#parae

The drive to the hospital seemed like hours instead of the fifteen minutes it actually took.  Santana's stomach was knotted and she had to swallow the bile that crept up the back of her throat. 

Police work was dangerous, this Santana knew, but she had put Emily into a different category.  She didn't envision Emily out hunting petty thieves or cuffing druglords.  Her idea of Emily on duty was sitting in the cruiser, drinking coffee while cringing during Karofsky's retelling of his sexcapades.  This was her wake up call. 

"Fields. Officer Emily Fields."  Santana repeated the name to the nurse manning the check in station.  The nurse's slow scan of clipboard made Santana's teeth grind.  This is why people hate hospitals, she thought, her fists clenching until her knuckles turned white.

"Santana?"  A deep, leaden voice called to her from the other side of the room. 

Santana spun around, hoping to find a doctor clad in scrubs, waiting to tell her this was all a misunderstanding and that the blood on Emily had not been her own.  Instead, Santana had turned to find Karofsky with the corners of his mouth tugged down.  She wanted to lunge forward, beat the crap out of him for not being there to protect Emily when she needed him most.  He was her partner after all. 

Santana's nails dug into the flesh of her palm.  "Where is she?"  Her words came a vicious hiss.

"Surgery.  You can wait with us in post-op for her."  Karofsky offered her an olive branch, but Santana was blinded by her anger and fear.

"I want nothing to do with you."  Santana stormed past him, Puck following in her wake with a nod of regretful recognition toward Dave.

__________________________________________________________

The steady beep of the heart monitor, combined with Emily's deep, rhythmic breaths had lulled Santana to sleep.  Her face was pressed into the thin sheet that draped Emily's body and the fingers of their right hands were intertwined.  Santana's back was arched, curving her into an C, as she rest against Emily's bed.  

Horrible images flashed through Santana's dreams,  making her whimper in sleep.  She could see the look of shocked pain on Emily's face the moment the bullet fired.  That haunting image provoked an uneasy groan to rumble through Santana's chest.

"Shhh.  Tanny."  The voice sounded angelic; a soft, whispered psalm that set Santana at ease.  Santana released a relaxed hum before her eyelids fluttered open.  Soft, silky fingertips were stroking her cheek, coaxing her to wake. 

Santana blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light in the room.  She stretched away from the bed, rubbing the discomfort from her back.  A deep breath turned to a gasp as she realized that Emily was awake. 

"Eat the goddamn pickle." 

Santana stared at Puck who was making battleship noises while sliding a pickle spear across his plate.

"Pew pew!  Attack the Craken!" Puck shouted, turning the food in Santana's direction before flinging a tiny cheese missile at her.

Santana glanced from Puck to the small piece of cheese resting in her lap. 

"I work with an idiot," Santana deadpanned, sweeping the food from her lap before reaching over and grabbing the pickle from Puck's plate.

"Hey!" Puck protested as Santana brought the imaginary barge to her lips and crunched it in half.

Santana chewed obnoxiously loud before handing the other half back to Puck.  "Looks like I sunk your ship, Captain Kindergartener."  A smug smile crept over her face and she went back to finishing her salad.

Puck looked sullenly at his half eaten dill and grumbled under his breath.

"We have a lot to do for tonight," Santana started, glancing around the bar.  "The band comes in at 9 and the set starts at 10.  They want that section there cornered off and demanded blue lighting.  So once you're done playing naval heroes with your lunchables, maybe you could get on that."  She took another bite of her salad and shifted on the stool seat.  "I have to restock the rum and get that fucking freezer to hum for me."  She lifted the fork to her mouth again, Puck mimicking her 'to do' list silently, when her phone buzzed on the counter.

Santana's eyes lit up and her beaming smile revealed deep dimples.  She swiped her thumb across the smooth screen and held the phone to her ear.

"Hello beautiful.  I've been thinking about you all day," Santana gushed, her voice morphing into the tone reserved special for Emily.

"San..."

Santana's back straightened and her cheeks burned with embarrassment.  It wasn't Emily on the other end of the line, even though her phone had explicitly displayed "Emmy <3" as the caller.

"Who is this?"  Santana's voice had turned frigid and her brows were furrowed.  "And what the fuck are you doing with Emily's phone?"

A deep, heavy sigh filtered through the speaker, sending a chill down Santana's spine.

"Santana, it's Dave.  Officer Karofsky," he amended, his tone formal.  "Something's happened."

Santana dropped her fork, the clattering noise echoing off the walls of the empty bar.  Puck turned toward Santana, aware of how every muscle in her body had become rigid.

"Where is she?"  Santana's voice took on a desperate lilt as she hopped off the bar stool and abandoned her salad. 

"She's going to be okay, San.  No major organs were..."

"Where the fuck is she!"  Santana yelled, cutting Karofsky off.  She shouldered her purse and pulled the keys from the front pocket.

"Mercy General.  She's in surgery.  Santana, I'm so sorry I..." Karofsky plead into the phone but was abruptly cut off by the dial tone.

Santana was shaking, her legs trembling as she headed toward the front door.

A strong, warm hand cupped her shoulder while another hand gripped her forearm tightly to hold her upright.