Santana's always been a procrastinator, not because she doesn't know what she wants, but because sometimes she needs that extra push to get her ass into gear.

"Have you sent in your housing deposit yet?" Quinn brings it up for the millionth time as she and Santana lounge in her den one hazy afternoon in early June. Her feet are propped up on the coffee table and the wheelchair that the doctors all but promised she wouldn't need by graduation sits mockingly by; a cruel reminder of why Quinn is where she is and not off at her freshman orientation as planned.

"No, mom. I haven't," Santana groans, rolling her eyes at Quinn. Quinn simply raises an eyebrow at her clear lack of motivation before smacking her with the pillow lying between them.

"Ow! What the fuck, Fabray! I will hit a cripple," she threatens, mirth seeping into her tone and Quinn cracks a small smile before her eyes harden with seriousness.

"Stop being an idiot. Send in the damn deposit so you can get your ass out of my living room, okay? One of us needs to get out of this damned town."

She'd sent in the deposit the following day and tried not to allow Fabray the satisfaction of knowing how right she'd been to push her.

It's almost July now and according to the letter currently laid out across her desk, she's only barely made it in time to be guaranteed a room and even then, she's been lumped into the student lounge because they really don't have much housing left.

The letter states that the arrangement could possibly last "for the duration of the school year or until other housing accommodations can be made."

Great.

"So what's her name?" Quinn asks and Santana jerks a little at the sound of her voice. She'd forgotten she was on the phone. Quinn seems to realize this too and so she contintues, "Your roommate, Space Cadet. What's her name?"

She glances down at the paper again, rolling her eyes as she rereads the words "temporary housing" because she can't help it as she scans down the page until she reaches the bottom, eyes widening when she sees 3 names, email addresses, and phone numbers.

"I've got 3 of them, Q," she sighs, running her free hand through her hair. Quinn's silent for a moment before the distinct sound of muffled laughter comes through the line.

"Sounds like your kind of party. Three other girls in one room with no walls and one bathroom?"

Santana chuckles dryly, "Yeah. Joy to the fucking world, huh? I bet they're all gonna be these preppy perfect princesses with their perfect boyfriends and I'm just gonna have to try not to wring their perfect necks."

"Don't be like that. You don't even know them," is the reply and Santana can almost hear the frown on Quinn's face.

"Fine, I'll give them a chance, but if any of them mention anything about spray tanning I reserve the right to pass judgement."

"So what do they look like?" Quinn asks, taking a bite out of a cookie and closing the book in her lap to smile at Santana expectantly.

Santana barely looks up from the Bed, Bath and Beyond catalog her mother had thrust at before she'd left for work that morning and mumbles, "Huh, who?"

"Roommates," she chokes out, mouth full. Santana eyes her guiltily and closes her magazine.

"How the fuck would I know that, Q? I haven't met them yet, remember?"

Quinn looks at her like she's grown three heads and swallows. "Hello...Facebook?" Before Santana can protest Quinn's already grabbed her laptop and opened Google Chrome, eagerly logging into Santana's profile and how the fuck she even knows the password is the least of Santana's worries as Quinn motions for her to hand over the housing letter.

Santana starts to protest, but then Quinn juts out her lower lip and god dammit Santana just cannot refuse her when she does that, especially since the accident.

"You know," Santana begins, offering Quinn the crumpled paper and eyeing the crutches in the corner, "In a few months or so, you'll be walking and this sad cripple routine won't work anymore."

Quinn grins as she types Tina Cohen-Chang into the search box before turning to face her with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "I'd better milk it then, huh? Lemme wear your Jimmy Choos to my birthday party this year."

"Dream on, Tiny Tim," she yawns stretching out next to Quinn on her bed. Quinn yanks on her ponytail and Santana sticks out her tongue at her and it's moments like this when she misses just being a kid.

Then Quinn mutters, "Bitch," under her breath and Santana giggles. There's laughter in Quinn's voice and a smile hiding behind her eyes and Santana just snuggles in, enjoying their closeness.

"Love you, too."

"So...she's Asian. That's all I'm getting."

Quinn smacks her, trying to suppress a smile because, though she hates to admit it, this girl is really Asian.

They'd been looking over Tina's interests and along with her very Asian boyfriend, she's listed Asian camp and Asian cooking and a variety of other very Asian things and it's almost too stereotypical to be real by the time they reach the status update that reads "Heading out to Asian Couple's Therapy:("

They move onto the next name on the list, some girl named Ronnie, and they get bored trying to find her after the third time they click the wrong profile.

"Alright, who's the last one," Quinn yawns sliding down the bed until the laptop is resting on her stomach and her head on the pillows.

Santana looks over and smiles, lifting her Macbook onto her own lap and shaking her head as Quinn immediately shuts her eyes and curls around one of her pillows.

"Sleep. We'll finish this later, alright? She's probably not even interesting," Santana shushes, moving off the bed to sit at the desk.

Quinn mumbles something unintelligible and dozes off easily, leaving Santana alone with her curiosity.

Casting one last glance over at Quinn's sleeping form, she sets her laptop on the desk and types in the last name on the list.

Brittany Pierce.

She spends an inordinate amount of time looking through her profile, creeping on the girl who she could possibly be spending the next year living with.

It's not until she hears Quinn shuffling behind her that she tears her gaze away from the screen. Quinn yawns, stretching her arms and scooting slowly, but determinedly towards the edge of the bed.

Santana registers her intent to stand and the subsequent shadow that passes over Quinn's eyes as the recognition hits her. Before the depression can set in once more, Santana's already up and flopping down next to her heavily with the computer.

"This one's a looker. All ass and legs," she grins, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Quinn squints at the picture, motioning with a grunt for Santana to maximize the photo. She clicks through a few more, tilting her head in a way that Santana has been telling her for weeks means she's "definitely a little bit gay" and purses her lips.

"You're so screwed."

"Call her."

Santana stops throwing clothes behind her, aiming for her trunk, and looks up as Quinn sits next to it, taking out the same clothes and folding them properly.

"Keep rolling your eyes like that and you'll be blind before you finally get to see Berry naked. Wait. Ew. It made me nauseous just saying that."

Quinn ducks her head, cheeks flaming as she focuses a little to intently on the scarf she was folding. "Whatever, don't change the subject. Call her."

It's a week before Santana's late orientation (which is only 3 days before the start of classes) and she hasn't bothered to call her infamous blue-eyed roommate.

Quinn had been there for her conversations with Tina, who seemed surprisingly down to earth over the phone, and Ronnie who was too worried about finding the money for her tuition to really discuss rooming logistics.

Both conversations had gone well, Santana had even laughed a little, so she doesn't understand her hesitance in calling Brittany.

Well, she does, but it's more fun to pretend she doesn't.

"You're leaving in like...no time. You need to at least talk to her. It'll be way awkward if you show up and she's just there and you're like, 'So...hey.'"

Santana scoffs and turns back to her dresser, mumbling. "I'll get there first anyway..."

"Not the point, Santana. So not the point."

Quinn stares at her best friends back, determined, and when Santana doesn't respond, she decides that encouragement never hurt anyone.

It isn't until she hears the faint ringing that Santana turns to face Quinn again. She almost face plants in her attempts to maneuver across the piles of crap littering her floor and grab the phone from Quinn.

She's almost there when she hears it and she does fall then, landing with a thud at the foot of her bed.

"This is Brittany."

Quinn smirks as she hums, voice smooth as honey, "Hi, Brittany. This is Quinn. You're rooming with my best friend, Santana."

Santana grimaces, her helpless groans muffled by the carpet as Quinn continues. She can barely bring herself to listen to what Quinn is saying for fear of complete mortification. Quinn on the other hand is enjoying talking to Brittany just fine. The girl seems a little... eccentric, but all in all she seems sweet and the absolute opposite of her best friend.

"Yes, Brittany. She's very excited." Santana finally sits up and perches on the bed next to Quinn. Quinn thinks that she's finally worked up the balls to take the phone, but when she simply starts folding again, keeping one ear "subtly" poised on the conversation, Quinn decides to give her the final nudge into action.

When Brittany asks why Quinn is the one calling, she begins, "Oh, yeah Santana's fine and everything. It's just that she saw your picture on Face-"

The phone is out of Quinn's hands and into the adjacent bathroom, along with Santana, before she can even finish her sentence.

"Finally," she huffs, returning her attention to mess of clothing piled up next to her.

Santana's sat atop her own toilet cradling the phone protectively to her chest when she finally realizes that she now has to speak to Brittany. She tentatively raises it to her ear and whispers, "Hello?"

"Hi! Are you Santana? You didn't murder that nice girl did you? Or wait...are you the murderer and you killed them both? Should I get Tubbs to dial 9-1-"

"No, Brittany! It's me. Santana. No murderers here," she clarifies for good measure. To say this conversation has started out more...interestingly than she had anticipated would be an understatement.

She leans back against the cool porcelain, silently cursing the fact that her mother has been on some "power saving environmental bullshit trip" this past month and now refuses to run their central air conditioning for anything less than 100 degree heat.

98 degrees is more than just a crappy 90's singing group, and Santana is fed up with sweating.

"Oh good!" Brittany chirps, "So what's your favorite sex position?"

Santana splutters for a moment, unsure of whether or not she's heard correctly. Brittany mistakes her silence for confusion and so she "helpfully" elaborates.

"I mean, do you like missionary, or doggy sty-"

"I got it Brittany," Santana interrupts, still not quite believing that this is their first conversation. "Why do you want to know?"

"No one ever just answers the question..."

"I'm sorry but I-"

"I want to know because you can like...tell a lot about a person from how they like to get it in, ya know?" Santana blinks twice.

"No."

Brittany sighs, and if she could see, Santana would've seen her rolling her eyes with mild exasperation.

"If people like it on top, that usually means they like to be in control. If people like it in missionary, they're always those ones that like to look like they're so cool with everything but secretly want to keep an eye on you to make sure it's all sunshine. And if people like doggy style...Well those people generally like to act all nonchanel, but they really just need a push in the right direction. Then they're bent over a dirty bathroom sink screaming my name in no time."

Brittany's voice has grown husky by the end of her little rant and Santana's already flushing at thought herself in any one of those situations where Brittany is involved. Before she can even reply, Brittany's clearing her throat and giggling.

"Can I-uh- talk to you later? I need to go...um...yeah... Sorry! I just always get super turned on when people make me explain that."

Santana is at a loss for words, the throbbing between her own legs making her groan in annoyance at the fact that Quinn is still on the other side of the bathroom door.

She tries her hardest not to picture Brittany touching herself (really it will do nothing for her own situation), but she can't help it and she whimpers a little at the image forming in her mind.

"Are you still there?" Santana startles, flushing guiltily as if Brittany can read her mind and she begins to nod before she remembers she's on the phone.

"Yeah, uh. I can just talk to you when you get to school... It'll just be a couple days, right?" Brittany seems to ponder this for a moment, but it isn't long until Santana can practically hear the beaming smile coming across the line.

"Okay! I'll see you at school, Santana!"

With that Brittany is gone and Santana, in a daze, lets her phone fall to the carpet uncaringly. She drags herself sluggishly back into her own room, trying her best to ignore the shit eating grin on Quinn's face when she sees her.

"So how was it?" she asks too casually, glancing up from a book whose origin is a complete mystery to Santana. She doesn't read and Quinn doesn't carry purses so where she's getting these books is anyone's guess.

"It was fine."

"Just fine? Really? Because it sounded like you-"

"It was fine!" Santana squeaks. Quinn raises an eyebrow at her as if to say "bullshit," but Santana isn't paying attention.

After talking with Brittany, the only thing she's sure of is that it is going to be a long semester.

Author's Note: Yay. So I'm writing Brittana again. This has been a little seed of mine for about 3 1/2 months now so it feels good to get some of it out to you guys. With that said, I work 12-13 hour work days so this will not be one of those fics that updates every day/week etc. I'll do the best I can.

Hope you enjoyed! Drop a review if you're so inclined:)