Hi guys. I am super aware that this fic hasn't been updated in literally forever but I found this chapter as I was transferring my documents from one place to another and realised I never posted it. Thought some of you guys might feel like taking a trip down memory lane.

Enjoy!

Santana gripped the edge of the doorframe, her heart hammering so hard against the walls of her chest that it took everything she had not to cry out for help. Her knees threatened to give way beneath her and if it wasn't for Brittany's arm wrapped securely around her waist she might just have crumpled into a heap right there on the carpeted hallway floor.

The house was dark save for two lights when they'd pulled up, the door had been on the latch. They hadn't called out as they usually would. Instead, they'd followed the sound of hushed voices to find them in the reception room towards the rear of the house.

"What are we supposed to do, Nikki?" Her mother hissed. "She has school, exams, college applications!"

"We know." Said the other woman, "Don't you think we've thought of everything, Maria? We've tried everything." The exasperation in her voice was clear. Something had happened. Something bad.

"But Santana has to-" Maria started again but she was cut off by her husband.

"Santana needs to know." He said quietly, resting a soothing hand on the smaller woman's shoulder.

Nikki nodded. "And Sophia needs her mother."

The name hit Santana with a sharp blade that twisted deep in her gut. She hadn't heard that name for three whole years. She gripped the doorframe harder, her knuckles turning white with the effort. She needed something real to hold onto because this, this couldn't possibly be. She managed to convince herself that this was all just a dream and she'd wake up any second with Brittany sleeping soundly beside her and the rescuing morning light cascading through the curtains and touching her body with its healing rays. It wasn't real and so she could look. She would look. She drew her eyes away from her mother and father and let them find the pulsating energy that she'd tried so desperately hard to ignore. The little girl was standing at the low coffee table, her back to Santana. She could just make out that there was a large sheet of paper in front of her and an oversized crayon in one chubby hand. The Latina blinked. This wasn't her little girl. This child was all long legs and caramel, cascading curls bouncing gently all the way down to her waist. This child wore small blue converse high tops, a stark contrast to her baby pink pyjama set. This child was colouring. The child Santana remembered could barely hold her head up. She'd been wrapped in a pale yellow blanket. Small and fragile and inanimate in her memory. Just a serious of images, still and quiet. The child in front of her was alive and breathing and here. In her house. Surely she hadn't missed this much, had she?

A sudden pang of guilt pressed against her chest and she realised then that it had been there all along, hidden beneath school work and relationships and cigarette smoke. She'd done her best to ignore it but the knowledge that she'd been missing out on the miracle that was her daughter for all this time had been tearing her apart from the inside out. And now there she was, within touching distance and suddenly all of the fear disappeared, melting into a courage that she didn't know she had. This was her daughter and from now on, she was going to be a mother. Whatever had happened, she would fix it.

"What do I need to know?" She asked in a voice laced with the kind of authority that made the five people in the room jump and turn to face her.

Her gaze had been trained on the little girl and despite forcing herself to picture her face in anticipation, nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.

The child's eyes were wide and curious and so familiar that Santana momentarily forgot how to breathe. They were round and exaggerated by dark lashes that blinked back at her, small eyebrows furrowing into a soft crease. They were beautiful and innocent and very, very blue. The kind of sweet cornflower blue that for a second had the Latina believing that the little girl must have her own sky inside of her. A blue that she had seen many times before. It was the same blue that she saw every morning when she woke up, sparkling in the early sun light. The same blue that she saw deepen to navy each evening. The blue that glittered when she laughed and bled crystals when she cried. What were the chances that the two people she loved most in the world would share the one in a million gene that resulted in this? She must have an affinity for finding them, she thought, as her mind wandered aimlessly despite herself. A second more passed and Santana began to see herself in Sophia. Rounded cheeks and smooth, sun kissed skin. Full lips and a small, straight nose. They blinked at each other, wordless and confused recognition passing through them until the little girl's lips broke over small milky white teeth to form a smile that Santana had only been able to dream of for the past three years. A smile that said she knew her and finally, after all this time, Santana felt like she'd come home.

"Mama." The little girl said in a small voice and before Santana could respond Sophia was at her feet, arms stretched up in silent request. She'd pictured this moment a million times. In her mind she'd been nervous, like the time she'd been asked to hold a squirming distant cousin and she wasn't quite sure what to do with her hands or her face or her voice that wouldn't make it cry. She'd imagined herself clearing her throat to quench the awkwardness that came from holding a strangers child. She'd imagined everything she thought might have been possible but she lifted the child into her arms, pressed her hand to the back of her small head and breathed in a scent that she'd craved like a drug for so long. Sophia wrapped her arms tightly around her mother's neck, her legs around her waist. Turning away from the room and into the hallway Santana bit down hard on her lip to stop herself from crying and cast her eyes up to the ceiling, sending a silent thank you to whatever force had allowed for this moment to exist. She cradled the child against her so much so that she could feel the muted but constant beat of a tiny heart. The little girl wove her fingers into Santana's hair and let out a contended sigh.

Santana felt a hand on the small of her back and turned to smile at the blonde who had followed her out.

"You okay?" Brittany mouthed.

A smile pushed its way past the threat of tears and Santana nodded. She was okay. For once, she really, really was.

"Sophia," She said softly. The little girl lifted her head and threw a shy glance at the blonde. "This is Brittany, she's my extra special friend."

"Hi, Sophia. It's great to meet you." Brittany said with a warm smile.

"Hi." The little girl squeaked, her cheeks colouring slightly at being put on the spot with a stranger.

"Your mom has told me all about you." Brittany continued, her grin never faltering.

"She has?" Sophia asked, eyes wide.

"She has?" Echoed a few more voices from the room behind them.

"Oops." Brittany mumbled, her smile fading. "Sorry," She mouthed before the rest of Santana's family filed into the hallway, invading their space and making Santana more than a little uncomfortable.

"This" Santana's mother hissed, gesturing to Sophia. "Was supposed to be a secret. I bet the whole of Lima knows. That's probably why her father managed to find her."

The word cast a spell over Santana, her skin prickled with ice and her mouth dried so much that the tight walls of her throat stuck together uncomfortably when she attempted to swallow. She instinctively lifted gripped Sophia a little harder.

"Her father?" She managed to say.

Her mother threw her arms up in despair before spitting something in Spanish and disappearing down the corridor. A silence hovered for a second.

"Come and sit down, Santana." Her father said softly, guiding his daughter back inside the room.

Brittany followed closely and went to sit down next to the brunette but she caught her hand and whispered softly to her. She listened and nodded in understanding and then crouched down to speak to Sophia who was now standing next to her mother.

"What do you say you and I go exploring, huh? I've heard the kitchen stocks great milk and cookies."

Santana watched her girlfriend and her daughter leave the room hand in hand and for a split second, the feeling of dread that was beginning to consume her was replaced by a flash of warmth. It was like they'd skipped ten years and the future she'd always imagined was standing right in front of her. And then she remembered her mother's words.

Sophia's father.

A notion she had managed to push out of her mind for the best part of three years. She'd almost convinced herself that Sophia didn't have a father. Neither one knew of the other's existence and so – she had assumed – a father wouldn't have ever been an issue. Sophia had a family who loved her and that was all she needed to know. And as for him? Well he didn't deserve to know.

Santana was steaming drunk.

It was a Friday night and she and Quinn had borrowed IDs from a friend of a friend. They'd giggled over them while sipping wine coolers earlier that evening, amused by just how little the photographs looked like them, save for the correct hair colour. But still, they didn't doubt they'd work. They'd used them plenty of times before, plastering their faces with as much makeup as they possibly could to make themselves look considerably older than they were. They'd learnt quickly that the doormen would let just about any girl in, as long as enough thigh was on show. Batting their eyelashes and talking loudly about 'college work' in the line never hurt either. They were pros, and so approximately forty minutes after entering the club, Santana found herself standing on a bar, dancing with strangers like they were old friends, holding her drink high and not caring that the sticky liquid would occasionally slosh messily over the sides of the lipstick stained glass, streaking her red dress with ugly damp patches. She was way past that point. She always was.

From her podium, Santana could see Quinn sitting in a booth opposite, fawning over some college jock. She noticed that she'd crossed one leg over the other, hips rolled towards him and baby doll dress accidentally on purpose riding higher by the second so that her lean, vanilla legs seemed to go on for all eternity. She flicked her bouncy blonde curls and for just a second, Santana couldn't look away. She was so used to seeing her best friend in jeans and a tight, slicked back pony that she often failed to notice her beauty. She was usually just Quinn. But in that moment, she was the hot girl across the room and it made Santana's palms sweaty.

With her guard down, and her alcohol intake up, she couldn't quite manage to quell the feeling as quickly as she usually did. She knew she found girls attractive. She'd always know that. But so did everyone, right? Everyone had the odd girl crush. Everyone had fantasied over Mila Kunis at least once in their life, girls and guys alike. If someone was hot, you acknowledged it. That was just how life worked. We're all just warm blooded, sex orientated animals when it comes down to it, anyway. At least, that's what she told herself.

Dragging her eyes away from the leggy blonde, she downed her drink, hopped (fell) down from the bar and ordered herself another.

"Five dollars." The bartender yelled over the music, extending his hand and already asking the next customer what he could get for her. Santana pulled a bill from her bra and handed it over.

"Keep the change." She attempted to say, but it came out in the wrong order and with some of the letters kinda in the wrong places just a little bit.

The bartender raised his eyebrows as she smirked and stuck the straw into her mouth on only the second attempt. Impressive, she thought. She usually had to chase it around the glass with her tongue a couple or ten times before it would hold still enough for her to be able to catch it between her teeth.

"Slippery things, aren't they?" A voice said close to her ear.

"Huh?" She grunted, her gaze focusing slowly on the blue eyes that belonged to the voice. Or the voice that belonged to the person. Or… whatever.

"The straw." He gestured to her drink. "Hard to catch when you've had a drink or two."

"Or twelve." She snorted. And then snorted again when she realised she'd said it out loud.

"What?" He said, tapping a finger to his ear, suggesting that she wasn't speaking loud enough to drown out the thumping music that encased them. She didn't care.

'Nothing." She mumbled and sucked up a mouthful of her drink and let it burn her throat just enough before swallowing. He was blonde, the guy. Kinda looked like a golden retriever, she thought. Except kinda not. He was smiling at her, straight white teeth set in smooth lips set in a chiselled, well-structured face. Huh. Cute. Sort of. In a weird, nice guy way. On another night, she might have played his little game. She'd have flirted shamelessly. She might've even let him kiss her, just for kicks.

But not tonight. She was feeling sorry for herself and really just wanted to end up oblivious to anything and everything. And by the way the room was spinning, she knew she was well on her way to being just that.

He was asking her another question but her brain had given up on trying to interpret what people were saying so she slurred something about finding her friend and began to pick her way carefully across the dance floor towards Quinn, craving the comfort of her friend but craving a place to sit down just a little bit more. The crowd jostled her from side to side and she kept her eyes on her drink, hoping to end up at the other side with at least half of it left. She yelled at people who knocked into her and danced with a few along the way before the sea of constant movement spat her out a few feet from Quinn. Quinn whose tongue was currently throat deep in the mouth of that gross jock she'd been hanging all over for the best part of the night. Gross. She passed off the sharp pang of jealously that shot through her as the jealously that came when your friend got a guy and you spent the night hanging around, waiting for them to quit playing damn tonsil tennis. Nothing more.

She dipped her fingers into her drink, the idea to flick the droplets at Quinn to break up her little party of two forming playfully in her clouded mind. But before she could, and much to her annoyance, a hand grabbed her arm and she found herself being pulled towards the smoking terrace by floppy haired dog boy. But too drunk to care and too pleased to be no longer staring at Quinn and unidentified jock, she followed.

Her first mistake.

The air that hit her as they fell from the stuffy club into the night was so cold that her breath caught awkwardly in her throat and steamed in front of her when she remembered how to exhale. There was a row of fairy lights hanging lazily across the veranda and behind them, a few pinpricks of stars had managed to shine their way through the haze of the city lights. Pretty.

"You really are." The guy said, his voice husky.

She frowned for a second. Was he talking to himself? God, just her luck to be trapped out here with a raging lunatic. And then it registered. She was the one who'd been talking to herself. It seemed her brain to mouth filter had been dissolved by tequila and now random words just fell out of her mouth like untimely bursts of vomit.

She cleared her throat. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He smiled, pulling a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his skinny jeans. "Smoke?"

She shrugged. "Sure."

He nodded and slipped two of the sticks from the pack with nimble fingers and sheltered them both from the icy breeze as he flicked the lighter on and off until the flame caught and held, bathing his face in muted orange.

In the new found light source, she could make out a light sprinkling of stubble along his jaw line and she guessed that she was a couple years older than she was. But still not old enough to be in this club. His shirt clung to muscular arms and skimmed the obvious outline of toned abs but for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to care. She was too busy enjoying the fresher air and the sweet smoke that filled her lungs as she took a drag on her cigarette as soon as he handed it to her. She wandered over to the railings and gazed out over the city below, her eyes blurring together the lights that blinked back at her. It was quiet and she realised that they were the only people out there. Everyone else was clearly more aware of the chill of the winter evening than they were. Oh well. She was grateful for the peace – the ear-splitting music had made her skull throb. Or perhaps that was the drink. Probably both.

God, she wanted to go to bed.

She felt his hand on her waist and supressed a sigh.

"Look," She said, turning herself around.

Her second mistake.

Before she could finish her sentence, his lips crashed into hers and his strong tongue pushed its way expertly into her mouth. She wasn't surprised. She wasn't even alarmed, to be honest. This was a situation she'd found herself in many times. It wasn't unpleasant, but she'd still rather be asleep. She let herself lazily kiss him back, only a little smug about the attention she'd managed to get with no Quinn style flirting necessary. The jealously she had felt just moments before faded into nothing and she forced herself to concentrate on the way his teeth nipped at her bottom lip every so often and the way his breath tasted of cheap alcohol and smoke. She felt his hand slide down to caress her thigh and, as she always did, she pressed her hips against him. For no other reason other than she liked the way it made them squirm. She liked to be in control, even when they thought they were.

And that was usually as far as it got. She'd get bored eventually, kiss him goodnight and disappear back into the crowds.

But this one wanted more. She could feel his arousal through his jeans and she was careful not to flinch as his fingers inched their way up her skirt. She continued to kiss him as effortlessly as before but beneath her cool exterior, her heart quietly, subtly skipped a beat. She'd never gone this far before. With anyone. She hadn't wanted to. Didn't want to. But it made her weird. It made her the odd one out. Her friends had done it. They already thought she had. And if she did, it'd confirm that her girl crushes were just that. Crushes. This was what she was really into and for the most fleeting of moments, she submitted herself to the fact that this was it. It was going to happen right here on this balcony and then it would be done and she could stop frickin worrying about it.

But something inside of her – something that was beyond what the alcohol could touch – had her pulling away, making slurred excuses and wiping at her mouth.

But his large hands held her in place. His mouth trailed its way down her neck and quick fingers unbuttoned his jeans as the cigarette fell from her hand.

And then she just stood there and let it happen, watching the thin trail of smoke rise gracefully from the ground, swirling in small, pale clouds before disappearing into nothing as if it was never there at all.

It was over before the dull embers died.

An hour later, Quinn found her only half-conscious in the crowded bathroom, vomit in her hair and makeup smeared dramatically across her face. The blonde had somehow gotten her home and Santana deleted the whole evening from her memory, vowing to never speak a word of it to anyone.

And Santana wasn't the type to break a vow.

"Her father wants custody, Santana." Her aunt said, pulling her mind back to the here and now. "We can't fight for her without you."

Thanks for reading!