A/N: This should be a crossover to be exact but since no real characters were used from Mirror's Edge, I thought it was better to list it as a Glee fic because it's still Quinn/Santana but yeah, so this is in the universe of the game Mirror's Edge, don't forget!
A/N2: I actually wanted to make one big fic of this but it's late and I'm tired and I really really really want to post something, don't sue me!
A/N3: I'm quite pleased with the outcome, although I think the last bit is a bit cheesy…
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the main characters and the idea or mirror's edge!
Santana was a Runner.
I fit wasn't proven by the frequent and unexplainable bruises on her arms and legs or the tiny cuts on her shoulders, the black-inked tattoos, stretching from the side of her neck down a straight line to the side of her shoulder and along her right wrist did the trick.
Their first meeting was purely coincidence; Quinn wasn't even supposed to be on that exact spot that time… but she was.
It was fate that made their paths collide – quite literally – and intertwine..
Police sirens on the background as a person fell upon her, seemingly out of the clear blue sky, sending them both tumbling to the ground.
"Are you alright?" The stranger, a Latina, panted, her head constantly turning around them to spot the blue guys, a street name for cops.
"I'll be fine," Quinn groaned, looking up at the woman who had fallen on her and the breath got stuck in the back of her throat: "You're a Runner," she said in the tiniest voice and unconsciously she tried to distance herself from the brunette.
"Are you hurt?" the Runner ignored the statement and began inspecting the blonde for any serious injury whilst still scanning around them.
"I'm fine," Quinn repeated, trying to escape those intense, prying chocolate eyes.
"Do you want me to take you home? You could have a concussion," the Latina offered kindly, extending her hand to help the victim of her slightly misplaced step to her feet.
"No," Quinn blurted out, getting to her feet in mere seconds, ignoring the pain that shot through her ankle before taking a few scared steps backwards.
The Government had been very clear about Runners: They were dangerous and not to be trusted in whatever situation present itself; they were terrorists who aimed to destroy The System and everyone who supported it, innocent or not.
They could not be trusted and so it was legally not allowed to have any sort of contact with them unless it was to arrest or interrogate them or better yet, to drive a bullet through their skull.
"Alright," the Runner said, her tone slightly induced with hurt: "Though you should take care of your ankle," she pointed at the said body-part.
Quinn wanted to reply but her words were lost in the noise of police cars surrounding their current location, red and blue lights playfully dancing on tall buildings around them.
Time seemed to slow down: cops were running from all sides, heavily armored and armed to the bone and then Quinn felt hands upon her arms and the Runner shouted something resembling 'Get down!'.
Quinn had wanted to protest but then shots were fired, bullets whizzed past her ear, mere inches away from skin so she dropped to the ground in sheer fear, praying to whatever deity that was out there that she would live.
Only when there were no more shots fired and the screams of bystanders had died out in the noise of the city, she dared to open her eyes.
The only thing she saw were unconscious cops and no Runner…
The second time they met was more relaxed, with less attention of the police, though not less frightening in Quinn's behalf..
Suddenly she was just there, standing in Quinn's apartment on the tenth floor of the building, an air of confidence and joy surrounding her.
"What are you doing here?" the blonde croaked out, her throat dry with fear: "How did you find me and how did you get in?"
The brunette smiled amused, pointing behind her: "Open window."
A voice suddenly echoed angrily though Quinn's head: Close your windows and doors! Keep the Runners out like you would pests! and she silently cursed for forgetting such a simple thing.
"To answer you other questions: I'm here to see if you've treated that ankle which is highly unlikely judging by the size of it."
Quinn stared down and winced at the blue-black swollen part of her foot before looking back up at the girl.
"And I found you through this," she held Quinn's ID between her fingers, her eyes skimming the card fleetingly: "I guess you dropped it," she smiled innocently: "So I thought I'd return it to you,..Quinn."
She smiled softly, taking a few steps while extending her arm with the card in hand to it back to its respectful owner.
Though this owner was still overtaken by fear and she panicked by the nearing person, stepping back hastily, almost collapsing in pain as she put way too much pressure on her ankle.
The brunette was with her in seconds, offering a chair which she gladly accepted before she knelt down in front of Quinn and began pulling all kinds of stuff from her backpack which the blonde weirdly hadn't noticed before.
"This will stop the swelling," The Runner explained, feeling the questioning eyes on her hands as she applied some kind of salve which Quinn regarded distrusting.
The Runner was very focused on the task at hand, pressing a cold compress against Quinn's ankle and gently wrapping a bandage around it.
"I'll leave these with you," she motioned to the stuff she just used to treat Quinn: "Replace the bandage in a couple of days the same way I just did, then you'll be fine."
"How do you know it's not broken?" Quinn asked cautiously.
The other let out a small laugh: "I've seen my fair share of injuries, trust me."
Trust me.., it was such a simple thing to say but here, in this forsaken city where a war raged on the streets and on the rooftops, it held so much meaning that it was almost disgraceful to use it so lightly.
"You're a Runner, you can't be trusted," Quinn whispered softly, averting her eyes.
"Right," the brunette answered ruefully: "I'm a 'terrorist', isn't it? A coldblooded killer who has no regard for anyone who's against what I think or what I believe in?" her voice became gradually harder: "Then let me ask you this, what makes your Government so much better? They kill people who think differently without thought, they make people disappear in the middle of the night and then blame us, so tell me: what's the difference; because I can't see it."
Quinn watched her in awe, she seemed so grand when she defended herself, her actions that it rendered the blonde speechless.
"They've become so paranoid these days, that Government of yours, arresting people for no good reason. You would've look suspicious with that ankle of yours, that's why I came to help you because the doctor would've informed the cops and within 24 hours you would've disappeared as well because a stupid swollen ankle now tell me who can't be trusted?"
She stared into Quinn's eyes, challenging her to disagree but the blonde couldn't think of anything to say; she had never thought about such things, she always thought it were the Runners..
"Rest that ankle as much as you can, don't put too much pressure on it," the brunette said as she retreated towards the window: "I'll come back later this week to check on it," she stood with one foot outside the apartment.
"Wait," Quinn called out, stumbling closer and holding herself up with a table: "I don't know your name.."
"I never said my name," the Runner grinned abit before offering a small smile.
"But you know my name..," the blonde sputtered.
"Well your name can't get you arrested, mine can do that and even worse.."
Quinn heard the sadness in her voice and the desire to know this person grew within her, though she knew it was wrong: "Then why did you come and help me? Why not let me get arrested?"
The Runner regarded her for a second, smiling deep in thought: "Because you remind of someone I used to know; a young girl just like you, naïve and believing everything that was shown on television about Runners and that sort."
"What happened to her?" Quinn almost didn't have the courage to ask but she had to know, wanted to know.
"She died when her parents were murdered by the Government and she decided to become a runner. She promised to avenge their death in every way she could and that's what she's been doing these past few years…"
"What's her name?"
The Runner hesitated a moment to answer the question but relented: "Santana Lopez," then she disappeared out of the window.
"Nice to meet you, Santana Lopez," Quinn mumbled, staring at the open window numbly.
True to her word, Santana returned a few days later to check on Quinn rapidly healing ankle. This time, Quinn wasn't scared at all, she felt rather relaxed actually; Santana even stayed for dinner..
"This is amazing!" Santana marveled, taking another large bite of her meal.
"I just threw some things together," Quinn replied, a blush creeping up along her neckline: "It's really nothing."
"This is the most delicious thing I've ever eaten!" the brunette flattered again, her plate being empty in mere minutes.
"It seems like you were pretty hungry," Quinn said as she took their dishes and began to wash them.
"No, allow me!"
Santana jumped out of her seat and chased Quinn out of the kitchen to the living room, which were actually the same space – it was an open kitchen – and she forced the blonde to sit down and relax.
Quinn smiled amused as Santana stripped up her sleeve, exposing the tattoo along her right arm which made Quinn shudder slightly, and began doing the dishes with the fullest concentration.
The blonde saw that she couldn't really count on a conversation-buddy right now so she switched on the tv, immediately regretting it as the news was on..
"And today the police was successful in the chase of Noah 'Puck' Puckerman, a notorious Runner who has been responsible for many deaths over the years.
Witnesses say he was return from one of his mission when he was spotted by the police; although they gave him many opportunities to surrender, he fled away so they were forced to shoot him down. He was shot in the legs and fell down two floors, breaking his neck. All help came too late..-"
The tv was paused on the frame of Puck's dead body in the body-bag and Quinn looked up, seeing Santana with the remote in her trembling hands: "They're lying," she said through gritted teeth: "You can see because there's no second floor on the building next to him; they just shot him on the spot."
"Were you close?" the blonde stared at the body-bag, realizing the reality of Santana's day-to-day life and the constant threat she had to endure.
"He was my friend," the Runner answered vaguely, fiercely rubbing the tears away from her eyes: "I need to go."
It was too late, she was already gone, out of the same window like last time, a soft breeze playing with the curtains and it was on that specific moment that Quinn swore she would always leave her window open.
It had been a sad, lonely time for Quinn the following couple of weeks because no one crawled through her open window but when that one person did, she scared the hell out of Quinn.
Quinn had just taken a relaxing shower when she heard the familiar sound of breaking glass and when she rushed towards the living room, she was met with a horrible sight.
There, on her floor, was a half-unconscious, very much bleeding to death Santana, clutching at her shoulder.
"Santana! What happened?" Quinn practically screamed, kneeling down next to the heavily bleeding girl.
"Cops," the other offered no more information, panting heavily: "I need your help."
"Anything!" Quinn assured immediately.
"I need you to get the bullet out."
"How am I supposed to get a bullet out of there?" the blonde panicked, watching the bloodied whole in Santana's shoulder.
"Use your fingers, hurry!"
Quinn hesitated for a second but when Santana groaned in pain her hands suddenly knew what to do, wriggling within the wounds for a dozen agonizing seconds before she pulled out the little piece of metal.
"I got it," she smiled triumphantly.
"Good," Santana said, still out of breath: "Now burn the wound closed."
"What?" Quinn shrieked disbelievingly.
"Burn the wound closed," the brunette repeated, more demanding.
"I will do no such thing! That's horrible!"
"Well I can't exactly go to the hospital, can I?" Santana pushed angrily: "Heat up a knife with a lighter or something and press it against the wound! Hurry!"
She didn't even scream; when the knife was pushed to the wound all that could be heard was hissing of hot metal against skins.
Quinn found it a horrible experience and soon was retching above her toilet, throwing up her dinner.
When she returned to the living room everything was cleaned thoroughly, all traces of blood and pain were wiped clean.
Santana was sitting on one of the bar-chairs next to the kitchen table, leaning on her elbow with her head resting on her hand.
Quinn grabbed a bandage out of the bathroom and walked towards her: "Remove your shirt."
Santana eyed her weirdly but she didn't have the strength to fight the demand so she turned in the chair and pulled the piece of clothing over her head.
A surge of hotness spread through Quinn as her eyes glided over Santana's toned abs, flexing at the motion of removing her own shirt, and over strong yet lithe arm-muscles.
Feeling very distracted, Quinn tried her best to bandage Santana's wound though it was pretty useless because the wound was burned closed.
"Thank you," the Runner whispered, feeling extremely weak.
Quinn couldn't handle herself anymore, framing Santana's face with her hands before surging forwards and capturing the brunette's lips in ferocious collision, which said brunette happily answered from her side.
"Never scare me like that again!" Quinn breathed out as they parted for air, pressing her forehead against Santana's who just smiled softly.
So what did you think? Cheesy right? Let me know!
Thanks for reading, you've just made my day! :)