December 31, 2016

Mercedes was having an album release party. On New Year's Eve. In New York. Even if Quinn hadn't been interested in going, she didn't have a choice; Mercedes was her roommate. Also her best friend. Martin, who had come into town to spend Christmas with Quinn, decided to go home for a few days to see his family when he realized that Quinn was going to be occupied with Mercedes. The last thing Santana wanted to do after her run in with Jenna, was attend another party, but what she wanted more than anything else at the moment, was Quinn, and she didn't want to tell anyone what was bothering her, and she would have to if she didn't show up. So she went.

Santana wasn't Jenna. She wasn't. She and Quinn had slapped each other, they had gotten into fights, but they weren'tthatcouple. Santana wouldn't put her hands on her like that. She wouldn't threaten to kill her if Quinn ever tried to leave her. If they were actually a couple, she wouldn't run around with every single person she could get her hands on, and then turn around and tell Quinn that she couldn't do the same. She wasn't Jenna.

That meant that this thing with her and Quinn…it bared some definition. Because Quinn was with Martin, and she had agreed to marry him, Santana had to let her go. They couldn't sleep together anymore. They couldn't be intimate. But she still needed her friend. So she needed to make things okay between them. They had been strictly friends once, they could be that way again. Santana had resigned herself to not being alone with Quinn, to not allow her eyes to linger, to not look too longingly, or to allow her gaze to drift into 'relationship' space, but damn if Quinn didn't make it hard.

So did Mercedes because she was busy entertaining, which meant she wasn't there to baby-sit her friends, and somehow Santana and Quinn ended up pretty much alone with the alcohol, and Santana's pre New Year's resolution to quit the drug known as Quinn Fabray.

"Hey, I didn't mean what I said about, you know, 'fucking and leaving'," Santana said, two shots into the night. "This thing that we've been doing-,"

Quinn quickly cut her off. "I get it, Santana."

"Do you?" Santana wondered, "because I don't. You're my friend, Quinn. And if we're hurting each other, I don't want to. I don't want to ever hurt you."

Quinn did that thing where she stared hard, unblinking eyes at Santana, looking at her more intensely than Santana ever thought possible. "I don't want to hurt you either."

"So," Santana tossed her hand out. "Friends?"

"Always," Quinn agreed, shaking on it. And if she held on to her hand slightly longer than necessary, Santana pretended that she didn't notice. They smiled at each other, and sipped on their alcoholic-mixed dreams, and idly moved to the music that was playing in the background: songs from Mercedes new CD.

"I'm so proud of her," Santana said to the air.

Quinn nodded. "Me too."

They both nodded, this song in particular was a dance beat. It begged for bodies to come out onto the dance floor. "Do you want to-,"

"Fuck it, friends dance, right?"

They both slammed down a Jägerbomb each, and Quinn pulled Santana into the room where their guests were dancing. Santana easily cleared a space for the two of them, and they danced, very friendly, around each other. The way their eyes kept meeting, wasn't so friendly, but they kept space for Jesus between them. The way Santana's eyes fell down to Quinn's hips, and Quinn's eyes kept looking at Santana's lips, that wasn't friendly either, but there was still two feet between them. When fingers brushed against hips, that could have been friendly, but there was still enough room for them to not be sharing the same air. Practically.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, a bottle of a devilishly tantalizing green liquid appeared when they went back into the kitchen. It seemed to be looking at them, begging them to open it. "We shouldn't," Santana said.

"No," Quinn agreed. "We've already been drinking Jäger and you're not, like supposed to mix grains, or something." She wasn't sure what the rules of drinking were, they always seemed to get fuzzy at this time, and didn't seem to clear up until she was nursing a hangover and suddenly she remembered such ditties like'whiskey before beer, and you're in the clear'.

But on this side of the hangover, it was always hard to remember. And Quinn was sure the bottle was glowing at them. She was sure it had a life of its own. She was sure that it was telling her that whatever she was looking for out of life, she wouldn't find it within its glass depths, but if she just wanted a little bit of a good time, well that's what it was there for. "Just a shot," was said, neither was sure by who, and really, what did it matter who said it, especially once that psychedelic liquid was burning down both of their throats? They looked at each other, and grinned from the bite of the liquor.

"Shit!" Santana cursed. Or was it Quinn? A wicked grin appeared on Santana's face. "Want to do another?"

They filled shot glasses and toasted, "To Mercedes, to the New Year, to…-,"

"Us-," Santana finished. "To starting the way you mean to go on."

So here's a professional drinking tip: never mix absinthe, unrequited love, and Jäger. It's just not a good idea. Add in fast, catchy, music, low lighting, and a crowd of people…and, well, Quinn and Santana forgot to leave room for Jesus the next time they danced. And if the combination made Santana kind of clingy, Quinn didn't seem too bothered by it. She clung to Santana the whole night, and growled, actually growled, at some poor girl who actually had the audacity to step into Santana's personal space when Quinn had gone to the kitchen to get them both another drink. The best thing about Quinn, Santana thought at the sight, was having a girl who actually became the green-eyed monster when she was jealous.

They'd left the party after that, Quinn dragging her up to her bedroom. It was too hot with their clothes on, which was the only reason why they started shedding the articles, tossing them casually on the floor. "I missed you," was said, and repeated, by both of them, more than a dozen times before they managed to get each other naked. "No, like I really missed you," Santana stressed.

Quinn nodded her head, as if Santana hadn't said anything unusual. "I know. It's just not right without you." 'It' could have been Friday nights, 'it' could have been sex, or time, or even life in its entirety. No matter, whatever 'it' wasit simply wasn't without the other.

It was such the right thing to say because it was true. They were made for each other.

Hours later, exhausted and still not sober, they both were kind of zoning in and out. Santana was holding Quinn so tightly that it was as if she feared someone would run into the room and snatch her away, and Quinn wasn't protesting.

"Remember that time in eighth grade, when we were playing truth or dare, and Puck dared you to kiss me, and you wouldn't?"

"I was an idiot. Remember at Nationals' when we snuck off in the middle of the night, and we got that homeless guy to buy us Tanqueray because we thought it was sophisticated, but we didn't have a chaser?"

"Remember when you almost got us arrested because you wouldn't stop mouthing off to the cop who pulled us over."

Quinn gasped. "That's not fair! He was an asshole!"

"He was a cop!"

"Do you remember…?" Santana realized that she'd dozed off in the middle of her sentence and laughed. God, she was plastered. She checked the clock. "Hey babe, we missed the countdown. Quinn? You awake?" She got no response. Santana leaned over and kissed Quinn twice, once on each closed eyelid. "Do you remember the day I fell in love with you?" Santana sighed. "I kind of want to do this forever. I could really see that." Her eyes closed and her head started to droop. "I love you, Quinn. Happy New Year."

January 8, 2017

Day 7

"Hey, Quinn, it's Santana. I know you must be busy, and just haven't had a chance to call me back, so I was just calling to remind you. We should get together more. I miss you, babe."

January 9, 2017

Day 8

"Is it too late for us to have that talk about the future? Call me back, Fabray. I want to hear your voice!"

January 10, 2017

Day 9

Santana checked her cell phone for a text that wasn't there. She stared down morosely into the depths of her drink. "Ever been in love?" Santana questioned. The bartender, paused in front of Santana. She gave a kind of jerk of her red head which could have meant anything.

"A time or two."

"It sucks," Santana said.

January 18, 2017

Day 17

It was official: Quinn was avoiding her. No calls, not one; no texts. Santana had stopped leaving voicemails, stopped calling, but she couldn't help sending the texts. Random bits of nothing, as if she didn't know that Quinn was avoiding her. Santana couldn't even pretend that she wasn't. Quinn had even went out of her way to sign out of Skype when Santana was on. She thought she was being paranoid, but she tested it. She took her laptop over to Brittany's one day and told Brittany to call and talk to Quinn, but not to tell her that she was over. Brittany did, and while they were talking, Santana had signed on. Sure enough Quinn went invisible less than a minute later, while still on the call with Brittany. How childish, how fucking childish, and howQuinn.

Santana wanted to think that it had nothing to do with the fact that she had I love you, but she could come to no other satisfying conclusion other than Quinn had been awake when she'd said it. Quinn had wanted honesty from Santana, but then when she gave it to her, she disappeared on her. Well fuck her, Santana was done with her.

January 21, 2017

Day 20

Santana blinked at the sight of the sun, feeling like absolute shit. She felt so much worse than just being hung over. She just wanted her home, and her bed, and her Quinn, and a long, long shower, and a hot toddy, and to sleep for a really, really long time. At the moment, she didn't care about school, or her friends, or anything, she just wanted to let go. She dialed Quinn's number. Voicemail. "Quinn, it's Santana. I just had like the worst possible few days of my life, and I could really, really do with the sound of your voice. You can go back to not talking to me tomorrow, but please call me back, tonight. Please."

Santana called back a few seconds later, not to leave another message, but just to hear the sound of Quinn's voice in her voicemail.

January 22, 2017

Day 21

2:00 a.m.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Santana was instantly alert. Box out. Gun assembled. She rolled the hem of her sleep shorts, tucked her gun to the left of her spine, tiptoed to the door, and checked the peephole. Shit! She exhaled. With a sigh she opened the door.

Bryne pushed through as soon as she had the space to. "Did you get arrested this weekend?" she demanded. She didn't pause, but her eyes flickered over Santana, taking in every part of Santana that didn't look as it should. Bryne was speaking English which meant that Santana was really in trouble.

"Ja."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I wasn't able to."

Bryne glowered, mistaking Santana's remark as being flippant. "What do you mean you weren't able to?" Bryne demanded. "It's common sense, Santana. You get pinned, you call me. Period."

"It means I wasn't able to," Santana repeated. She removed her gun, started to dissemble it, but Bryne stopped her. "If I were you, I'd keep that out."

Bryne didn't make idle threats, so Santana listened, but honestly she just wanted her to go away. Santana had been spending every second since she'd been released from lock-up trying very hard not to think, and now Bryne would be demanding questions. She picked up the nearly empty bottle of tequila that was sitting out on the table, and took a hard swallow. She slumped onto the couch. "I would have called you if I could have, but I wasn't given the opportunity. I got drunk at a bar, got jumped and apparently knocked out because when I came to, I was handcuffed to a hospital bed. I was released from the hospital into police custody, and escorted to the police station. They held me for 36 hours, then they arrested me, I was arraigned, I had a bail hearing, and then it was all dismissed with the court's apologies. I was never given any opportunity to make a phone call."

Bryne stopped her pacing, and looked at Santana. "Someone did a power play on you? Who'd you piss off?"

"Remember that girl in the park?"

"There are a lot of…oh the one getting beat up by the cop?"

"Yes, only she's not with a cop. Her brothers-in-law are the ADA and the Deputy Commissioner." Santana started to shake. "And her father is my best friend's commanding officer."

"That sounds like the Healys."

Santana nodded. "It is. Jenna Healy." Santana still felt sick about the whole thing. Not to mention the whole physical pain of it as well. Santana had held her own, but she'd been outnumbered. Granted that a woman who routinely beat up her partner was unlikely to play fair, Santana still couldn't believe that Jenna wouldn't just try to attack her, herself, but then again, Santana would have no doubt killed her in a one on one fight.

"What made her come after you?"

"I confronted her about it over Christmas, and I told Gloria that she really needs to leave her a few days ago, so maybe it was to remind me to mind my own business." Bryne touched the stitches on Santana's forehead, just above the hairline. "She said she won't leave because Jenna will try to kill her if she does."

"Do you think that she really would?" Bryne questioned curiously, though her voice professionally detached.

"She sounded like it."

"Yeah, but people say that all the time. I'm asking do you really, honestly think that she'd try to kill her?"

"I don't think Jenna makes idle threats. Can't you, like, make her go away?" Santana mumbled.

Bryne gave Santana a hard, unblinking stare. Today her eyes were green. "I need to think," she said. She grabbed Santana's face firmly. "The next time a cop even comes within five feet of you, you call me. You call me and you leave the phone on. Verstehst du?"

"Ja. I understand."

"Good." Bryne said. And then she walked out.

5:01 p.m.

Santana nearly laughed at the sight of Downward, Gloria, because it appeared that they were twins. "I've been calling you all weekend. I've been worried out of my mind! What the hell happened?" Gloria demanded. She apparently didn't find the situation half as amusing. "I don't think we're allowed to play together anymore," Santana said somberly.

February 1, 2017

Day 31

12:01. a.m.

Santana:Happy Birthday, Quinn.

February 14, 2017

Day 44

Santana had a running commentary going through her head, "I will not call Quinn, I willnotcall Quinn." Too bad that mantra didn't consist of her not thinking about Quinn, and Martin, and how they were spending their first engaged Valentine's Day together. Instead when it got late enough, she headed to a bar. She hated Valentine's Day. She always seemed to be alone, and if she wasn't, she was always in the arms of some nobody who she was unlikely to ever call back.

Santana's cell phone went off as she was letting herself into her apartment. She connected the call. "Hello?"

"Is this Santana Lopez?"

Santana sighed. Conversations never started out well when those words were uttered. "Yes, this is Santana. Who's this?" Santana listened to the voice on the other end. "Okay, I'll be right there, thank you so much for calling."

Santana hung up and dialed Bryne's number. "Gloria was apparently just admitted to the Beverly Hospital outside of Ipswich. I'm heading there now."

Santana checked in at the lobby and got the room number that Downward was in. Luckily, the hospital wasn't at capacity so even though Downward was in a double, she was alone in the room. Santana steeled herself for what she would see when she entered the room, but still it was surprising.

"I brought you a teddy bear," Santana said, softly from the doorway. Gloria refused to look at Santana. Santana pulled the chair up next to her bed, lifting her hand, and holding it in hers. "Rough sex get out of control?" Gloria looked away. "Sorry, sweetie, you just…don't normally look like raw hamburger when I see you."

It took two minutes, but Gloria looked back at Santana, and she'd never seen someone look so sad, and lost, and alone. "She wants a family," Gloria explained. "I told her that I didn't want to have a kid with her. She didn't like that very much."

Jenna had really worked her over. Santana couldn't imagine someone making a 40 minute drive in her condition; they had stitched up one eye, and she could barely see out the other. Not to mention the broken bones in her hand. The bruising to her ribs. It took Santana less than a minute to work out why Gloria was in a hospital, here, and not closer to Boston. Santana hated to think how many times Gloria had had to go to a hospital outside of the city so she didn't have to worry about running into someone she knew, and they wouldn't get the chance to question her on how often she came in. "This has to stop, Gloria. This can't keep going on."

"It can't?" Gloria said sarcastically. "Damn, I was having so much fun. I was hoping for a broken leg next, you know one of those full body casts? Isn't plaster the new black?"

"That's not funny."

"No," she agreed. "It's not. But what am I supposed to do? You got a taste of what she's capable of. You know what will happen if I don't go home? I've tried to leave her before, and you see where I am right now! She's never going to let me leave! I'd rather die than stay, and it seems like my only two options are to die at her hands, or die at my own. She will kill me if I try to leave again, and we both know it. She doesn't make idle threats."

Santana momentarily looked away, thinking about the fear and humiliation of being wounded and spending three days in jail. No, Jenna didn't make idle threats. Downward's next words brought Santana's gaze back to her own. "I'm pregnant."

If Santana felt a sense of dread at those words, she could only imagine what Downward must have felt. "She doesn't know," Gloria answered before Santana could ask. "I faked my period last month."

"How far…?"

"December 22nd."

"Some Christmas gift," Santana remarked. "And her Valentine's Day one wasn't much better. I hate to say this, but your girlfriend has horrible tastes in gifts."

Santana's attempt to keep it light weren't working today. "I don't want a kid," Gloria cried. "I don't want a kid with her. Who knows what she'd do to it? And how could I even love them knowing that it's part hers? That it could come out looking like her?" Downward started crying in earnest now. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Santana didn't know. She wished she did because she hated this, and it wasn't even happening to her.

"We'll figure something out," Santana promised, giving her hand a squeeze.

"I was a debutante. I went to Mrs. Porter's. I graduated from Princeton! This wasn't supposed to be my life!"

Santana's eye moved from the bruises, to her broken collarbone, to her wrapped ribs. Santana kicked off her shoes, and being very, very careful not to jar her, climbed into the bed, so that she could hold her. "I know honey."

"She wasn't like this at first, and if I'd known I never would have talked to her." Santana could second that sentiment. "We'll figure something out; I promise."

"Will you stay with me," Downward questioned. "Just for the night?"

"Of course, sweetie," Santana said.

February 16, 2017

Day 46

Santana's lip curled at the name that flashed on her phone. "What do you want," Santana demanded.

"Where is she?" Jenna demanded.

"You've got nerve, Jenna. Like who the fuck does that to someone?"

"Things got a little out of control."

"Out of control?" Santana nearly screeched. "Do you want the laundry list of what you did? She could barely see and she drove 40 minutes like that to get to a hospital. She has a broken collarbone. Her eye and lip required stitches. She,"

"I didn't mean…she told me she doesn't want to start a family with me."

"Do you blame her?"

"That's all we used to talk about doing. About getting old, together, and having kids, and taking care of them, and now she doesn't. Do you know how hard I had to convince my brother, who doesn't ever intend to have kids, to donate sperm? Do you know how hard I worked to have my dad finally accept us? I thought we were in the same place about this. We talked…and it just hurt, and I got angry, and one thing led to another, and I lost control. You know how that is, Santana," Jenna pleaded with her. "You have this plan, and then when things start to go wrong, you'll do anything to keep it together, even though you shouldn't be doing it. I love her. I love her so much. She's my world. I'd fall apart without her. Please, Santana. At least let me apologize to her."

Santana understood losing control. Of trying to put something together, and it all collapsing in your face. God, her and Quinn's back and forth was all about trying, and failing, but wanting. That wanting. "She doesn't want you anywhere near her. She hates you! She told me she'd rather die than be with you. You really, really hurt her, Jenna."

Santana heard sobbing. "I know! It won't happen ever, ever again."

There was a long, hard silence on the phone. The one that contains regret, and remorse, and very bad decisions.

"She's at the hospital in Beverly."

February 18, 2017

Day 48

Yesterday had been a busy, painful, day for Santana. She'd spent it with Brittany, who wanted to go ring shopping because apparently she wanted to propose to Tamara.

"Don't you think it's kind of early for that?" Santana had questioned.

"We might not have been dating long, but I've known her for two years, now, and I'm crazy about her, San. I realized that on Valentine's Day. And you know what Beyoncé says: If you like it, you should have put a ring on it."

Save for the occasional hook-up, Santana and Brittany had just been good friends for the past three years, but still, she wasn't ready for it. Especially since someone else had put a ring on her girl's finger, and just like Johnny Come Lately, Santana had dropped the 'I Love You' after Quinn had already said yes, and now they weren't talking.

They went to three different jewelry stores, and Santana listened to every different way that Brittany was thinking about proposing, though the obvious option was proposing while they were on the show. After a day of being completely surrounded by other, much happier people, Santana had pretty much crashed into her bed.

Now she was being woken way too early in the morning, by her phone going off. Because no good things came before her cup of coffee, especially when unknown phone numbers were calling you, she didn't anticipate this being anything good. She cringed when she answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Is this Santana Lopez?" A very official voice demanded.

"This is she? Who's this?"

"My name is Officer Danby with the Massachusetts State police-"

"One second." Santana moved over to her laptop, switched the webcam on, and pushed the speaker. "What can I do for you officer?"

"Ms. Lopez, I'm calling because the Beverly Hospital has you listed as the emergency contact for a Gloria Anderson."

"That's right."

"I'm calling because it appears that you were the last person to be in contact with Ms. Anderson, and I'm afraid there's been an accident. We were hoping that you would be able to help in us locating her next of kin."

"Is she okay?"

"It was a high collision impact, ma'am," the officer said gently. "Do you know who we need to get in touch with?"

"Her wife's name is Jenna Healy. What does that mean?"

"It's not the kind of accident that someone walks away from."

Santana (10:00 p.m.): Where are you?

Bryne (10:01 p.m.): I do have an actual job, you know. I'm in Vancouver.

Santana (10:15 p.m.): Gloria's dead.

February 25, 2017

Day 55

Santana hated funerals. Without meaning to, she thought back to Finn's. Whatever their personal feelings for each other, he was only 19 years old, and that was just too young to die. Even still it's hard to imagine that he's dead. The worst part of the whole thing wasn't her grief; it'd been Rachel's. Santana had pretty much seen to every minor thing that she had needed during that time because otherwise Rachel wouldn't have kept functioning. So Santana had made her meals, had set out clothes for her, did her hair, had even gotten into the shower with her, twice, to bathe her because she hadn't done it herself.

It wasn't a small funeral. The domestic partner of a university professor with the kind of pull that Jenna Halsey had? Gloria would have been pleased to know that she'd had this much support out there. Santana spent the whole funeral glaring at the back of Jenna's head. This was her fault. There were skid marks on the road, as if maybe there had been another car involved that had run off, but the odds of that person ever getting caught: nil. It was an empty, back stretch of road, and there were no witnesses. Besides, although there wasn't enough tissue to do a toxicology test, her doctors could vouch that a) she had been discharged against recommendation, and b) she had drugs in her system that would alter her state of mind and impair her driving skills.

It was ruled an accidental death, and Jenna had probably pulled as many strings as possible in order for it not to be ruled a suicide, so she could collect on whatever insurance policy that she had on her, and to have the 'm' word not even considered so Jenna wouldn't be looked at as the prime suspect.

There was no coffin because Jenna had her cremated. It fit, because Gloria's body had been reduced to a burnt corpse. They'd had to go by dental records to positively I.D. her. That, the place where the accident had taken place, the VIN of the car, and the skeleton matched against X-Rays, even down to a pin that Gloria had in her arm, had left irrefutable proof that this was Gloria Anderson. She'd gotten 11 years longer than Finn, but 30 was still too young to die.

February 27, 2017

Day 57

Santana stared at herself in the mirror, before washing the blood off of her hands. God, the way Jenna's face looked when she'd punched her. It was stupid to get in a fight with a 'widow' two days after the funeral, but Santana couldn't help it. She had just raged, letting her anger at the betrayed trust get to her, and she couldn't stop thinking about all of the times that she'd hit Gloria, and now Gloria's life was over because of her.

Jenna hadn't fought back, other than to protect herself. And thinking about that now, made Santana feel sick. If she got arrested this time, she deserved it. Only she knew she wouldn't.

March 5, 2017

Day 63

Santana checked the street number one last time before she knocked on the door. She let two seconds pass and then she knocked again. Santana let out a relieved breath when a timid voice stated, "I'm not accepting any deliveries."

"Great, I've got nothing to deliver," Santana responded back, and the door was opened. Santana was nearly knocked off of her feet at the force of Downward plowing into her.

"Er…Hi," Santana said. She gave a glance around before she stepped past Downward to go inside of the house, pulling Downward back inside. "How are you?"

Enough time had passed that the bruises were yellowing and healing, but she'd need to be in the sling for a couple more weeks. She looked different. She was a blonde now, and though it had only been a few days, she was already noticeably a few pounds heavier. Weight loss or gain was one of the best disguises a person could have. "As good as I could be, given the circumstances," Downward responded. "How are things?"

"You're death was ruled accidental. I've got a detective friend, Stef, who's keeping an ear out, and he'll notify me if anything pops up. Jenna's really sorry about what happened."

"I'll bet," Downward mumbled. "So that's it, then?"

Santana nodded. "I'll be here with you for Spring Break, and then I'll come back once the school year ends, and I'll stay until the baby's born."

"Hazel," Downward mumbled. "Do I look like a fucking Hazel to you?"

"It doesn't matter what you look like, it matters who's life you can co-op, and lucky for you, no one's looking for a Hazel Phillips, Hazel."

"Lucky me."

May 14, 2017

Day 133

Santana spent her first day of summer break in Los Angeles. Well, more accurately, Santana spent her first day of summer breakgettingto Los Angeles, and sleeping the trip off in the hotel. She wondered what Quinn was doing.

May 15, 2017

Day 134

Santana spent the second day of summer vacation on a train from Union Station to Denver, and after a 21 hour train ride, she had another 4 and a half hours on an Amtrak bus to endure. Although it would have been a million times easier to have just taken a plane ride, you didn't actually have to show ID to ride the Amtrak. You could also buy a train ticket with a burner credit card. Santana doubted she was being followed, but she was playing it safe, anyway.

May 16, 2017

Day 135

Santana tried not to notice how lonely Hazel looked when she picked her up from the bus station. Hazel greeted her like she was an old friend, wrapping her arms tightly around her. She looked pregnant, now. She hadn't ballooned out, but you could definitely tell. "So you're going to keep…it?"

"Him. I think so," Hazel responded. "I never thought I'd be a mother, and I definitely never thought I'd be a mother alone, but here we are."

June 30, 2017

Day 180

Santana came home from her temporary summer job, seeking Hazel out. "Hey, Haze?"

Hazel came…wobbling, (really there was no other word for it) into the front room. It had been a very long day for Santana, and she was kind of cranky, but she meant to say this. It'd been on her mind for a while, and besides she felt like Hazel was her responsibility, now. "Yea?" Hazel questioned.

"You don't have to…do this alone." Santana bit on her inner cheek. It'd been more than six months. Quinn was probably already married to Martin for all she knew. She had to accept that she and Quinn were never going to end up together. This decision wasn't about moving on, not really. This was about sacrifice and helping a friend. "If you want me to be here, I can be."

Hazel just kind of stared, but Santana knew that she understood what Santana was saying.

September 14, 2017, 1:33 a.m.

Day 256

Santana felt herself being shaken awake. "What?" Santana whined.

"Santana?"

She nodded, without fully awaking or opening her eyes. "Yep?"

"My water just broke," Hazel said.

"You should call the plumber, then." Santana rolled back over, shutting her ,her sleepy mind wondered,don't broken pipes mean something?

Her eyes opened, finding Hazel looking fearful, but at the same time strangely calm. With Hazel not panicking, Santana didn't either. "Okay. So, how do you feel? Any contractions?"

"No."

"What color was the fluid?"

"Mostly clear."

Santana mentally went through the things that she'd read in her father's books, what she'd researched online and what Hazel's doctor had said. Pregnancy wasn't an emergency, it was natural, it would happen with or without help, so there was no need for panic. "Okay, so, we make sure that your bag is packed. And we alert your OBGYN, and the hospital to have a room prepared, and then we wait. Want to try going back to sleep?"

Hazel didn't object. While Hazel went and laid down, Santana checked the bag to make sure that everything was good, and put it in the car before she called Noah and joined Hazel in bed. They both managed to sleep until about 6:00, when Hazel woke up to contractions. They were 15 minutes apart, but they decided to go to the hospital anyway. Santana brought her gaming system because she was nearly positive that they weren't going to admit her, and she was right.

"So, Ms. Lopez," Santana questioned lazily. "You pick out a name for the kid?" Hazel gave her a sideways 'really' look. Santana smiled. "Breathe," she instructed.

Hazel huffed out a breath. "Hazel's last name is Phillips right?"

"Was, yeah."

"I like Phillip. Jacob."

Santana wondered if it was intentional, that the baby had Jenna's same initials. Santana reached for Hazel's hand.

"I'm scared," Hazel whispered.

"That's okay; the important thing is that you're not alone. Puck's on his way here, too, so you'll have two hands to squeeze the hell out of, and you just have to remember that you're not alone."

Hazel did the opposite of what Santana wanted: she started to cry. Santana switched hands, moving the one that was holding Hazel's to around her shoulder, and holding her hand now with her right. "I can always stay," Santana offered, again. Hazel didn't say anything, large drops just falling down her face.

They still hadn't been admitted when Hazel complained about being hungry, so Santana went and got them both something to eat. By the time they had finished, Puck had arrived, looking care-worn and tired the way an anxious dad might look. "Hey, so does this mean that I won the bet?"

"What bet?"

"This counts as knocking you up, right?"

Santana punched him. But then she hugged him, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Don't let anyone ever tell you you're not a good guy, Noah."

He shuffled his feet. "Except this now makestwokids that I've fathered and haven't taken care of."

"No, this makes you the really cool uncle who donated the sperm to give two lesbians a child that they really loved. Only…it's not your sperm."

Hazel wasn't admitted until around 12:00, but from there things seemed to happen really quickly. Well, if three hours and sixteen minutes was considered quick, but at the end of it there was a mucous-y, screaming baby with a healthy set of lungs on it. And Puck cried because he was thinking back to the day that he gave up Beth, and Santana was feeling some kind of way because when the doctor handed Hazel the baby she had said, "Congratulations, Mrs. Lopez. You have a son." And because that son was now named Phillip JacobLopez.

When both Phillip and Hazel were sleep, Santana snuck out of the building to make a phone call. Not to Bryne, that call would come later. She dialed digits she hadn't dialed in months. Surprised when Quinn actually picked up the phone for the first time in eight months, and two weeks. Santana, who hadn't been expecting it, didn't know what to say. "Hi."

"Hey."

Santana smiled sadly, because just that one word was so beautiful to her.

"How was your day?"

"There's something I need to tell you-,"

"Martin and I called off the engagement."

There was silence as the two of them tried to navigate the words that each had spoken.I have a son, died on Santana's lips. "Why?"

"It just didn't feel right," Quinn answered. "What'd you have to tell me?"

Santana gave a forced laugh. "Just that I miss that ass. I was wondering when it was going to come warm my bed again. I'm sorry about Martin," Santana lied.

Quinn chuckled. "When it's not meant to be, it's not meant to be. "Mercedes is looking into moving to Boston. Maybe we can get together when I come down."

"Okay," Santana agreed.

September 16, 2017

8 months, 2 weeks, 2 days.

When Santana's plane touched down at Logan, she reminded herself that she was only in town to check in with her advisor, because although she had paid her tuition, and had gotten permission to do some 'independent study' at the University of Colorado-Boulder, the school year had started and she had yet to attend a lecture, so she just wanted to make sure that everything was okay, and to check on her apartment, and the fact that Quinn was going to be in the city too? Well life was full of little coincidences, wasn't it?

She wasn't trying to rekindle anything that had anything to do with feelings with Quinn. These 258 days had taught Santana something. She and Quinn were friends who shared a sexual chemistry, but nothing else. Whether there was a Martin or not, they would never be anything more to each other than that, and Santana had responsibilities now. She had the kind of responsibilities that you couldn't walk away from.

She kept this in the back of her mind when she opened the door of her apartment, and saw Quinn standing on the other side. Quinn looked like a vision, she looked like perfection. For a few seconds, or maybe a minute, or maybe an hour, they just stared at each other, before they hugged. When Quinn tried to kiss her, Santana pulled away.

"San?" Quinn questioned, surprised. "Something wrong?"

"I don't want to talk," Santana said clearly. Wanting anything more than what she had was when disaster happened. "That isn't what this is about."

Quinn blinked. "Then we won't talk."

Quinn pulled her into Santana's bedroom. The sex was formulaic, it was mechanical, it was mind numbing, but it wasn't magical, or special, it was just two people who happened to be great at having sex with each other. Santana didn't let herself stay in the bed past the time it took her to collect herself. She turned her back on Quinn, and sought out her clothing. "This is all I want," Santana said. "Nothing else."

Quinn thought that was perfect, because she didn't have anything else to give.