1. Rachel, i hate you. :P

2. English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry in advance for all of the mistakes (and I'm sure there's gonna be a lot of it) in this fic.

3. Hope you stick around. But most importantly, I hope I stick around long enough to finish this. So much pressure...

Prologue

Where do you go when you're lonely?

Santana goes to a tree. A lonely, forgotten tree in a secluded area that nobody ever goes to because without the cheerful colors of the swing sets, monkey bars and the slide, or the carefree sounds of laughing children, it is simply the most depressing corner of the park.

She doesn't really know why she's drawn to the tree in the first place. She used to think the tree was beautiful— at least, that seemed to be the reason why she decided to stop and stared at the tree one day.

Well, now that she thinks about it… it is kind of pretty. All Linden trees are. But she knows now that it wasn't the reason at all. The tree, because of its size, stands there alone. She's not sure if it was intentionally put there all by itself, or if with time everything else just sort of… moved away.

"You and I, tree," she huffs, sitting on the ground with her back leaning to the tree. "We're kind of the same, right? We're both here. We didn't have any choice to be anywhere else. I'm alone, you're alone. Et cetera, et cetera."

Yes. Sometimes Santana would talk to the tree and she would hear it answer. But, every time, she would shake her head and chuckle because obviously she has lost her marbles. (What are you doing, Santana, talking to a tree?) Not that she would mind it though because sometimes all she wanted to do is lose all the voices in her head. And there are so many. Most of them pose questions. But none offer the answers.

After a long while of silence, Santana scoffs loudly. "You know what? I take that back. I'm alone, but you're probably not. Lots of green stuff around, so you're probably laughing at me right now. Like, 'why does this crazy chick keep coming back' or something. Whatever. Go ahead and mock me with your stupid leaves and your stupid branches and your stupid baby birds waiting in their stupid nests. Just so you know, I'm totally pulling the grass out of the ground for revenge."

But as it turns out, Santana doesn't have the patience to even follow through with her threat, nor the heart. After the second angry handful of grass, she leans back on the tree and gives it a pat. "Sorry," she said. "Bad day. Like always."

Santana turns her attention to the rest of the park. She can see the bright colors of the playground, along with the children running amok in delight. "Look at them," she says bitterly to nobody but herself, and of course the tree. "So freaking happy."

A sudden gust of wind makes Santana shiver not out of cold, but out of the overwhelming pang that she's feeling inside. She thinks she should've gotten used to it by now, but face it, Santana. You'll never get used to it.

She brings her knees closer to her chest and wraps her arms around them (because if she doesn't, who's going to hold her?).

"Marco," she whispers to the wind.

The wind answers her nothing.

/

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Santana?"

"There are so many people here," 5-year-old Santana said as she tightened her little fingers around her father's hand.

"It's a fair, Santanita," her father smiled at her. "Of course there are. Everybody's here."

Santana's eyes widened in horror. "Everybody?"

"Well, not everybody," her father laughed. "But almost everyone we know are here. There," he pointed to a middle-aged couple near the popcorn stand and Santana's gaze followed his direction. "You see? Mr. and Mrs. Wade from next door. And there's the Postman," he points again to a different spot. "I saw a couple of your teachers hanging around the coffee stand. And you said hi to many of your friends at the parking lot, remember? Stacey, Luke, Jennifer, Ben and that boy from the playground."

"Adam."

"Yes, Adam," he nodded. "Lots of people."

"What if I got lost? What if we got separated?" She asked again, stopping on her tracks now and effectively stopping Antonio from taking another step.

"Hey now," he said. It was his turn to squeeze her hand now. "We won't," he smiled to her again, this time earning a tiny, though still uncertain, smile from the little girl desperately clinging on to his hand.

"Tell you what," Antonio kneeled so that he was looking straight at Santana's eyes. "If we get separated, which I'm sure we won't, you yell 'Marco' as loud as you can," he said, taking both of her hands into his. "I will hear your voice, and then I can yell back—"

"As loud as you can?" Santana cut him off and he chuckled.

"Yes, as loud as I can. I'll yell 'Polo' back at you. And we'll keep yelling until we find each other." He brought her tiny hands to his lips and gave them a loving peck before looking up again. "How about that?"

Santana bit her lip. She searched her father's eyes. For what? She didn't know. She guessed, many years later, it was for some kind of a reassurance. Or maybe strength. The kind of strength that she wouldn't— couldn't— ever find in anybody else.

Once, Violet Stubbs asked Santana when they were taking turns pushing the swing, which of her parents that she loved the most. All this time, Santana had thought she loved both of her parents equally, so she had a really hard time choosing. But Violet kept pushing and pushing for an answer, until Santana just couldn't help but yell her answer. And she was surprised. Not at the answer itself, but at how clear the answer actually was. My daddy, she had told Violet. He's my own personal Superman.

"Okay," she finally said.

Antonio smiled happily. "Okay? Are you sure? If you want, we can always go home."

Santana shook her head furiously. "No," she said, "I wanna see the fair with you."

And with that Santana started to walk. This time eagerly leading Antonio to make their way through the crowd. But before they got very far, she felt a tug that made her stop.

"Wait, Santana."

She looked up to Antonio. "Sorry, Daddy. Am I going too fast?"

"No, no. You're fine," he kneeled again. "I just want you to know that even though we have our Marco Polo plan, and that there is an ocean of people here, you can never lose me. And you know why?" He flicked her nose and Santana shook her head.

"Because I won't lose you." Antonio said, bringing their tangled fingers right in front of their eyes and gave her hand another squeeze. "See?" he asked, and that earned himself a hug from his small daughter.

"Promise, Daddy?"

"I won't let go if you don't, Santanita."

/

"Liar," she said, gritting her teeth in anger. "You fucking let go."