"Honey, I'm home!" Quinn called out as she entered her apartment, closing the door behind her and throwing her keys in the bowl on the table. She kicked her shoes off haphazardly, then frowned and aligned them properly in their correct place, safely off to the side.

She glanced down the small hallway and saw Santana's head peeking up over the back of the couch, her eyes fixed on the TV. The remote was in her hands, and she was channel surfing at a furious pace.

"Nothing good, huh?" Quinn asked as she rounded the corner, plopping down unceremoniously next to her best friend. Santana glanced over at her, body posture slumped. Quinn took a better look at her, noticing that the dark circles had mostly faded, which must have meant she had finally gotten some quality sleep. Santana breathed heavily, shoulders shaking with the force of her sigh.

"It's fucking pathetic, Q. I'm so bored, I'm about to watch Telemundo," Santana groaned. "Seriously, and I used to ridicule my mother for that shit."

"I didn't even know we got that channel," Quinn said.

"Fix it," Santana whined. "Tell me something, anything. Your day had to have been more exciting than mine, although from your texts, I don't have much hope."

"Work was slow," Quinn said honestly. "Sold a couple records, a couple books, tried to read a bit."

"Alice in Wonderland again?" Santana asked. Quinn tilted her head to the side.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"You're contemplative. It's creepy, and it only happens when you read that book," Santana replied confidently. "Well, unless you're deep in thought about something heavy, in which case, you'd best start to spill your guts, because I needs some fucking entertainment."

Quinn chuckled, then felt her heart sink as the her emotion faded into what she was feeling later. Guilt. Avoidance. Trepidation. There was no way she could tell Santana what happened, because then she'd get mopey and impossible to deal with.

"Nope, I'm afraid there's nothing to tell. Just the book," Quinn lied easily, hating herself for how simple it still was for her to do. She thought that with all the changes she'd done, that would be something that would have also been altered, since it was a quality she disliked about herself. "However, it's kind of scary how well you know me."

"Isn't that what best friends are for? Call you on your quirks, put up with your bullshit? Face it, Q - you and me, we're in this for life," Santana said with a smirk.

"What a chore," Quinn said dramatically. Santana frowned and swatted her on the arm, provoking a smile from the blonde.

"Bitch," the Latina replied. Santana handed Quinn the remote, and the blonde stared at the device in her hands like it was a completely foreign object. "You pick something. I'm tempted to go into the kitchen and figure out how to make dinner out of mustard and pickles."

"That's all we have? Let me call up the bank, see if there's enough in there for us to get some groceries tonight. Or some take-out. Something."

"Do not say the words 'take' and 'out' in order in this house unless you're serious, Q. I've been craving breadsticks, and starch, and possibly Chinese food," Santana drawled, her eyes glazing over slightly and her stomach rumbling audibly. "I'm gonna get fat, aren't I?"

Quinn smirked. "Not when we've just got condiments in the fridge."

The blonde paused for a moment, realizing that Santana's odd cravings had included something familiar, and Quinn thought to poke on it, maybe using it as a segue… a test, but then thought better of it. It was likely an accident, after all, wasn't it?

"I miss my mom's cooking," Santana said. "Granted, I couldn't eat very much of it. Fucking Sue Sylvester."

"We're still on food?" Quinn asked absently, her mind just moving back into the conversation.

"Where you at, Q? Of course we're still on food. I wants to get my carbs on," Santana countered.

"Then we'll get groceries," Quinn said. "My mom never cooked much, but she taught me a great recipe for spaghetti and meatballs. We could grab breadsticks, too."

Santana's blank look caused Quinn to smack herself internally. It was so simple, and yet she had learned that the smallest things could trigger the craziest memories in Santana. The big things were even worse.


One year ago…

"Stop being so fucking speedy, Gonzalez," Santana barked as she chased the headstrong blonde through trees and grass that hadn't been mowed in a while. Since they moved to New York, Quinn had decided that she wanted to take up a morning jogging routine, and since it was common in New York City for people to do things like jog, there were more parks and jogging trails. Lima had been so different.

"Said the Latin lover," Quinn called over her shoulder, still a few paces ahead. "C'mon, Santana! Push, or something."

Santana wheezed and forced her legs to kick harder, to push against the sidewalk. She hadn't been active like this since her stint on the Cheerios, and a brief affair with cigarettes, which graduated from her occasional love of cigars out of her father's cabinet was starting to show in her lung capacity. Also, she wasn't exercising them from singing as often, so running was a chore.

"I need to have more sex!" Santana yelled, causing a few people in the park to turn their heads. Quinn stopped dead in her tracks, and Santana caught up. She smirked victoriously. "Hey, Q."

Santana jogged in place next to Quinn, who continued to stare at her like she had grown a second head.

"While I love you for being open and crass," Quinn panted, "did you have to announce it to the entire city?"

"What?" Santana asked innocently. Or, as innocently as Santana could ask something. "It's good cardio."

"So is running," Quinn protested.

"Yeah, but running is cardio for sexually deprived people. I don't have to be sexually deprived," Santana chirped. "You don't, either. That's your choice."

"My choice to live a celibate lifestyle is perfectly healthy and gives me space in my life for other, more fulfilling activities."

"Said the nun," Santana countered with a slow grin. "Celibate just never seems to work out for you, Q. Not in the long run. You'd best quit while you're ahead."

"You're not… oh, you're delusional," Quinn said, looking at Santana curiously.

"Wait, what?" Santana asked.

Quinn lowered her voice to a whisper. "You're not… propositioning me?"

"Well, I wasn't," Santana replied bluntly. She paused for a moment, and glanced Quinn over from head to toe, her smile turning into a lecherous leer. "But, if you're asking…"

Quinn swatted Santana on the shoulder.

"Not in your dreams, Lopez," Quinn said with a playful smirk before taking off like a rocket, darting through the park again.

"Fuck," Santana groaned before forcing her legs to start again, back to her game of chasing. Santana saw an upcoming bridge, and Quinn was halfway across it, so she sped up her pace, almost to a full-blown sprint, despite the pull and protest of her lungs, her muscles, and her entire body. Her feet adjusted to the difference in surface, and she nearly made it across before…

QUACK! QUACK!

Santana stopped dead in her tracks. Her body moved to the side of the bridge, and she looked over the side curiously. Below, in the water, were two ducks, swimming closely together, gliding across the water with grace and precision. One of them was a sunny yellow, and the other, slightly larger duck was a russet brown with little white spots on its back. The Latina braced herself on the railing, and felt her heart seize in her chest.

Quinn looked over her shoulder, waiting to see the grumbling brunette, but found that her friend was nowhere in sight.

"Santana?" Quinn called, her voice raising as much as it could with the effort of running for the better part of an hour. They were nearly through the park; their routine that Quinn had planned out was almost finished. It would be ridiculous for Santana to quit now. Quinn pursed her lips; Santana was a lot of things, but she was steely and irritated enough not to back down. She wasn't a quitter, especially if it meant proving something to Quinn.

Quinn started walking back down the path, toward where they had stopped and approached the bridge. Santana was dead in the middle, clutching the railing like it was her last shred of sanity, and Quinn sped up her pace, knowing that something was wrong, that she needed to get to Santana, and fast. Quinn didn't say anything when she approached, noticing that Santana was seemingly in some sort of trance. Instead, she followed Santana's eyes with her own, and saw what the brunette was seeing physically. The pictures in her mind, however, Quinn knew were likely too depressing to voice aloud.

The blonde placed a hand on Santana's shoulder, hoping it would give her some sort of reprieve or comfort. Instead, it caused whatever was holding on in Santana to shatter, and the brunette broke under her touch. A loud sob left the back of her throat, and Santana dropped to her knees. Quinn moved quickly to support the girl, wrapping her arms around the brunette and holding her close. One hand stroked her hair, and the other moved the now horribly sobbing girl's head to her chest.

"It's okay, Santana… I'm here…"

"Brittany, you weren't supposed to leave. Not ever," Santana cried into Quinn's shoulder. "Why'd you have to leave?"

"Shh, shh. I've got you," Quinn cooed, placing a gentle kiss to Santana's head. Santana sobbed harder, grabbing fistfuls of Quinn's tank top, and pulling the girl closer to her. The power of her sobs shook Quinn's entire body, and people were starting to stare, but the blonde didn't move an inch. Instead, she gripped her friend tighter and radiated her patented "head bitch" stare to the surrounding traffic, scaring people into giving them privacy. It could have been minutes, or it could have been an hour, but eventually, the sobbing stopped, and Santana was left to a series of soft whimpers and harsh breathing. Quinn tilted her head up, causing the reddened, darker than usual eyes of her best friend to meet concerned hazel ones.

"Hey, you," Quinn whispered, wiping at Santana's residual tears. "Let's get you home, okay? I have a little bit of money for a cab. We'll break out the ice cream and watch slasher films."

Quinn hated slasher films. Quinn hated violence.

But Quinn loved Santana, and that was all that mattered.


"Breadsticks?" Santana asked tentatively. Quinn felt her breath catch; she didn't want to say the wrong thing, so she just stared ahead and let Santana go to where was most natural for her. Wherever that was, Quinn was ready. A few seconds later, Santana cracked a smile. "Yeah, that would be awesome, Q."

Quinn released her breath, feeling her lungs ache from holding it in for so long.

"Excellent. I'll make a grocery list. You go get dressed," Quinn said happily.

"Yeah, I am still kind of rocking the bum chic," Santana said, gesturing down at herself. She hadn't changed from the morning. "Sorry about that."

"No, it's your day off," Quinn said. "Don't apologize. You get what, one every couple weeks?"

"Something like that," Santana shrugged. "All right. Make good choices, though, because you know I have veto power. No super health food bullshit."

"I can only make few promises," Quinn said, raising a hand. "Now go, get out of my living room."

Santana scoffed and disappeared down the hallway to her bedroom. Quinn heard the door close and slumped against the counter.

Close call.

Quinn was halfway through a decent grocery list; half options for her, half for Santana, and a few things they both enjoyed and could share when Santana emerged from her bedroom, dressed in an outfit that was "acceptable" for her standards.

"Make sure to put ice cream on there," Santana said absently.

"One step ahead of you," Quinn replied.

"Aren't you always?" Santana asked with a cheeky grin. "Hate you."

"You love me," Quinn retorted.

"Tried not to," Santana said as she moved around the apartment. She went to the door and grabbed her leather jacket off the coat hook, shrugging it on. "Failed miserably. White bread?"

"Got it," Quinn said.

"Nice. Um, cheese?"

"Definitely cheese," Quinn said, scribbling it down furiously.

"Beer?"

"I hate beer, Santana," Quinn replied.

"Wine?" Santana asked hopefully. "You think we have enough to spring for a box?"

"We might. Even boxed wine is better than beer," Quinn said. "We may have to cross out cereal and possibly a couple cans of soup if we want it that badly, though."

Santana waved a dismissive hand, "Eh. Priorities."

Quinn jotted down a few numbers, carefully writing down their budget. Her inner thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her phone buzzing angrily on the coffee table behind Santana. The brunette looked behind her, then back at Quinn, who was still crunching numbers. Shrugging her shoulders, since she was met with no protests from the blonde, she grabbed the phone and pressed a button, then placed the phone to her ear.

"Quinn Fabray's phone, this is her agent speaking. Do you have an appointment?"

Quinn's eyes looked up and she fought back a chuckle at her friend's ridiculous behavior, then paused. Her heart stalled in her chest, possibly mid-heartbeat, and she was overtaken by only one emotion: fear.

Santana's face paled, and her features, once etched with joy and good humor faded quickly like the setting sun. She was left black as a canvas, not a single emotion left on her face. Nothing Quinn could decipher. The blonde watched Santana grip the phone tighter, knuckles going white; Quinn wondered if the phone would crumble and felt nausea start to churn from deep within in. Sweat formed at her brow, and she wondered for a moment what exactly a stroke felt like.

"Who did you say was calling? I don't think I heard you correctly the first time," Santana said, her voice now eerily calm, possessing a smooth, almost saccharine quality that lacked any of its natural husk and made Quinn's skin crawl.

"Santana, just give me the-" Quinn tried, pleading in one last desperate attempt. There really no more unanswered questions in her head, at least. It was clear who was on the other side of that conversation.

Santana raised a hand to silence Quinn, and the blonde followed her orders to the letter, resigning herself to sitting on her bar stool with her hands in her lap, head tilted downward and eyes to the floor like a child that had been thoroughly reprimanded by a seething parent.

"Quinn's not available right now, I'm afraid," Santana continued in the same tone as before. "I'll relay the message and have her call you back as soon as she can, Rachel. You have a wonderful evening."

Santana hung up the phone and tossed it carelessly on the couch behind her. The silence hung between them like an albatross for a few moments before Quinn looked up, daring to look into Santana's coal black eyes. Quinn felt her stomach do flips; Santana's body was practically humming with latent rage.

"Santana, I can explain…" Quinn said, sticking to clichés as her only hope, and hoping it would be enough to gain her some kind of audience, even if it wasn't one she necessarily deserved.

"No. I'm gonna say my peace, and then I'm done. Just let me say my peace. You owe me that," Santana said, her voice barely above her normal volume. Quinn winced; she wasn't yelling, cursing in Spanish. She wasn't crying or throwing things. Any of that, if Quinn was being honest with herself, would have been preferred. This was way worse.

"Okay," Quinn said nervously.

"That was Rachel Berry," Santana said, the shock thickly coating every syllable. "Rachel fucking Berry. Asking for you. I presume you knew she had your phone number, since she, you know… had your phone number. Speak," Santana said, giving her permission. Only then would she reply.

"Yes, she has my phone number, and yes, I gave it to her," Quinn replied, staring at her hands.

"Look at me, Quinn," Santana said, forcing the blonde to snap her eyes upward. Santana braced herself by leaning backward on the couch and forced herself to breathe, although the breaths were shallow. "Rachel Berry is… here, in New York?"

"Yes, she is," Quinn replied simply. Lies wouldn't do anything but bury her now.

"When did you see her?"

"Today. Only today, I swear," Quinn said, looking directly into Santana's eyes and praying the girl would believe her.

"Today," Santana said, testing the words in her mouth. "At work? Where nothing happened? That's not fucking nothing, Quinn. That's… God, and you lied to me about it. I asked you, and you flat out fucking lied. What a great best friend you are."

"Santana…"

"No, I didn't ask a question that time. Well, I did, but it was rhetorical, so just shut the hell up," Santana raged, her body tensing, muscles flexing in her arm as she gripped the couch for dear life. "What else aren't you telling me?"

"I'm… there's…" Quinn stuttered.

"Spit it out. You know I know you better than anyone," Santana said harshly. "When Quinn Fabray does anything, even the worst things, she doesn't do it half-cocked. If you're gonna lie to your best friend, it'd better be a whopper. What else are you lying about?"

"Kurt," Quinn said simply.

"Kurt was there?" Santana asked.

"Yes," Quinn replied. "Both of them. Rachel was calling… we were going to meet up. We hadn't set up anything official, though, and you know me, I probably wouldn't have even gone. Or maybe I would have, but I didn't want to tell you because-"

"Because I'd overreact? Because my heart could bust in a thousand pieces because of what Kurt and Rachel being in New York City might mean? You thought you'd be my savior, right? Protect poor Santana from another breakdown," Santana asked angrily. "Well, you thought wrong. You did just fine breaking me all on your own."

The slam of the apartment door resounded in Quinn's ears before she could do anything to stop it.

You fail, Fabray. Again.


Santana Lopez was a creature of habit. When things got tough, she had to do one of two things: run or forget. Tonight, she decided, was about both.

The Kitty Club was seedy, dank, and a place she detested, but it was exactly what she needed to forget and to avoid, to stack her deck and hopefully, find something that would take her mind off the betrayal she was feeling course through her veins. Quinn Fabray had never been a saint, and she knew this, but hadn't she been there for Quinn every time things got tough? Hadn't she held her hand and wiped those tears a thousand times? When she was on her own, kicked out by her own family for the second time not for a pregnancy, but for being gay… something she couldn't change or run away from, hadn't Santana not only given her a roof over her head, but a home?

"Fucking bitch," Santana growled under her breath. She raised her hand and offered a fake, blinding smile at the cocktail waitress that came to her aid. "Another gin and tonic, please."

The booze was cheap here, and the women weren't as hot as she normally preferred, but occasionally, there was a diamond in the rough. She wasn't hoping for a miracle, but a warm body, something she could cling to, was enough. She brushed over the wad of ones in her pocket with her fingertips; she didn't have this kind of money to blow, but tonight was about being reckless.

Her cocktail came, and Santana paid and tipped the waitress. She was only two sips in when her eyes caught a pair of crystalline baby blues that sent her heart flying straight into the lower half of her body. She licked her lips, and before she knew it, she was fighting not to tangle her strong hands into corn silk blonde hair as the stripper gyrated and danced a wicked routine on her lap.

"I don't normally enjoy women this much," the blonde purred in her ear. Santana grinned and locked eyes with the other woman again. The stripper guided Santana's hands to her hips and the brunette gave a tentative squeeze. "You can touch me. Mostly, the no-touch rules is just for guys, and I want you to."

"I'm flattered," Santana responded in kind, trailing her hands along long, smooth legs as full breasts slid toward her face. Santana tucked a few dollars into the girl's g-string and winked playfully.

"You're feisty," the girl chuckled. "I like you."

"Not feisty. Santana," she replied. "That's my name."

"I'm-"

Santana's eyes widened. Two more seconds, and her dream would be over. She pulled a crisp twenty out of her wallet and placed a finger over the girl's lips, then added the larger bill to the ones the girl had already earned.

"Shh," Santana cooed. "Just be here with me tonight, Brittany."

Dark eyes locked on baby blue once more, and the other girl smiled, then nodded her head in quiet understanding.

"You feel so good, Santana," the girl purred, running her tongue along the brunette's pulse. A few more kisses to her neck, her jaw, and suddenly, Santana could feel the other girl's breath in her ear.

"God, Brittany… so do you," Santana moaned, feeling her body start to overheat. "So do you."


A/N: So, I said longer chapters, right? Hopefully it wasn't too long, or too jumpy. I've sketched out these characters pretty deeply, so it may seem like a lot of background, but we're getting to the action of the story VERY soon. However, this won't be angst-ridden and heartbreaking like I'm known for. It will have moments, but as I promised in the beginning, it is a love story. Let me know what you all think! Reviews are wonderful, and make me so, so happy. Thanks again!