Santana gaped at the sight of her—it had been almost 3 years since the former simultaneous best friends and mortal enemies had seen each other at Mr. Schuester's fail of a wedding. Quinn's hair was longer than Santana remembered and it cascaded down her back in blonde waves. She wore tight fitting black jeans, a white blouse and black heels to top it all off. It was a simple outfit, but Santana couldn't help but think how good Quinn looked in it. But, more than anything, Santana was drawn to Quinn's impossibly hazel eyes. They held an intensity Santana had failed to remember and they made her self-conscious. Quinn Fabray had a way of looking at people and making them feel as though she was looking into them rather than at them—as if she was reading their every thought.

Santana realized she hadn't responded yet and cleared her throat. "Quinn…hi…hey…" she said lamely as hazel eyes bore into her. The only thought that flowed through her mind was her last meeting with Quinn, when both girls had a significant amount to drink at the wedding and ended up in bed together. Santana remembered the way Quinn's skin felt flush up against hers, and how Quinn's touch was the most gentle she had ever felt, including Brittany's. She remembered the way their bodies had molded perfectly with one another, and how Quinn's lips left a trail of searing, satisfying heat in their wake wherever they touched Santana's body. She remembered waking up to Quinn the next morning and regretting nothing—even if alcohol had fueled their sexual interaction. But most of all, Santana remembered she and Quinn parting ways later that day with nothing more than a quick hug and a "goodbye" tossed over their shoulders as they walked away from one another, leaving Santana empty and wanting more. They hadn't talked since. Until right this second, Santana amended in her head.

Quinn quirked an eyebrow, as she so often did, at Santana's distress. She closed the compartment door behind her and went to sit directly across from her former best friend. She looked at Santana expectantly, and when got no reply she prompted, "Everything alright?" Her eyes surveyed the scene in front of her: A large pile of crumpled paper balls under Santana's feet, papers strewn across the seat, and Santana's disheveled appearance.

"Uhh…" Santana started, unsure of how to respond. "Yeah…yeah, I'm fine. I'm starting to feel the effects of working twenty hours a week and going to school, that's all." Quinn nodded that she understood, and Santana suddenly stumbled upon the realization that they were on a train headed to New York City. "What are you doing going into the city?" Panic began to overtake Santana as she considered the possibility of getting on the wrong train. "Wait, this train is going to New York City, right? I can't-" But Santana stopped her anxiety ridden questions when she saw Quinn laughing.

"Yes," she answered with conviction, "this train is going into the city, so you don't have to worry. Actually, I live there now." Quinn said it offhandedly, as if it weren't a big deal she could be mere minutes from Santana without her knowing.

Santana's jaw dropped and her eyes widened in surprise at the sudden confession. "What? You live there? Since when? What happened to Yale?" The questions came out quickly and consecutively and Santana only hoped Quinn was able to comprehend what she had asked. A small, sheepish smile played on Quinn's lips, confirming Santana's hopes.

"I sort of graduated early. I got a job offer in New York City and after much consideration, decided I would have been insane to turn it down. So, here I am." Quinn shrugged her shoulders indifferently. Santana had always known Quinn was smart; the girl had managed to keep straight A's through a teen pregnancy and the few weeks she had gone a little crazy and lost herself. But she didn't know Quinn was that smart—graduating from Yale early kind of smart.

Santana opened her mouth to respond but couldn't find the words to do it justice. She closed it again, cursing herself inwardly for the apparent disconnect between her brain and her mouth. What is going on, Santana asked herself, I'm never this terrible at having a conversation. It's Quinn, for God's sake. We've been best friends since we were six years old. I mean, sure we hooked up last time we saw each other, and sure we haven't talked since. And yeah, I'd be lying if I said she didn't cross my mind every once in a while…okay, on a daily basis…Santana immediately shut the rambling inside her head up as her thoughts made their way down a path she didn't want to take. Not right now, anyway.

"Wow," she finally breathed out. "I have to admit, Fabray, that's pretty impressive. Even for you." Santana was grateful her voice didn't give her away and it actually sounded somewhat confident. To keep up appearances, Santana plastered one of her infamous smirks on her face.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Thanks, that means so much," she responded, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She stared at Santana intently for a minute before continuing the conversation. "What were you doing in New Haven?"

Santana fidgeted in her seat uncomfortably. If it had been any other person Santana knew, they would only be asking out of common courtesy as to what she had been doing in New Haven. But Quinn and her damn alluring hazel eyes told Santana a different story; they were soft and filled with curiosity—Quinn genuinely wanted to know what she was doing an hour and a half from where she lived, and Santana felt obligated to tell her.

"Umm…" she began nervously, suddenly feeling self-conscious again, "nothing exciting, really. There's this bookstore I found a while back, it's actually close to Yale's campus. It's this two story place filled with literally every book you can imagine. An older couple owns it-"

"Gwen and Frank? You're talking about Every Which Book, right?" Quinn interjected with a smile. Santana was taken aback for a second, but then realized she should have known better. Of course Quinn knew the place.

"The one and only. Yeah, I haven't found another place like it. So, a few times a year I make a trip there and stock up," Santana waved her hand at a brown shopping bag on the seat next to her and Quinn recognized it from the bookstore.

"Who would have thought the one and only Santana Lopez would be so cultured and interested in reading?" Quinn inquired, in a seemingly sensual voice that made Santana's heartrate speed up.

Santana narrowed her eyes at Quinn, immediately on the defensive. "You tell anyone about it, Blondie, and I will end you in all ways possible," she growled in an attempt to threaten Quinn. But it had no effect on the girl, who just grinned and giggled—a sound that sent a wave of tingles over Santana's tanned skin.

Quinn leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms, a mischievous glint in her intense eyes. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart. Don't look so worried." Santana's breath hitched when Quinn used the nickname so matter-of-factly. She coughed to cover it up and tried to regain her composure.

"Whatever, Fabray. Anyway, what were you doing in New Haven? Seeing as you no longer live and go to school there?" Santana inquired, and she found herself genuinely interested in Quinn's answer. Normally, she wouldn't give a damn about anyone's business, especially if it didn't involve her. But Quinn wasn't just anyone.

"I was visiting a former professor of mine. He was giving me some advice for an upcoming case."

"Quinn Fabray, a big, bad lawyer," Santana drawled as another smirk graced her features. "You always were destined to do great things."

Quinn tilted her head sideways in response. "I'm not sure if that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment."

"Me either," Santana replied truthfully. "We'll go with compliment, so appreciate it while you can before an unavoidable, explicit insult makes its way out of my mouth." This received an eye roll from Quinn, who decided to drop it and take the conversation in a different direction.

"So," Quinn started in her naturally gentle voice, "it's been, what, almost 3 years?"

Santana nodded in affirmation. "Yep, just about." Neither girl seemed to want to broach the subject of what had happened the last time they had seen each other.

"What have you been up to?" Quinn asked, looking at Santana curiously.

Santana paused before replying, debating how much detail she should answer the question in. She decided it would be best if she left out her womanizing tendencies—even if her one night stands were driven by the desire to rid her mind of a certain hazel-eyed blonde. Santana settled for the basics. "Honestly, nothing extraordinary. I mean, I'm not some superstar lawyer at the age of 22 like some people," she said with a knowing smile.

Quinn raised her eyebrows in questioning. "Who said anything about me being a superstar?" she quipped, and it was Santana's turn to roll her eyes.

"Please," she scoffed, "you graduated from Yale an entire year early, and from what I have been able to gather so far, you basically had a job waiting for you. You're already working and consulting on a case, and that bag you're carrying around with you is top of the line, so I'm willing to be you've got a pretty stable income." Santana inclined her head towards the Quinn's bag resting on the seat next to her. "Plus," Santana added, her dark brown eyes locking with Quinn's deep hazel ones, "you're Quinn Fabray. You don't know anything below the level of superstar." The way she said it—as if it were the most obvious thing in the world—filled Quinn with warmth and pride, and she could feel her cheeks slowly becoming red.

Quinn nodded, impressed with Santana's observations. "I don't know about superstar, but yes, I do have a stable job at the moment, thank you." Santana smiled softly at Quinn, knowing the girl was downplaying her talent and her role in the courtrooms of New York City. In high school, the situation would have been completely opposite: Quinn would never have been modest when it came to her successes, and Santana would never have listened to her without a sarcastic comment or scornful retort. But time has a way of changing people; rubbing down their hard, rough edges until they're at ease with themselves and others.

"Figures," Santana teased gently and Quinn smiled in return. She took this as a cue to continue. "I enrolled at NYU three years ago, so I'm finishing up there. What you walked in on," Santana gestured to the mess lying around her, "is me feverishly attempting to complete an assignment for my Psychology course. A class, might I add, I should not have to take considering I'm majoring in advertising."

Quinn bit her lip as she thought about Santana's words. "Advertising, huh?"

Santana nodded in acknowledgement. "Yes, ma'am. I figured that I was able to come up with all of my insults and one-liners about anyone and everyone throughout high school, coming up with catchphrases and slogans shouldn't be too difficult." The response elicited another angelic giggle from Quinn and Santana's pulse quickened again.

"I must say, that's an impressive train of thought. And I'd have to agree with you. You sure do have a way with words."

"What can I say? I'm a natural," Santana said and grinned. She had waited 3 years to reconnect with Quinn. 3 long years. Not wanting to call Quinn out of fear of rejection or embarrassment. Or even worse, both. What she had felt with Quinn that night at Mr. Schue's wedding was completely different than everything else she had ever felt. It was like a breath of fresh air. But Santana was almost positive Quinn didn't feel the same way—after all, the phone works both ways, right? Santana debated calling or texting her hundreds of times; just to ask how Quinn was doing or how school was going. Yet, each time her finger hovered over Quinn's contact information, Santana backed down. Things with Brittany made Santana insecure and guarded. She didn't harbor the desire to let anyone get close to her after that—especially Quinn Fabray. So Santana learned to deal with the "what-ifs" and "maybes" all revolving around Quinn. She learned to accept the fact Quinn was in almost every single one of her thoughts and dreams, and probably always would be.

Quinn's voice pulled her out of her reverie. "Santana?"

She looked up and realized Quinn had asked a question. "I'm sorry, what?" Santana asked, shaking her head as she attempted to clear her mind.

Quinn smiled slightly. "I said, you mentioned something about work, didn't you?"

"Oh yeah. I work as a bartender four nights a week at a place close to home. It's not fabulous—I don't get my own office or personal assistant who brings me coffee as I'm sure you do," Santana simpered at Quinn, "but it pays the bills and helps with tuition."

Quinn shook her head at Santana's comment regarding her job. "Whatever, Lopez. But a bartender? That's very…fitting."

Santana's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

Quinn's eyes widened in surprise as she gaged Santana's reaction. "No, no, nothing bad," she answered hastily. "I swear. It's just, bartenders are usually cool and mysterious and…sexy," she mumbled, as her cheeks began to redden again, "and, you know, that's…you," Quinn finished lamely, avoiding eye contact with Santana, who felt her own face become hot and her heart beat faster.

"Thank you," Santana returned, her voice raspy, "I think." Quinn chuckled slightly and nodded.

"Compliment intended," she agreed.

The next few minutes passed in a comfortable silence between the two girls. Quinn looked out the door of the train's compartment, watching people as they passed by the window. Santana focused her sight on the terrain passing by out the window, but she would steal sideways glances at Quinn when the girl wasn't looking.

Maybe I should just tell her how I feel, Santana thought to herself, what's the worst that could happen? Even if she completely turns me down I'm already expecting that, so it's not like it would come as a huge heartbreak. Right?

Quinn's voice caught her attention. "Do you still keep in touch with anyone from high school?"

Santana's brows knit in confusion at the sudden question, but decided to answer anyway. "Uhh…yeah, believe it or not. I kept the loft after Kurt and Rachel moved out, but I still see them a few times a week. They think us living together for 2 years forged us into some strange, somewhat sexually ambiguous family."

Quinn grinned, showing her perfect teeth. "Wow, out of everyone from high school, I think Kurt and Rachel would be my last two guesses as to who you would still be friends with."

"Lady Hummel and the Hobbit actually aren't that terrible. I mean sure, Kurt spends more time coiffing his hair and making sure his feathered fedora is jauntily placed on his round, little boy head than your average person. And yeah, I'd rather listen to nails on a chalkboard than Berry telling me about her excursions in whatever run-down, no-good, off-Broadway show she's in. But other than that, they're bearable," Santana said charmingly.

"Santana!" Quinn chided sharply, but Santana could see Quinn's lips tug up at the sides as she tried to stop from grinning.

Santana raised her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry," she replied with false sincerity.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Anyone else?"

"Brittany," Santana answered, suddenly looking everywhere but Quinn. "She kind of…lives with me."