I do not own Glee or any of the original characters, It all belongs to RIB and Fox. Any characters you don't recognise are my own creations.
Thank you for all of the reviews for this story so far!
Trigger warning: Intense scenes of violence and mentions of the sexual assault from Santana's past.
Santana groans loudly as she comes around, her whole body aches, her limbs heavy and limp. Rough rope holds her arms in place behind her back, as well as tying each leg to the two front legs of the chair she is slumped in. She doesn't remember how she got here, nor she actually know where here is. All she can remember is being thrown into the car after exchanging herself for Brittany. Santana flinches when ice cold water is splashed onto her face, spitting some out of her mouth and shaking her head in a weak attempt to get it out of her eyes.
"Wakey wakey, sleepyhead," Santana hears a familiar voice sarcastically coo. It takes her a few seconds to place the voice; Shelby Corcoran. Santana cracks her eyes open and glares weakly up at the agent. They're alone. Glancing around the room, she assumes they're in some sort of shed...or shack. "Don't worry, where we are...your people won't hear you scream," Shelby states softly and menacingly. "Of course, you won't need to scream if you just tell me what I need to know," Shelby continues, "I am very interested in having a little chat with your wife as well as you. Why don't you just tell me where I can find her," she suggests, a saccharine smile on her lips.
"Don't count on it," Santana mutters bitterly, staring at Shelby with sheer hatred and venom in her eyes.
"I figured you'd say that," Shelby shrugs, "and I'm glad you did. I would be very disappointed if you gave up information so easily. At least now I get to have a little fun with you."
"Fuck you," Santana spits out.
"Hmm, no thank you. I'll leave the fucking to your little sluts," Shelby winks, "one just wasn't enough for you, huh?"
"I know what you're trying to do, and it's not gonna work," Santana scoffs. "You're a cop, you can't do anything to me." Shelby smirks and leans against the wall, folding her arms across her chest and watching Santana carefully.
"Well, that's you're wrong," Shelby eventually states, an amused smirk on her lips. "I've been given permission to do whatever it takes to bring you and your wife in, and I plan to take full advantage of my freedom. Unless, of course, you cooperate. Maybe you'd accept a deal," Shelby muses.
"A deal?" Santana scoffs. "What? Twenty three life sentences instead of twenty four?" she rolls her eyes, "I think I'll take my chances," Santana states smugly.
"Aw, sweetie, you won't be receiving a prison sentence...you'll be taking a seat on a very special chair," Shelby smiles, leaning forward to whisper in Santana's ear, "It's an electric one!" If this scares Santana, she doesn't show it, her glare not faltering for even a second. She's not scared of dying. There are very few things in this world that do scare her. Things that can't happen so long as Quinn, Brittany, and Michael are far away from her.
"You don't scare me," Santana murmurs, "I don't care what you do to me," she adds honestly.
"You may not care about what happens to you, but you do care about what happens to Brittany and Quinn," Shelby sneers, "and let's not forget little Michael." She smirks at Santana's reaction. It's subtle, just a twitch of her top lip, but it's still a reaction. "You wouldn't want anything bad to happen to them, would you? I'm sure I can recommend some less than loving homes for your boy," Shelby taunts. She knows she's getting to her when she notices Santana's jaw clench, this is just too easy. "You know, you made the mistake your father did," she notes.
"And what was that?" Santana snaps, her nostrils flaring.
"Having a wife, a child...a family. Russell Fabray made the same mistake. Having people you care about is a weakness in your line of work. The Fabrays are dead. Your parents are dead, and now look at you. You'll be dead soon, too. Of course, your father kept some of his dignity when he died; you won't. Your arrest will be used to make the FBI look good, your trial will be watched all over the world like some twisted soap opera. You'll go down in history, as our greatest catch. Pathetic, really," Shelby chuckles.
"You know...you're not really putting me in the mood to talk. You're actually boring me a little," Santana smiles sweetly. "It's cute, though. Very entertaining."
"Well," Shelby sighs, feigning disappointment, "I guess I'll just have to get the information I want using a different technique. I had hoped you would maybe a little to work with, for the sake of your son and your..lady friends. I guess not," Shelby shrugs. Santana watches as the agent pushes herself away from the wall and walks across to a box that sits in one of the corners of the room. She knows what's coming next, she's interrogated enough people in her life to know what the various implements that Shelby pulls out of the box are for. She can do this, she can withstand this. Santana steels herself, ignoring the malicious smirk on Shelby's face as the woman walks towards her. She can do this.
Brittany paces back and forth between two of the cars, impatiently waiting for Quinn to arrive and trying not to panic, or cry. She needs to be brave. She can't let Santana down. She can feel the guards watching her, and she wonders what they are thinking. Are they upset that Santana had traded herself to save her? Would they prefer it to be her in grave danger? Would Quinn think that? Brittany couldn't make out what Quinn was thinking during the brief conversation she had with her over the phone around an hour ago. Quinn had promised to be here soon, and promised that she'd get Santana back.
"Miss Pierce?" Brittany turns to face Blaine when she hears his voice. "Mistress Quinn will be here any moment now. Try not to worry, she'll fix this," he tells her reassuringly.
"Try not to worry?" Brittany echoes, "you're kidding, right? Santana, at the very least, is going to jail? And I should try not to worry?" she scoffs.
"I'm uh...I'm just passing along the message from Mrs Fabray-Lopez," Blaine stutters.
"Anderson! Help the others secure the perimeters," Puck orders, walking over to them with a frown on his face, waiting until the other guard rushes off before giving Brittany his full attention. "He's a good guard, he just doesn't always think," Puck murmurs apologetically. "He's awkward around authority."
"I'm not in a position of authority," Brittany retorts.
"Yes, you are. You're Quinn and Santana's...you're with them," Puckerman states, unsure of what term to use to describe Brittany's position.
"I hadn't really thought about it like that," Brittany admits. She glances around the parking lot of the abandoned gas station and sighs. It hadn't been that long since they were all living in the compound and leaving for the safe house. Now, they have no specific place to go. Santana and Quinn's empire in crumbling around them, and there is nothing that anyone can do about it. "Michael's safe?" Brittany asks softly.
"Yes. He's with Tina. According to Karofksy he was crying a lot, I think he misses Santana but he's safe," Noah confirms. "You will be, too."
"Have you been given orders to keep me safe?" Brittany questions, Puck looking away, unwilling to answer. "Haven't you just finished telling me that I'm pretty much your boss? What orders have you been given?" Brittany demands firmly.
"You are to be taken somewhere safe as soon as Quinn gets here," Puck reluctantly mutters. "You'll be taken to Michael and then both of you will be hidden."
"That's not happening," Brittany states with a shake of her head. "Santana's in danger because she wanted to save me...I will be helping to get her back. I am not running. At least not until we're all back together." Puck sighs, this is why he didn't want to tell her. They both look up at the sound of an approaching vehicle, instantly recognising one of their landrovers. Quinn's back. Brittany follows Puck back across the parking lot to where the rest of the guards are gathered, all of them talking over each other as they try to decide on a plan.
"She's here!" Puck calls out, smirking when they all fall silent. He watches warily as Quinn jumps out of the landrover as soon as it stops. He has seen her angry, and he has seen her determined but he hasn't seen Quinn Fabray-Lopez look this intense before. Ever.
"Siphon whatever gas is left here, and grab whatever supplies you can find from inside. This place is too out in the open, Quinn states loudly and firmly. "We leave in five minutes." As soon as her men busy themselves with following her orders, Quinn walks straight over to Brittany and pulls her into a bone crushing hug. "I'm so glad you're safe," she whispers.
"She shouldn't have done it," Brittany replies quietly.
"Hey!" Quinn pulls back and glares at Brittany. "Santana did what she did because she loves you, we both do. She knew what she was getting herself into. Don't you dare feel guilty," Quinn says sternly. "I'll get her back," she adds with determination.
"We will get he back," Brittany corrects her, readying herself for the argument that she is convinced is about to come. Quinn doesn't disappoint.
"No. No, Brittany. You are not coming," Quinn replies seriously. "There is no chance in hell that you are coming. I won't allow it."
"I don't need you to," Brittany responds simply. "I'm coming. I'm helping you guys find Santana and I'm helping you get her back. I'm your partner, or whatever...you should start treating me like one. I'm not your employee, you don't get to dictate what I can, and cannot, do." Quinn raises a brow and stares at Brittany for a second. She's impressed. Pissed...but impressed.
"Fine. You stay in the back, I know what I'm doing. This may be your first rodeo, but it's not mine."
Santana grits her teeth and breathe heavily through her nose, refusing to cry out, no matter how much pain she's in. She won't give Corcoran the satisfaction. Pain ripplies through her, already injured, shoulder as Shelby pushes the piece of metal further into her, no longer healing, bullet wound. It hurts more than the inital injury and she can see white spots in front of her eyes, but Santana make a sound. She can do this. Shelby strikes her across the face, Santana's head snapping to the side and she glares up at Shelby, breathing heavily. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth and she spits on the floor, just missing Shelby's boots.
"You're gonna have to do better than that, bitch," Santana snarls. Shelby hits her again and Santana laughs dryly. "Is that it?" Shelby growls lowly and turns back to the box, pulling out a syringe and a tourniquet, her lips curling into a smug smile. Santana's expression doesn't change, her eyes only flickering towards the needle for a short second before snapping back to hold Shelby's intense gaze.
"Where is your wife?" Shelby demands. Santana tips her head back and laughs loudly, mocking the woman in front of her. "Oh, it's funny?"
"It kinda is," Santana nods. "Because I have no fucking idea where she is and, even if I did, I would not tell you. You can't break me," Santana states fiercely. "Nobody can."
"Not even the father of your child?" Shelby snaps, causing Santana to falter. "Tell me, does little Michael have his mommy's name? Or does he go by Sylvester?" She chuckles dryly at Santana's sudden silence. "You didn't realise that we knew that, did you?" Shelby questions mockingly. "What do you see when you look into that child's eyes?" Shelby smiles. She's inside her head. She steps forward and pulls a switch blade knife from her pocket, cutting the long sleeve of Santana's t'shirt and ripping the material away. Wrapping the rubber tourniquet around Santana's bicep, Shelby tightens it until the veins inside the crook of her elbow bulge.
"You can't break me," Santana repeats weakly.
"Hush now, little girl," Shelby sneers, "you need to save your voice. You're going to need it in a moment." Shelby pierces Santana's skin with the needle and pushes down on the end of the syringe, emptying all of the liquid into the vein. For a few long moments, nothing happens and Santana watches Shelby in confusion as she walks back to the wall, leaning against it again with an amused expression on her features. Then, she feels it. A searing pain travels through her entire body, every nerve ending feeling as though it is on fire. A pained cry erupts from Santana's throat, echoing around the small room. It's endless and her cries turn to piercing screams, all she can think of is the agony ripping through her body. Shelby smirks and reaches into the box, pulling out a second needle. Unwanted tears leak from Santana's dark eyes and saliva drips from the corner of her mouth, mingling with the slowly drying blood from Shelby's earlier hits. She doesn't even notice the second needle breaking her skin until the pain slowly dies away. Santana's chest heaves and she breathes heavily as she stares at the ground, her gaze blurred from her tears.
"Fuck you," Santana spits. "Fuck you, I'm not telling you anything," she grinds out.
"There's plenty more where that came from," Shelby murmurs, seemingly not caring that Santana still isn't speaking. "I could do this all day. Happily."
"You won't catch her," Santana breathlessly states. "Not because of me. My family are not my weakness, they're my strengh."
"Oh, how sweet!" Shelby exclaims sarcastically, "Santana Lopez, the mass murderer with a heart," she smiles evilly. "I'll be sure to let the newspapers know all about that. The families of the people you murdered in cold blood will be so thrilled to know that little detail."
"Will you do that before or after you lose your job?" Santana taunts her, "Even with your little toys, you can't find out what your bosses want you to."
"I guess we shall see if you can last a second round before I start worrying about my job," Shelby retorts, advancing on Santana with another needle. Santana squeezes her eyes closed, mentally preparing herself for what is about to happen, telling herself over and over again that, she handled it once, she can handle it again. She holds her breath, waiting to feel the needle, her arm throbbing due to the tourniquet. Shelby's footsteps get closer and closer until...Santana, and her chair are thrown into the wall. Debris scatters around her while the bang from the explosion rings in her ears. She coughs heavily, groaning in pain as she tries to push her weight off of her shoulders, her newly re-opened wound trickling crimson blood onto her t'shirt.
"She's there!" Santana hears a male voice call out and the rope around her wrists and ankles is cut before she is roughly hauled to her feet. "She's alive." Santana cracks her eyes open and tiredly stares at the burly man she has never seen before, attempting, and failing, to struggle out of his tight grasp. There is movement behind him and Santana follows his gaze, her blood boiling with rage as she glares as harshly as she can at the new person in the room. For one glorious second, Santana had thought she was about to be rescued, but now she knows she's in even worse hands than the FBI.
"You!" Santana spits out. "I will fucking kill you!" She struggles against the man again, groaning when he slaps her. Hard. Rachel steps forward, her eyes full of malice.
To be continued... Please review.