Right here, right now, Santana is regulating her breath. In through the nose on four, hold for seven, out through the mouth on eight. In, 2, 3, 4… Hold, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7… and Out, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. And again… And again.

She's been looking forward to this day since she was ten. Maybe eight. Oh, hell, five. They met when they were five. And they've been delaying this day for a few years now, just because they were swamped, and they wanted to finish school, and they wanted to get established, and they…

Brittany proposed on her birthday.

It wasn't cute, or fancy, and the ring— she laughs a moment— came from the vending machine at the deli. They were just standing there waiting for their sandwiches, and Brittany turned around with this cheesy ring and murmured, "Santana, you and I are the awesomest people I know. Nobody else has it so good. Would you make it official and be my wife?"

Santana tears up now, as she had then, and now, as then, she nods. Yes. Of course. Always.

Then there were all the ways they each wanted it different. Resolving differences wasn't bad, it just took a lot of patience, cool heads, and time. And if they hadn't decided to do the whole thing without her Dad's money, it probably would have been a lot quicker and easier. All her life Santana had wanted a big-ass wedding with big-ass custom dresses and 200 guests, and a catered dinner, and…

"You know I'd love all that, too, right? But we don't have that kind of money, Honey," Brittany stated.

So they're here, now, at the court house, with Quinn, and Rachel, and Kurt. And Mercedes. Sam and Blaine were missing, somehow. The parents were missing somehow. Santana certainly didn't miss anybody else. But Brad was going to be playing at their reception this weekend. It makes her smile. Their potluck reception in the basement common room of their apartment. It all makes her laugh a little, because the trappings used to matter so much. The appearance of everything and everyone used to matter so much. Now it's just… it's just home, being home wherever she may be, so long as she is Brittany's and Brittany is hers.

She's been reciting these vows, or vows similar to these, since she knew they existed. This should be easy. She learns songs after once through. And all she has to do is listen to the words, feel the words, and say the words to the love of her life. It's easy. But in this moment, here, now, she looks into Brittany's eyes and is breathless. Her words dry up. In this moment, their joined hands become their language, saying, "I'm yours, proudly so."

And then that moment flows past.

Santana vows herself to Brittany, and Brittany vows herself to Santana. It's easy. And beyond expectation, a little magic happens. Something between them shifts. As if— all the rifts between them ever have never gone away, but now are filled, solidly and smoothly, with gold.