After her birthday party, Santana thought that walking through the hallways might be tough.

But it really wasn't.

She still walked with Kurt, and sometimes football players snickered as they walked by the Lesbian and the Gay Guy, but Santana found herself not caring. No one was physically threatening her, or Kurt, so that was good. Maybe Ms. Pillsbury was slowly counseling the dickishness out of all the students at McKinley.

Or maybe the fact that Kurt and Santana were walking around, out and proud, was changing things. Santana didn't really know.

When she walked with Sugar, sometimes they held hands, and sometimes people stared, or cat-called. Apparently hand-holding was different than pinky-linking. But Santana glared at them, and pretty soon even those incidents faded away.

Sugar was practically untouchable, anyways. Everybody still loved her, and Santana had a sneaking suspicion that everyone saw her as the one who made Santana Lopez stop being such a real bitch.

It wasn't true, obviously. Santana was still a bitch. She hadn't really changed anything about herself, which was an enormous relief. She just couldn't be bothered to lash out at people with it these days, because she was kind of busy with glee, and cheerleading, and dating, and so really, her time was taken.

Plus, Sugar seemed to kind of like Santana's bitchiness, or at the very least, it didn't faze her, so Santana considered that a huge plus.

At the next football game, Sugar even sat with Rachel, Kurt, Quinn and Mercedes. Rachel had made an exclamation point sign for Sugar to hold, and insisted that Quinn switch letters with her so that Rachel could sit by her. Which was a big deal, because previously Rachel had been the T, and therefore the most important. But then she made Quinn switch with Mercedes so that Quinn became the N, and could sit next to Rachel too.

It was ridiculous, Santana told Sugar.

But sweet, Sugar told Santana.

And secretly, Santana kind of agreed.

She had had to deal with Coach Sylvester, though, in the wake of her birthday party confession. She called her into her office, abruptly told her to sit down, and eyed her suspiciously.

"If this gets in the way of us winning a national championship, then I will have your surgically-altered hide faster than you can say Delta Burke," she began.

"Delta Burke isn't gay," Santana interjected.

Sylvester held up a halting hand.

"Just don't let me catch you having sex with any of the girls on the squad."

Santana figured it'd be best not to tell Coach that it was a little too late for that one.

-

November began, and once Rachel realized it was basically a month until Sectionals, she took to rambling at a mile a minute about nothing in particular whenever she saw Santana. It was kind of like watching a baby dachshund chasing its tail in a neverending bout of energy, except way less cute. Every time Santana saw her in the hallways, she ducked behind football players and dodged into classrooms to avoid her.

But their meetings were basically set in stone, and so Santana found herself in the glee classroom, perched on the piano top while Rachel sat on the bench, clutching a glass of water with both hands like a child who just woke up with a nightmare.

"Do you feel better?" Santana asked sternly.

Rachel downed another gulp of water, nodding. "I just get really nervous about Sectionals. This is our last year, and I just want everything to be perfect and all we've done is just argue about it. And… I feel unsettled without Finn being here, to be honest. Oh god, I'm going to be even worse with Regionals and Nationals. Santana," she turned to other girl with an expression of the utmost gravity. "I may need to ask you to carry an epi pen, or an inhaler, or something, just in case I have a panic attack when we're prepping for Regionals and Nationals. You're going to have to find some way to calm me down." She frowned. "Maybe we should take Lamaze classes together just to learn the breathing patterns."

Horror flooded through Santana's body. "I am not going to Lamaze classes with you, Berry, honestly. Get a hold of yourself. We're going to be fine."

"We don't have a plan! We've just been bickering for six weeks!"

"So let's start the plan now!" Santana bitched. She was reaching the end of her patience. "Easy solution."

"Well, we need three songs, obviously," Rachel began. "Preferably two group numbers with a variety of leads. And then a solo. Or duet," she frowned. "One of which I would like to participate strongly in."

"Yeah, you and everybody else," Santana shot back.

"Actually," Rachel began again. "I'd like to do a duet with Finn, if possible."

"Are you shitting me with this?"

"No," Rachel said defensively. "I just… for old time's sake. It's how the club began, and it's how I want to remember it by. Even if we're not together."

"Yeah, it's how it began for you," Santana snorted. "Just because you and Mr. Quarterback came together to make beautiful music together doesn't mean that's what happened with the rest of us. Besides, you don't get to do shit like that. You guys are broken up."

"Yes, but we could do a breakup song, like, 'You've Lost that Loving Feeling,' or… or… 'The Way We Were!'" Rachel's eyes lit up with desperation.

"No," Santana said emphatically. "You'll depress the everloving shit out of everyone, and you'll screw with Finn's head, and he'll try and taste your tonsils onstage again. And it's not fair to anyone else. I mean, mostly me, but whatever. Or anyone else."

"I don't have my tonsils anymore." Rachel seemed to think the best way to fight was now through petulance. Great.

"I don't care. You're not doing a duet with Hudson. If you want things to be like old times, why did you even break up with him then?"

Oh, Santana wished she hadn't asked that question. There were things in this world she didn't care about - a lot of things - and one of them would always, without fail, be the relationship status of Finn Hudson and Rachel Berry.

But it was too late. She asked the question, trying to win the argument. And at first she thought maybe she'd gotten out of hearing an answer in some miracle of Rachel deciding not to overshare with a ridiculous neverending monologue. In fact, she just stared down at the piano keys, hands in her lap, completely silent.

Santana was about the change the subject completely, with inward celebration of her argument-winning triumph, when Rachel finally spoke up. "I just realized… I spent my entire high school career chasing after a boy. Who, as much as I tried to believe otherwise, didn't always know how he felt about me." Santana saw tears collecting at the corner of her eyes. Oh, jesus. Were there tissues in here?

"And… I let him get in the way of so many things. I could have been friends with Quinn a lot sooner, I think. That would have been nice. Or with Puck. We could've gone to temple together. And I wouldn't worry so much about the future, or whether or not I was going to lose my quarterback boyfriend because I did something stupid." The tears started to flow, now, and Santana hopped up off the piano without a word.

"Santana, where are you-?" Rachel stopped crying momentarily, thinking Santana was walking out on her.

But instead, Santana re-emerged from Mr. Schuester's office with a box of tissues, and set them squarely in front of Rachel, then re-crossed her arms.

"Thank you," Rachel sniffled, grabbing at a tissue.

"Look. You started high school hung up on the cool guy, and yeah, for whatever reason, you got him for awhile. But things change. You don't finish high school the way you started it. And if you don't actually want to be with him, you can't still try to be around him just because it makes you feel better about yourself. So nut up, and actually do what you were trying to do when you broke up with him."

"Which is…?"

"Be your own person, Rachel, geez. Sing a duet with somebody else. It's not that hard. Least of all for you." Santana hopped back up onto the piano.

"Can I ask you something?"

"No."

"Why aren't you with Brittany?"

"No."

"I mean, I really like Sugar. I think you guys are really cute together. I'm just… curious."

"No."

"Okay." Rachel shut up after that, and they set about designing a plan for the competition.

-

The only problem with being co-captain of glee, and being on the Cheerios, and having a full-time girlfriend was that Santana didn't get to see Brittany as much anymore. Brittany had said they'd see way more of each other this year, but honestly she felt the farthest away from Brittany that she ever had before.

Truthfully, it sucked.

But, as if by some sort of freak providence, her phone rang. Santana grinned at the caller ID, and answered it. "Speak of the devil!"

There was a brief pause. "...why were you talking about the devil?"

"Never mind, Britt. So what's up?"

"Nothing. Just called to talk to you."

"What about?"

"Nothing, I guess."

"Oh. Well, actually," an idea sparked in Santana's head. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, New Girl and I have another date on Friday."

"Oh, cool!" Santana tried not to let the enthusiasm in Brittany's voice bother her.

"Yeah, but this time I'm supposed to be taking her out and stuff. Can we do another run-through? I really don't want to screw it up."

"Sure," Brittany replied, almost immediately. "Tomorrow night, pick me up at 5?"

Santana felt much better after hanging up, forty minutes later.

Partly because she and Brittany had come up with a plan to hijack Rachel's wardrobe next week, but also because she and Brittany had time to talk together, like they used to.

-

Santana arrived on Brittany's doorstep promptly at 4:59, which took a lot of effort, because usually, Santana was late. She knew that this meant that Brittany spent most of their lives waiting on her, because Britt usually got somewhere five minutes ahead of time, and Santana got there fifteen minutes late.

And if that wasn't an accurate metaphor for their relationship, Santana didn't know what was.

She rang the doorbell, smoothing her free hand over her jeans. She'd told Brittany to dress casually, too - which Brittany had, as she flung open the door and revealed that she was simply wearing a belted sweater and tights.

"You brought flowers?"

"Oh!" Santana shoved the bouquet in Brittany's face, hoping she wasn't turning red. "I just thought, I dunno, that it'd be a good… gesture, or something. For a third date."

Brittany smiled, and took them, sniffing them. "They're beautiful, San. Hang on, I'm going to put them inside."

Santana had tried to plan something unique and creative for the third date, but it was difficult, in Lima in November. All the trees and stuff were dead, and it was starting to get genuinely cold, and honestly there was only so much you could do in this town anyways.

But Santana did some research.

"We're not going to Breadstix?" Brittany said incredulously as Santana drove them past the restaurant without even slowing down.

Santana shook her head, smiling over at Brittany. "Got a better idea."

After about a twenty minute drive out of Lima, Santana pulled over on the side of the road and ran around to Brittany's side of the car to open the door. Brittany stepped out, and looked around at… well, nothing. They were in the middle of nowhere. It was sunset, which was creating a peaceful buttery yellow glow over everything, but it was still the middle of nowhere.

"Santana, these are the railroad tracks."

"Yes, exactly." Santana led Brittany over to the tracks, which were old, and rusted, with weeds poking through the rails. She held Brittany's hand, and walked backwards along the path. "You'll tell me if a train's behind me, yeah?"

Brittany just laughed, her breath fogging up in the cold air. She nodded.

"Okay, good. So. You and I were both born in this shitty-ass town, and we didn't really get a say in that. And we are who we are, and this town is what it is, and we should really just make our peace with that." Santana continued leading Brittany by the hand, along the middle of the tracks, taking careful steps backwards so as not to trip. "And so, I tried to learn a little more about Lima. I mean, I just looked it up on Wikipedia. And really, there's literally nothing here. But," she paused for dramatic effect. "Apparently, in the 1800s, this was a really big railroad town. And like, there was this railroad called the B&O, which, I know what you're thinking, is a terrible name for a railroad. And it stopped through here. So I was thinking about it. No one ever stops in Lima. You could just… get back on the train, and before you knew it, you could be in D.C., or Baltimore, or Philadelphia, or New York."

She stopped walking. "No one ever had to stop in Lima. There was always a ticket out of here, on that really shitty-named railroad. People could just… pass through." She shrugged, and swung hers and Brittany's hands back and forth a little bit. "So that could be us."

Brittany just studied her for a second, in that gently intrusive way that only Brittany could, and finally squeezed Santana's hand. "That's really beautiful, Santana."

"Yeah?"

"Sugar's gonna love it. This is a really good date."

Oh. Oh, yeah. Santana dropped Brittany's hand and immediately shoved her own in her pockets. "Yeah, I think so. Especially 'coz, y'know, you could get to Philadelphia on that railroad, and that's where she's from, and everything. She'll probably wanna go back there, after we graduate."

"Will you go with her?" Brittany suddenly asked. "Go to college there, or something?"

"I dunno." Santana rubbed her toe in the dirt. "Hadn't really thought about it. What're you gonna do?"

"Go to L.A., probably." Brittany shrugged. "Mike and I are talking about teaming up and trying to get jobs dancing out there. I don't know if I'm going to get that cheerleading scholarship for sure, so I need a back-up plan."

"Yeah. But you'll get it, B, are you kidding? You're the best one on the squad."

"Yeah, but still. Plus I think Mike needs something to look forward to, right now. He still isn't over Tina, I don't think."

Santana exhaled, and casually took Brittany's hand again as they started walking back to the car. The sun had sunk mostly below the horizon, and the chill of twilight was setting in. "Yeah, I feel bad for the poor guy. 'Specially 'coz Tina's moved on so fast."

"Oh, with Puck?" Santana nodded. "I'm not even sure they're together," Brittany replied. "I kinda think they're pulling a friends-with-benefits thing, because Tina is still freaking out about it."

"That's not going to end well," Santana said quietly.

"Nope," Brittany agreed.

Neither of them mentioned how they both knew it was true.

-

Santana peered into the mirror, holding back her makeup brush and evaluating her appearance. She was getting ready for her date with Sugar at Quinn's house again. Except this time, Rachel was there too, and Rachel and Quinn at Quinn's house was drastically different than just Quinn at Quinn's house.

Mainly, Rachel just yammered a lot, and Quinn appeared to be listening. Or at the very least, not staring into space without any expression whatsoever. She wasn't nodding emphatically at the conversation, nor contributing much to it, but mostly it just looked like she was content to just be sitting there under the barrage of Rachel's endless chattering.

"We're trying to decide on the featured piece for Sectionals, other than the group numbers," Rachel informed Quinn matter-of-factly, as she toyed with a loose thread on the afghan covering them on the couch. The Fabrays, predictably, did not keep it any less than chilly in their house. Sometimes Santana thought Quinn just froze up as a child and never thawed out. It made a lot of sense, actually, even if science didn't really support the theory.

But she was curled up under the blanket now, and seemed to be living like an actual human being of actual human temperature. "So what was the verdict?" she asked calmly, looking back to Santana at the mirror.

"Undecided." Santana zipped up her makeup bag and took a step back, brushing off her jeans.

"Actually," Rachel sniffed self-importantly. "I think it'd be a good idea if Santana and I did a duet together."

Santana paused, index finger held up, and turned to look at them. Quinn's eyebrows were in her hairline, a grin toying at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, I think that's a great idea," she said, clearly trying not to giggle at the idea of Santana and Rachel even attempting to collaborate on a duet.

"Well, I'm the least likely to make out with you on stage." Santana grabbed her bag and her keys, and headed down the Fabrays' foyer to the door. "If you pick a decent song with equal parts, I'll consider it!" she offered over her shoulder, and she shut the door behind her, leaving Rachel and Quinn to whatever boring Friday evening they had planned.

-

The date with Sugar went just as well as the date with Brittany.

Damn right, Santana thought smugly. This is one charming-ass date.

It was eerily similar to her practice date, though. The sunset was the same, the landscape the same, the speech basically the same. Santana had had to doctor it a bit, because Brittany's had been specifically for Brittany. Sugar hadn't been born here, but Santana thought everything still applied. They were both stuck here now.

But Sugar, too, was astonished that they weren't going to Breadstix, and Sugar, too, called Santana's speech beautiful.

The only difference was that Sugar kissed Santana at the end of the date, as they sat on the hood of Santana's car, wrapped snugly in a blanket under the falling night.

And, as she rested her head blissfully against Sugar's shoulder, Santana realized that she'd forgotten to buy her flowers.

-

Kurt wasn't at his locker on Monday morning. Santana waited through the bells, after the hallways cleared out, trying not to let sheer panic take over. Even though the hallways were tamer now, she still didn't like not seeing Kurt walking safely through them. He wasn't in his classroom. Or in Ms. Pillsbury's office. Or in the bathroom, girls or boys. (Santana checked both, and had unintentionally scared the crap out of a freshman at the urinal. Wasn't the first time; probably wouldn't be the last.)

Finally, she walked out to the parking lot, and saw Kurt's car parked in the usual spot. Kurt was sitting in the driver's seat. She shook her head, grabbed the passenger-side handle, and heaved herself into the car.

"What's going on? You weren't at your locker," Santana was trying her best to scold him, but she was pretty sure the fluster of not finding him, anywhere, was leaking through to her voice.

Kurt turned to look at her, and only then did Santana realize he looked awful. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were rimmed red around the edges. He'd obviously been crying. His hair was still perfect, though - it was Kurt, after all.

"Blaine kissed somebody," he croaked, miserably.

"Oh," Santana said dumbly. It was taking a few seconds for the information to sink in. All she could think was to ask a stupid question. "Guy or girl?"

"Does it matter?" Kurt countered. Then, "A guy. He got drunk at a party. I mean, you saw him when he was drunk. And I guess he just really liked this guy. They kissed. Or made out. Or something." His voice broke, and there was a loud thud. His eyes snapped to the source, and all he saw was Santana's hair flip as she threw the door shut behind her.

"Santana, what are you doing?" Kurt launched out of the driver's seat and followed her, wiping tears off his cheeks. She was tearing through the parking lot, muttering Spanish darkly under her breath.

"We are going to go kick his ass, Kurt Hummel."

"Why are you walking? He goes to school in California!" Kurt hiccuped.

Santana whirled around, a steely glint in her eyes. Kurt instinctively backed away. "No one gets to treat you like shit anymore, okay? I don't care if you love the everloving shit out of that guy, no one gets to hurt you!"

"Santana, calm down! They just kissed! I mean, it didn't go anywhere past that, and he felt bad and apologized for it!"

"I don't fucking care! Don't make apologies for him! No one hurts you, Kurt. Punto y final. I'm gonna go fucking kill that guy, and the guy he frenched, you got it? We are going to get in my car, drive the two thousand miles or whatever, and fucking run them over. And then we're stealing their credit cards so they can pay for my gas."

She turned on her heel again, and stormed off, taking a good ten paces before she realized Kurt wasn't following her. She stopped, frowned, and paced back towards him, anger starting to trickle away when she saw his face. Kurt was laughing.

"This isn't funny, Kurt! I'm fucking pissed!"

"Santana, this didn't even happen to you!" Kurt pleaded with her, tears still mixing with his laughter. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, dragging her back towards his car.

Santana scowled, upset that Kurt's hurt dissolved so quickly now that he was so amused by her actions. "Well, it happened to you," she grumbled. "And that's as good as happening to me." She yanked her arm back, forcing Kurt to turn around and look at her.

Their eyes locked together in some sort of mutual, unspoken understanding. Santana slowly felt the fire draining out of hers, and saw a little twinkle light up again in Kurt's. His face fell into an almost pitying smile. "My hero," he said quietly.

"C'mon," Santana grumbled. "Let's get you to class." She moved to walk past him, trying to break the moment. But Kurt caught her arm again, and pulled her into a hug. It took her a few seconds, but once she got over the shock of it, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around Kurt's shoulders.

"Thanks, Santana."

"Don't you hesitate on dumping his ass, okay? Not for one second," Santana warned. "Don't just let him think he can get away with stuff like that. It's not okay."

"I won't, Santana."

They stood that way for a minute longer.

"Can I at least punch him in the face?"

Kurt laughed, and squeezed her tighter.

-

"Mercedes, we have very exciting news for you," Rachel bounced up and down. She'd grabbed Santana's elbow after glee club released, and dragged her along to get Mercedes before she left the classroom.

And then she spent five minutes rearranging the furniture so it was the perfect tableau for this ceremonious occasion. Mercedes shot Santana a quizzical look, but Santana just shrugged. Better to just let Rachel do her thing and wait for it all to be over.

"Now," Rachel stopped bouncing, and smoothed out her skirt importantly. Santana rolled her eyes. "I imagine that when you heard that Santana and I were going to be co-captaining this year, you thought that we would completely take over Sectionals with our own interests in mind."

Mercedes shrugged. "I don't do anything at competitions except wail on the high notes. Didn't really expect this year to be any different."

"Well, actually -" Santana began. Rachel cut her off.

"Actually, Mercedes, we want to give you the solo for Sectionals!" Rachel just steamrollered ride over Santana. She scowled at being interrupted, but both Mercedes and Rachel just ignored her. Rude.

"Are you for serious right now?" Mercedes' face split into a grin.

"Yes!" Rachel squealed. "I know what you're thinking; it's very generous of us. And it is." She nodded sagely, and then started rifling around in her bag. "Santana, did I give you the CD with song suggestions on it?"

"No, I think you have it," Santana replied, yawning.

Rachel frowned. "I must have left it in my locker. Excuse me." She squealed again, hugged Mercedes tightly, and exited.

As soon as she was gone, Santana pulled the CD out of her backpack. "It's still fun to mess with her," she shrugged. Mercedes laughed, and accepted it, looking over the songs. Santana took that as her cue to exit, and made to walk past her. But before she could get to the door, Mercedes cut her off.

"Kurt told me what you did for him."

Santana turned, donning her best poker face. "What, threaten to maim his loved ones? It's nothing I haven't done before." She waved her hand nonchalantly.

"You know what I mean," Mercedes said quietly. "I appreciate it, Santana. I haven't been hanging out with Kurt as much this year, because of Sam and everything, but… he's still my number one guy. Thanks for looking out for him."

Santana brushed off the the gratitude. It felt weird, coming from Mercedes. Weezy didn't owe her anything. They were the two fiercest bitches in this place.

"There are some good songs on there," she said, gesturing the CD. "Don't screw 'em up." But she smirked at Mercedes before she left, and Mercedes simply just chuckled at her and promised to do her best. Santana knew it'd be enough to win.

-

"Puck and I are doing the halftime show for the football Championships this year," Tina told Santana as she turned on the water for Santana to rinse out their glassware.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, he convinced Coach Beiste to let us do it. At first he wanted to sing a song to me, but I told him hell no. We're not even dating," she added, scrunching up her nose.

Santana hid her smirk. "Of course not."

"So we're singing together. And hopefully no one will break any of my bones in the first half, or else it'll just be Puck singing half the songs, without any harmony."

"I think he'd probably be in the back of the ambulance with you, actually," Santana replied, matter-of-factly.

Tina let slip a little smile, before correcting her expression and returning their beakers to the drying rack. Santana shook her head. Denial was not a cute color on her.

-

"So, our fourth date," Sugar purred. She leaned up against the locker next to Santana's, as Santana was rifling around for her books. Kurt was still standing on her other side, waiting to walk to class together, and his eyes widened at Sugar's tone.

"Oh my, look at the time," he tapped his watch-less wrist and wandered away towards Mercedes' locker. Santana watched him leave, out of habit, and Kurt yelled "I'm fine, Santana!" at her without turning around.

Santana returned her attention to Sugar, grumbling a little.

"Fourth date?" she slammed her locker shut and began walking, bumping elbows with Sugar as they made their way down the hall.

"You free Friday?"

"Yeah, yeah. What do you want to do?"

"Wanna do putt-putt?"

Santana stopped, and turned to face Sugar, who skidded to a halt. "Do I want to what… what?"

"Putt-putt," Sugar repeated, calmly. "As in, golf."

Santana let out a harsh laugh. "Golf? Are you serious? Would you like me to wear my plaid shirt or my softball uniform? Can we listen to my Ani DiFranco cassette on the way there? Or should I just move in with you this weekend? I can stop shaving, trade my car in for a Subaru, and maybe adopt a bunch of cats for us, if you want. Or dogs, whatever. They can be like our kids. Sure, let's do putt-putt. Let's golf; yeah." She shrugged. Apparently her bitchiness had transitioned into sarcastic passive aggression.

Sugar just looked at her, completely and aggravatingly even-tempered, but Santana could tell she was annoyed. She folded her arms across her chest, at any rate, which was very un-Sugar-like. "Are you done?"

Santana scowled, threateningly. "Not nearly."

"Look, Santana. This is me asking you on a fourth date at a miniature golf course because this is a bumfuck town that has nothing else in it, and I, unlike you, can't eat at Breadstix for every meal. Now. Let me tell you what this is not. This is not an invitation for fulfilling a lifetime of lesbian stereotypes, and it is also not an invitation for you to be a complete bitch to me. Are we clear?"

Santana gobbed her mouth shut at the volley back, avoiding eye contact. Sugar was staring her down like a lion tamer, and she was stuck between squirming, backing down, and starting a bitch fight in the hallway. "Whatever. I have to get to class."

And she walked away.

-

"Santana, you have to go," Brittany told her over the phone later.

"Do I though? I'm pretty sure I could fake my own death or something."

"Do you hear yourself right now?"

Santana groaned and draped an arm over her eyes, trying to block out the afternoon sunlight coming through her window. "I don't want to go putt-putt golfing."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"You know, if you weren't so afraid of the stereotypes, it'd probably be easier to not be afraid of who you are."

"I'm not afraid of who I am," Santana bit back.

"Good. Then you'll go putt-putt golfing with me on Thursday and figure out how to get you through this date." It was not a threat, or a jab; merely a statement of fact.

And then Brittany hung up, leaving Santana with very little choice.

-

"Santana, why are you even here right now? Your date with Sugar isn't until Friday," Rachel frowned, from her spot on the couch.

"Berry, why are you even here right now? This isn't even your house," Santana shot back, trying as gently as possible to stick her eyelashes on even though she was kind of irritable and rather liked slamming things right now.

"Yeah, yours neither," Quinn returned. "Tell me, have you been enjoying my makeup, Santana?"

Rachel giggled. Santana turned around to glare at them through one stick-on eyelash. "I have my practice date with Brittany tonight."

"Ah," Quinn nodded sagely. "The one at the golf course?"

"Shut up." Santana examined the second set of eyelashes.

"But it's the practice date tonight, isn't it Santana?" Rachel picked up where Quinn left off. "Just with Brittany?"

"Yes, geez. Are you fucking writing a book or something?"

"No, just curious."

If Santana hadn't been leaning into the mirror applying her lashes, she would've seen Quinn and Rachel share a Look.

-

"Wow, you look hot for a golf course."

"Can we just… get this over with? I'm going putt-putt golfing two different days this week."

"Fine; we don't have to go, Santana. Dirty Dancing is on, and I have popcorn…"

"No," Santana barked immediately. "We're doing this." And she grabbed Brittany's hand, and led them to her car.

"Okay, but this is a very important dating lesson," Brittany turned the radio down as soon as they got in. "Even if you hate what the other person loves, you can't just shut down and act like a baby about it."

As if Santana couldn't feel more like shit. "Well, what do you suggest, Britt? How am I going to even remotely have fun at a golf course?"

"Well, if you just maybe open your mind for, like, two seconds, you'll just let go and have fun." Brittany shrugged. "Seems like something you should try."

Santana closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and started the car.

Turns out golfing wasn't so bad, with Brittany along. Except Brittany was maddeningly good at it, and Santana kept hitting the ball into the miniature lakes. Y'know, miniature lakes for miniature golf.

"What the fuck?!" Santana roared after the sixth hole in a row that Brittany made par and Santana found herself fishing for her wayward ball in the drink. Brittany waved genially to the family on the course behind them. The parents were scowling in their direction.

"San, just calm down," Brittany took Santana by the elbow and steered her along the path. "You're taking this too seriously."

Santana grumbled, dragging her club behind her and letting it scrape against the pavement.

"Let's concentrate on something else, okay?"

Santana grumbled again.

"How's Sectionals planning going?"

Santana took a deep breath. "We're planning out a rehearsal schedule for the group number right now. And picking out songs. Rachel and I are going to duet, I think, and we gave Weezy the solo. As like, a compromise."

"Wow. Was that her idea, or yours?"

"Well, we agreed on it. We've both had solos at competition, and like, Mercedes hasn't. And she's a better singer than both of us."

Brittany gave her a Look. Santana snorted. "But not as good as you," she corrected.

Brittany smiled, mollified. And Santana felt much better after that.

-

In the end, Santana had stopped bitching by the ninth hole, and just relaxed for the last nine. Brittany had insisted on playing an arcade game before they left, though, and managed to outsmart the impossible claw machine to win an enormous stuffed hedgehog.

"That thing is ridiculous," Santana said, as Brittany held it on her lap the entire way home. "How are you supposed to cuddle it? It's got pointy things all over it."

Brittany giggled. "Yeah, but they're not sharp. He's still soft." She snuggled her head in the hedgehog's belly.

"Also, technically, since I am your date - doesn't that mean you should give him to me? As like, a prize, or something?"

Brittany frowned. "No. I'm keeping him."

"Oh. Well, good. I didn't want him anyway."

"I do. He reminds me of you."

Santana made a face. But she still reached out, peeled Brittany's hand off the hedgehog, and held it over the center console for the rest of the way home.

-

Santana took a deep breath to compose herself, and rang Sugar's doorbell. She heard the footsteps coming, and immediately tugged at her shirt out of nerves.

The door flew open, and Sugar's smile immediately disappeared, replaced with something like shock.

"You're wearing plaid."

Santana sighed. "Brittany thought it would be a good way to say I'm sorry."

Sugar stifled a giggle, mouth dropped open in awe. "You're wearing plaid."

"Well, I'm sorry. So I wore plaid. Turns out golfing isn't that bad - although, it's not very good either. I just promise not to be a baby about it and ruin your night."

Sugar reached out with one hand and grabbed Santana by the shirt, looping her fingers in the gap between the buttons over Santana's stomach. She pulled her forward gently, and placed a soft kiss on Santana's lips.

"Thanks, Santana."

"Hey hey hey, watch the hands. I don't want you ruining my brand new shirt." She wrapped her fingers around Sugar's and pried her hand away. And then she held it the rest of the way to the car, and over the console as they drove.

-

Sugar laughed every time Santana's ball flew sideways and landed with a soft kerplop! into the water. Santana muttered Spanish swear words under her breath every time, too.

But also, every time, Sugar grabbed Santana by the hand that wasn't swinging the golf club in frustration, and pulled her back to kiss her before she had to go retrieve her ball.

It was a good date.

-

"Blaine's coming home for Thanksgiving," Kurt sighed to Santana as they made their way through McKinley's front doors and into the hallway.

"Oh yeah? I can pick him up at the airport if you want. I'll be the one with a sign that says 'Blaine' and also a crossbow."

"Why would you kill him with a crossbow, Santana? You seem more like a battle axe type. Or something devious, like arsenic in his coffee."

"Well, if he tries to run, I have a long-range offensive." Santana shrugged, as if this were the most obvious answer.

"The amount of thought you've put into this is beginning to scare me."

They got to Kurt's locker. Santana turned to face him. "Have you forgiven him?"

Kurt sighed. "I haven't decided. I guess that's what this weekend's for."

"Well... just keep in mind what I said."

"Yes, Santana; I'll have my crossbow on standby."

-

"Hold still, Santana." Brittany grabbed at Santana's squirming feet, holding the nail polish brush over them.

"I can't; it tickles," Santana grumped. She looked at Lord Tubbington, and swore he was mocking her.

"Think of something else."

Santana focused her mind on other things. Rachel and the plan for Sectionals. Quinn and Rachel hanging out all the time now. Tina and Puck trying to not actually date each other and failing miserably. Kurt having to decide about Blaine. Making out with Sugar after their last date at mini-golf.

Yeah, that last one was good.

"Alright, you're done." Brittany put the lid back on the nail polish, and set it on the nightstand. She settled in next to Lord Tubbington, absentmindedly running her hand over his fur.

"San, I've been thinking."

"Hmm?" Santana was concentrating on not smearing the still-wet polish.

"You've been on four official dates with Sugar, now, and… I think you've learned everything I could teach you."

Santana froze. She had really tried to pretend this day weren't coming.

But she knew it would.

She sucked in a breath and held it.

"I don't think we need to go on any practice dates anymore."

There was no way Santana could legitimize arguing around it. She and Sugar had been dating for over a month, and they were perfectly fine. Santana had survived the first awkward dates, then planned a really good one of her own, and even overcame a shitty date plan simply through compromise, something Santana had been notoriously bad at.

There really was nothing left.

"Yeah. I think so too." She let out the breath she'd been holding, and stared unblinkingly at her toes so she didn't have to look at Brittany.

Santana had never really been broken up with before, but part of her wondered if this was exactly what it felt like.

-

"I convinced her to do a medley with me," Puck said eagerly, as Santana held her dropper over the beaker and squeezed three times. "Still working on the convincing-her-to-date-me thing. We're just kind of… hooking up. Which isn't, like, bad, just… frustrating, I guess. That she doesn't think I want more than that."

"Uh-huh," Santana replied absently. She was still pretty glum about knowing she and Britt didn't have a built-in excuse to hang out anymore, and didn't really want to hear about Puck's sex life on any day of the week.

"Anyways, I don't think anyone will throw shoes at us or anything because we're both on the team, and we're doing country. Everyone in this hick town loves country, right?"

"For some reason," Santana sighed.

Puck frowned, noticing that Santana didn't even attempt to bite back. "Hey, you okay? Did you fight with Sugar or something? Coz you totally shouldn't worry about it. I hear lesbian make-up sex is way better than the hetero kind. For some reason," Puck teased, nudging Santana with his shoulder.

"No, Sugar and I are fine."

She didn't particularly feel like telling him that she didn't think she and Brittany were.

-

"Hey," Santana picked up as soon as she saw Sugar's name on the caller ID.

"Bad news." Well, this wasn't a good way to start any conversation.

"What's up?" Santana did her best to rearrange her voice into concern.

"My grandma's dying," Sugar said quietly.

"Oh. Holy shit." Santana was certifiably not good at things like this. "Um. I'm really sorry." Darling? Sweetie? Baby? Honeypie?

Ugh.

"Yeah, so I can't make our date tonight."

"Oh! Jesus," Santana paused. Boo? Muffin? Lover? Why the fuck was this girl's name already a term of endearment? "Don't even worry about that, are you kidding? Do what you have to do."

"Thanks," Sugar sighed.

"Are… you okay?" Santana ventured tentatively.

"I think so. This just… really sucks."

"Yeah," Santana echoed glumly. "Let me know if you need anything? I can like, buy groceries or…" What else did people need at a time like this? "…do your homework for you?"

Sugar laughed lightly. "That's sweet; thanks. I'll let you know."

And they hung up.

Santana sat around for a little while longer, not really sure what to do with her evening now. She felt like shit about Sugar's grandmother; it was always miserable when somebody kicked off. Like nothing made sense. Just… a real shitty feeling, which she completely indulged in as she stared up at the texture of her ceiling.

Then, after about twenty minutes or so, she reached for her phone again, and dialed the only number she knew by heart.

-

Brittany was ready within five minutes, and she just wordlessly got in Santana's car, and sat silently while they drove. Santana had told her about Sugar's grandma over the phone, but honestly Brittany sounded distant and quiet even before Santana had shared the news. So they just held hands, next to the gearshift, as they drove.

In the end, they found themselves back out by the old B&O railroad tracks, curled up under about six blankets, a light dusting of snow coming down around them. It looked different than when Santana was here a few weeks ago - the sky was grey, now, and everything looked miserably bleak.

She couldn't feel her toes this time, either.

But Brittany's heartbeat slowly made its way between the two of them, and it became the steady rhythm Santana breathed to.

"You really think we'll get out of this place?" Brittany asked quietly, leaning her face a little so her cheek touched the side of Santana's head.

"You mean life?" Santana said darkly.

Brittany poked at her ribs. "You know what I mean."

Santana sighed. "Yeah, I think so. I always figured we would. You and I, I mean."

"Because we love each other?"

"Yeah."

"And because of that, anything's possible?" Brittany's voice was small, and it cracked a little bit as she repeated the words she'd said to Santana with such confidence at the end of last school year. When everything was much more simple than it was now, and yet still complicated even then. They were going to have a fresh start, then. They'd tried to have a fresh start.

But maybe they were fools for thinking they could ever have one, and right now Brittany sounded very far away. Like a worried little kid.

Which was about exactly how Santana felt.

Blindly, she reached for Brittany's hand underneath the warm blankets, and linked their pinkies together.

"Yeah."

-

After about an hour of sitting out in the bitter cold, they both climbed back in Santana's car, and drove back into town, darkness falling fast.

"You've gotten really good at dating," Brittany said, trying to act casual, but Santana could hear it in her voice - that same tiny, tiny voice. She'd been silently crying ever since they'd been at the railroad tracks. And now they stood on her front porch, not sure what to do next.

"B," Santana pleaded, taking a step forward.

But there was really only one thing to do next.

And before Santana knew it - or during, or after - Brittany's hands were tangled in her hair, and her lips were on hers.

And suddenly, the warmth spread entirely throughout her body. To her fingertips, and to her toes, and right to the very center, where it restarted Santana's heart and shot up to her face and her brain and her lips. She clutched desperately at Brittany's face, her fingerless gloves flush against her jawline.

Brittany's other hand quickly found its way under Santana's coat, and worked upwards.

Instantly, they pulled apart, and Brittany immediately fumbled for her keys, letting them inside. They waved a quick hello to Brittany's parents, and as soon as they were back in Brittany's bedroom, they stared at each other from across the room.

And then, in a mutually unspoken decision, both of them made three long paces to meet each other in the middle of it.

This was something that Santana hadn't felt in eight months, after having had it for almost every day of her teenage existence. She felt like she was going to rip apart at the seams. Brittany delved into her mouth and their tongues slid against one another, and Santana didn't really know where she ended and Brittany began.

That's how it was.

That's how it had been.

That's how it should be.

But before Santana could process any of these thoughts, Brittany had her sweater off, and was deftly working on the clasp to Santana's bra. Santana furiously grabbed for the waistband on Brittany's tights and started yanking.

This was everything, all at once, and Santana was drowning in it. It felt like happiness and sadness and regret and longing and everything good and everything bad that Santana had ever done in her life and she couldn't stop anything. She was on a runaway train, a one-way ticket away from normalcy, spiraling quickly into recklessness.

Brittany walked Santana back to her bed, but before her knees hit the mattress, Santana turned them around, keeping her hand on Brittany's back as they laid down together. Then, she felt her hands go everywhere, completely unable to stop them. They were in Brittany's hair, on her face, down her neck, and down to her fingertips, where their fingers laced together instinctively. Then it was back up her arms, and down her chest, pausing momentarily to trace the outline of Brittany's breasts, and flat against her stomach down to her hips.

Suddenly, Brittany's hand shot out, and grabbed Santana's, which was toying with the waistband of her underwear.

"Santana, Santana, Santana," Brittany let out breathlessly.

"Mmm," Santana replied, working her lips along Brittany's neck, the fluttering pulse.

"This is cheating."

Santana stopped moving, hand frozen in place, still held by Brittany's.

"We're cheating right now."

Brittany sat up from underneath her, and started crying again.

"And the plumbing's not different this time."

Fuck.

-

Santana had run out of Brittany's house as fast as her legs could carry her, gathering as many articles of clothing along the way. Brittany had tried to run after her, but Santana kept pushing her away, and eventually she just let her go.

As soon as Santana got home, she locked herself in the room. All she could hear, over and over again, was Brittany's voice from the end of the summer: "I don't want to get hurt by you."

I don't want to get hurt by you.

I don't want to lose you.

I don't want to get hurt by you.

In one fell swoop, Santana was pretty sure she'd done both.

The thought slammed into her head with sickening impact, and then she was back in her car, and tearing through the streets back to Brittany's house. This time her parents let her in, and she found Brittany sitting on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, still not wearing any pants.

"I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm sorry I hurt you when I said I wouldn't. I'm sorry I dated you when I said I wouldn't. I'm sorry I kissed you when I said I wouldn't. I'm sorry I broke all those promises." It felt like she was falling apart, crumbling and dropping into tiny pieces all over Brittany's floor.

So she crawled onto Brittany's bed, and Brittany reached out. She pulled their bodies together and held Santana tightly, and it felt like maybe she wouldn't disintegrate completely, as long as Brittany was holding the pieces of her together.

"You were right; I fucked up my first time," Santana said roughly, bitterly. Tearfully.

"A little bit," Brittany replied sincerely, resting her cheek on the top of Santana's head and hiccuping back a short breath.

"Why can't I get this right?"

"You're just always late, San. I'm always early; you're always late. It's how we are."

"I don't want to be late anymore. When you're late you miss things."

It was child's logic, mumbled into Brittany's shirtsleeve, but there were still so many truths in that one statement.

Brittany just held her, wordlessly, and stroked her hair. But after a moment, she said one single thing that wrecked Santana completely.

"You've been so brave this year," she murmured, fingers in Santana's hair, lightly touching against her scalp.

It was too much. It was finally what Santana had wanted someone to acknowledge. And for it to be Brittany, the biggest champion of Santana's bravery, and the biggest casualty of it… well. Santana sobbed unapologetically into her shoulders at the irony. "I did it for you."

"No, sweetie." Santana could tell that Brittany was trying to be strong for the both of them, but by the sound of her voice, she was crying just as much as she was. "You did it for you. You should remember that. Please don't not think that."

That just made Santana cry harder, and Brittany hold her tighter. It felt more like home than anything she'd felt in a long time, except it felt all fractured and raw, and everything came tumbling out in tears through the fissures. Being brave enough to come out at her birthday party; being brave enough to date Sugar publicly. Trying to be a leader in the glee club and not kill Rachel Berry, or let the team down. Deluding herself into thinking she could date Sugar and have a relationship with Brittany too. Protecting Kurt. Worrying about Mike. Looking after Quinn. Trying to keep her spot on the Cheerios... when really, she just wanted to quit everything and run away.

Hop on that fucking railroad and pass right on through.

With Brittany.

Not Sugar.

They didn't say anything for awhile. Brittany just held Santana, and let her cry out all her tears on her shirt.

And then Santana got up, when the wet patch on Brittany's sleeve was finally dry, and she left. Brittany watched her go.

It was the quiet death rattle of their relationship.

-

Thanksgiving sucked, as it did every year. Santana's family - well, her dad and her - were Hispanic, so they didn't really do anything; and this year, like every year, her dad was at work. (Plus, at Golden Bridge Academy, her teachers always assigned her to be an Indian in the Thanksgiving celebration, just because she wasn't white enough to be a Pilgrim, and it annoyed the hell out of Santana that she had to dress up in a paper bag every year, like a fucking stereotype. So she kind of hated Thanksgiving ever since.)

She watched the parade on TV, though, volume blasting, and she scowled at all those fuckers looking happy and thankful, surrounded by friends and family.

And Santana was thankful for absolutely nothing this year. She'd managed to fuck up the best relationship in her life, for the second time, while simultaneously fucking up the relationship she was trying to move on with.

No, there was no thanking anyone in this scenario. Except maybe her own goddamn self.

-

The day after Thanksgiving, Kurt invited himself over, unannounced. It took him pounding on the door for three minutes straight before Santana let him in.

"Judging by how eerily reminiscent this scene is to our chat earlier this year, I'm gathering you've done a little regressing," he sniffed, unfurling his scarf and shaking snow off his coat.

"Did you forgive Blaine?" Santana asked sharply, staring at the television.

Kurt paused, taken aback. Finally he moved to sit next to Santana. He still left a good two feet between them, though.

"…yes." He took a breath. "We're… trying again."

"So you believe in second chances?"

If this were any other day where Santana didn't absolutely look like hell run over by an eighteen-wheeler, Kurt would've probably asked what was prompting this. But instead, he simply replied. "Sometimes."

"Even for cheaters?"

"People make mistakes, Santana."

"Yeah." She knew from experience. She was 'people.'

What she didn't know was who she wanted a second chance from, or if she thought she deserved either of them, or even if she had any left from Brittany.

-

"Oh god, I think I'm gonna puke," Tina moaned, her helmet under her arm, hair in the usual gameday pigtail braids.

"How do you still get nervous? You've proved yourself pretty much every game you've played." Santana picked a piece of grass out of Tina's hair, which somehow managed to get there even though they hadn't started playing yet. She'd wandered away from the other cheerleaders, mainly because Brittany was there, and she couldn't be around her when she didn't need to be. It felt a little bit like suffocating.

Sugar wasn't there, either. The exclamation point was now gone from Tina's signs in the stands, and it hurt to look at that, too. She hadn't talked to Sugar since her grandmother had taken a turn for the worse, but she didn't feel good about their pending conversations either.

Mostly, Santana wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But she had a football team to cheer for, and apparently that took precedence or something.

Puck walked up, and held out a cup of Gatorade to Tina.

"What, none for me?" Santana bitched at him. Seeing him fawn over Tina was nauseating.

"Easy, tiger. You need those electrolytes for cheerleading?"

"Fuck you."

Puck put his hands up in surrender, and left them alone. Tina took a sip of the Gatorade, and watched him go. "I think we're dating, kind of."

"No shit," Santana snarled, tearing her eyes away from the Cheerio squad across the field, where Brittany was stretching.

Tina followed her gaze. "Everything okay?"

Santana sighed darkly. "I don't want to talk about it."

Tina handed her the cup of Gatorade and let her finish the rest. "Chin up, Santana. I need someone to cheer for me." She smiled at her, almost flirtatiously.

Santana surrendered to the charm. "You're going to be great. You're not even gonna need me." She reached out and yanked gently on one of Tina's braids.

"Still." Tina grinned bigger, and kissed Santana's cheek swiftly before putting her helmet on and jogging over towards Puck.

Santana swigged the last of Tina's Gatorade and looked across the field. She had no choice now but to rejoin the gaggle of cheerleaders and take her place for the start of the game.

-

At halftime, with the Titans down by three, the stands settled in with hot dogs and sodas as Figgins stepped up to the mic at the fifty yard line. The jazz band was set up behind him - a drum kit, bass guitar, and slap bass.

"Hello, McKinley High, as well as our opponents, Cleveland Heights High," he droned. "We are all very excited to be participating in this state football championship. For our halftime entertainment tonight, we have a performance from two of our very own players, who, between the two of them, have set a record for their combined total of rushing yards this season, with 6,031."

He looked around, waiting blankly for the smattering of applause to end.

"Please welcome Noah Puckerman and Tina Cohen-Chang, doing a medley of Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash."

Puck and Tina took the field, both still in their uniforms and pads. They grinned wide and waved up to the crowd.

Without any preamble, Puck turned to Tina, and start strumming his guitar, starting out slow and steady. He started the first verse, giving Tina a little hip check. She sang back to him the response, a flirtatious echo, and bumped him right back. Then, the harmony.

This was no zombie attack like last year, but it was damn charming, and the crowd immediately engaged with them. Puck had been right; small town Ohio loved country.

"And love's just a bubble if you don't take the trouble to make it!" he sang goofily, with a growl. He leaned down, right into Tina's face, and she laughed, reaching out to scruff up his mohawk.

The song finished, and the band kicked it up into a fast rockabilly tempo. They transitioned seamlessly into their parts, Tina swishing back and forth with an imaginary skirt, and Puck grinning at her out the corner of his eye.

Santana couldn't help but smile. Tina Cohen-Chang was singing country music. She didn't sound bad, either. Sure, she didn't really have the twang or anything, but hers and Puck's voices melded together in an unsettlingly compatible harmony.

Plus, the fact that they were singing "It Ain't Me, Babe" was more than a little relevant to their dating situation, those charming fuckers.

Puck nodded at Tina, as a cue, and the song switched again. They spread out across the field as they sang, working the crowd. Everybody was already on their feet, and clapping.

They made their way along the length of the field, Puck pointing the fret end of his guitar into the crowd and pretending to "fire" flirtatiously at all the girls, and Tina helping keep the beat by clapping with them. They worked their way through the sidelined Cheerios, and both of them slapped Santana on the ass as they passed by. She jolted in shock. Oh, she was going to give them hell for that later.

"Yeah, we're going to Jackson… ain't never coming back!" They finished the verses, finally back at the center of the field, and let the beat drive home the rest of the song. When it was over, Puck slung the guitar over his shoulder pads, and bowed to the cheering stands. Then he gestured at Tina, getting them to cheer louder for her as she bowed, too.

"Thanks, everybody!" Tina waved.

"Yeah, keep this up for the second half, and we'll see what numbers we can put up!" Then Puck slapped Tina's helmet playfully, gave her a discreet low-five, and they headed off the field together.

Santana looked over at Brittany. She was smiling, maybe not as widely as she usually did, but smiling at the performance nonetheless. Santana thought maybe she felt her eyes watching her, even though Santana couldn't dare look at her. But Brittany's eyes were trained on the field.

In the end, Puck scored another touchdown and Tina another two - with Puck's blocking assistance - and the Titans nosed ahead for the win.

Finn and Mike picked up the Gatorade cooler, and dumped the contents over Coach Beiste's head as her players celebrated around her.

Santana caught sight of Puck and Tina. They'd ripped off their helmets, and Tina had her legs around Puck's waist and her hands on his face and they kissed with a fevered abandon.

Santana sighed. Guess this counted as their happy ending.

Probably the only time two football players were going to make out on the McKinley High football field, too.