Weeks dragged by at a tortuously slow pace. After the high of her enlightenment had worn off, though she still felt a shock of joy every time she remembered it, things still sort of scked for Santana. The only thing she had to look forward to were the letters from Brittany, which were torn open and screened first to make sure none of the content was explicit. Santana was sure the camp would ban the letters entirely if they could, but some law about freedom of speech and censorship forbade it.

Santana's fingers were actually trembling as she re-opened the clumsily sealed evelope, which was postmarked from France. She read out loud in a whisper, a smile forming on her face as she looked at the first letters of Brittany's elaborate, loopy script that she insisted was cursive.

Dear Sannie,

Hey! Remember me! Guess who I am. I'll give you three hints. 1. I'm fluffy. 2. I'm pretty. 3. I love to dance.

That's right! This is Lord Tubbington speaking! I'm wryting this letter because Brittany can't find her pen but she wants you to know that she loves you too. She told me to tell you that she feels lonely without you at home, and she misess getting her sweet lady kisses on with you, and also she hasn't told anyone about you two except Kurt and Mercedes and Quinn and Puck and Mike and Tina and all those other people. She wants to know when you're going to come back home, becuse she can't figure out how to hook her bra in the back and she can't ask anyone else except you or she mite look stupid. She says that it's really cold in France {oh yeah, she also wanted to say that she's in France.} but they have good crossaints and hot chocolate and nice tour guides who look at you funny for some reason when you ask to see the effeuilleuse tower. Also, she wants you to know the facts she's learned so far from the fact calendar that she's using to count down the days you've been away.

1. Fish can cough.

2. If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days you would have prudooced enouf sound energy to heat one cup of coffee.

3. Cats sleep 16 to 18 hours per day. {Exept not me, I sleep more than that.}

4. Monday is the preffered day for suicyde. )':

5. Finchel isn't actually a bird, it's the name people use for Finn and Rachel. {That one wasn't actualy from the calendar, thouhg.}

{Sorry, she forgot what goes between here.}

123. Noodles aren't actualy from Italy.

She feels really conffussed about the last one, and wants you to know that all the facts are getting scrambled up in her mind, so you have so come back soon and help her remember.

Meow Meow {That means love you, Santana}, Lord Tubbington.

Santana giggled in spite of herself and she finished the letter. She re-read it, smiling at the very Brittany spelling mistakes. Feeling a leftover weight in the envelope, she turned it upside down and shook it, a shower of photographs spilling out onto the bed.

"Who's that?" Lena appeared behind her suddenly, and Santana shrieked before she realized who it was and went on gathering the pictures.

"That's my girlfriend." Santana admitted, holding up a picture for Lena to see. In it, Brittany stood in front of the eiffel tower with her long hair spilling in loose curls out of an angled black beret. She was cradling Lord Tubbington and holding his paw up in a waving position. The pictures was titled "Me and LT at the effeuilleuse tower."

Santana shook her head affetionately and looked up, half-expecting Lena to share in her joy. But the girl's elfin face was frozen, a frown creased between her thin brows.

Santana started to ask what was wrong, but then she remembered. The song. The performance. The kiss. Oh, god.

"Uh-" Santana began desperately, grasping in her head for the right apology, and at the same time wondering why she felt the need to apologize. This was her, after all. Santana Lopez, who broke guy's hearts like glass. She should be laughing right now and telling Lena not to make such a big deal out of it.

But something about the memory of her hands resting on Lena's delicate waist, something about the wide green eyes that were now regarding her with a mixture of hurt and anger, made her want to say something else, something to make it all right.

"It's okay." Lena's voice was quiet and emotionless, but her eyes were glittering. "I understand."

She laid the photo gently on the bed next to Santana and sat quietly for a moment, staring at the opposite wall. Then she asked, almost involuntarily "What's her name?"

"Brittany." Santana looked down at the picture, not quite able to bring herself to look Lena in the eyes.

"That's a pretty name." Lena said, then added after a moment, in a soft voice, "She's really pretty."

Santana heard the quiver and the question in her voice and answered, "So are you."

Lena shook her head, which was bowed so low that her auburn curls brushed her waist. "I've never really had a girlfriend." She admitted, drawing up her shoulders so tht she seemed to shrink into herself even more. "I'm sorry I tried it on with you. I guess I just thought...I don't know what I thought. I was being stupid."

Shame prickled through Santana's body, making her cheeks flush red. She was the one who'd been being dumb, not Lena. She was the one who'd been tucking her letters from Brittany under her pillow, as if she had something to hide. Suddenly she felt like a traitor, to Lena and to Brittany.

"No, you weren't." She said, swallowing hard. "I was being a dick. I'm the one who should be sorry. I didn't tell you about Brittany or any of this, and I should have, uhm-I should have told you when you kissed me. I should have stopped. But I didn't, because I like you. You'e really pretty, and really nice, and I really do like you, a lot. But I love Brittany. She's my everything."

She looked up appealingly, realizing as the words spilled out of her mouth that she sounded like a Hallmark sorry card, if Hallmark made apology cards for polygamous lesbian teens.

The ghost of a smile passed over Lena's face. "Say that again."

"I'm sorry-"

"No, not that. Say "dick" again."

"Dick."

Lena giggled, then giggled harder, the contained tears spilling over her cheeks as her eyes scrunched up. Santanna watched her quizzically for a moment, then started laughing too, burying her face in her hands and dissolving into a fresh fit when she realized how dumb they were acting.

Lena's face was turning red and she was sucking in breaths of air in between spasms of laughter. Her laugh was like chiming bells, which was good, otherwise it would've annoyed the hell out of Santana after the first few minutes. When she'd finally wound down, she smoothed her mussed hair and tossed it back with such put-on elegance that both of them were in stitches again.

"So are we good?" Lena gasped out through residual giggles. She winced and rubbed her stomach. "Ugh. Never make me laugh like that again while I'm on my period."

Santana made a face. "TMI, Len. And yeah, we're good." She paused for moment, then added softly. "Thanks."

Lena brushed an errant strand of hair to the side and laced her fingers through Santana's, holding their hands up to the light. Her pale, almost translucent skin contrasted dramatically with Santana's golden tan.

"We're good." She said after a tiny pause.

Santana knew she was lying. One good laugh can't mend a broken heart. But she was grateful, at least for now, for the lie.