughts as harsh and jaded as Quinn Fabray's. The only nice thing in there was Rachel's face and even that was fogged with anxiety."

"That's so bizarre..." Blaine shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road, "Does this mean your abilities are developing? I mean, first it was only prophetic dreams. Now it's waking visions and clairvoyance and now mind reading-"

Blaine jerked and swerved the car as Kurt slumped forward, his seatbelt holding him upright as his eyes remained open and still. Blaine pulled over to the side of the road, just as Kurt gasped, waking from his vision.

"What is it?" Blaine asked urgently.

"Santana."

xxx

The rusty squeak of Spike's wheelchair was like an ominous theme-tune to his henchmen, as he rolled alongside his stunningly still line of minions, a frown deepened on his time-hardened, though forever-youthful, face.

"Soon as it gets dark, I want you to patrol the streets," he ordered, not looking at any of them in the face, "Plus, two men on the door and in the tunnels at all times. I don't want anymore surprises."

They nodded and shuffled out obediently, no longer obscuring Spike's view of Drusilla, who was laying face up on one of the wooden tables, the edges of her fluttery dress flowing off of the sides.

"Are we feeling better then?" he asked as he wheeled himself towards her.

"I'm naming the stars," she said quietly.

"Can't see the stars, love. That's the ceiling," he said, quickly glancing at the water-damaged surface that was metres above them, "Also, it's daytime."

Drusilla giggled to herself, her eyes steady above them. "I can see them, but I've named them all the same name and there's a terrible confusion. I think there may be a duel."

"Do you see any further? Anything about the slayer or her damned sidekick?"

"Well..." interrupted a perky voice from behind them.

Spike whipped his head around and Drusilla let her eyes fall away from the ceiling to see Santana saunter out of the shadows, looking like she'd dressed up for the party, in a black bustier and slick red lipstick.

"She moves to New York and tries to fulfill that big Broadway dream," she continued, a snarky smile etched on her face, "It's tough going, but one day she's working in the chorus when the big star twists her ankle!"

"You," Spike frowned coldly.

"Still having trouble guarding your perimeter, Spike? The boys downstairs are going to hear about this, that's for sure. I mean, really, the help can never get anything right."

"You just don't give up, do you? The slayer and her fanclub just keep rolling with the punches."

Santana smiled wide, looking like she wanted to laugh. "As long as there is injustice in the world," she said dramatically, "Just look over your shoulder and the slayerettes will be there."

Spike smirked. "Love? Look over your shoulder."

Santana turned to see the Judge towering over her. He dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder, eliciting a fearful gasp.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Spike grinned.

Santana turned back to Spike, flicking her dark hair over one shoulder. "Itches a little."

Spike furrowed his brow and glared at the Judge. "Don't just stand there! Burn her!"

The Judge just kept his hand on Santana's shoulder, looking vaguely bothered.

"Gee, maybe he's broken," Santana smirked.

"What the Hell is going on?!" demanded Spike.

Drusilla slid off of the table, her eyelids stretching wide. "Oh my..."

"I cannot burn this one," the Judge's voice rumbled, "She is clean."

"Clean?" Spike's eyebrow quirked upwards, "You mean she's-"

"There is no humanity in her."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," she said, resting her hands on her hips.

"Now, now," Spike said under his breath, narrowing his eyes and leaning forward in his chair, "Angel's girlfriend's gone to the dark side."

"Call me Snix," she smoldered, "And I'm no-one's girlfriend."

Drusilla walked forward, holding her arms out like she was greeting the prodigal son.

"I had a dream you would come," she said, her smile just short of celestial, "Happy birthday, pet. You're all grown up now."

xxx

Buffy had made it back to her house before the sun came up and found with a great amount of disappointment that Santana wasn't waiting for her at the window. Despite this, exhaustion had began to overcome her. Buffy curled up in bed with thoughts of her newfound love to warm her and had successfully gotten a single solid hour of sleep. Her eyelids had dropped like anvils and the pit of her stomach bubbled happily as she dreamed of wrapping herself around Santana's icy cold skin.

She'd then been rudely awakened by her cellphone. She'd let it ring out the first time, but the second time she sat up and snatched the phone off of her nightstand, sleepily hoping it was Santana. She blinked at the contact that was still relentlessly calling. Buffy furrowed her brow and answered the call.

"Will?" she answered, her voice heavy with sleep.

"Buffy! Is Santana with you?" he asked urgently.

Buffy frowned. "...No. Why? What's wrong?"

She heard him sigh through the phone. "You need to come over, as soon as possible."

"Come over...?" Buffy squeezed the bridge of her nose, confused and exhausted.

"To my apartment! Quickly. We're... well... Kurt thinks something may have happened to Santana."

Buffy grimaced, turning cold. "I'll be there in five."

She tossed her phone aside and got dressed, sneaking back out through her window, once again without waking her mother. She walked briskly - practically ran - to Will's apartment complex, fear rippling through her body and itching to have her questions asked so that they wouldn't be plaguing her tired mind with worry. What could possibly have happened to Santana since she'd seen her just a few hours ago? Was it the Judge? Something else?

She pounded on Will's apartment door with a clenched fist. He answered, worry etched all over his face.

"Well?" she asked impatiently, storming in past him with her fists clenched.

She stopped at the archway to his living room, surprised to see Kurt and Blaine sitting together on the couch with nervous expressions on their faces, Sofia trembling on an armchair with tears stuck behind her red rimmed eyes and Quinn pacing around the room, her hands on the hips of her preppy skirt.

Buffy stared at Sofia, who looked terribly distraught. "What... What happened?" she asked, her voice surprisingly timid now that she was under the distressed gazes of the others.

Quinn locked eyes with Buffy, looking severe. "When did you see Santana last?" she demanded.

Buffy opened her mouth, struggling to get the words out. "We got caught by Spike's minions, b-but we escaped. We were wet and my arm was cut so we went to Angel's, and..." a ball formed in Buffy's throat, "She told me to go home and get some rest while she left to find him. D-Did she find him? Angel?"

Quinn tensed and started pacing again, averting her gaze back to the carpeted floor. "No."

"He's out looking for her," said Blaine, as if that was supposed to give Buffy some comfort.

Buffy's eyes swivelled between Kurt and Blaine. "Why? What happened?"

"I had a vision," Kurt said, looking almost guilty, "Or a... something."

"And?!"

"Santana lost her soul," Kurt blurted out.

Buffy's mouth fell open. Will was beside her now, looking at her with concern in his eyes. Sofia whimpered and resumed crying into a handkerchief.

"In your vision?" Buffy asked, her eyes wide.

"No," Kurt sighed, "Really. Somehow... it's gone."

Buffy pursed her lips, frustrated. "But your visions tell the future, Kurt. This is now. We can save her before it's too late-"

Kurt sighed. "No-"

"We can. Have you seen her since your vision?"

"No, but-"

"So you don't know," said Buffy, sounding hysterical, "You just think."

"Some things I just know, Buffy," Kurt said solemnly, "I knew that Spike and Drusilla were still alive. I was right."

"You're not right about this! You can't be! I was with her-"

Buffy cut herself off, memories overwhelming her too soon after the fact. A horrid possibility had occurred to her.

"How?" she asked, "How could that happen?"

"We think it could be the Judge," Will said softly, "He burns the humanity out of people."

"But that kills people," Buffy spluttered.

"Maybe with Santana it was less literal. Maybe it burned out her soul and left her body unscathed."

Buffy furrowed her brow at the carpet. She knew that wasn't it. In the pit of her stomach, she knew what it really was.

"Oh God..." she sighed under her breath, sobs threatening to choke her.

She turned on her heels and ran through the apartment to the bathroom at the end of the hall, slamming the door behind her and sinking to the cold, grainy tiles. She held one hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs and one over her eyes to catch her hot tears. God, it was her, wasn't it? She'd shared one perfect night with Santana and it had been too much. And now everything was over. They were over before they'd even gotten a chance to start.

A small knock came at the door. Buffy sniffed and angrily wiped tears off of her face to stand and pull the door open a crack, to see Quinn on the other side. She peered inside with curious eyes that asked if she could come in, and Buffy complied by moving away from the door and taking a seat at the edge of the porcelain bathtub. Quinn closed the door behind him, looking unbelievably poised. Buffy wondered how she was crying at a time like this. Her face was void of emotion. Not even pity or concern sullied her elegant features as she looked down at Buffy's tear-streaked face..

"Do you love her?" she asked, her tone hushed and her voice indifferent.

Buffy nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Did you let her know that?"

Buffy nodded, her eyes brimming back up with warm, salty tears. "It's all my fault."

Quinn looked down as if she understood, but didn't say anything. "She really loved you."

Buffy sniffed, staring up at the other blonde. "She loved you, too."

"This is Terri. She did this. This is her fault."

"Huh?"

"She's the one who attached a curse to Santana's soul. The airhead doesn't even know how to reverse it. There is some magic even vengeance demons shouldn't dabble with."

Buffy sniffed, her tears coming to a halt, somewhat inspired by Quinn's poise. "What are we going to do?"

Quinn pursed her lips. "You and the others will figure something out."

"What about you?"

Quinn sighed, sounding resigned. "I'll be trying to find someone who can help."

xxx

"I don't think you realize what it is that you're asking."

Quinn clenched her pink fists at Jesse's insolence. "I know exactly what I'm asking."

Jesse tightened his jaw and crossed his legs on the den couch, glancing out of the floor to ceiling window, north of his parents' house. His mother was at some charity auction and his father was working, as always. Despite having loaded himself with caffeine all night, he'd returned home in an attempt to rest. He didn't appreciate Quinn storming into his home, bombarding him with insane new information and even crazier proposals.

"This plan you have is extremely problematic-"

"It's worth a try," said Quinn, staring at him with piercing, probing green eyes.

Jesse frowned. "Quinn... You don't understand-"

"I don't care, Jesse! Whatever pathetic, awkward, Mommy-issue driven sexual tension bullshit you have with Shelby Corcoran is unbelievably irrelevant. I need her help."

"Quinn," Jesse sighed, "Even if I called her... even if she didn't refuse point blank and even if she drops everything and comes to Lima, what makes you think she'll even have the capabilities, the power, to do something of this magnitude?"

"You said she was the most powerful wiccan you'd ever met."

"Powerful, yes, but not omnipotent. She's not God, Quinn. She can't alter life and death."

"I'm not asking for a resurrection-"

"Aren't you? Returning a soul to a dead body? I think that's exactly what you're asking for."

"No," Quinn shook her head, "Resurrection would be making Santana human again. This is... returning what is rightfully hers. Her soul is floating in limbo right now, waiting for its fate to be sealed. Either Santana dies and her soul is banished to Hell, or we return the soul and everything will be okay."

"You're too close to the situation, Quinn. You don't see the plethora of things that could go monumentally wrong."

"No, you know what I think? I think you're so opposed to helping Santana because you don't want to make one goddamn awkward phone call. You're so obsessed with your pride and your sense of control that you don't mind if my best friend's life hangs in the balance."

Jesse pursed his lips and lowered his chin, giving Quinn a brief glare from under his thick eyelashes. Quinn leaned forward, a desperate, pleading look in her eyes.

"Please, Jesse," she begged, clasping her hands together, "I can't do something like this on my own. I need your help."

Jesse sighed and gave his friend a blank look. "I'll make the call."

Quinn smiled, inhaling deeply. "Thank you, Jesse."

"If she refuses, or if this doesn't work... I warned you, alright? These are heavy magicks, Quinn."

"I know," Quinn said quietly, "I know."

xxx

The scoobies were in full research mode on Mr. Schuester's dining room table; Kurt, Blaine, Tina, Mike and Rachel leaning over books and laptops, searching for any information on the Judge that they could get their hands on.

"I just wished you'd told me last night what was going on," sniffed Rachel.

"Rachel, not now," frowned Tina, "I told you everything there is to know."

Rachel frowned, her eyes steady on a book of ancient demonology. "Still. You could've called me sooner. It's not like I would have refused to offer my services just because Santana and I are at odds. Look, I'm helping right now. If not for her, than for Sofia... and Quinn."

"Now isn't the time," said Kurt, his eyes darting between Rachel and Tina, "All our energy has to go into helping Santana. If we want to do that, we've got to take down the Judge. I'm certain he's behind this.

"Certain, as in, clairvoyant certainty?" asked Mike.

"No," frowned Kurt, "Certain as in, I'm certain Marion Cotillard is going to win Best Actress at this year's Oscars."

"Was that supposed to clear it up for me?"

"Either way, the Judge needs to be stopped," said Tina, staring down at a book with frustration apparent on her face.

"Right," Mike nodded, "It's just, information about this guy is all of the place, in a bad way. Where do we even stand?"

"On a really boring pile of books that all say the exact same thing," Kurt grumbled.

Tina sighed in agreement. "No weapon forged," she recited.

"It took an army," Rachel shook her head.

"Yeah, well, where is an army when you need one?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.

Blaine raised his head from the book he'd been studying and looked at his boyfriend with a curious expression.

"What?" Kurt probed.

Blaine sat up straight, warming his hands on his flannel pants. "No weapon forged."

"Yeah," Kurt raised an eyebrow, unsure of where this was going.

"I might have a plan," said Blaine.

"A plan?" Tina looked skeptical.

"Yeah," Blaine nodded, both nervous and excited, "I'm going to need to take Rachel."

Rachel pursed her lips. "Me?"

Blaine nodded. "And we'll need a ride."

"Okay... We can take my car," offered Kurt.

"We might need something bigger."

The scoobies shared a curious look. "Well, I could use my parents' van," said Tina.

"Great. Okay."

"Care to tell us what exactly this plan of yours is that I'm apart of?" asked Rachel.

"No," Blaine said bluntly.

"Why not?"

"You just need to trust me," Blaine asked boldly, "And... wear something cute... er."

Standing over the kitchen sink and staring out the window, Will nervously chewed his bottom lip. Quinn had left in a hurry and he hoped she hadn't gone to do anything reckless. Sofia was still sniffling in his armchair in the living room and Buffy was hidden away in the bathroom. She was so much more distressed than he'd expected her to be and it worried him, and made him think there was something he was missing.

He tensed a little, his thoughts scrambling away into the recesses of his mind as he felt Angel approaching from behind.

"I don't know what to do about Buffy," Will said as he turned to look at the tall, broad-shouldered vampire.

"Assuming there's no attack tonight, we should leave her be," said Angel.

"I had no idea Santana meant so much to her. I guess I haven't been entirely present lately."

"They mean alot to each other," said Angel, looking down at the floor, his eyes reflecting his thoughts that were elsewhere, "Santana means alot to me, as well. That's why we have to help her. She's left with no conscience, no inhibitions. The urge to slaughter is only a whim away for her."

"How are we supposed to help? Terri won't restore her soul, curse or not. And turning Santana into a human... It's virtually impossible."

"We could talk to someone else."

"Who?"

"The person who gave me my curse."

Will wrinkled his nose in confusion. "That was over a century ago-"

"But they have descendants."

"Nearby?"

"Fort Wayne," Angel replied.

Will clenched his jaw. "It's worth a try."

"I'm coming with you."

Both men turned to see Buffy standing before them behind the island counter, her eyes still slightly bloodshot though her face was dried of any residual tears.

"Are you sure?" asked Will.

"If I stay here any longer, I'm going to lose my mind," Buffy shook her head, "I need to be out, finding a way to help Santana."

"Buffy," started Angel, "If we happen to run into Santana, you won't like what you see. She won't be the same."

"I know that," Buffy sighed, "And I know that there's a chance... a probability, that she'll want to kill me."

Angel solemnly shook his head. "She won't kill you. I know how her mind works. A lot like mine, and I remember exactly what I was like when I was without a soul. If Santana gets the chance, she won't kill you. She'll torture you."

xxx

"You don't want to kill her? I know you never really got a chance to be in the game, love, but that's what we do."

Santana laid herself out lounge-style on one of the wood tables and curled her lip up at her surroundings. "A lot of what you people do is pretty damn ghetto, if you ask me. Seriously, this is your idea of a birthday celebration? What, Vegas not good enough? You gotta get your gutter-rat on? This place smells like my abuela's sock drawer."

"You don't want to kill her, do you?" Drusilla smiled, leaning against the table Santana was lying on, her long, skinny fingers gripping at the edges, "You want to hurt her. Hurt her like Angel hurt me."

Santana gave Drusilla a fond smile. "You are just a peach, are you? I definitely understand what Angel saw in you."

Drusilla's smile was ecstatic.

"She'd better not get in our way," Spike frowned at Santana, leaning back in his chair.

"Don't worry about it," Santana said glibly, still giving Drusilla a winning smile.

"I do."

"Listen," Santana sighed, resting her head on one shoulder, "I don't think you're really grasping the concept, Billy Idol, that you can't just kill the slayer. You tried and look at you know. You're a crippled failure. Scary fangs and a villainous British accent aren't going to cut it. To kill her... you have to love her."