Santana never should have said anything. She never would have said anything. But Berry's house party means drinking and drinking means a notoriously loose tongue. She finds herself saying too much to Sam. About Quinn. When, the truth is, Quinn can't know. She can never know.

Because Santana has already lived through this kind of fallout once. She was twelve, and hormonal, and her best friend at the time had just been so pretty that day - her first crush, for sure - and while she was telling herself to keep her mouth shut and not say anything, Santana had blurted out the truth.

"You're beautiful," she'd said, and that had been the end. The girl she'd known since kindergarten suddenly got up, and said she had someplace to be. She never spoke to Santana again.

Quinn had arrived the following year, and Santana had been instantly enamored. She was blonde and awesome and so smart. But Santana knew better than to speak up. She could only look, and hope no one else caught her. It just sucked to have to censor herself all the time. She was always afraid she'd let something slip, so instead, she made an art out of being sarcastic and bitter. Better to push everyone away than let them keep doing it for her.

The only thing worse than being ignored was being bullied. Santana saw that happen enough to know that she never wanted it to happen to her. Mostly it was kids like Kurt, who back then had been spooky quiet, insecure, and never drew any attention to himself. Unfortunately, just being who he was drew attention. He was built like a third grader, and like a third grader, he still hadn't been through puberty.

So, she knows the consequences of telling straight girls she finds them attractive. Better to stick with Brittany - well, if she had Brittany - which, right now, she doesn't. She has no one. Except a guy who answers her Spanish rants about hating her life and hating herself - just because she knows he doesn't understand - with Na'vi statements like, "I see you." It makes him sound like a hippie. It makes Santana feel like a loser for understanding him.

It makes Santana want to break.


It takes over a year.

Backstage, before their last Nationals, Santana pulls Quinn aside. She whispers in a way that looks like it's a last minute note about their Lady Gaga number. Santana can't tell the world, but she is tired of wondering whether or not Quinn heard what she said last February.

"This is probably gonna freak you out, but I don't care," Santana whispers. "I've always thought you were…"

"Beautiful?" Quinn asks softly. There is no judgment in the question, just raised eyebrows.

"Awesome," Santana clarifies. "For like, ever. Since middle school…"

There's total silence.

"Say something," Santana prompts, a familiar fear uncurling inside her. Maybe this burst of sentimentality had been the wrong instinct to follow after all.

"Well, for the record," Quinn says so that only they can hear, "I'm straight…but I'm also flattered."

Brittany walks up then, and they look at each other. Santana squeezes each of their hands in turn.

"The Unholy Trinity. Starting together. Ending together."

"Just the way it should be," Brittany confirms.

Then, the curtain rises, and they sing together one last time.

The End.