Glee 1. Chapter 1: The Story

There are moments, minute moments that seem insignificant in the grand scheme of things that can shift your entire world on its axis. They're the ones that leave you awake at three in the morning overanalyzing lingering glances and slightly emphasized words. They're the moments that flicker through your mind as you fight against the light, smiling softly and thinking that _then_, just then, was when your life changed drastically. Sometimes these moments send us to places of shivering limbs and unanswered phone calls, and sometimes, just sometimes, they send you toward lyric inspiring, novel worthy, masterpiece painting happiness.

She is my moment.

I just haven't quite figured out where she's sending me yet.

* * *

The first twenty four hours after the wheels of her plane touched down on the tarmac were a whirlwind like I have never known before. I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I invited someone who was essentially a stranger to move across the country and into my house, but perhaps that was the beauty of it. Neither of us had real expectations. She was taller than I imagined, and she was surprised that her mother was right in saying the air smelled differently than it did where she was from. Her voice was not at all what I had conjured in my mind, and my accent wasn't nearly as thick as she was expecting.

Now, I've seen episodes of Catfish, and am well aware of the Craiglist Killer stories, but all of that aside, I welcomed her into my home with open arms and surprisingly little anxiety. There is only so much of yourself you can convey through the text of online forums and Facebook messages, but apparently enough, within seven years of internet friendship, an unspoken bond of familiarity is built. Strictly speaking, I wouldn't say that I knew Quinn before her arms wrapped tightly around my waist and she pulled me against her chest, but I wouldn't say that I _didn't_ know her either. I also wouldn't say that her hands clasped at the small of my back didn't send a shock down my spine, despite my fiancée standing not five feet away from us, her own hands fidgeting before her nervously.

"I can't breathe," she chuckled, and I pulled back immediately, worried that perhaps my fuzzy-headedness had led me to holding her too tightly. I was doing a poor job of hiding my worried expression which led her to release a breathy laugh as she shook her head. "It's not you," she explained. "It's the air. It's so wet." I bit my lip, suppressing a grin and an almost obligatory _wanky_, but chose instead to nod, agreeing with her.

"You'll get used to the humidity." I whipped my head around, having completely forgotten about the other blonde standing to my right. "I'm Brittany," she continued, extending her hand and smiling kindly, making the sinking feeling in my stomach solidify. "It's really good to finally get to meet you."

I refocused my gaze on light blue eyes, twinkling with genuine excitement and silently reminding myself with the weight on my left hand that I was engaged to an incredible woman who loved me more than I could fathom. I reminded myself that she was my best friend, who had been there for years, and that she was who I had envisioned a life with. I echoed those thoughts in the back of my head as we stepped off of the airport sidewalk and made our way across the parking lot. I forced those thoughts to swish around in my brain the entire next day as Brittany's father had a bit too much to drink at Easter and asked about how we planned on having children after our wedding. I concentrated my attention on those repetitive thoughts even as Quinn's hand landed on my thigh that next night in the bar, and I burned them into my conscious as her lips pressed against mine quickly, thanking me for her whisky sour.

* * *

She was so unlike the other people in my life that it didn't seem unreasonable when every man I introduced her to was charmed by her every word. She would flash a bright smile, let loose quiet chuckles, and bat her eyelashes slightly, and they all fell around her feet, content to meet her every whim. Within our first week together, we hadn't paid for a drop of liquor, nor had we paid for a single dinner, though we were out almost every night. Our neighbor, despite having attempted to sleep with Quinn, showered us with promises of rent payments, illegal drugs, and fine seafood dinners. His offers were only eclipsed when we were invited to Wyoming on a private jet by a man three times our age before he paid off our admittedly expensive bar tab. After years of solidified responsibility, she was a breath of fresh air in my life. She'd pull me by the hand and simply look back at me, and any logicality I had flew out of the car window with her cigarette smoke. I was just as quickly, just as badly smitten with her wild eyes, her carefree ways, and her knowing smirks as were all of those men with the only difference between us being that they had her, in some form or fashion, and I did not.

I remember the first – Finn. In the deep south, boys don't get much southern than he was. A true gentlemen in worn out wranglers, he spent the evening teaching her to Cajun dance while I sipped drink after drink, trying to keep my eyes locked on blue and not wavering towards hazel. I loved Brittany, and I will probably always love her, but at that point in time, we were no more than convenience, tied down with promises of eventual adventure. My veins itched with a desire for danger; my lungs could barely function beneath the weight of adulthood. Her hands were comfortable in my own, but my heart didn't race anymore, nor did butterflies swarm my gut when our gazes caught. I was thankful for the music blasting through the speakers as we moved around one another, occasionally switching off dance partners – there was no room for small talk, no awkward silences. When cool hands slipped into my own, I lifted my eyelashes to find a brilliant smile being sent in my direction before full lips covered it and connected with my cheek, just a smidgeon too close to my ear.

"I'm having fun," she whispered. "Thank you for bringing me out here." Out here, as it was, was no more than a bandstand and a few tents selling alcohol in a lumberyard parking lot – our idea of a good Friday night in the south. The music was loud, the air was thick, and the beer was ice cold. It would seem simple, if not boring to anyone not a native, but it captures a joie de vivre than cannot be compared; the crowds buzz with unhindered joy.

"I'm glad you're having fun," I managed to whisper back, thankful that my vocal faculties hadn't yet failed me. Before I could say much more though, she was twisted from my arms and beneath Finn's, who despite his lackluster dancing abilities seemed to be charming her just as easily as she had everyone else. It wasn't until the next morning that I found out they'd slept together, as would become a pattern with a string of guys for what seemed like weeks on end. Finn was just the very beginning, and it took all I had to hope that I would be the end.

* * *

I felt my head swimming as I leaned back against the brick wall of my house, a cigarette tucked loosely between my fingers as I attempted to focus on concerned blue eyes.

"What's going on with you Santana?"

"You shouldn't be with me." I could hear my words slur as I tried desperately to control my breathing and keep both the word vomit and the literal vomit building in my throat down. "You shouldn't want to marry me." Using my admittedly less than brilliant drunken logic, I lifted my cup to my lips, hoping more liquid would quell the nausea burning in my chest. No one else was paying attention to my words, nor to her reactions as they laughed openly around us. Quinn had essentially crawled into Finn's lap with her head buried into his neck and each time her mouth made contact with the skin there, a stabbing feeling anchored the sinking in my gut. Brittany's roommate was painfully oblivious as well, happily murmuring to her vodka, praising its flavor and thanking it profusely for tasting "so damn good."

"You don't get to tell me whether I want to marry you or not." My head snapped back to my fiancee's eyes, filled to the brim with concern and occasional flashes of anger. Brittany was never angry, least of all with me. I couldn't handle it. I felt sure I couldn't handle anything, which is why I was dangling perilously close to a destructive edge on a Wednesday night, far drunker than I should have been. Ignoring the woman in front of me and even more adamantly ignoring her words, I pressed against the brick wall behind me, struggling to my feet.

"I'm going to bed." The four word sentence was an uphill vocal battle, far more difficult than standing. "I'll see you tomorrow." I managed to stay on my feet until I made my way into the en suite bathroom, dropping to my knees onto the cold tile and promptly emptying the contents of my stomach. My ears were roaring and my brain still felt fuzzy, so I stuck my fingers deep into the back of my throat and felt my abdomen contract once again. The queasiness hadn't yet subsided, so I stumbled back down the hallway for a large bottle of water and somehow managed to move the cushion of my futon across my room and directly in front of the toilet, because several trips from my bed seemed unlikely, if not impossible to accomplish. I was lazily drifting in and out of sleep when I heard Quinn's voice pierce the air, tinged in concern.

"Santana?"

"I'm in here," I called back, chuckling slightly and burying further into my pillows. I was aware of the childlike quality of my own tone, but the alcohol flooding my body left little room for self-consciousness.

"Do you need anything?" I shook my head, a miniscule smile tugging at my cheeks at her worried expression. My highs and lows were off of the charts that night, and I'm sure the emotional rollercoaster would have left me nauseous if the vodka hadn't already.

"Well," she paused, hesitating at the foot of the bed I'd fashioned for myself, looking quickly behind her shoulder at Finn, "if you need anything, I'll be in my room." I nodded, feeling my heavy eyelids fighting to close. "Good night." I heard the door shut softly behind her and I lazily drifted in and out of reality until I heard her voice a second time, distinctly, despite the space between us. I instinctively, protectively squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself toward sleep as breathy moans echoed throughout our admittedly empty house. It was nearly two in the morning when the sounds faded away as did the tightness in my chest and the tears pooling around my eyelashes.

At that moment, I wasn't sure how much more I could have taken, but I'd learn over the next few weeks that it was far more than I anticipated in myself.

* * *

**AN: Here is the beginning of a new journey. I have quite a lot planned out in advance for this piece, which is unusual for me, as is the style of the writing. Please give a little feedback if you'd like, so I can know whether things need to be tweaked!**

If it wasn't blatantly obvious, while the characters will retain facets of their past and the majority of their personality traits, this is an AU fic. With that said, the Quinn I have envisioned for this story is much more similar to the Quinn we saw in the beginning of season three - Skank!Quinn.

So, any questions or criticism are appreciated. I hope you enjoyed it! :) 


	2. Chapter 2: Where Not To Look For Freedom

"Are we going to talk about the other night?" Brittany's fingers were threaded through my hair as were her legs with my own. I was contented as the dramatics of Seattle Grace Hospital played in the background, a nightly ritual we'd begun weeks before.

"I don't think there's anything to talk about," I quickly volleyed, reaching for my water bottle and taking an unnecessarily long sip to try and impede the conversation's progress. Her eyes were locked onto the side of my head and after swallowing a last gulp, I sighed. "I was drunk and I wasn't in a good place. I really don't want to talk about it Britt." She nodded, allowing the dialogue of Grey's Anatomy to fill the silence between us as she dutifully untangled the knots taking hold at the ends of my ponytail. "I'm just really stressed out about finals and graduation. I'm sure I'll be fine." I refocused my attention toward the television, avoiding her searching blues once more, but knowing that regardless of how much information I provided as to my mental state, she wouldn't simply let this one go as she had in the past.

"Are things all right between you and Quinn?" she queried, broaching the subject we'd let dangle above us. "Is it weird for you that she's with Finn now?" It was a silent challenge, one I was more than prepared to meet. Brittany was one of the calmest, most patient people I knew, but despite her inherent grace, she was incapable of dancing around a subject as well as I was.

"She and I are fine, and she's not _with _Finn. I think it was more of a two-time hook up kind of thing for her."

Brittany frowned, but nodded again, and I could practically hear the gears working beneath her long blonde hair, a skill I'd developed throughout years of friendship and the eclipsing of that into romantic territory. "She's very pretty," she finally settled on, and I felt my body agree without my consent, in the form of a nod that mimicked her previous one.

As was the norm for me, my automatic defense mechanism kicked in, sarcasm coating my words and a bitter chuckle tickling my cheeks. "Yeah, we should _definitely_ get her drunk and proposition her for a threesome at the party this weekend." My fingertips tickled against Brittany's palm as I returned my line of sight to the television, trying desperately to regain a sense of what was going on between Meredith and McDreamy, something that required a fair bit of attention even when I found myself completely invested and not attempting to carry on a serious conversation. I absentmindedly reached for my water bottle again, sipping lightly due to legitimate thirst and surprisingly enough not in an effort to avoid confrontation.

"We should." I felt the water slip down the wrong way and coughed violently for several seconds before taking wheezing breaths to try and suck in what little air I could. "I'm just saying." I nodded one last time before my eyes glazed over and ignored the insistent scratches at the nape of my neck that indicated Brittany wanting my attention. I vehemently refused to acknowledge the topic at hand and after long, painful minutes of silence, it seemed that my fiancée was allowing it to be dropped.

I would never in my life deny Quinn's beauty. She was enigmatic, rebellious to a fault, and held a _je ne sais quoi _about her that intrigued every person she came into contact with. Beyond an attraction, however, I couldn't see a future with her, one that would lead me to leave what I had for what I could have, were she even interested. We both had far too many interpersonal defects – I was a runner and she would shut down. Our tempers would flare and our words would bite. She was an expert at withholding the truth and I had become a connoisseur of lies. She was beautiful, sure, but at the time not worth giving up a white picket fence lifestyle of contentedness.

Instead of continuing to swash those thoughts around, I opted to curl into Brittany's chest and wrap an arm around her waist, relishing in the comfort of her warmth. She was always warm, even in the most frigid of temperatures, whereas I remained a human icicle 99% of the time. Perhaps our heats, or lack thereof, mirrored our internalized approaches to the world. She was forgiving, almost to a fault, whereas I could hold a grudge for the entirety of my life if given a chance. She was open and friendly, where I refused to allow people in. She exuded sunshine and I was the least temperate of summer thunderstorms, complete with havoc wreaking lightening and flooded city streets. We were opposites in the best and worst ways, and while we bumped heads occasionally, her yin managed to balance my yang more often than not. She had been my safety net for years, unconsciously provoking me to become a slightly better person. I was at a point though where it seemed everyone was prompting me to become something or someone else. I had no control over who I was or who I would be, and that, in and of itself, was balls out terrifying. I'd fallen into a cyclical routine, one that I desperately needed to be broken.

So when Sam showed up at my front door with a suitcase of alcohol the following Saturday morning, my fingertips trembled in anticipation. The excitement buzzing in my limbs only intensified when he pulled bottle after bottle out of the bag, setting up a drink mixing station on the corner of my counter. I could feel my eyes widen when he told me the grand total he'd spent, knowing full well that his job, working at the ticket booth of the local movie theater, paid nowhere near enough to cover these expenses.

"Trouty Mouth, did you rob a fucking bank?" He flashed a lopsided smile and shook his head, keeping mum about the procurement of his finances. Rather than continue to question him, I simply let an appreciative gaze flicker over the selection, mentally ticking off my drinks for the night. "Final guest list?" I was mentally calculating how much cleaning Quinn and I would have to do the next day, given that as would come to be a pattern, our "small group gatherings" would inevitably end in our fairly small house being flooded with people we hadn't actually invited.

"At last count, it's you, me, Quinn, Finn, Matt, Mike, and then a friend of mine from work, Ryder. I think Quinn asked Puck to come over too, and some guys from the football team might pass by later tonight." I scanned the list repetitively in my head, realizing that I wasn't close to more than half of the people who'd more than likely pass out on various portions of my furniture. "Is Britt coming? I didn't know for sure, because you guys have been so weird lately."

I nodded wordlessly, ignoring his searching gaze and arranging the bottles on the counter into various shapes while he made several trips back to his car to unload the mixers he'd bought as well. Sam and I hadn't been close in years, but he had known both of us well enough in high school to know that our current interactions were strained at best and downright awkward at worst. I felt sure that during his Adventure Time marathons with Quinn, who was surprisingly invested in the cartoon series, they had discussed my relationship with Brittany, because it seemed to be the hot topic on everyone's mind. I cannot possibly convey how much I abhorred being the epicenter of everyone's conversations, but I had no way to change that. I could only assume that as the night wore on, the whispers would become louder. I wasn't prepared for the whispers to become shouts however.

* * *

My fist shot upward as one of my ping pong balls sailed through the air, sinking directly into one of the remaining Solo cups on the opposite end of the table, nearly ten feet away. Sam and Puck stood behind the cup in question, expressions torn between amusement, frustration, and confusion as I pointed a solitary finger in their direction, yelling, "drink up bitches," with my chest puffed out.

"Quinn, do something to distract them," Puck groaned. "This is bullshit." He ran his fingers through the top of his hair, only pausing when black material flew past his face, landing in Marley's lap. She gingerly lifted Quinn's shirt, folding it delicately and placing it across her thighs while actively avoiding eye contact with everyone around her. She'd had only one beer since she arrived, and it was obvious to anyone around her that she was wildly uncomfortable.

"Let's up the ante then." I lifted my own tank top over my head, tossing it off to the side and chuckling as both Sam and Puck's mouths dropped open, rather unattractively. Brittany soon followed suit, cocking her head to the side and leaning against the table to press her breasts more closely together.

"It's your turn," she playfully reminded them, shaking them temporarily from their stupor. We had only been playing for an hour, but my fiancée was a lightweight of epic proportions, so when one of the boys lifted their arm to aim for our cups, I was unsurprised when an arm slipped around my waist and a tongue promptly thrust into my mouth. The ping pong ball sailed past us, landing in the grass several feet away and I pulled away to chuckle.

"Distracted?" Both of my eyebrows quirked in challenge as they tried to regroup, but when Puck's arm lifted for their second shot, Brittany's lips pressed against my neck and though it might have been wishful thinking on my own part, I thought I saw a flash of jealously circuit its way through Quinn's hardened hazel eyes. I caught the ball on a bounce and after dipping it briefly in water, sent it soaring in return, despite the blonde's chest on prominent display behind both boys. It circled the rim of the red Solo cup and dropped into the beer, leaving me grinning from ear to ear. Sam chugged it just quickly enough to see Brittany snake her arm around my neck and sink another shot with her free hand as her lips pressed into mine.

"That's game," Quinn giggled.

"Winners get a make-out session," one of the guys called out, clearly testing her alcohol level and not expecting her to cross towards the side of victory and pull me close up against her body. Our bare stomachs slipped against one another, the only upside to the early April heat and unbearable humidity, and unlike our first kiss at the bar, this one continued. I nibbled slightly on her bottom lip, tugging it as she pulled away breathless. She turned to Brittany, who eagerly leaned forward, a consequence of her intolerance to anything harder than wine coolers, prolonging the lip lock for several seconds. When they finally broke apart, the identical looks in their eyes gave me permission to do as I pleased for the rest of the evening, and that knowledge, combined with a lack of inhibition would get me into far more trouble than I was anticipating.

That lack of inhibition kept me topless for the majority of the night. It led me to give Ryder a lap dance when he was passed out and snoring on the living room couch during a game of Truth or Dare. It magnetized my lips to Quinn's every moment we were within five feet of one another. It also, however, fueled the fire of a raging jealousy when Sam picked her up and carried her down the hallway to her bedroom. From there, that lack of inhibition had me banging on her door, walking in and pulling them apart while yelling, "We all made a pact!" I looked like an utter lunatic; despite my general lack of self-awareness, I knew that much. The emotional drunk that everyone knew me to be had roared to life, leaving me nearly in tears because they'd broken the pinkie promise we'd made earlier in the evening – one that said that she wouldn't do with Sam what she had done with Finn.

Realistically, and from a much more sober standpoint, it was none of my business what she did. I had no place capturing her mouth throughout the night, draping myself over her and nuzzling into her neck, or repeatedly fantasizing about what would happen were the threesome to come to fruition. Alcohol has never been and probably will never be a friend to my decision making processes though, so my words and actions flowed at a violent pace, one that I had little to no control over once I'd had one too many shots.

It was my last shot of god-knows-what from fuck-if-I-know-who that brought my hands to Quinn's cheeks and tears to my eyes while I whisper-screamed at her in the hallway where she was pouting at the scene before us; Ryder had woken up for all of fifteen minutes and opted to puke across the entirety of our bathroom then fall into the bathtub, which for whatever reason, was completely filled with water. As I gripped her face with the intent of burning my words in with my fingertips, he staggered out in nothing more than boxer briefs before entering the kitchen and yelling for another round of shots.

"You can't sleep with him Q. You promised you wouldn't."

"I promised I wouldn't sleep with him while I was drunk," she corrected, tapping the end of my nose with her forefinger.

"You _are _drunk." I scrunched my nose at the idea of my best friend and my new roommate together, particularly because I felt strangely protective – or perhaps possessive if we're going back to drunken honesty – over her. I didn't want any of the men in my life to hold her so closely, to have a part of her that was far more personal than they would understand. So I promptly struggled to my feet and hurried in the direction of our second bathroom, vomiting violently as scenes of the two of them flashed behind my eyelids and I held on to the toilet with all of the strength left in me.

The strength withered and fell away with even more alcohol, enough to make me oblivious to Sam attaching himself like a barnacle to Quinn's mouth, enough to make me forget that I had essentially been objectified by a group of horny males for hours, and enough to make me crawl into bed with Brittany and fake an orgasm when her first attempt with a strap on failed me miserably. There still wasn't enough alcohol to keep me from realizing that try as I might to deny the attraction, I wanted Quinn in some capacity – what that capacity was, I'd yet to figure out.

All I knew was I relished in the feeling of her tongue gingerly exploring the roof of my mouth and that our abdomens pressed together jolted my skin. All I knew was she was beautiful and damaged, as I'd often been called myself. All I knew was that the next morning when I woke to clothing littering the floor of my living room, several half-naked bodies sprawled across my furniture, and a pounding migraine, it was more than a hangover that made me nauseous. The only male not passed out on my living room floor was Sam, and with his car in the driveway, I knew precisely where he was, and where he had been for the extent of the night. Rather than allow the thought to consume me, I set a pan of cinnamon rolls in the oven and began cleaning up what I could of the kitchen, absentmindedly humming the tune to I Love It, a song Quinn insisted on playing at least once a day at top volume in order to function properly.

When she straggled out of bed, she gifted me with a vaguely unconscious, yet somehow charming smile, hoping to diffuse any anger on my part. I simply brushed her bangs from her face and handed her a plate and two Advil before rubbing her back as she walked away.

* * *

From that point on, it had become an unspoken rule of the house that we did not discuss Quinn's sexual conquests. I'd become more or less numb to them, and was trying desperately to be more focused than I had been on my relationship, and repairing the rips and tears that were becoming more prevalent in the fabric. To put it plainly, it wasn't working.

"Is Britt not staying tonight?"

I shook my head and buried further into my pillow. My body ached with the tears I'd been unable to cry and I was miserably dredging through my days. Years ago, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder; my therapist originally believed I had good old garden variety depression, brought on by concealing my sexuality for so long, but the instances of rage I experienced tipped the scale from one more manageable mood disorder to one that carried a stigma. Snixx had made me a mental health pariah essentially enough, and it was times like this that I loathed my diagnosis – times when I would fall from so high up only to find myself unable to slow down my brain's velocity, much less catch myself before I landed on my face.

"Are you sleeping on the couch again tonight?" I nodded, still refusing eye contact. The night before I had forgotten to move my bed sheets from the washing machine to the dryer, and thus set up camp in the living room. I hadn't forgotten the next day though – I had remembered almost constantly, the thought digging into my conscious repeatedly, but I simply couldn't pull myself from the cushions to do anything about it.

An awkward silence fell over us and using what little energy I had left, I rolled over to meet Quinn's gaze. "Why?" My voice was raspy from disuse and I had to cough several times to clear my throat before repeating myself more clearly.

"I saw a spider in my room," she half-mumbled, focusing on her feet. "I tried to kill it, but by the time I found a shoe to smush it with, it was gone." I arched an eyebrow, silently intonating my question without exuding much effort. "I don't know where it is now, and I don't really want to sleep in my room. I was going to sleep on the couch, but I can just sleep in the loveseat."

"It's too small," I whispered, half because I doubted my next words and half because my voice hadn't seemed to have fully recovered just yet. "Just come and sleep on the couch with me. I'll take off the cushions, and there will be plenty of room for us both." I heard her feet shuffle slightly against the still sticky floor, the only remnants of the previous weekend's party having been doused in alcohol and only half-heartedly cleaned.

"The couch won't be much better," she automatically protested. "There isn't enough space for two people. I'll squish you."

A light chuckle escaped my lips, the first genuine laughter I'd experienced in several days, and I simply beckoned her over, tossing the back cushions to the floor and scooting further into the material of the sofa. She hesitated again, lingering in her place until I lifted the blanket I was under, silently cajoling her to join me. She slipped underneath, pressing her body snuggly against my back and adjusting her pillow beneath her short hair as small puffs of air hit the nape of my neck. I felt her hand tentatively land on my hip as she struggled to keep space between us. Her body was nearly hanging off of the edge of the couch that way and I felt, more so than heard her resigned sigh as she moved forward, once again molding our bodies together and slinging her entire arm around my waist.

"Is this okay?" I nodded, snuggling into her warmth and allowing my eyelids to flutter shut.

I had made a decision days ago, but how _okay _this felt was solidifying that choice.

* * *

**AN: I hope you all enjoyed this second chapter. For those of you concerned about "Skank Quinn," I felt I should clarify. In my mind's eye, she is more of a melding of the two. While she is very much still the Lucy Q we know and love, remnants of Skank Quinn will exist - more rebelliousness, a tendency to do what she wants (or thinks she wants) rather than what she should, things like that.**

**Just so you know, each chapter will have a corresponding song title. While it is in no way pertinent that you listen to the song, they're all recommendations of mine that I feel are, in some way fitting to the story line or the nature of the relationship. The first was The Story (originally by Brandi Carlile I believe, though I prefer Sara Ramirez's version), and the song for this chapter is Where Not To Look For Freedom by The Belle Brigade.**

**Again, I hope you all enjoyed. Feel free to leave a review with comments, criticism, or questions! xx A**


	3. Chapter 3: Call Your Girlfriend

**AN: There will be the customary Author's Note at the end, but this is to address some issues brought to light.**

1. Someone mentioned they would appreciate more dialogue, which was my intention after forming the backbone of this story. I hope that you're more satisfied this go round.

2. Someone mentioned there was too much Brittana and too much Quinn + guys. I won't argue with that, but it was, and still is, important to build up portions of this story. There is much more Quinntana in this chapter, so I hope you, too, are happier.

3. And a third someone (or perhaps it was someone who mentioned one or both of these other things) said there was too much alcohol involved. This too, is an important plot pawn.

4. Also, to the person who left a lengthy review, regarding several issues. Number one, as I stated in the beginning, the girls will hold their personality traits. However, with that said, sexuality is not a personality trait, and as you'll see in this chapter, _my _Quinn has been with a woman before. And with THAT said, bisexual girls will not always leave for men. I'm speaking both from personal experience and that of my friends. It's a common misconception. Number two, Sam is not, and has not, been portrayed as a "douche." A lot of those in the fandom see him as such, because they believe he broke up Brittana. I don't see him as such, as he will not be written as such. He's not the brightest when he's been drinking, but no one is really. As for the other girls, they will be worked in as the story continues. They aren't necessary to the plot right now, so I won't write them in simply for them to be there. That said, Tina has a cameo in this chapter, as I had planned originally. And lastly, Brittany does suspect something building between the two of them, but chooses to trust her fiancée and turn a blind eye.

**I believe some of you are new readers, and I assure you that everything I do has a purpose. Things will be getting better for our girls, though we are far from a utopia, so just hang in there. I made this chapter longer so that a lot of what I'd deemed important for the plot could be worked out to some degree in this portion.**

* * *

It became a nightly habit. I would fall asleep and wake up to an additional person snuggled into my back in my bed or pulled to my front on the couch. Past the initial spider incident, it became a source of comfort for us both – continuity that we could count on despite a tumultuous relationship on my part and a lack thereof on hers. I thought nothing of it, given that I'd had a tendency to cuddle with anyone and everyone, so long as we weren't dating. I'm not sure what it was, or if I'll ever be sure for that matter, but within weeks of an official title being placed upon interactions once tentative and without strings, my need for physical contact diminished to an alarmingly low level. At times, I refused to be touched at all for fear of the sickening churning in my gut and the crawling of my skin. It never once set in with Quinn.

I could stay curled into her side for hours, running my nails across her shoulder blades while she insistently pushed my bangs away from my forehead, despite the fact that they would inevitably return to their place just seconds later. There were more nights than either of us would be willing to admit where moving from our places seemed unappealing and we slept on the couch not due to undried sheets, but due to sheer laziness and utter dislike toward the idea of disentangling our limbs. Occasionally she would twist her body into what I was sure would be an uncomfortable position to press a kiss to the top of my head, lingering just a second too long there, as if afraid to pull away and have me turn to dust.

She felt that way to me too often. I had convinced myself time and time again that she were a dream, or a mirage of sorts. I alternated between clinging too desperately and releasing her completely – either I could hold her close forever, or I would never have to risk the chance of losing her by never allowing her to take a firm grip of my heart. I just as quickly discovered that I was incapable of keeping away from her. I became sympathetic to Sam's plight; he spent nearly every day at our house, sitting on the couch with her just as I would in an attempt to soak up whatever it was she had to offer him that day – be it resentment, physical affection, or dry humor. That was the sole reason I declined their offer to accompany them to the bar one weeknight, citing a headache and a long work day as my excuse. I understood the necessity of being in her presence, and I certainly couldn't foul him for aching for her closeness, when I did the very same.

She promised to be home early and I simply waved her off. We'd perpetuated a joke when one of us tried to bullhead the other into something. "I'm not your real mom," I teased, waving and covering my face in a convincing mask of acceptance before sinking into the cushions once I heard the door slam shut. Early, as it would be, was nearly four in the morning. I said nothing, but my frustration was apparent when I got home from work the next afternoon, silently settling into a chair outside and lighting a cigarette. Those ten minutes were something we constantly shared. If I smoked, she soon after followed me outside. Our most honest conversations would happen on the back porch as would become just as familiar a habit as the drunken bodies strewn across our house.

"You said you were coming home early." My voice was calm, almost eerily so. I had no right to be upset.

"We stayed out later than I originally planned on. Sam didn't want to go home, so we didn't." I nodded, securing my cigarette between my lips and inhaling a lengthy drag.

"You slept in your own bed." Her fingers, once fumbling with her own lighter, dropped into her lap as did her head to her chest. "Did I do something to upset you?"

Her shaky hands lifted, trying desperately to light her own cigarette despite the wobbliness of her chin. She repeated a single word several times once she'd managed to light it with most of her body moving to echo the negation. "No, you didn't do anything," she whispered. "I just – I couldn't sleep in your bed last night Santana." I could feel my brow furrow without my consent and she took the silent gesture as a question. "I felt dirty, and I couldn't – I couldn't do that to you."

"You slept with Sam again, didn't you?" I was surprised to find I felt conflicting emotions, neither of which I was expecting, building in my chest. No anger ensnared itself within my muscles. It was instead replaced with frustration at her actions and a small inkling of hope. I hated more than anything, more than perhaps I had hated hiding my sexuality from even myself, when she would treat herself as if worth nothing more than a good fuck. That feeling was quickly eclipsed when the covert meaning of her statement worked its way past my frustration, wrapping itself around my bones. She couldn't be the person she had been for so long around me. There was a part of her she was dissatisfied with, and she refused to allow me to see that part of her, for whatever reason. Maybe she thought I would run, or maybe she thought I would judge her. As it were, I had no room for judgment based on my own actions, and I wouldn't were I given the chance.

"I was really drunk," she whispered, the beginning traces of tears forming at the base of her eyelashes. "I wanted to go home at like, midnight, but he kept buying me drinks." She took a furious drag from her cigarette, blowing out the smoke angrily. "I wanted to go home. I wanted to come home to you. That's all I wanted."

Her entire body began to shake violently and I stood quickly, crossing from my chair and tapping her top leg to silently request that she uncross them. I sunk into her lap, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her tightly against my chest.

"Please don't sit so close. I haven't had a chance to shower yet, and I really don't want you to touch me."

"I don't care," I cooed, running my fingers through her chopped off locks. "I don't care. He should have taken you home, honey."

"I just really wanted to come home," she coughed out, almost as though saying the words now was as physically painful as it seemed they were impossible then.

"I know." I didn't know what more to offer her in that moment, aside from my tangible support. "I'll start going with you when you go out, to try and keep these things from happening, okay?" She nodded pitifully into my hair, tightening her grip on my waist and burying further into the space above my shoulder.

"Did I ever tell you that I had a girlfriend back home?" she mumbled into my neck. "We dated for a while." I hummed my acknowledgement, but said nothing. "Her name was Sugar." The story's progress was slow, but its significance held my attention and I slowly ran my palm along her back, hoping to infuse strength into what seemed to be a brittle spine. "She really fucked me up though. She could be downright cruel at times, and would go back and forth between telling me I was the best she'd ever had and telling me that I was like a kindergartener when it came to sex." I nodded against the top of her head, continuing the patterns I was tracing in between her shoulder blades. "I never knew what was real and what wasn't, and I just – I gave up on women completely. It didn't seem worth it."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I'm sure you're more than satisfactory in bed. I'll give you a detailed, bullet pointed ranking when we have sex."

"_When_?" she giggled, lifting her chin to look me in the eyes. "That's rather forward of you Miss Lopez."

"It's inevitable. I know I sure as hell wouldn't be able to live with myself if I could only look and not touch." I sent an exaggerated wink in her direction, cajoling more laughter to bubble over her lips and couldn't help but realize how much more beautiful she was when she was genuinely smiling. "I'm fairly certain I might die of the sexual frustration."

"You have a fiancée who I happen to like. That, in and of itself, is enough to keep me from jumping your bones." I echoed her earlier laughter, but it sounded strangely hollow and almost foreign to my ears. She patted both of my thighs, and I stood, allowing her to follow suit and head inside. "Start an episode of Grey's while I hop in the shower, okay? I'll come and meet you when I'm clean." The double meaning prompted my heart to sink into my stomach, but I said nothing, as had become my own personal habit. I watched as she walked away, completely unaware of how remarkably beautiful she was, and I solemnly swore to myself that no matter the happenings of the next few weeks, months, or years, I would be sure to do all that I could to have Quinn see in herself half of what I saw in her.

* * *

_Can I come and see you at work?_

It was just after three in the afternoon, and my boss was out for the day, so I sent back a quick confirmation and inquired as to whether everything was okay. I never received a straight forward response, so instead, I sat rather impatiently at my desk playing Candy Crush Saga until I saw Sam's car pull up and an unsteady blonde slip out of the passenger's seat. I moved from my desk, opening the front door into my office building and attempting to usher her inside.

She shook her head, protesting immediately. "I need a cigarette," she insisted, waiting outside while I ran back to my desk to retrieve my own pack. When I pushed open the door to meet her again, I found Quinn stumbling toward our patio table and making vain attempts to retrieve something from her purse. It wasn't until we were both sat in chairs nearly as old as we were that she successfully pulled the item out of her oversized bag; she lifted the can of beer to her lips and sighed gratefully before taking a long drag.

"Are you drunk right now?" I hissed, hoping none of my coworkers would choose to take breaks at the same time. "Quinn, I work for a _safety _company. You cannot possibly think that drinking here is okay."

"I think Sam hates me because I told him I might be a lesbian," she shot back with surprising verbal accuracy, sloshing the can in my direction as if to emphasize her point. "That's what I think." My eyes widened and I found my own verbal faculties failing me. "Yeah," she shrugged, "I told him I thought I was a lesbian because after I slept with him, I kind of wanted to die, so now I think he hates me."

"I seriously doubt that he hates you."

"I did tell him he was a really good fuck, but I don't think that made his feelings any less hurt."

Brittany's head popped out of the main building and blue eyes quickly surveyed the situation before she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Are you two okay? She's being kind of loud and our instructor keeps asking questions. What is she even doing here?" Any and all patience she had with whatever was building between Quinn and I had vanished. We had been dancing on a tentative line, one only drawn in the sand because of her inherent trust in me that I refused to break. Our relationship had been crumbling, slowly but surely, but it seemed that it had just crashed spectacularly.

"She needs me right now."

Brittany simply nodded, not wanting to make a scene in our workplace, shutting the door behind her with a huff of frustration. I wrapped an arm around Quinn's waist, guiding her back toward my office and hoping to be able to keep her presence quiet, despite the absence of my supervisor that afternoon. She sank into the chair in front of my second desk, slowly spinning in circles as I began rereading files and replying to e-mails from my clients.

"Santana?" I hummed my acknowledgement, not looking away from my computer screen, and waited patiently for the fragile blonde to continue speaking. "Do you know that people talk about you, like a lot?" I shrugged, well aware of my propensity for attracting gossip. "Sam and Puck both told me not to fall in love with you," she murmured, more to herself than for my benefit; her words were slowing down, but no longer slurring. "I've been trying really hard not to."

It took me several seconds to process her last sentence and when I shifted my gaze in her direction, I found that she'd already fallen asleep, with soft puffs of air lifting her bangs every few seconds. Shimmying my cardigan off, I laid it over her legs and kissed her forehead, hoping that now that Brittany and I had stopped dancing around one another, perhaps Quinn and I could as well.

* * *

"I'm fine," I insisted. "I'm seriously fine."

"You will be," Tina chuckled from the driver's seat, scrolling through her playlist when we pulled up to a stop sign. "The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, isn't that what they say?"

"I'm _over _it." And I was. The end of my engagement was what could have gone down in history as the world's most amicable break up. There were tears, but no yelling, and Brittany seemed more than understanding when I said that I thought we both needed time to be young before getting married and starting a family. We had been attached at the hip for nearly five years, and I was worried that we'd lose out on who we were meant to become because we had never been given the opportunity. "It was the easiest break up I've ever had, and that's coming from _me._ I've had a lot of break ups, thank you very much."

"Whatever Satan," she laughed again, turning the volume on the radio up so that the bass vibrated beneath our seats. I felt Quinn's fingers snake around my shoulders from her place in the back of the car, the tips digging into my muscles and easing the tension there.

"She's trying to help," the blonde whispered as she leaned forward, her voice barely audible over the song blasting through the speakers.

_I wanna settle down  
I wanna settle down  
Won't you settle down with me?_

I nodded absentmindedly, distracted by the fleshy pads of her fingers working over the knots in my neck and leaving goosebumps up and down my bare arms. I hummed along to the violently catchy song Tina was playing until we pulled up next to a small, hole-in-the-wall bar near the university's campus. For a Tuesday night, the place was packed, with every table occupied, which left only two open seats at the bar. Tina hopped into one and Quinn the other, so until the blonde patted her thighs, I was content to stand. She rather insistently gripped my waist, lifting me slightly and urging me to take my place in her lap, as we so often did at home.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I brushed my fingers across her cheek and nodded, smiling slightly to reassure her.

I felt a strong gaze piercing our interaction and turned to see Tina grinning wildly at us. "You two are the cutest thing I think I've ever seen."

"We're not together." The denial was synchronized, as it had been for weeks. We were comfortable around one another, and that apparently, in everyone's mind, meant that we were dating. It had become a conjoined habit to immediately refute those claims.

"You should be," she rebuffed automatically before turning to someone she knew across the bar and striking up a conversation.

Quinn and I, for the most part, sat quietly and watched each other, memorizing the lines and freckles telling stories across our faces. After a while, she coughed rather roughly, shaking our bar stool and nearly throwing me off backwards. Her palm immediately molded to my lower back, catching my potential fall and leaving our faces less than inches apart.

"I'm going to do something stupid," she whispered. I could feel her breath hitting my lips and my tongue unconsciously slid across them as I nodded. Quinn slowly closed the gap between us, pressing against my mouth hesitantly as a nervous hand snaked upward, settling against the side of my neck. My own fingers flew to her cheeks, gripping them purposefully and pulling her flush against me as she struggled to maintain balance against our combined weight on the stool. I slowly pulled back, feeling my eyelids lazily flutter open, the action mimicked in my stomach until we broke the piercing gaze we were sharing.

"I need to get some air." She practically pushed me off of her lap, moving swiftly towards the door and pulling a cigarette out of her purse. I sunk against the bar with my head in my hands, massaging my temples steadily. I felt Tina's hand fall onto my shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into the bare skin there as I shook with frustration. I felt my phone in my pocket and squinted against the bright screen, having finally adjusted my eyes to the dim lighting of the bar.

_Do you remember me telling you about Josh Coleman? He works at the radio station down the street. I'm gonna go check out the studio. Be back soon! Xx Q_

Rather than continue to sulk at the bar, I told Tina I would be outside and made my way through the crowd of people, pulling away from men who'd had too many drinks and a tendency towards essentially assaulting any woman within their reach. There was a large enough group in front of the bar to keep myself occupied with without having to hold legitimate conversation, which was precisely what I wanted. I was somehow wrangled into learning how to hula hoop then immediately pulled into a discussion centrically targeted toward astrology.

"Are you a Cancer?" I shook my head, laughing slightly. "Gemini?" the guy guessed again. "You seem like there would be two distinct sides to you."

"That may well be true, but I'm not a Gemini either." My phone buzzed again, and seeing how much time had passed, I hoped that it was Quinn. I was quickly learning to never expect a vibration to be followed with her name flashing as a text message alert. Apparently Tina was having trouble with someone at the bar and was ready to leave, with or without Quinn and me. I quickly explained the situation, saying I would try and get in touch with our missing-in-action blonde, but after calling twice and sending no less than four text messages, my frustration was only building.

"So what _is_ your sign anyway?"

I whipped my head back up and giggled, thankful for finding a spontaneous companion in the form of a guy with dreads (John? Or was it Jimmy?) and even more thankful that he had managed to capture my attention for the majority of Quinn's vanishing act. "I'm a Scorpio."

He scanned my face quickly, eyes narrowed as if he were sizing me up, and then nodded. "I can totally see that. You've got the whole dark, mysterious vibe working for you." I laughed, a quiet, self-deprecating chuckle, directing my gaze at my toes. "Now her? She's a Gemini." I followed his line of sight upward and found myself staring at my roommate. "There are definitely two sides to her."

"I'd say that was a fairly accurate assessment." The words were vile as I spit them out, meeting Quinn's eyes and silently challenging her to deny the truth of the statement.

"I'm a Cancer," she automatically corrected, her words slightly sluggish. It was easy to spot the signs of drinking in her and I rolled my eyes.

"A disease? How appropriate."

"I just made out with him." I felt my stomach drop as the blatant lie flashed across her hazel eyes, wavering beneath knitted eyelashes, spidered with moisture. I nodded before standing and brushing past her to find Tina perched at the bar with her head thrown back in laughter.

"I'm ready to leave." I nestled my head into her shoulder, keeping the words quiet enough to not float toward Quinn's drunken ears.

"I'm not anymore. I've got stuff –"

"Fine." I could feel the anger ensnare itself within my pupils and stormed toward the entrance of the bar, unconcerned with the strangers I nearly bowled over and relatively deaf to Tina's frantic repetitions of "are you mad at me?"

My vision burned with tears as I shifted my gaze left and right as thoughts frantically fluttered through my conscious. I stepped off of the curb, my feet filled with purpose and fueled only by the internal turmoil of my masochistic frustration and the incessant thundering of my heart. It was a surreal feeling, that muscle pounding against my rib cage, beating dedicatedly as I felt the atriums tearing apart, the ventricles exploding with rage, and the valves crushing themselves under the weight of my own chastising. _I just don't like her, especially for you. You're a nice girl and she's a chameleon. I just hope to god that her heart is as sincere as yours. _Lauren's warning rushed through my head, polluting my thoughts and brimming over with knowledge I'd vehemently ignored. She'd seen something in both of us that I refused to acknowledge, and now, my inherently stubborn nature had returned to bite me in the ass. No one knew me as nice, and quite frankly, it wasn't one of the first words even my closest friends would use to describe me. I had thought perhaps that Lauren was wrong; I had thought that we, Quinn and I, could beat the odds others had so quickly placed against us, when we weren't even an _us _yet. Could there be one?

My eyelids fluttered shut, and I welcomed the darkness as I continued down the side of the road, thankful that the quiet of midnight was taking over and coating the raucousness of those still drinking a block away from me. The dark and the silence and my own cyclical thoughts shrouded me, protecting me from their laughter, their carefree natures, and their pure, unadulterated happiness – something I was sure was far from my grasp.

"Santana!" I tucked a bent pointer finger beneath my eyes, wiping furiously at the tears building there. "Where are you going?" I'd silently calculated the time it would take to walk, figuring a drunken hour of on-foot travel would be preferable to staying at the bar for any stretch of time.

"I'm going home."

"Santana –" Her palm fell against my shoulder and spun me around, finding my nostrils flared, my chest heaving, and my eyes watering dangerously once more, despite my best efforts.

"Stop fucking with my feelings!" Her mouth fell open and her hand dropped to her side as she seemingly cowered before me. "I know you didn't just kiss him Quinn. You were gone for damn near an hour."

Her gaze traveled towards the ground as well, and she fidgeted with her fingers, now intertwined in front of her. "I'm not trying to fuck with your feelings," she finally whispered, "and I didn't want to do what I did. I told him no." I watched as she dropped to the ground, slumping against the curb and pulling her knees tightly to her chest. "I was bleeding and he still wouldn't stop. I didn't want to."

All of the fight filtered out of me – all of the anger, all of the frustration, and all of the hurt. She began shaking, as sobs wracked her body, and all I could do was wrap my arms tightly around her shoulders and watch the street lights change. Green, yellow, red, and then back to green. By the time she had quieted down, I had lost count of how many times the lights had gone through their cycles, but the consistency of the patterns had soothed me just as the crying had her.

"You know, Puck told me you'd break my heart," she mumbled, staring at her hands and adamantly avoiding my eyes. "I don't think you will, but I also don't think I'd mind if you did. But you're scary, you know that? You terrify me. It's like I can't function when I'm not around you. I feel like I'm a twelve year old boy with his first crush, and it's not fun. Any time I would hang out with Sam or Puck or Finn, I would want you to be there. If you couldn't be, because you were at work or studying for school or something, I would want to text you every moment that you were missing. I wanted to take enough pictures to make you feel like you were there."

She heaved out a sigh, sniffing twice and wiping beneath her eyes, only further smearing her makeup. "I wasn't a good person before I came here, but you make me want to not be terrible. Everything I feel for you is so foreign and I'm not used to it, and it's just _scary_ Santana. Can you understand that?"

_I wanna settle down  
I wanna settle down  
Baby there's no need to run  
I'll love you well_

I let the words sink in, swishing them around in my head and testing the taste of them on my tongue before replying. "Have I ever told you that you're beautiful?" I hushed, my words almost inaudible over the light breeze and occasional rush of traffic. "You deserve to be treated as such. You deserve someone who will tell you when you're being annoying, which you are, a good percent of the time, but still find it endearing somehow. You deserve someone who will bring you out to the middle of nowhere so that you can look for constellations. You deserve someone who will slow dance with you in a field to Dierks Bentley all day, every day if that's what you need. I could be that person for you, Quinn. If you let me, I could be the best thing that's ever happened to you. You just have to stop running scared."

"I think your phone is ringing."

"Stop deflecting," I admonished, huffing in frustration. She had a tendency to change the subject of a conversation as soon as it became uncomfortable for her, and it was one of the most infuriating habits I'd yet encountered of hers. She reached across my body, however, and retrieved my phone, which was lit up with three missed calls and two text messages from Tina. "She wants to know if we want a ride home." Quinn nodded before struggling to stand, gratefully accepting my extended hand once I'd pushed myself to my feet. Instead of letting go once she was steady, however, she interlaced our fingers and squeezed slightly, holding on until we had to slide into Tina's car. As soon as we were both settled into the backseat, she took hold of my hand again before slumping against my shoulder; the ride home was silent, and the only motions she made were in response to the curves in the road.

I hurried into the house, plugging my phone in to the stereo and pulling up one of the songs she requested every time we drove more than fifteen minutes up the road with the windows down. I watched as Quinn collapsed onto the couch, curling into the fetal position next to my dog as if trying to make herself invisible.

"Dance with me," I whispered, holding out my hand for her to take a second time.

"We're in the living room," she halfheartedly protested, though a giggle bubbled in her throat.

"Dance with me." This time it was a statement more so than a question, and I took both of her hands in mine and lifted her into a standing position before wrapping an arm around her waist. "Forget about everything else and dance with me."

_That first kiss, shook me up  
It rattled my cage with a tender touch  
Sweet and wild  
Girl, I could not get enough_

Hesitant at first, she finally folded into me, allowing my body to support her weight as we swayed on the hardwood floors at two in the morning. With each rotation, she seemed to grow more comfortable with our positions, and fell further and further into me, perpetuating the warmth building in my chest.

_The grass was cool, we lost our minds  
Sharing secrets and a bottle of wine  
Lazy night, cotton dress  
Giving in to a warm caress  
Sweet and wild  
Girl, I could not get enough  
Sweet and wild  
Taste of your love_

I tucked my chin just over her shoulder and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. The contented sigh she released bolstered the confidence I had gathered and I pulled away slightly, lifting her chin and guiding it toward my mouth. "Now forget about everything else and kiss me."

"Santana, I –"

"I don't care about him," I murmured, feeling recklessly emboldened and far too sure of myself. "Just kiss me."

_Taste of your love  
Gentle on my mind  
Taste of your love  
Sweet and wild as berries  
From a summer vine_

She nodded and whispered a single, breathless "okay" before pressing our lips together with, for the first time, no intention of running.

* * *

**AN: I hope you enjoyed. Feel free to leave a review to let me know what you thought! The chapter title was Call Your Girlfriend by Robyn, and the two songs within the chapter were Settle Down by Kimbra and Sweet and Wild by Dierks Bentley.**


	4. Chapter 4: Little Bit

After that night, it seemed the need to be together had become insatiable. If I wasn't curled into her side, I was sitting comfortably atop her thighs. If our fingers weren't intertwined, hers were threaded through my hair. I was cautious, as was she, but we found ourselves in an undeniable stalemate – unable to continue forward unless someone gathered their confidence and made a move. That's how I found myself straddling her slender form, panting heavily and staring into eyes that mirrored the mild hesitance I was sure filtered through my own. Rather than pull away entirely, I slowed my motions, molding our mouths together unhurriedly and lingering before pulling back. I kept my weight from pressing against her and hovered shakily instead, softly testing the waters we had been paddling in since the night her tirade of drunken honesty brought us closer to the truth.

"Is this okay?" My voice was quiet, barely piercing the electric air between our lips and she nodded desperately, tilting upward to capture my mouth again as her back arched upward and her hips canted dangerously. "Maybe –" With every full intention to stop the progress of wandering hands, I began to protest, but a well-placed knee between my legs brought a gasp from the back of my throat. I sat up immediately, running my fingers through my hair to tame it before staring down into wild hazel, focused on keeping my gaze there rather than on her heaving chest. "Maybe we should slow down." Both of her hands covered her face, but she eventually nodded, pushing her bangs back as I lifted one leg and slid off of her body. "Maybe we should, I don't know, smoke a cigarette and talk like normal, and see if this is really what we want, or need."

She nodded again, easing herself off of the cushions of the couch and self-consciously adjusting her tank top, which had shifted, leaving one pert breast exposed. A light flush covered her cheeks once she'd noticed and I couldn't keep my heart from swelling when she bashfully hid behind her hair as she regrouped. "A cigarette break sounds great," she acknowledged, her voice lower than normal and gritty with the lingering traces of desire I too felt coursing through my veins.

We were silent outside, occasionally sneaking glances at the other, and the same rang true once we settled ourselves on opposite sides of the couch. I anxiously fiddled with my phone, tempted to move to the loveseat on the other wall, but well aware of how much that would only further purport the awkwardness. I shifted slightly, absentmindedly scrolling through Facebook status updates of people who I couldn't have cared less about in that moment, until movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention and Quinn's full body weight pressed against me.

"I don't want to slow down," she whispered before connecting our mouths again. "I'm scared I won't be good at this, but I want to feel you. I _need_ to feel you Santana."

My hips bucked of their own accord and the breathy moan the action provoked sent a shiver down my spine. Shifting our positions, I eased her over and on to her back, keeping a firm grip at the nape of her neck as our lips teased at one another, tasting the necessity between us. All I can remember is the syrupy feeling that coated my motions - slow, perhaps overly sweet, like a thickened molasses. My fingertips trailed over her skin, coated in a light sheen of sweat from the humidity of the early May air, as I memorized every niche of her body. My hands smoothed over every desperate flirtation, each break in her fragile façade of strength, and every late night that ended in tears. I traced over scars from caring too much, and those from caring too little about people, about situations, about herself. If that moment were the only one I would have, I wanted it committed to memory.

I wanted to be able to write metaphors comparing her to timeless pieces of art – the curve of her back to the Arc de Triumphe, the sounds escaping her lungs to Beethoven's finest of symphonies, and her half-lidded expression, with just a hint of a smile, to the Mona Lisa.

"Are you sure?" I prayed with every fiber of my being for affirmation – a nod, a breathlessly whispered "yes," or a grip around my wrist pressing downward. I toyed with the hem of her underwear, lilac and lace, waiting for confirmation or denial. She wrapped one arm around my neck and pulled me closer toward her, snaking the hand beneath my shirt over my breast and leaving it encompassing the violent drumming of my heart. As she pressed our lips together, I felt her nod and without waiting for further acknowledgement, my fingers dipped down. From that moment on, despite my best efforts, everything was a blur – a surreal, unending blur. It wasn't until I felt her freeze against my stomach that I became acutely aware of anything more than blinding pleasure and echoing moans.

"You don't have to do this," I quickly protested, as she seemingly forced her mouth to move from my stomach to my inner thighs.

"I want to," she whispered, her voice encased in fractures.

I could see the frustrated tears building along the base of her lashes, though she quickly blinked them away. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything you aren't comfortable with."

"I really want to do this, I promise." I searched her eyes for any trace of dishonesty, but found nothing less than genuine sparkling beneath hazel flames. "I'm just nervous."

"There's nothing to be nervous about," I hushed, brushing her bangs away from her forehead as her cheek rested against my leg. "It's just me." I felt her nod against my skin, and continued repeating those last three words until they could bolster her confidence. It was sudden, but not unwelcome, when her tongue delved forward, leaving my body to contort in a choreographed dance in response to its motions. She was relentless, and it seemed every sound that escaped me only spurred her on further.

"Mercy," I chuckled, taking a handful of her short hair and pulling her away from my quaking thighs after a fourth (or was it fifth?) orgasm. Her Cheshire grin was self-satisfied, though not at all smug, and she happily curled into my chest, slinging a leg over my own. We lay quietly for a while, my head resting atop her messy waves and her lips pressed firmly against my collarbone.

"You know," she whispered, "I never cuddle after."

"Oh god, then you better get off of me," I teased, squirming in her arms, though they merely tightened, holding me in place.

"I've never _wanted _to cuddle after," Quinn quickly corrected. "But with you, I can't think of anywhere I would rather be right now."

* * *

Surprisingly, nothing changed between us after that night. We continued on in the fashion we had before. Once we were both home from work, we would curl up on the couch, sharing a can of Coke and watching television until our eyes were nothing more than slits and our yawns could no longer be stifled. We would fall asleep in my bedroom, alternating cuddling positions dependent on whose customers had been worse throughout the day, and wake up to the same routine. She would snooze my first two alarms, then nudge me on the third _you're going to be late if you don't leave now_ alarm, lifting her head only to murmur "you look really pretty," as I got ready before rolling over and falling asleep once more. I would kiss her on the forehead, once, maybe twice, scrawl out a quick note telling her to have a good day, and head out for another eight hours sitting behind a computer while I waited anxiously for graduation.

We spent our days dancing around the idea of a relationship, refusing to acknowledge one based on her instability and my recent breakup, choosing instead to build grandiose future plans that may well never come to fruition. We spent an entire morning over breakfast making rules for our future children, while Puck grumpily pushed around the eggs on his plate.

"This might be a deal breaker, but I really want to do cloth diapering." I wobbled my shoulders and head noncommittally before nodding in agreement.

"Santana couldn't handle that," he chuckled. "You'd have to wash all of them, because she would pass out or puke or something."

"Fine, then I'll wash all of them," she countered, rolling her eyes and squeezing my knee affectionately under the table. That did nothing for his mood. "And this might be a stretch, and I can compromise if necessary, but I really want to try and make our own organic baby food."

"So we'll be hippie moms, is what you're getting at?" I teased, a wide grin tugging at my cheeks. She blushed and shrugged, hiding her own smile behind a sheath of hair as she toyed with the bacon on her plate. "That's fine. I can roll with that." Her expression brightened as she turned to me, her gaze warm and unguarded, whereas there was normally a translucent wall between us. She continued listing considerations for our offspring until the bill was paid, most of which I didn't refute, and as we walked to Puck's car, I found a luminescence in her that I rarely had the opportunity to see, much less appreciate.

That spilling of light didn't dim for days, if not weeks; it seemed that all of my hours and minutes and seconds ran together when I was with her, so I was never quite sure of what day or time or month it was. However, when I came in one Saturday evening, I could fill a dip in the temperature that wasn't due to the air conditioning. I scanned the living room and found Puck and Quinn sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the television, as if not actually absorbing the flashing colors on the screen. It wasn't an unusual picture, given that more times than not, when I came home and Quinn wasn't working, that's where I would find the two of them, but something was off, in a rather severe manner. I chose to ignore it, instead tucking my books closely to my chest and making my way to my room to continue studying for my impending finals. Even after Puck left, my blonde roommate was not quite herself, but I'd learned early on not to push issues until I knew there was no option but a discussion. I spent the next morning doing the same, only leaving for a few hours that afternoon to finish a group project for the last English class of my collegiate career. When I got home, I tossed my keys in the bowl we keep near the front door and turned to my left to find Quinn sobbing on the kitchen floor, something that was, though unusual, not entirely unexpected.

"Q, honey, what's wrong?"

She shook her head, waving me off and taking a large gulp from the cup in her hand before focusing glassy eyes on me as she swayed slightly. "I couldn't get the cabinets clean. How did your project go?"

"We finished it, thankfully. Why were you cleaning the cabinets?"

She hiccupped once, and giggled, surveying the progress of her cleaning. "I did the floor," she petted it gently, "and the oven," she tapped it twice, "and the stove, and sink, and something else. I couldn't get the cabinets clean though, I'm sorry."

"Are you _drunk_?" My eyebrows lifted in shock, and I didn't bother attempting to conceal the expression on my face. She shrugged and smiled to herself, as if she'd managed to keep her lack of sobriety a secret. "Quinn, it's like, four in the afternoon on a Sunday. That shit's only appropriate during football season, when overweight men chest bump each other and public intoxication is the norm."

"I was sad. The gin made me happy."

I flashed back to the night prior, the uncomfortable nature of the air in the living room when I came home, and the unsuccessful attempts at normalcy its occupants made. I thought of how Quinn refused to sit on the couch with me, and how Noah hadn't so much as said goodbye when he left. I remembered her unwillingness to sleep in my bed, though we hadn't so much as had a disagreement in days, and I recalled the lost expression in her sunset eyes. What I had assumed had been inadvertently affirmed for me, despite my desire for it to be untrue.

The words were bitter in my mouth even before they traveled over my lips and toward her eyes. "You slept with Puck, didn't you?"

The silence that encompassed the living room was stifling. I shook my head, trying to clear the images of the two of them together from my mind while she resumed quietly weeping on the floor. I brushed past her, holding tightly to my purse and digging mercilessly for the cigarettes I knew were in it. My hands quivered as I finally grabbed purchase of the sharp edge of the pack, and I continued to ravage the contents for a lighter as my feet swiftly brought me to our back patio. I sunk into a chair, taking a deep drag and exhaling shakily, my eyes shut tight to ward off any impending tears.

"I have a problem." The voice was no more than a breeze through the stagnant air, and I chose to vehemently ignore Quinn's words. "I want to make everyone happy, and I'm only just realizing that I can't do that. I knew he wanted to sleep with me, so I did it. I didn't want you to find out."

"Well, I would say that the next time you decide to fuck someone, you ought to try and be a bit more discreet about it, but it really doesn't matter anymore, does it? I'm done with this shit." My gaze, fire personified, flickered up to hers, now seated directly across from me, her legs pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped securely around her shins. "Why don't you try and make yourself happy for once?"

"I don't know how to do that. I've never done that."

"Then figure it the fuck out Quinn. I like you, you know that, and you said you weren't going to fuck with my feelings, but you're doing a spectacular job of it anyway."

She receded even further into herself, brushing her cheeks along her legs as she sought words to cotton the daggers I was throwing her way. "I didn't know you liked me. People never say things they mean to me, so I didn't know if you really did, or if –"

"If what Q? If you were just another piece of ass to me? If I was just like everyone else in this town? If I was going to fuck you, and leave? I care about you. I like you. I –" I caught the words on the tip of my tongue before they spilled over. "You should know that. You should know that, and you should know how to make yourself happy." Most of her body froze, save for her fingers, which were fidgeting with the cigarette tucked between them. "You need to know who you want to be with – me or him."

"It's you! It's always fucking been you!" She exclaimed, nearly cutting off the end of my sentence. "I like you, so much, and I don't know why and that's scary for me. I always know why I like someone. I could write you a list of specific things that I liked about everyone I ever dated, and I could write you a list of things they wanted from me so they could be happy. I would do those things. But I don't understand you. I don't know what I like about you, because quite frankly, you're kind of a bitch most of the time, and I don't know what you want from me. That's fucking scary Santana. I don't want to want you. I wish I could want him, because things would be so much easier, but I don't, and I can't, and I fucking want _you._ When I was with him – "

"I don't want to hear that. I don't," I quickly interjected, shaking my head firmly and gripping the arm of my chair.

"- I closed my eyes, or I stared at the wall and I prayed for it to be over. I imagined it was someone else, and that's the only way I could do it. I imagined it was your hands touching me, and your lips kissing me, and that's the only way I could do it. It's _you_."

My head was spinning mercilessly, and I couldn't grab hold of anything tangible. I stomped out the butt of my cigarette and stood before her, unsure and unwilling and unknowing. "Write me a list of the things that would make you happy. That's what I want from you." Then I pressed my lips to her forehead and walked inside.

The next night, before she went in for a shower, two folded pieces of paper were dropped in front of me while I sat curled up on the couch.

_Things that __**would**__ make me happy: _

_- More interesting lady sex_

___- _Buying you dinner once in a while

___- _Spending more time playing outside

___- _If we had a nice, huge bed

___- _If I never needed anyone to support me

___- _If I could talk about you at work the way other people talk about the boys they have crushes on

___- _If I could somehow make everyone happy around me

_Things that __**do**__ make me happy: _

___- _Singing country music really loudly

___- _Making premature and irrational future plans

___- _Crawfish

___- _When you sit in my lap and smoke

___- _When you kiss my shoulders a little when I'm falling asleep

___- _When Puck sings along to songs I didn't think he knew

___- _When it's hot outside

___- _Sun dresses

___- _Good hair days

___- _When time goes by faster than I'm expecting

___- _Tortilla soup

___- _The notes you leave me in the morning

I read them, each one bulleted and certain, and then I read them a second and third time. I kept rereading her sprawling cursive until I heard the water in the shower shut off, at which point I unmuted the television and tucked the pages into my purse. She said nothing, asked no questions when she crawled onto the sofa next to me, her hair damp and her eyes wide with hesitation. I beckoned her over and opened my arms, content to have her lay there for the rest of the night. I fell asleep that night with the foolhardy thought that perhaps _this _time things would work out in my favor.

* * *

**AN: I apologize for the time between updates! I had a difficult time figuring out how exactly to approach this chapter. Hopefully, this segment explains a few things for you all. Don't be so hard on either of our girls. They're young, they're stupid, and they're figuring things out as best they can. Things will only be going up from here. :) Our love triangle angst has, for the most part, filtered out. I'm not saying 100% smooth sailing, but things will be much better in the next few chapters, so stick with me!**

**The chapter title is Little Bit by Lykke Li - a wonderful song! Go check it out. :)**

**Also, please let me know what you guys are thinking! I love your feedback! xx Aimee**


	5. Chapter 5: Shiver, Shiver

**Author's Note: We have a flashback, and a snippet of a letter in this chapter. Both will be in italics, just so you guys don't get too confused! :)**

* * *

My days continued to blur together, as the hours of finals week have a tendency to do. I spent a solid five days praying with all that I had that my grades would guarantee the elusive piece of paper congratulating me for slugging through four years of classes I could barely stay awake during. My only tangible memories of that first week of May were Quinn's fingers dutifully digging into the tension between my shoulders as I repeatedly mourned my imminent failure.

"You won't fail Santana," she would automatically chastise. "You can do this."

"I can't. My brain feels like a half priced microwave burrito that someone stuck into a meat grinder and pulverized." I massaged my temples as she continued working on my lower back, with the names, dates, and vocabulary terms before me swimming mercilessly in my vision. "I will never be able to memorize enough of this crap to pass that final. A girl last year had a panic attack during the test and started sobbing."

"That girl won't be you," she reassured me, as she had every day that week thus far. It was T-minus twelve hours until the test in question, and I was slowly but surely losing every ounce of sanity I possessed. Her palm rubbed soothingly over my t-shirt before she stood, pulling another Red Bull from the refrigerator and popping it open before setting it in front of me and kissing my cheek. "I'm going to go and take a shower, and then we're going to bed. You look exhausted, and I mean that in the nicest way possible." I rolled my eyes at her, but a smile tugged at the corner of my lips despite my efforts to maintain a stoic façade. "You need sleep Santana." My shoulders sagged as I nodded, giving in without much of a fight, which was unusual for me. She grinned, obviously pleased with herself, and turned to head down the hallway. I shut down my laptop, conceding to the fact that if I didn't have enough experiments memorized by now, there was no way a few extra hours would help me pass my principles of learning exam. I could barely hold my eyes open after four days of arguing with Quinn about how much or little sleep I needed to function.

While I waited for her, I quietly slipped out of the back door, illuminating my phone and noting several text messages. In high school, there were three words that people commonly used to describe me: closed off, confident, and bitch. I wouldn't say any of those monikers were inaccurate, but there were others that would perhaps be considered more suitable to sum up my personality. Either way, with those traits tucked firmly in my pocket, I had a tendency to befriend more guys than girls, which was well suited to my sexuality, given that jealousy had never been an object in my relationships. Thus, it seemed, my three best friends were Sam, Puck, and Jake, despite the almost unending issues we had.

**Trouty Mouth: **Good luck on your final tomorrow! Sorry again about the dog bed, but that aside, you're gonna kill that test!

I chuckled quietly, finally past a place of resentment, and sent my gratitude in response as I thought about the night in question, only a few days prior.

* * *

_"I'm not giving you your keys Sam. You passed out on our couch and we couldn't wake you up! We called 911 because we thought you were dead!"_

_"After we thought you were a burglar," I reminded him, thinking of the vicious crashing we heard from my room after he'd snuck out of our house then snuck right back in, realizing he was too drunk to drive. Quinn had grabbed a pistol from her room, and I would have been lying if I'd said the sight of her so confidently ready to protect us both didn't leave me tingling with an inappropriate amount of desire._

_"I'm fine to drive," he protested. "Seriously, just give me my keys."_

_"You tried to go home a_

_second time," she rebuffed, "and forgot your keys in our house. You locked yourself out and had to wake us up at three in the morning to get them. You are not fine to drive. Sit down on the couch."_

_The back and forth of the argument continued until nearly six in the morning, despite the fact that I had a final the next afternoon, when he finally agreed to wait until I left for work for his keys to be given back. As he grumpily settled into the love seat in the living room, Quinn and I snuggled up together on the couch, halfheartedly paying attention to a Grey's Anatomy episode until I fell asleep, promising myself a short nap before I had to be at work._

_I woke up to her screams, far more shrill than anyone should experience at that time of the morning, and Sam's incessant rumblings about how he "had it."_

_"Put your dick away!" That sentence caught my attention, but I simply folded myself further into the pillows on the couch, far from being in the mood to deal with his alcohol-induced Swinging Penis Syndrome. "You know Santana doesn't like them." Furthermore, that sentence brought a small smile to my lips, grateful that despite her belief that I was asleep, she was attempting to protect me from being emotionally scarred again. "Oh my God! Why are you peeing in the dog bed?"_

_The dog in question, a Chihuahua I'd had for most of college, was happily curled up next to me, snoring softly and clearly unbothered by the events of the morning. From that point, all I could hear was Quinn trying to send Sam to the bathroom, finally leading him outside to finish what he'd apparently begun in our living room. When the back door closed a second time, indicating Sam's return, I could practically see my blonde roommate spin on her heels and point a polished fingernail beneath our friend's nose._

_"What in the hell were you thinking? Why did you pee in Edie's bed?"_

_He switched his attention from Quinn to the couch, where I still lay with the dog near my stomach, and narrowed his eyes. "She deserved it."_

* * *

Despite the humor everyone found in the story each time we told it, Quinn had an uncanny ability to hold a grudge, and it took quite a while for her to forgive him – just longer than it took for him to swallow his pride and apologize. I tapped at my phone screen, finding a second text message.

**Puck: **Make that test your prison bitch!

Puck on the other hand, unsurprisingly enough, had fallen for my roommate just as quickly as I had, something unusual for my self-proclaimed sex shark. He had never been one for relationships, but quite charmingly declared a "battle royale" for Quinn's heart, as if winning her affection was a competition. He had done his best to convince her that he was the better choice as far as a significant other went, insisting that I wasn't capable of a healthy relationship. Quinn, bless her heart, quite promptly told him that he shouldn't encourage her to date him, when all of the negative traits he claimed I possessed were just as prevalent in him as well.

**Mom: **Good luck tomorrow sweetheart! Dad and I are so proud of you!

No pressure. I allowed my eyes to flicker shut, silently reassuring myself amidst the buzz of May's mosquitos and the heaviness of the humid air that I was capable. I was one class, one final away from graduation, and I refused to let myself, my parents, or Quinn down. Three out of four of those people believed in me wholeheartedly, and it took all that I had to convince myself that I was worthy of that belief. I am constantly convincing myself that I'm worthy.

* * *

_You're asleep on me right now and you're really fucking pretty. Your shirt is all gathered around your waist, where it came up slightly. Somehow, your hair is still perfect. Every once in a while one of your feet twitches slightly and when you roll over, you make little sounds. I know when you wake up you're going to be a little grumpy and confused, and you're going to have lines on your cheek from the pillow, and I'm going to want to touch them so badly, because I always do, but I'm going to refrain because I think it's probably a weird compulsion. I don't remember ever feeling that way - having a weird compulsion TO touch someone, absently touching your ankles and your arms and your neck. I don't have to force myself, I have to STOP myself. _

_I wrote you a letter that I forgot to bring you but it wasn't very eloquent anyway. _

_I know a lot of people want answers from me, and I really wish I had one. I have... a hypothesis. I feel a lot of different ways about you, and the combination is unique, but the feelings themselves aren't. I fall in love, with people, and with places, and with jobs, and with weather patterns and songs and inanimate objects. I'm not saying I'm in love with you, I'm just saying I'm very used to this falling process. There is just this one thing about you that is so different, and, actually, it's not your vagina. _

_I like making irrational, premature plans with people - big plans, rest of my life plans. I do it all. the. time. That's not reassuring, that's crappy actually. The difference, I mean the BIG, concerning difference is that every time, every single damned time I've done that with anyone, in retrospect I look back and realize that the people in my big future plans and the people I was actually making them with were completely fucking different. I mean, they were similar, they shared some personality aspects, but I changed so many things. I imagined them being so different than they were when I met them, and I imagined ME being different. I imagined them being softer, being funnier, being less likely to call me from jail. I imagined myself being the kind of person who never woke up next to them, closed my eyes again, and prayed to God that when I opened them I'd be alone again._

_I don't do that with you, Santana. I am dangerously unrealistic about my big dreams with you, because in my big dreams, you're exactly the same. I don't even think that's possible, I mean, life kind of forces people to stop being the same. But I always imagine you like this, even the bad parts. I imagine you sometimes mad at me. I imagine you pregnant and smoking and just fucking DARING me to say something about it with your eyes, and I wouldn't dream of it, just so you know. I imagine you holding a baby in a vegetable garden with a red bull in the other hand, in your yoga pants. I know that sometimes I'm going to come home and you're going to be manically cleaning our future house and buying clothing your future baby doesn't even really need on the internet, and that's going to be okay. In my big plans you are just as sweet as you are now, just as fun as you are now, and even just as flawed as you are now, and it's still all okay. I'm still happy. _

_Is that fucking weird? I know that's fucking weird, actually. You don't have to tell me. _

_But the thing is, I don't think those things are going to happen. I'm not saving up money for a high end backpack with the special spot for a baby just yet. I'm not planning a big gay wedding. I just talk about these things, and I think about them, because it's not something I can usually do. I can't usually look someone in the face and tell them I could be happy with them, in the long haul, without something in the back of my head adding "if you were just different." It makes me so happy to just think about what our life could be like and not have to snap back into reality and realize that the changes someone would have to make for me to be happy with them are completely unrealistic. _

_Anyway, you are still sleeping and I am, for some reason, a wreck._

_I am just so vulnerable and shitty and weak right now, and I know it gets to you, because I just... I'm not like this. I shouldn't be this self-conscious person that I'm being right now. I don't want to be needy. I want to be tough. Why would I need to worry about anyone but myself? I never cared about being broke because if I lived off of ramen until I started passing out or I had to sleep on a park bench it didn't MATTER. And my saving grace, the thing that keeps me SANE is my ability to get the fuck out whenever I want. I still talk about it like it's going to happen. I weigh my options. Florida, Portland, Olympia, wherever. _

_But I'm not going to leave and that is fucking with me and that's why I tried so hard to not care, to fuck a bunch of stupid little boys that I could walk away from WHENEVER I WANTED. But I am suddenly terrified of not being good enough for someone else, when I've spent most of my life being completely content to be simply _seen_ as good enough, even if I wasn't. I feel naked all the time and it's weird and I'm not used to it. _

_You're awake now and this seems so weird. I'm trying not to look at you while I'm typing this. It's not working._

* * *

I had to hold on to the top of my hat to ensure that it didn't fall onto the pavement as the warmth of Quinn's body pressed against mine and her lips did the same. The tassel attached to my mortarboard swung as she dipped me back and the final traces of academic tension melted away under the sunlight and floated far from us both on the light breeze courting the ends of our hair.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispered when she finally pulled back, adjusting the collection of strands that had a propensity for getting stuck in my eyelashes. "I didn't know if you had talked to your parents about us, so I wanted to find you first, so I could kiss you." The slightest hint of a blush colored her cheeks as she redirected her gaze to her feet, which fidgeted awkwardly. Gripping the nape of her neck, I sealed our mouths together a second time, smiling into the kiss and laughing as we separated, several seconds later. "But as nice as this is, we should probably go and find everyone else. Your mom has been talking about a celebration dinner."

I nodded, heading toward the front of the convention center, keeping my eyes peeled for any trace of grey hair above the heads of the throngs of people; it has been the only way I've known to find my father in large crowds since I was six. As I wove between groups upon groups of people, all chattering excitedly, I felt Quinn's fingers slip between my own, clasping our hands tightly together. I immediately sent a beaming smile over my shoulder in her direction, one that was returned with a second blush and a gentle squeeze against my palm. I stopped suddenly however, prompting her to stumble into my side and trip over the hem of my gown.

"Are you okay?" she hushed out as she steadied her footing.

A warmth built in my chest as both my smile and her confusion grew. I took hold of both of her hands, ignoring the crowds around us as I bore into her hazel eyes. "I want to take you on a date tomorrow – a real date."

"You want to take me on a date?" she echoed, a flourish of awe coloring her words. I nodded again, fully aware that I was beaming. She tucked a stray section of hair behind my ear and whispered a soft, "okay," before kissing my cheek briefly.

"Santana!" I twisted in place and found my parents waving animatedly alongside Puck and Elaine. As high as my heels were, I still found myself capable of running toward my father, giggling as he lifted me in the air and we spun in a circle.

"I'm proud of you mija." I'd managed to keep from crying for the majority of the day, but those five words in the deep voice that had been both my biggest critic and my greatest support left me with a swelling in my chest and dangerously wobbling crescendos of teardrops beneath my eyelids. I was quickly pulled from his arms and into my mother's before being passed around to each of the people who had shown up for my graduation ceremony; each gave me the same words, general congratulations, but none rang as presently as Quinn and my dad's had.

"Can we get going?" I finally asked, unzipping my gown and removing the bobby pins that held my mortarboard to my hair. "I'm starving, and we all know how I get when I haven't eaten." The group chuckled, all except Puck, who murmured "the yelling place," and received a swift punch in the bicep and playfully rolled eyes.

In order to maintain some level of discretion, I grabbed both Quinn's hand and Puck's as the four of us crossed the expansive parking lot and determined who would be riding with whom. As we sat through dinner, I was blissfully happy despite the incredibly long processions, the extreme heat, and the thirty minute wait upon our arrival at the restaurant.

"Elaine, I'm glad you got to make it out for Santana's graduation." The good feeling swimming through my veins vanished quickly and a sense of dread replaced it as my mother addressed my ex-girlfriend. I slipped my free hand beneath the table and squeezed Quinn's thigh affectionately, hoping to prepare her for the beginning of what I was sure would be an excruciatingly long and painful conversation. "Now that she's out of college, you two can see about giving me some grandchildren." The other three occupants turned their gazes toward me, waiting for a response, but I found my throat dry and my mind blank.

Elaine and I had dated briefly after my freshman year of college once I'd realized my feelings for her were nothing but platonic. My parents however, latched onto the relationship with vigor, far more disappointed than I was over the breakup. She had remained in my life since, but we had never revisited the connection, despite her insistence time and time again that we do so.

"Why would you say something like that?" Quinn burst out, anger seeping out of her pores.

"Elaine is basically like my daughter-in-law already," my mother shrugged casually, seemingly oblivious to the blonde's upset. "I figure they might as well make it official and give me a few more grandbabies."

"We broke up years ago, Mom. Elaine and I aren't getting back together."

"Excuse me," Quinn whispered brusquely, nudging me so she could slip out of the booth and automatically heading toward the bathroom. I was torn between setting my mother straight and following the fragile girl walking away from me, but a decision was made for me when Puck grabbed my arm and purse before pulling me toward the restaurant's entrance.

"We'll be right back," he addressed my parents. "I think she needs a cigarette break."

With shaking hands, I tried desperately to light my cigarette, thankful when my best friend swiftly grabbed it from my lips and lit it for me. Quinn joined us just moments later, her eyes slightly red and her cheeks puffy. Some people cry, other people channel their upset into art, but Quinn had a tendency toward throwing up – one that she seemed to have little control over more often than not.

"I hate when your mom talks like that to Elaine," she grumbled halfheartedly. "Like what gives her the right to assume that you're going to be with her? Maybe you want to be with someone else – she doesn't know that." I arched an eyebrow in her direction and she blew a deep breath between her lips, shaking her head. "I know Elaine is one of your really close friends and everything – I get that, I do, and trust me when I say I've never been a jealous person – but every time she touches you, I kind of want to punch her in the face."

"Now you know how I feel," Puck quipped, nonchalantly flicking his cigarette. "No offense Santana."

"None taken." Quinn was doing a spectacular job of ignoring us both as she continued on her tangent, stopping only when her cigarette burnt her fingers and she promptly dropped it to the ground. "Why don't we go back inside? Dinner is almost over, and then we can go home, okay?" She nodded in resignation before intertwining our fingers, resolutely avoiding Puck's expression, which was akin to that of a kicked puppy. I pulled free from her grip, not willing to let anyone else's feelings be upset within the remaining fifteen minutes we had at the restaurant. Noah mouthed a silent thank you as he opened the door for us both before we returned to the lion's den.

* * *

**AN: Hello beautiful people. :) I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. The date day will be included in the next chapter, if not a few other events as well. I'll try and get the next portion up by the end of next week! Let me know how you're feeling about things, if you do so feel inclined. xx Aimee**

**The song for this chapter is Shiver, Shiver by Walk the Moon.**


	6. Chapter 6: I've Been Waiting For You

"Quinn, are you feeling all right? Did the food upset your stomach or something?" My mother is a woman of several talents – cooking a recipe book's worth of southern food, diagnosing any plethora of illness within a reasonable amount of time without the use of Google, and switching moods more quickly than Brittany switches definitive sexualities. Her voice leaked with genuine concern, far from the antagonistic tone she'd used before, and the downward turn of the corners of her mouth combined with the wavering quality of her eyes exuded nothing but well-paced curiosity.

"I'm fine," she quickly replied, flashing a rather unconvincing smile toward my mother, who saw nothing but authenticity in the slight quirk of Quinn's cheeks. "I've been feeling a bit queasy for most of the day. I'm sure it'll pass." Her hazel eyes flickered, as they often did when she lied, but she held strong eye contact, something my mother interpreted as honesty.

"Santana, make sure to give her something for her stomach when you two get home." I nodded dutifully, thankful that my mother was letting the unusual situation pass as though it possessed any film of normalcy. The check was returned to my father, and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief, knowing that we could all get out of the restaurant within minutes after a few genuine goodbyes, given that the only good I could find in the farewells is that they meant we were free of interrogation for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

"Get up, get up, get up!" I lightly bounced on the bed, hoping to rouse Quinn as the alarm clock hadn't seemed to have done its job. She groaned and rolled over, hiding her face underneath the blankets. I teasingly slid my cold fingers up the front of her shirt, chuckling as she squirmed away and grumbled, while still managing to maintain her half-comatose state.

"This date must be pretty fucking fantastic if it's got _you_ up and forming sentences before ten o'clock." I rolled my eyes playfully before kissing her pouted lips and bounding off of the bed.

"I'm ready to go. Your bag is packed, the car is too, and now you just need to get dressed." She groaned a second time, at the idea of donning any kind of clothing. It still takes Quinn nearly two hours to get ready to go anywhere, Walmart included, because she has a tendency to change her outfit no less than five times. However, with careful maneuvering, you can cut that time down to fifteen minutes if karma, little baby Jesus, and Allah are all on your side. I thrust a handful of clothing at her, instructing her to get dressed and not to fuss about her outfit, and we managed to get out of the door in about an hour, given that my blonde roommate couldn't function without coffee and demanded a cigarette before she'd actually gotten dressed.

Once in the car, she asked no less than five times where we were going. Each time, my response would be to roll down the windows, turn up the music, and light a cigarette to avoid giving her a legitimate answer. For someone who had lived in the south for nearly twenty two years, the sights, smells, and wet quality of the air was something I wasn't the least bit interested in, but Quinn excitedly pointed out each patch of trees, every body of water, no matter the size, and each pasture of cows we passed, her perfectly bowed mouth bubbling over with questions each time something caught her interest. The more space we put between ourselves and our city, the more her innocence ran rampant. She became Lucy, the little girl with a boundless imagination and an incapability of being reserved. It was a part of her I'd very rarely seen before, and it was a part that had me falling harder and harder, without knowing whether arms, be they Lucy's or Quinn's, would be there to catch me.

Once she'd received her fill of the sights, she sighed happily and leaned back against the leather seats of the car, her cigarette tucked between two of her fingers and her right hand dancing against the gusts of wind the speed of the highway gave her. She hummed along with the radio contentedly, occasionally tapping her nails against the outside of the car in time with the beat, and the silence fell into a comfortable territory.

"You're taking me to the beach?" she exclaimed after about an hour of driving, seeing the sign for a lake she'd heard about several times. In Arizona, beaches are hard to come by, obviously enough, as were, I'd come to find out, trees, brick houses, and several forms of animals. When I took her to my college campus a few weeks before, she'd stepped right into a swamp they had near the student union, because she assumed it was simply a puddle of mud. When she dropped down five feet and had to scramble back onto solid ground, she'd become a bit more cautious as far as Louisiana nature was concerned.

"Nope," I replied with a grin, shaking my head and turning the volume up on the radio once again, drumming my thumbs against the steering wheel and occasionally glancing sideways to watch her pout morph into a face of deepened concentration. Everyone she met, and I mean everyone – from her coworkers at the boutique to strangers she held a minute long conversation with at the bar – knew her number one priority was going to the beach, to be able to wear a swimsuit, something that was nearly impossible in her home state. I'd taken note of her thinly veiled disappointment, and it took all I had not to spoil my plans for the day, ruining her surprises but removing the slight frown tugging her mouth downward.

"Are we going somewhere that has a beach? Or a pool? Or a lake?"

"That's three questions Q. I refuse to answer more than one at a time."

She paused, wording her question carefully. "Will I get to go swimming?"

"Did you bring your bathing suit?" I lifted my eyebrows at her, shifting my gaze from the road for a millisecond, and waiting for her to reply. She simply hung her head and shook it, the excitement that had previously gleamed in her eyes fading quickly. "Then I suppose you aren't swimming, are you?"

I kept quiet for the remainder of the drive, carefully navigating through the semi-familiar winding roads finally breathing once I found the much more familiar signs indicating our closeness to the state park that would be our first stopping point. Thankfully Quinn's attentive hazel eyes were focused more on the trees than they were on the signs, and only once we'd pulled in and paid the day's fee, did she realize where she was.

"It's beautiful, Santana," she breathed out in awe. "It's exactly what I needed – a getaway." I threw the car into park, smiling as she looked around, taking in our surroundings. "I – thank you."

I could feel my grin diminish slightly, as we'd been dancing around that particular phrase for weeks at that point. It seemed so simple – three words, eight letters – but neither of us had yet summoned the courage to verbalize it. _I'm in that thing we don't talk about with you_ had become a popular sentence, and was as close as either of us could get to the words unspoken. Those thoughts fell away as she took hold of both of my cheeks and kissed me hard on the mouth before whispering out a second locution of gratitude and grabbing my hand, pulling me toward the river flowing through the state park.

I took photo after photo of her, her smiles candid, her expressions genuine, and her beauty incomparable. She flittered left and right, following paths that wound their way over stumps, under fallen branches, and through nestlings filled with tiny frogs and not so tiny bugs. I would occasionally tug on her hand, pulling her back to me and kissing her briefly before allowing her to continue her explorations, because I wouldn't put hiking on my list of top ten favorite hobbies. However, her overabounding joy kept a grin permanently etched into my cheeks. It was then that I realized that no matter where I was, or what I was doing, the situation could, and would, be made infinitely better so long as her palm, sweaty or not, was pressed up against my own.

When we'd finally found our way out of the winding trees and back towards the center of the park, we found a small picnic table, hidden beneath the shade of several hundred foot pine trees. "Do you want to take a picture?" Her eyebrows furrowed and she shook her head. Rolling my eyes, I nudged her shoulder with my own, skin sliding against skin thanks to the humidity of the early afternoon. "I'll show you how to work it." She took the camera gently in her hands, cradling it as if it were a fragile newborn before peering through the viewfinder.

"Do you see that section on the right? How there is a lever that moves up and down depending on where you focus the camera? Make sure the lever is in the middle by adjusting this." I moved her hands to the aperture ring, helping her, but making sure not to stomp upon the independence she so desperately clung to.

"It won't go in the middle Santana," she grumbled. "I broke it." I couldn't help but smile slightly, moving her free hand a second time, to alter the shutter speed. "Okay, fine – now it is." I could hear the slight pout in her voice, disappointed at not being immediately able to master the forty year old film camera in her hands. "What do I do now?"

"Find something you want to take a photo of, and click the button I showed you."

"I don't want to waste your film," she quickly protested.

"Take a photo of something you think is beautiful, and I promise it won't be a waste." She sighed, but relented, and I went back to staring at the small waves crashing against the shore, leftover movement from the few boats on the river that day. I heard a click, but didn't look up until I heard the whir of the film winding and then a second, slightly closer to me. Turning, I found the lens focused on my profile and ducked my head, fighting a blush. "I said to take a photo of –"

"- something beautiful," she cut me off, finishing my sentence. "I did."

I sighed, exhaling only what I could imagine was a bit of frustration at the stagnancy of our relationship mixed with a sense of contentment all the same, and leaned into her shoulder, allowing the silence to engulf us for a while as she tangled our fingers together. As we sat, my thumb unconsciously rubbed a consistent windshield wiper pattern across the fleshy portion between her own thumb and fingers until I squeezed slightly, getting her attention.

"Are you ready for the second part?"

Her lazy grin didn't widen a millimeter, but the sparkle from the morning burst into her hazel eyes once again, and she nodded, hopping off of the top of the picnic table and pulling me with her. We were both grateful for the blasting air conditioning of the car, drying the sweat against our bodies. I hooked my phone up to the stereo system of the car, clicking the playlist I'd had playing for the majority of the road trip thus far, a combination of her favorite songs and a few less than subtle attempts to get her to divulge her true feelings. Once we'd make it back to the lake, and consequently the beach, she perked up a second time, but deflated when she noticed we hadn't taken the exit that would lead us there. Just a minute down the highway, however, I pulled off, sharply turning beneath a bridge, to a parking lot she hadn't noticed before, just feet from the sand and water.

Wide eyes turned to meet mine, exploding with excitement, until they too dimmed. "I didn't pack a bathing suit. You asked me that."

I couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled over my lips, because her disappointment was more childlike than any expression I'd thus far seen. "_You _didn't ask if I'd packed you a bathing suit though," I chastised, popping the trunk open and exiting the car without another word as she did the same, walking quickly to the back of the car, only to find two bathing suits, towels, beach mats, and an ice chest packed to the brim with food.

The next three hours found us building sandcastles as if we were children, splashing one another with less than clean lake water as we hunted for shells, and relaxing in the sand, our hands intertwined and contented smiles washing over our faces as the sun coated the rest of our bodies. The day felt too short, as did the inevitable drive home, but the solidity of her hand in mine was enough for me not to lament the fact that we only had twenty four hours in a day, because a thousand or perhaps two thousand might have been more convenient for me. I was in no rush to return to love triangles or responsibility or the stress of my family following my graduation; I would have been completely satisfied with remaining in the bubble we'd created.

Upon returning home, however, we found my nephew, Javier on our couch, and multiple texts from a friend of ours, Kitty, who had attached herself to Quinn recently, asking if she could come over, and thus the bubble was burst. Rather than allowing the interruptions to ruin the layer of calm coating our skin after the sand had been rubbed off, we settled into the loveseat in the living room, paying less than full attention to the movie bouncing colors off of our walls. Quinn determinedly tried to beat her high score on Temple Run 2 and I absentmindedly ran my fingers through her chopped locks as Kitty and Javier stared ahead blankly, completely absorbed in the car chases and fast getaways of whatever it was they were watching. When Quinn finally looked up from her own screen, she smiled gently at me, brushing loose baby hairs from my eyes.

"This moment would be perfect," she whispered. The confusion that left my eyebrows scrunched together unearthed a breathy chuckle from her chest, and she snuggled into my side. "You thinking about everything and nothing all at the same time, while I fiddle with my phone, after a day like today? That's exactly how things should be. That's exactly how I want things to be for a long time, and this moment would be perfect, but –" she nodded toward the two members of our extended family, one that was growing and morphing each week it seemed.

"I'll take almost perfect you know," I hushed back, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

"I won't," she reprimanded, though her words held no harshness. "You deserve perfection, which is why I've always thought that you deserve so much more than me, because I'm far from perfect. But this, this thing that I won't say, it isn't because I don't feel it, and it isn't because I don't want to say. It's because I want _when _and _how_ and _where _I say it to be perfect."

Thinking back over the weeks we'd put behind us already, a conglomeration of far less than even normal moments, I shook my head at her naivety. "Quinn, you know there will never be a perfect moment." She remained quiet however, and nuzzled further into my warmth, tugging on my hand so she could play with my fingers before turning her attention toward the television. It was hours before our home was finally vacated, and we both dragged our tired bodies toward our bed, because hers had been of little use lately. I pulled off my shorts and stumbled into bed, flopping face down on the pillows and exhaling happily.

"Aw, is someone tired?" she cooed condescendingly, laughing at my position.

"It's kind of exhausting being super romantic, okay? You should try it sometime," I barked back, though the sharpness of my tone was muffled by the pillows my face was stifled by. I felt the bed dip as she joined me, choosing to straddle my hips rather than lay down on what little space I'd left her. Smooth, confident fingers slipped up the back of my shirt, beginning to steadily massage the soreness out of my muscles from the hours of driving I'd done. A breathless moan flittered over my tongue and I found myself unable to bite it back; it held an unexpected reaction however – Quinn squirmed slightly against my ass, and I could feel her wetness, which undeniably matched my own. With strength I didn't know I possessed, given the level of exhaustion I was at, I flipped over before sitting up with a heavily panting blonde sitting on my lap. My palms melted underneath the hem of her loose tank top, gradually moving upward until they were kneading supple flesh and Quinn was desperately bucking above me. Our lips seemed magnetized, unable to part for more than a quick inhale, because each and every moan she emitted was swallowed by my mouth and only pushed my actions further.

It had been weeks since we'd started sleeping together, at first, possibly, just to do so. It soon turned into a regular occurrence, and had since been an almost daily escapade. I certainly wasn't complaining, nor was she, given that I'd memorized the map of her body and could now make her orgasm is just a few minutes.

As I massaged her clit, watching her face contort into the furthest reaches of pleasure, I felt the hand not pressed against my heart slip between us, entering me and earning a gasp that quickly morphed into an elongated moan. She grinned up at me for a split second before she began pumping earnestly, urging my orgasm to synchronize with hers. I could feel her body beneath me, tightening as though she were trying to hold back, as we had also discovered that she came much harder if she'd already done the same to me. I relaxed my body, giving in to her motions and focusing on the hazy eyes before me, swimming in adoration and filmed with lust before surging forward and bringing our mouths together a last time before our bodies bucked against one another, and her screams rang out toward the night sky. Her hand was drenched with liquid when she removed her fingers, and her soft smile widened with pride. I kissed her one last time before retrieving a towel for her, the most chivalrous thing I could think to do after soaking her hand and thighs with my liquid; the only problem it posed after that was that half of our bed was now essentially useless, because past the sheets, the mattress too was too wet to sleep on comfortably.

Once she'd cleaned up and flicked off the lights, I settled a spare blanket down over her side of the bed, but pressed myself as close to the wall as I could, to give her more room to settle in, without having to sleep atop a damp blanket. Completely unperturbed by the stain, she snuggled up against me, her warmth spooning my back and her arm lazily slung over my waist. We lay quietly, and I listened as her breathing slowed, resting at a much calmer rate.

"Quinn?" I whispered, hoping desperately that she was awake. She hummed a confirmation, and I felt my own breathing pick up. "I'm in love with you, you know."

She yawned slightly, releasing a quiet laugh before responding. "I know. I'm a little mad at you, because I wanted to say it first, but I'm in love with you too Santana. I'm so in love with you that I don't know what to do with myself sometimes."

"Okay," I nodded, slipping my fingers between hers.

"Okay," she echoed, pressing a single kiss to my shoulder blade and tightening the grip her hand had on mine.

* * *

**AN: I am a horrible, terrible person for taking this long to update, but life has been a rollercoaster the past few months, and I just haven't been able to sit down and collect my thoughts enough until now. I really hope you enjoyed the update (please let me know!) and again, I apologize for the unintended hiatus of SIMM. But with that said, a belated RIP to Cory - he will be missed - and thoughts and prayers Lea's way, because I can't imagine how she could possibly be working right now.**

**The song of this chapter is I've Been Waiting For You by The Pixies. :)**


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