Unlike others (i.e Brittany Pierce), Santana Lopez hadn't had the easiest of careers.

In fact nothing about Santana's career had been easy.

She had always had a love/hate relationship with the game.

Santana didn't fall in love with the sport the first time she played it.

She hated it.

She hated running. She hated playing as a team. She hated the competitiveness, that if she was chasing a ball then there was always someone just seconds behind her.

But most of all, Santana Lopez hated losing.

In all honesty, the only thing Santana actually liked about the sport was the fact that the more she played, the more pissed off her dad would be.

And for Santana that made doing something she hated would be all worth it.

She had always been a tomboy growing up. much to her father's disapproval. Her outfits always consisted of overalls and t-shirts that were way too big for her while her time was always spent playing in mud, clumping trees or playing video games.

(The latter she still hadn't grown out of).

Her dad hated it. He hated the way she behaved. Hated the way his only daughter acted like a boy. Hated the "She should've been a boy" comments he would get when Santana picked a toy truck over a barbie.

The only reason he allowed the small brunette to do what she loved was because of his wife, who just wanted their baby girl to be happy, despite all of the arguments that occurred because of it.

Santana was eleven when figured out the reason why her father was so against her playing Power Rangers and would always shout at her for only watching Scooby-Doo.

She was sat on the couch after her second shower that day.

(It had been raining so obviously she had to participate in the mud fight that had gone on between her neighbors).

Her dad had been flicking through the channels on the TV when the brightness of the green made Santana rub her eyes, or maybe she still had mud in them. She recognised that it was soccer and although she had never actually managed to sit through an entire game before, or even just ten minutes, she knew enough to know that they never showed women playing. At least that's what she thought, until she sat with mud still in her scalp, watching as two women's teams played against each other on the small screen.

She could enjoy it, she thought. After all, she had always preferred watching women do stuff over men.

But it hadn't lasted long, it had only been a few minutes and neither team had scored and Santana had grown extremely bored, her attention span had long gone and fortunately for her, her father switched the channel once again, "Enough of that ridiculousness." He had scoffed, shaking his head, "Women should not be playing a man's sport."

Then it clicked.

It wasn't just her he had a problem with doing "boy things". He had a problem with any girl doing something that was for "boys only."

So the next day, Santana asked her mom if she could join her school's soccer team.

And she said yes.


Santana hated the fact that she was putting herself through so much misery just to piss her dad off, but she knew it was always worth it. Especially when he would show a look of disgust everytime her mom asked how practice was.

She had given up trying to get her father's approval long before she started playing soccer because she knew it was something she would never get.

Therefore a pre-teen Santana had made it her life's mission to irritate her dad as much as possible.

(Which was pretty easy.)

(Especially when she came out when she was fifteen.)

It hadn't been until her third month of playing soccer that she actually started to enjoy it.

Because just as she thought that there was no better feeling than watching Miguel Lopez be disappointed, she scored her first goal.

Sure it was just in practice and not an actual game but after three months of dealing with all of her so call teammate's bull shit, of them never passing the ball to her, or even talking to her, of her coach making her run laps for talking back, of being forced to play as a defender because the team already had too many attackers, she had scored her first goal.

And she became addicted.

At her next practice she begged her coach to put her as a striker, even just for one session, just so she could prove that being a defender wasn't for her. No matter how strong and effective her tackles were.

Santana had often been used as the team's 'experiment', she had talent and her coach knew that. He just never knew how to use her. He made her play in various positions all throughout her middle school days, from a striker to a wingback, hell, he even put her in goal for a game, something she never wanted to do again.

She was way too small.

(Not that she would admit that.)

It was when she joined her high school's team when she finally found her ideal position. Or rather her new coach did.

It only took her first practice for her coach to realize that she was the perfect number 10.

She had the ability to move the ball up field, to start an attack and create chances. She was never afraid to win the ball back, to chase her opposition down and make a tackle when she needed to. She could see plays that others couldn't, plays that allowed her to pass the ball into a space that would later lead to goals.

She was the perfect attacking midfielder.

She also had one hell of a left foot.

It had only been her third practice when she scored from 25 yards out. Something that ensured her a place in the starting squad for almost every game, something that had never happened to a freshman.

Except it wasn't the way she played the ball or the fact that she wasn't afraid to make a tackle that made her coach fond of her. It was her attitude.

The then fourteen-year-old would constantly argue with the seniors on the field when they wouldn't listen to her, the way she would threaten juniors in the hallways for bumping into her, she would even have fist fights with sophomores in the parking lot.

Santana Lopez made everyone afraid of her.

And Sue Sylvester admired it.

The coach was always a little too entertained as she would watch her captain constantly be on edge at the thought of the freshman upstaging her.

The senior always picked small arguments, always expecting Santana to take it. Except she never did. instead she would always fight back, twice as hard.

But despite the constant bickering between the senior and the freshman it never became a huge issue.

At least not until right before the last game of the season.

Her captain had been teasing her all year, throwing her books across the hallways, intentionally shoving her into lockers whenever she walked by and sure Santana would always bite back, but it wasn't until her captain had sent her jock boyfriend to slushy her when Santana knew that she couldn't let her captain win.

So Santana started a rumor.

A rumor that got her captain kicked off of the team before the last game of the season. The game that was being watched by college scouts.

The rumor cost the captain a chance at a soccer scholarship in Los Angeles.

But Santana didn't care.

Because her captain was still going away for college and she would never have to play with her again.

At least that's what she thought, until eight years later when she received that call from Holly, to let her know that she had made the international team, and that Quinn Fabray would be her captain.

Again.


She could hear the crowd from the tunnel and judging by the sounds she could tell what had happened.

Brittany hadn't saved the penalty.

Canada had scored and they were losing with only 10 players and less than five minutes to play.

Santana didn't care. At least right now she didn't.

Her jersey had been long gone, having taken it off before she even made it off the field before flinging it towards Holly and her assistants who looked on from the dugout.

"Lopez!"

She didn't turn back.

"Santana!"

She heard the distinct sound of the whistle being blown, she assumed it was for play to be restarted after the goal.

"Don't ignore me, Lopez!"

"Don't you have a team to coach?" Santana snaps, heading into the locker room, "After all they are losing."

"You're losing too." Holly replies, "You're still a part of this team whether you're on the field or not. So if they're losing then so are you."

"Oh, do not give me that 'we win together, we lose together' crap." She scoffs, kicking her cleats off, "I've played with them for less than one game."

"And whose fault is that?"

"The ref's." Santana shrugs, ignoring the pointed look that Holly gives her, "That had clearly been paid off by the way."

"Look Santana, I'm not going to stand here and tell you that I agree with the decisions that have been made today. I do agree that it's been unfair for us." Holly admits, watching as the brunette takes a seat on the bench, "But that's what happens sometimes, but you can't blame the referee's decisions for everything that went wrong today."

"What are you getting at?"

"I'm saying what I told you at half time, which you obviously ignored, you need to work as a team. Even before the game, you hadn't made an effort with the other girls."

"I don't need to."

"And why is that?" Holly questions as the midfielder pulls on a pair of sweats before peeling her socks and shin pads off, shoving them into her backpack.

"You don't have to have a good relationship off the field just to be able to play well together." Santana tells her, throwing on an old hoodie, "If you're good, you're good. We don't have to braid each other's hair just to be able to make a decent pass."

"It's a team sport for a reason, Santana." The older blonde argues, "You could be the best players in the world, yet you won't actually be able to achieve anything if you don't work together. You can't play a team sport if you don't believe in your own team."

"How can I believe in my team if they don't believe in me?"

"Who said they don't believe in you?" The coach asks, taking a seat next to the brunette.

"It doesn't matter." Santana dismisses, playing with the strings on her hoodie, "It's not like I'll ever play again."

"Santana, you only got a one-game ban, of course you're gonna play again."

"After that performance? I did nothing except get a suspension."

"Really? Because from what I saw you did pretty great." Holly reassures, causing Santana to roll her eyes.

"Oh yeah? A red card on my debut? Got to be some kind of record."

"Maybe," Coach laughs, "But before that you had a great performance. I understand that it was a tough game which was frustrating but you made a load of contributions."

"Contributions to what? Them scoring? Because We sure as hell didn't score."

"You can contribute without there being any goals you know."

"Ha! Please tell that to my high school coach."

"I'm serious, Lopez. You made great runs and created a few chances, when you did actually pass the ball which, by the way, is something you need to work on. Along with your anger issues." Holly scolds playfully, bumping her shoulder against Santana's.

"Yeah, well good luck with that. My mom's been trying since I was born and hasn't had much luck." She jokes, standing from the bench.

"Where do you think you're going?" Holly asks when the brunette shoves her backpack over her shoulder.

"Home?"

"No you're not." She argues, laughing when Santana furrows her brows,"It's bad enough that you wanna leave the stadium before the game's even finished but to go home instead of the hotel? Seriously, Lopez, you really need to do some team building exercises."

Santana rolls her eyes, "Fine. I'll go to the hotel but I'm leaving the stadium. I don't really wanna be here when the team gets back in."

"Is this your idea of a compromise?"

"Yup."

"Just make sure you take your ass straight to recovery when you get there."

"Okay."

She heads towards the door, "I saw that your dad and brother are here." Holly mentions, making Santana pause, "I bet they were proud to see you make your debut."

"And I hope they enjoyed it too, because it's probably the last time they'll see me play."

Her dad would definitely enjoy that.

Her brother not so much.

"Seriously, Lopez, I heard that you could be dramatic but I didn't think it'd come to this." Holly laughs. "Stop saying that you're not going to play again. You're out one game, you'll be back for the one after that."

"It's not funny!" Santana whines, dropping her backpack to the floor, "You and I both know that this was my chance to prove everyone wrong and I blew it. And will you stop acting as if you're actually gonna play me when the suspension is over? Because you're not. And you're definitely not gonna put me in the squad for the next round of games."

"Sant-"

"And it's not like I'm ever gonna play for my club again because everyone there fucking hates me."

"They don't-"

"I don't even make it off the bench! I haven't even been able to play a full fucking game since I got hurt." She cries, "God, of it wasn't for fucking Pi- this fucking injury, then I would still have a career that was actually worth saving."

Holly had always known that Santana was an emotional person. Not just from what others who have worked with but she could see it. She could see it in the way she played, even in the way she walked and she knew that the midfielder had troubles, with injuries, players and even her own manager.

But she also knew that everyone had given up on her. Santana included.

It was one of the reasons why Holly gave her the call-up. She knew she was talented. She just needed her confidence back, she needed someone that believed in her.

She also needed a hug.

So she offered her one, only for her offer to be rejected followed by the brunette walking out the door. The slam of the door mixing with the sound of the full time whistle.


She can feel her muscles burn as she makes her way through the corridors of the stadium. Maybe it was a bad idea skipping recovery, but right now she doesn't care, afterall the hotel does have a pool and plenty of people to get her a massage, all she wants is to leave this place and forget about the last 90-minutes.

"You didn't score." A small voice makes her stop, "You said you were gonna score."

"I never said that." Santana says, turning around to see a small boy running towards her wearing a jersey that she's sure has her surname written on the back, "I said I'd try and score."

"You lost." The boy pouts.

"I know." Santana looks down, "I'm sorry."

Deep down she knew that the loss was partly her fault. If she hadn't been so careless with the tackle then there wouldn't have been a penalty and she wouldn't have been sent off and as much as she hated to admit it, Holly was right, she should have trusted her teammates more, maybe the score line would be different if she had passed to Phoebe more or allowed her teammates to help her.

"It's okay, Tana. You were still the best player." The boy smiles, making the brunette roll her eyes.

"Okay, Carlos, you can sweet talk me all you want, I'm still not buying you pet fish."

"But dad won't get me one!" Carlos argues, stomping his foot.

"Yeah well dad has a thing for being disappointing." Santana shrugs, laughing when her brother pouted once more. Her smile quickly fades when she sees her father making his way towards them, dressed way too formal for a soccer game.

"What the hell was that?" He questions, slightly out of breath from catching up to Carlos.

"What was what?" Santana counters, shrugging her bag up her shoulder.

"You made us come all the way here just to be sent off after doing nothing?" Her father fumes, causing the young boy to cuddle into his sister.

"I didn't make you do anything." Santana argues, "I didn't even know you were coming considering you've never been to a single one of your games before."

"Carlos wanted to come and wouldn't shut up about it and since your mother bailed last minute, I had to bring him."

"She didn't bail, she had to work." Santana fumes, crossing her arms, "And Carlos is not mom's responsibility. Besides since when have you actually cared about something your kid actually wants?"

"Santana." Miguel warns.

"Or is it just me you don't care about?"

Miguel doesn't say anything and Santana knows she's right. Her father doesn't care about her, he never did. He never really showed any interest in her when she was a kid other than when he was disciplining her.

He had left her mom for some bimbo half his age when Santana was fifteen, something that never really bothered Santana, all she cared about was the fact that she would never have to see him again, until a month after he left, her mother had received a court order. Miguel had applied for joint custody which had been granted, forcing the young Latina to spend 3 days a week with her father and his new girlfriend.

It had been hell. Sure, Santana made it that way, she once went four months never speaking a word to her father all while managing to pick a fight with her new mom whenever she could. Which was every time she was there.

There had also been multiple police visits. Times where Santana had called them accusing Miguel of child neglect, times where neighbors called due to the arguments, times where her father would report Santana missing after she would refuse to go home and stay out all night.

It had been like that for six months. No matter how much trouble Santana got herself in, her father refused to give up his custody.

(Santana still swears he only did it to hurt her mother.)

Things changed when she was sixteen. Her step-bitch had gotten pregnant and Santana had been forced to stay and act as a happy big sister and watch on as her dad would fuck up yet another one of his kids.

She hated the idea.

She hated feeling replaced.

That her and her mom weren't good enough and that her father just had to start a new family.

What she hated the most was how much she loved her baby brother.

That she actually looked forward to going to her father's to see him.

She hated that when she was eighteen she had the choice to never see her father again. Something she had wanted since she had been fourteen. She was officially an adult. The court didn't decide who she got to live with and she could ignore her father's existence. Yet that would mean not seeing Carlos. The only boy who had made Santana genuinely happy and although he was only a toddler, she felt like he was the only person that understood her. The only one who didn't judge her or put her down. In fact he was her biggest fan and he was her best friend.

And so she forced herself to have a relationship with her father.

No matter how much she hated him.

"So you can't play in the next game?" Carlos asks, pulling at the badge on his jersey.

"N-"

"No." Her father interrupts, "Because your sister still hasn't learned discipline."

"Oh, please." Santana rolls her eyes, "Like you even-"

"You let everyone down, Santana."

"It's a good job, I'm used to that then huh?"

Her father clicks his tongue. She knows he doesn't care about soccer or her career, he just likes putting her down, something she got used to a long time ago.

"Look, buddy," Santana says to the small boy, crouching down to his height, "I need to go but I'll see you soon, okay?"

"At the next game?" He bounces.

"Well I won't be there for that but maybe the one after?"

"And you're gonna score in that one?"

"If I do it'll be for you." She promises, giving the kid a high five before standing straight, "See you later."

"You're gonna win next time, Tana." Carlos reassures and Santana can't help but smile at his missing front tooth.

"Here." She smiles, handing the boy the white jersey that she had taken off when she left the field, "Make sure you wash it before you put it on."

"Thanks, Tana." The boy beams, waving as his sister turns to walk away, "Love you!"

"Love you too, kid."


She had managed to make it to recovery and back into her room before the rest of the squad had even made it to the hotel.

Like always, she decided against watching the game back. Until most players she hated watching her performances, there was no point. She would never be able to change what happens on the field. She never had regrets on how she performed.

But what she did find herself watching were the post-game interviews.

She pressed play on the video of the captain, rolling her eyes when she noticed the goalkeeper stood next to her.

"How do you feel about the defeat?" The journalist asks, holding the microphone to Quinn.

"Obviously it's never good losing," The captain answers, "Especially the way we did with conceding a penalty in the last minutes and losing a player who had been so important for us. But it was only the first game, there's still thirteen more games to play and we will take those one-by-one and build on our performance today."

"You mentioned losing a player who had been important for you," It didn't take a genius to figure out they were talking about Santana. "How much do you think it affected the way you played after Lopez was sent off?"

"I mean it's never easy going down to ten players," Quinn starts, taking out her ponytail, "And we were determined to equalize after conceding and we tried our best but honestly we struggled, we failed to get the game moving again it's a tough loss to take."

It's hard to hear. Listening to her team captain tell the world, or whoever actually watches post-game interviews, that the team struggled to play without her. Maybe if she didn't let her anger get the best of her then maybe they would've won.

"Other than the result, Pierce, how was that for a debut?" The journalist asks Brittany.

"It was great," Brittany beams, "I mean it's always been a dream to play for the team and sure it didn't exactly go how we would have liked but I was pretty proud of my performance as well as everyone else's."

"Well, you did make some crucial saves, as well as saving a penalty-"

Brittany saved the penalty?

"How hard was it for you when you saved the initial shot but not the rebound?"

"It hurt." She says, wiping her eyes, "But I can't control what the ball does y'know, I tried to push it out of play and that didn't work and I couldn't get up fast enough to save the rebound which sucks but that's the game, not everything goes the way you want it to."

"And it wasn't just your debut was it? It was also Santana Lopez's, who we already talked about getting sent off, which was tough, but how do you think her performance for her first game will affect her future in the team?"

Here we go.

"I think she should be proud of her performance." Brittany praises, Santana rolls her eyes, "Like I said before, not everything goes the way you want it to and I don't think Santana went out there with the intention of getting a red but unfortunately she did but before that she did everything she could to try and get a win which is what everyone wanted."

God, could she try to be anymore of a kissass?

"One last thing, obviously the goal you conceded was initially from a penalty, do you feel like things would have been different if you had been given the penalty that you had appealed for not long beforehand?"

"Of course!" Quinn explains, "I think it would have changed the whole game, especially since there was a lot of tension and aggression from both teams after the incident."

"Do you think the aggression is what caused Lopez to give away the penalty?"

"I think Santana wanted to do anything she could to get the ball away from the goal." Brittany says, "And from the situation that happened before that I think that the decision was a little unfair."

Is Brittany sticking up for her?

"Well thank you for your time," The journalist shakes both their hands, "Before we go Quinn would you like to give Brittany her player of the match award?"

Santana switches her phone off before the journalist even finished his sentence.

Of course Brittany got the fucking player of the match award.

Even after conceding a goal which as it turns out, didn't even come from the penalty, it came from the fucking rebound. That's even more pathetic.

But she also defended her when the journalist tried to make her out as someone with anger issues who can't help but take it out on other players.

Which is technically true but whatever.

Santana doesn't know what kind of game she's playing.

If she is playing one.

Maybe she's just defending her because she's a teammate and that's what teammates do? Even if they don't like each other.

But then again none of Santana's other teammates have ever defended her before against the media.

She's fucking confusing.

(Then again, so is Santana.)

Her thoughts are interrupted by her phone.

Picking it up she reads the thousands of messages and calls she's missed (ignored).

Actually it's more like six and they're all off her mom saying how proud she is of her and telling her that she's sad she couldn't be at the game but will definitely be at the next home one next week.

There's also one from the familiar number she stupidly texted the night before which led to doing something even stupider.

Not that she regrets it because she had a great time until someone decided to get a stick in her ass and kick her out in the middle of the night.

Plus she needed to relieve some pent up tension and it's not like her and Brittany had never had meaningless sex before.

Except this time there were a lot more feelings involved.

All of them bad.

u told me to save it and i did technically :)

She fucking hates her.


To say that Santana Lopez's dream of being a soccer player hadn't been the fairytale that she had hoped it would be. She had thought that once she had gotten over the struggle of being scouted and making her way into a team that it would be smooth sailing.

She thought that all she would have to do is turn up to practice, have recovery sessions, do interviews and play games. Maybe even lift a few trophies.

And sure she did that for her first year playing for the New York Rangers and of course Santana had loved every second of playing in New York but when San Diego City offered her a four-year contract she couldn't say no.

It ensured her a future in soccer, SDC were becoming huge, they were building something that Santana wanted to be apart of. Plus the increased pay wasn't so bad either.

It had started out great, the hype of Santana Lopez only grew bigger and everyone that watched her could see the passion and love she had for not just the game but the club too, the club that she loved as a kid, despite being from Ohio.

Within the first few games Santana had already made a name for herself at the club and by halfway through her first season she had been named as someone who could potentially be one of the greats.

Santana was a playmaker.

An attacking midfielder who would take control of the game, always making sure her team would win.

Or at the very least draw.

Santana became one of the main reason's to why San Diego City were fighting for a place in the top 4 in the league for the first time in five years after going eight games unbeaten.

She was a goal-creating genius.

From the way that she could create an attack from a play that most people wouldn't have even thought about to her perfectly timed crosses that would be any striker's dream.

And when she wasn't assisting, she was scoring. She had been known for her long distance shots. Like when she knew that she would be unable to get the ball into space for her teammates to score so she would just shoot out of pure frustration.

Most of the time she scored.

But as well as creating plays, she could also stop them, chasing down opposition players who would be on an attack and wasn't afraid to make a tackle, always throwing herself into the player.

Her only downside in the way she played was her attitude and her low fuse, something that she's now known for. That if things didn't go in her or her team's favor she would start making reckless tackles out of frustration, argue with the ref and would always be the first person to shove someone when an altercation occurred between the two teams.

No matter what, everyone always knew that when Santana Lopez was on the field she would either end up with a goal contribution or a suspension.

Sometimes both.

But all of that stopped after her injury.

And not because it held her back.

In fact it was the opposite.

It made her more determined than ever to play.

But she had been out for nine months.

Nine months of surgeries, learning how to walk without crutches, physical therapy and private practice sessions so that she could play again.

And nine months without their star play became a problem for the team. They had dropped down the table so much within just a few games of Santana being out that they had failed to qualify for the play-offs for the NWSL Championship and after not getting a single win in five games, the club decided they couldn't risk playing without their key player so they signed someone else and by the time Santana was finally allowed to play again, she had been replaced with a twenty-something blonde spanish girl who Santana, if she hadn't been so pissed off about her stealing her place, would have definitely asked her out.

Santana understood at first. It was too risky for her to be in the starting line-up after being out for so long. But she grew more and more furious every week as she sat on the bench being forced to watch her replacement walk around a field for 90 minutes, despite looking like she was going to pass out for the last 30, and continued to fail at making an actual cross.

It had been during the game against Chicago City the next season when Santana had finally had enough. She had begged her coach to let her play even just for the last 5 minutes. They had needed her, they were losing 2-0, had only scored once in five games, and had been sat at the bottom of the table, but he had refused once again, making the brunette stomp off down the tunnel.

It was in May when everyone started to question whether or not Santana still had a future at the club after her manager had announced that she would be going out on loan to a team in France for the rest of the season.

Something that Santana didn't have much of a choice in after the club and her agent agreed all the terms without her knowing.

Moving to France had been something she needed, despite all the protests of her going in the first place. She needed to get out of the city, to be away from the teammates that had grown to hate her and the coaching staff who had given up on her.

Being in France allowed her to play again, to prove everyone wrong, that after all her time off she could still play, and in true Santana Lopez fashion, she killed it.

Just like she had when she first joined San Diego City, she had quickly proved her worth and even after all the setbacks, she played the best she had ever played.

She had rebuilt her entire career. Everyone who doubted her realized that they were wrong, her career was never over, in fact it was just getting started, she was only twenty-two after all, and she hadn't just been a success in the States, but in Europe too.

She broke records, averaging 0.68 assists per game, while also becoming the youngest American to win the Women's Champions League as well as the French league.

To say that she was successful in France was an understatement, she had everything there. Her teammates and the club's staff were nice enough, she was getting regular game time and the fans loved her. Plus she loved the city.

So when she declined a permanent contract with the club everyone thought she had lost her mind.

Or that she had fallen out with someone behind the scenes again.

There had even been a rumor that she had broken a teammate's heart and had been threatened that if she didn't leave they would throw her off the Eiffel Tower.

(Santana laughed at that one).

And so she moved back to San Diego, hoping that her success in France was enough to persuade her manager to play her.

It hadn't.

In fact she didn't even make the bench.

She was a reserve.

She was nothing to the club that she had once helped get the success that they hadn't had in years.

The club that she used to have so much love for.

And that's why it came as such a shock when she received the phone call from Holly.


Holly had forced her to come to the next game. Saying something about how she needs to support her teammates no matter what, even if she is suspended and refusing to talk to anyone.

Which is why she's currently sitting in the stand behind the substitute bench, the humidity of the Jamaican sunset making her hair go frizzy.

"This is bullshit." Santana grumbles, her elbows resting on her crossed knees.

"Santana, shut up." Quinn hisses, from the bench.

Santana decided that the one good thing about being dragged to a different continent against her will is that she doesn't have to painfully sit through watching some of her least favorite teammates play since the coach thought that it was a good idea to change the squad up for every game, letting everyone have a chance.

The downside is that she now has to sit for 90 minutes behind Captain Stick-in-her-ass and Miss Kicks-people-out-of-bed-at-three-fucking-am.

Santana's still pissed at that.

"What?" Santana rolls her eyes, "It's not my fault no one can put in a decent fucking tackle."

"You're here to support the team, not judge them." The captain scolds.

"They all judge me."

"I wonder why."

"Shut the fuck up, Fabray." Santana snaps, sitting up, causing the smaller blonde to turn around.

"And if you didn't fu-"

"Quinn, don't." Brittany interrupts, finally taking her eyes off the game, "What happened, happened okay? Let's just move on."

"Oh, yeah, we all know that you're so good at just forgetting things happen." Santana resorts, making the keeper pout slightly, turning to face the game once more, "That's what I thought."

"Fabray, you're up!" Holly shouts from the sidelines, the captain whipping off the yellow vest that's covering the red of her jersey.

There was only 20 minutes left and after an eventful game the score was 2-2, Jamaica coming from behind to make it 2-1 before Phoebe equalized just minutes after coming on.

"This is a tough game." Brittany says, mostly to herself.

"Yeah, it'd be harder if you were playing. We'd be losing by like five goals then." Santana smirks.

"And if you were playing we'd be down to 10. Again."

She probably deserved that.

"Sorry." Brittany whispers and Santana can't help but smile.

"I'm not."

"I know."

The next time Santana looks up from her nails they're on the counter attack. Both sets of teams are running towards goal, Fabray with the ball who passes it to Shay, the midfielder currently in Santana's position, who runs down the left wing, who then switches play to Jo on the right wing, who takes advantage of the space she has, dribbling past a defender to make it to the near post.

"Pass it." Brittany mumbles, biting her nails.

"Shoot." A few of the other subs and coaching staff shout.

It's a tight angle. All she has to do is shoot. But the keeper is there.

And so is Phoebe, in the middle of the box pleading for the ball. And Jo gives her it, allowing the striker to head the ball comfortably into an empty net.

Everyone celebrates.

Well, almost everyone.

After all, they are playing away.

Santana just sits and watches and the team all jump on Phoebe, as the away end celebrates while the team in yellow hang their heads.

She can't help but think about the last game. This never happened. They couldn't even score one goal, never mind three. Obviously she knows that every game is different. That every team they play is different. But right now the only thing she can think about is that when she played, they lost.

"What would you do?" Brittany asks, interrupting her pity party.

"Huh?"

"If you were in that position, would you pass or shoot?"

She knows her answer. She's not stupid. She knows that shooting from that angle is tricky, especially when the keeper is there for it, 9 times out of 10 the shot would be saved, unless the keeper makes a mistake, but it's too risky to find out, unless it's the only option.

The only smart answer would be to pass it. It's the selfless answer.

"I'd shoot."

But Santana's not selfless.

"Oh."

"Do you think that's selfish?" She asks as the whistle blows to restart play.

"N-not all the time." Santana knows she's lying, "It's hard to think under pressure, you don't know what you'd do until you're in that situation."

"I'm not gonna be offended if you say it's selfish."

"Yeah," She nods hesitantly, "I think it's selfish."


She goes back to the hotel without saying another word. Which isn't hard when no one is actually speaking to her.

Everyone goes off to their respective rooms, other than Tina who follows Quinn into hers.

Santana's just about to get changed into the black and white jersey that she's been sporting every night since she took it off Brittany's floor when she get's a text.

I told you they'd be better off without you. You finally need to give up this so called 'career' and get a real job, a job that will actually make me proud to call you my daughter.

She wishes it didn't hurt as much as it does.

She's used to it by now and she stopped wanting her father's approval a long time ago.

Yet she still can't help the tears that roll down her face.

Throwing her phone across the room, she quickly throws on a pair of sweats, then ignoring the mental pain she gets when she looks at her scar, before opening the door, making her way down the hallway.

It's almost like Deja Vu, she thinks as she raises her hand to gently knock on the door, wiping her tears before the blonde opens the door.

"Santana? What are you doing here?" Brittany asks, looking concerned when she notices the brunettes red eyes, her arms folded across her tiny body.

"Can you hold me? Please."


UTM