Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, its characters or any intellectual property.

Author's Note: I got a lot of great feedback after last chapter's posting. I received several "isn't this a Brittana fic? where are they?" comments as well. Yes, this is a Brittany/Santana fic. Yes, they are endgame. I am trying to build up a story here gradually- so interactions between the two will come (sooner rather than later). Hope this helps.

Enjoy the chapter!

"What's the difference if I say… I'll go away? When I know I'll come back on my knees someday… For whatever my man is- I am his!"

A pair of voices sang loudly through the loft the next morning, waking Santana up with a start. She briefly forgot where she was and panicked. Swiveling her head around, she found that she was in her bed, alone. She'd woken up early at one point that morning and found herself surrounded by her roommates and Quinn. However, she must have fallen back asleep and they must have gotten up. Rachel and Kurt were in the kitchen probably, harmonizing a tune from Funny Girl, a personal favorite of theirs. Usually, she awoke to the argument over what they were going to sing, as opposed to the song itself. They both must have gotten some from their men in Lima, she mused, to make them so cordial.

She went to sit up and immediately winced with the pounding in her head. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed her eyes, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle of what happened last night. They were celebrating her new job, they dressed in Kurt's gay scarves and danced around… they drank three bottles of wine… then things got fuzzy.

Briefly, Santana worried that she'd had one of her crying spells, like she did so often when she'd reached a certain level of drunkenness. She hoped that she hadn't started mumbling about how sad she was that she missed the graduation or any kind of nonsense. She'd been working to fight those feelings all weekend. She had a lot to look forward to now, she told herself again and again. She had to stop acting like this.

Kurt and Rachel heard Santana shift from her portion of the loft and shot Quinn a look. The blonde sipped her coffee and rolled her eyes. She knew they were petrified that she would mention the sordid details of the weekend that they'd revealed to her last night.

They'd discussed it further that morning when they were sure that the Latina was still asleep. They vowed not to divulge any details until Santana asked or they knew more about the future plans of one blue-eyed blonde. The details, they settled on, would be the bare minimum explanation they could possibly provide without lying. Santana didn't need more things to worry about, not when she had a new job to start in a week.

They all turned to greet Santana as she shuffled into the kitchen, ignoring them all and making a beeline for the coffee.

"Good morning, Santana," Rachel chirped. She was wielding a spatula and standing over their griddle. Several golden brown pancakes were sizzling away, filling the loft with a delicious aroma. Santana just grunted and poured herself some coffee before seating herself next to Quinn at the table.

"How'd you sleep?" Kurt ventured a question, opening the fridge to retrieve the cream for her coffee. She accepted it gratefully and served herself some. She remained utterly silent until she'd taken several large sips, which seemed to help.

"I was cramped. I woke up early and the weirdest thing had happened… you three were in my bed with me. The funny thing is that I don't remember partaking in some sort of perverted sex orgy so I'm not quite sure what prompted all that. I know I don't have the most comfortable bed, considering I've napped in both of yours while you've been at class," she snorted, gesturing at Rachel and Kurt.

"Santana! I wish you wouldn't do that. My sheets are extremely expensive," Kurt complained, looking irritated. His face suddenly appeared shocked. "That's why I had a grey nail polish stain on them last week! You painted your fingernails in my bed? What is wrong with you?"

Santana shook her head, a small smirk appearing on the corners of her mouth. "No, Kurt—how presumptuous of you. God. I did not pain my fingernails in your bed," she defended, looking hurt. "I painted my toenails." Kurt groaned and exited the room. They paused and could hear him grumbling and stripping his sheets off his bed.

"Do you want pancakes?" Rachel asked softly once Santana stopped laughing at Kurt's actions. The Latina turned to her with a suspicious look.

"You… never.. cook," she stated. Rachel blushed.

"I can though. Quinn was hungry so I thought I'd make some," she explained, placing several of the hot pancakes onto two plates. She set them down on the table in front of Santana and Quinn.

"So you'll make them for Quinn here, but not for me?" Santana demanded. Rachel was about to defend herself but she saw a grin emerge on the brunette's face as she reached for the syrup. "You'll just have to come in town more often, Q. It's the only way I'll get breakfast made for me around here." She winked at her friend before devouring the food in front of her.

Quinn shot Rachel a surprised look. Santana was in unusually high spirits—a mood that they hadn't seen in ages. They shared a small smile, both happy to see the improvement in their friend's demeanor. Anything was better than depressed, mopey Santana.

Kurt reentered the kitchen and shot Santana a glare. "I'm going to have to do some laundry after class today, courtesy of our dear Ms. Lopez. Rachel and I both have classes on campus around two. I have an exam study group afterwards too. I can't believe the school year is ending and finals are next week," Kurt detailed with a sigh. "You're going to escort Quinn to the train station before then, right?" He was talking to Santana but all she noticed was the large, angry red mark down his left forearm. She hadn't seen it before but now as he was gesturing with his arm- she spotted it.

She rose from her seat, abandoning her pancakes.

"Kurt, what is this? What the fuck happened?" She demanded firmly. She clutched at his arm, keeping it still so she could look over the abrasions. Kurt snatched his arm back, looking at Quinn and Rachel helplessly.

"Um… I fell. I was outside at Tina's graduation party and I just… I was standing one minute and on the ground the next. I had been drinking, so…" Kurt explained. His voice was too rapid and he was speaking too fast, Santana noted. He sounded like he was lying, or leaving something out, of his description of what happened. She furrowed her brow at him.

"Is that really what happened or are you too chickenshit to tell me what really went on? Was it Blaine? Did he hit you or something?" She growled. "If he hurt you, I'll choke him with his fucking bowtie."

Kurt immediately refuted that accusation. "Blaine? What? No. God," he shook his head, in utter disbelief that she'd even think that. "Of course not. I told you, I tripped." Santana glanced over at Rachel. The brunette was much easier to read because she was a terrible liar.

"Rachel? It this true?"

Rachel's eyes dropped from Santana's for a moment before she lifted them again. She took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yes, if that's what Kurt says, that is what's true. I was inside talking with Finn and we heard Kurt outside. When we went out there to check on him, he was on the ground. So if he said he fell… then he fell," Rachel stated. She was able to speak somewhat confidently because that was, in fact, what she had witnessed. She'd been inside the party when Sam and Kurt had gotten into their altercation.

Santana watched Rachel's face for long moments. The brunette seemed honest enough in her retelling of the events, but Santana wasn't so sure. Something didn't sit right with her about it. But, she didn't seem capable of getting any other explanation out of them at the moment.

Begrudgingly, she retook her seat and picked up her fork.

"Fine, Kurt. You fell outside at Tina's party," she repeated back to him. "If I find out that anyone hurt you though, I'm going to go all Lima Heights on them." She said this last line with serious conviction. Kurt and Rachel had no doubt that this was absolutely true. They were suddenly glad they'd kept their mouths shut. Santana didn't need more reasons to hate Sam. Their silence inadvertently helped him, they'd later agree. Both were fairly confident that if Santana ever discovered the truth, he'd have more than just a black eye when she got done with him.

A couple hours later, Quinn departed from New York on the 1:10 train to New Haven. Santana had remained remarkably dry-eyed during their goodbye, both promising to keep their phone dates and to video chat often. Neither one planned to return to Lima over the next few months. Quinn had enrolled in a summer theater program at Yale and was staying on campus over the vacation—so she'd still be close by. Santana watched as her friend smiled one last time and disappeared into the crowd of commuters.

She stood there, utterly stationary, for some time. It amazed her how alone she felt, even when surrounded by hundreds of people. These men and women, pushing past her like she was a ghost, none of them had any idea who she was. She could be anyone. Her anonymity was both isolating and invigorating.

She could be anyone, she said to herself again. This new job, practically handed to her on a silver platter, afforded her the chance to forge a new path. She could be happy, she told herself. She could make choices that would have better endings. She would try not to be so afraid of everything anymore. She would overcome her fear.

Fear.

It was four small letters but it meant so much more. It was the reason why she had dropped out. It was the reason she didn't want to leave Lima. It was the reason why she couldn't go back.

It was the reason why she and Brittany had less time together than they should have had. If she hadn't been so afraid of what her peers thought, she might not have pushed the blonde away for so long… she might not have only had one measly year as her girlfriend. If she wasn't afraid that she was making Brittany miserable, or that she was a bad girlfriend, or that she might cheat (even though she knew inside that she never, ever would have), she might not have ended things. If she weren't so afraid, she would have jumped at Brittany's offer backstage during the Grease show that they try again. If she wasn't so afraid, she would have come straight out and told Brittany that she wanted her back, instead of pretending to have some fake girlfriend to make her jealous. If she weren't so afraid, her whole life might be different. Her own insecurities and reservations might have prevented her from so many exciting experiences, Santana realized.

She was done with fear. She was done with letting it make decisions for her. She wouldn't do it again, she vowed. She would take this amazing opportunity and work her hardest. She would do it for herself (and maybe a little bit for Brittany). She was done with the past now. She was done hating herself over what she'd done.

Something had changed in her this weekend. Part of it could have been Brittany's success without her. Santana had always treated her like Brittany needed her—and she liked being needed. She sometimes forgot that Brittany was capable of making her own decisions and doing things on her own. She'd proven that by finishing the school year without Santana's tutoring or guidance, by achieving a near-perfect SAT score, and by graduating. She didn't need Santana for any of that—she'd done it without her. Additionally, though Santana didn't know the specifics, she was sure that Brittany was going to go to some amazing college and be successful there. Santana hadn't given her enough credit. She wanted Brittany to succeed—but with her help. Had she ever allowed Brittany to be autonomous in their relationship? Why had she not thought of this until now?

Santana had also realized some aspects of her own power this weekend. She had been so into Brittany and only Brittany for so long that she forgot how desirable she might be to other people. She was single again—really single. It wasn't like high school where she was technically single but really (kinda sorta) dating Brittany. She was completely unattached now. She'd been immediately pursued at the gay bar with Quinn the past weekend. Sure, she knew she was hot (in a self-professed, cocky kind of way), but now it was almost shocking to Santana that other people noticed it too. She had hooked up, quite easily, and though she felt nothing for the girl—it was nice to feel wanted again. The only person who ever made her feel that way was Brittany. Now she'd discovered that other people could make her feel that way too. It made her feel… empowered.

Santana walked through the streets to the subway station feeling lighter. It was a combination of several things, working together, to change her outlook on things. It felt refreshing to look around at the towering buildings and savor how tiny she seemed—as opposed to feeling terrified that she'd get swallowed up. The buildings represented opportunities and possibilities. They were obstacles in her way, objects to climb, new experiences to be had. She only had to answer to herself. This is what freedom feels like, Santana mused, this is what being completely alone- but not lonely. And she smiled, genuinely smiled, at the sun warming her face and feel of the pavement beneath her feet.

Somewhere in the back of her head, despite all her proclamations and best intentions, she still (just a tiny bit) wondered what Brittany was doing.

When she arrived home, Santana found a cardboard box and lid in the entryway of the building. She snatched it up and carried it with her inside. Rachel and Kurt weren't home yet and wouldn't be for a couple of hours. Since she'd quit her restaurant job, Santana didn't have anywhere to be or any obligations until they got back from NYADA. Then they'd probably get dinner and watch TV together for the rest of the evening. So the couple of hours she had were hers alone.

Santana dropped the empty box onto her bed and stared around her curtained-off room. She didn't exactly have a lot of stuff in there. She had a desk she and Kurt had found at a second-hand store in SoHo, a small dresser, her bedside table and her bed. A garment rack on wheels was stationed against one side, filled with hanging dresses and her nicer clothes. She marveled at the number of striped dresses in various colors that she possessed. Aside from those large pieces of furniture, the "room" was rather sparse.

The personal touches that Santana had added to the space were small and little in number. She had a framed picture of her parents on her dresser. They'd mailed it to her the second week she was in New York, along with a batch of brownies and a wad of cash. Kurt and Rachel had eaten the brownies; she kept the money. She had a jewelry box next to the frame with some pieces of bling inside, but nothing too ostentatious.

There was a thick stack of books on her desk, pieces of fiction and some memoirs that she'd thought to bring home from college. A lot of them were admittedly lesbian fiction that she'd accrued; she felt it necessary to connect with the roots of the community she was a part of. Once, after arriving in town, Rachel had borrowed her copy of Sarah Waters' Tipping the Velvet. Santana found her completely enrapt on the couch with it for the next week. When she'd finished it, she brought it humbly to Santana, reverently handing it back over.

"It was… just lovely," Rachel had admitted, "but I have a few questions." Then she'd launched into a list of inquiries she'd had about lesbian sex, none of which Santana wanted to answer.

Other than the books, her desk housed her laptop. That was about it, Santana mused, well… to the untrained eye. What might not be apparent by looking over the room were the hidden parts to it, the things that Santana had purposefully stowed away and kept only for herself. That's what the cardboard box was for.

She approached the dresser, opening it slowly. She pulled a pair of small pink panties from the top drawer. They were Brittany's. She'd found them in her laundry once, leftover from one of their "sleepovers" no doubt. Santana washed them and then "forgot" to give them back. They were a reminder to her that, at one point in time, she was the only person who got to see the incredibly beautiful parts of Brittany that were hidden by the tiny fabric. She'd taken them with her to Kentucky and often touched the soft cotton, envisioning where they'd been, when she was by herself in her dorm room and feeling particularly lonely. Now, she reluctantly placed them into the box. She also located an old grey tee shirt that once belonged to her ex. She liked to wear it to bed because it made her feel like Brittany was closer, wrapping her in loving and strong arms… but now she put that away too. She didn't want to remove those hidden parts, but something inside her nagged… telling her that she needed to be stronger now. She shouldn't need these things anymore.

Gradually the cardboard box got heavier, more full. Pictures of the two of them that Santana stored beneath her mattress, their old friendship bracelets, a stuffed unicorn, mixed CDs that Brittany made for her, and old handwritten love letters from senior year—it all went in. Santana stared down at the collection she'd assembled. It was all she had left of her past with Brittany. She felt a creeping sensation course through her; one that meant that she was stupid… there was no way she was strong enough to deal with all this. She couldn't possibly have moved on enough in the past couple of months to erase all these years worth of memories. Did she even want to? Did she want to lose these physical representations of Brittany? Without them… she'd have nothing.

She couldn't. No matter what she thought before, she knew that there was no way she could lose any of the contents of this box. But she could do something, she reasoned. She placed the lid over the top, sealing the memories of the past inside of it. She located some packing tape from the kitchen and returned to her room. She paused for a moment, almost wanting to stop herself. But she didn't. She taped the box shut instead.

She carried it to the basement of the building, where they had an assigned, locked storage space. Using their key, she opened the door. Inside, there were other dreams that had been put away. Leaning against corner, Santana could make out a bicycle in the ill-lit space. Kurt once fantasized about riding it all over the city—but when a vicious New York cab had nearly hit him, he'd changed his mind. Rachel had several trunks of sweaters down there, stored away for the winter. The only things in the storage space belonging to her were several pieces of empty luggage, set in a corner. She hadn't really brought anything else with her when she'd arrived. Now she placed the box on the ground. After a moment, she moved it to sit on top of one of Rachel's trunks. If anything leaked in the basement, she didn't want any of her memories ruined. She was just keeping them down here until she could figure out how to compartmentalize how she felt… until she could make sure that she had totally moved on. Then she'd figure something else out.

Santana glanced around quickly, confirming that no one else was down there with her. When she was completely satisfied that she was totally alone, she knelt down in front of the trunk. She leaned forward and kissed the lid of the box softly, running her hands along the corrugated cardboard. She pressed her forehead to it, trying to understand what emotion was coursing through her. She didn't know at that moment… everything seemed so convoluted and muddled. She couldn't wade through it all; it felt too big, even for her.

Quickly, she stood up and wiped her hands on her jeans, trying to ignore the sadness she felt. It was as if she was saying goodbye to something, but she didn't know what that thing was. The things in that box weren't Brittany… they were just things… and old memories. But they were all she had, she admitted. She paused for another long moment, her heart battling with her head. Then she turned and exited the storage unit, locking it securely. Locking it away for another time, when she was more prepared to excavate whatever dark emotions resided in the part of her that she'd just left behind.

Santana was on the couch, reading a book when Rachel and Kurt arrived home. It was so quiet in the loft that they thought that she wasn't home initially. They entered through the door, loudly arguing about whom played Eva Peron better. They were so enrapt in their argument that it took them a minute to notice she was even there.

"Really, Kurt? Madonna or Patti Lupone? How is this even a question?" Rachel snapped at him, throwing down her purse onto the kitchen table. "Patti owns that role… she made Evita what it is today: a classic. Madonna, though talented, cannot touch that legacy." Kurt shook his head, setting down his satchel next to the front door.

"She might have initially owned that role—but she didn't make it what it is today. Evita appealed to a niche audience—the Broadway crowd. Madonna elevated it through the movie, and brought that role to the masses…she made it accessible to the people," Kurt argued back. "Eva Peron is Madonna—that's her story, Rachel. That's why she is so poignant in the role. She was a nobody from a tiny town who came to the big city, slutted it up to get famous and then used her newfound power to help people. That's why she owns it."

"You're so wrong, Kurt. Patti—" Rachel entered the living room and finally saw Santana. She was curled up against some pillows, holding a book in her hands. The brunette had a smirk on her face, having heard their entire, ridiculous conversation. "Santana! You scared me… I didn't see you there. Care to weigh in on the discussion?" Santana just stared at her for long seconds, enough time to make Rachel feel stupid for asking for her opinion.

Then Santana sighed. "Patti pioneered the role but Madonna will be remembered for it," she stated. Kurt and Rachel both stared dumbly at her. "You're both kind of right. Rachel, there's no point in arguing about this with him. You know Kurt is going to choose Madonna every time—he's gay, remember?" Then she went back to reading. Kurt shot Rachel a winning look and then went to the kitchen to make dinner.

Later that evening after studying for finals for several hours while Santana watched trashy reality TV, Rachel went outside to the front stoop to talk to someone on the phone. As soon as she left the loft, Santana made eye contact with Kurt, who had put his books down and was filing his nails across the couch from her.

"She's going to go have phone sex with Finn, right?" she asked. It was a question but her inflection made it sound like a statement. Kurt shrugged.

"Who knows," he told her, nonchalantly. When Santana continued to stare at him, he finally sighed and halted the progress of his emery board. "Yes, she's going to talk with him. No, I'm not sure that she's going to have phone sex. But… it wouldn't surprise me." He resumed with his nails then, ignoring the fact that Santana was still watching him.

"How's the arm?" She inquired sensitively. Kurt kept filing, even though he almost faltered at the question.

"It's fine, Santana. The weekend was overall very pleasant," he assured her. She continued to watch him silently. He knew she wanted to ask him about other parts of their trip. He could sense that there were questions on the tip of her tongue that she wouldn't let herself ask. But he couldn't press the issue… he wouldn't. "I saw Blaine and everyone. It was nice." That was all he was going to give her. She sighed, deeply.

"I'll bet everyone was excited to be done with McKinley," she suddenly reflected. Her eyes looked far away. "Everyone is moving on to bigger and better things…" She turned back to the TV.

From just her body language, Kurt could tell how melancholy Santana had just become. She slumped down onto the couch, holding a cushion to her chest like she needed comforting. It probably took a lot of inner-struggle to even say what she had about the situation. She had been so excited about her new job earlier that day… but now the reality of what she'd missed was seeping into her again.

He and Rachel hadn't really discussed the pictures. They had talked about not mentioning the fight and the Juilliard thing… but they pretty much had an unspoken agreement about the camera: they would wait for Santana to express a clear interest before offering to show her. Kurt felt like this was as close as he was going to get.

"Rachel and I took a lot of pictures while we were in town," he tried to sound apathetic about it. "I posted them on Facebook if you wanted to see them. You know, so you can make fun of how lumpy Finn looks or laugh at the fact that Sugar got a custom-made two-tiered pink graduation cap for the ceremony…" He trailed off when he saw that her face didn't brighten at all. He struggled provide her with more information, as vague as it had to be. "We made sure to get photos of everyone. Rachel even managed to take some of… a couple people…receiving their diplomas." Santana's face remained stoic. "I can grab your laptop if you wanted to check Facebook."

Santana turned back to him, her eyes not quite meeting his.

"I don't have Facebook anymore."

Kurt scratched his head, exasperated. "You…you don't have it anymore? Since when? You were on it like… seven hours ago before I left for class."

Santana shrugged noncommittally. "I quit. I was spending too much time obsessing over people and memories. It anchored me to a person that… I don't know if I am anymore." Her eyes told him a slightly different line of reasoning than she had verbalized. She was spending too much time stalking Brittany on Facebook and it was getting harder to watch the other girl's life evolve more and more into one without a place for Santana in it. He could completely relate: in the several months he and Blaine were apart, he scoured his ex's page for signs that he'd moved on. Kurt couldn't force Santana to look at the pictures, he concluded. He would give her space.

"Well… I have the photos on my camera still. Let me know if you want to see them sometime," he offered. He watched as his roommate gave him a short, pensive nod and turned her attention back to the TV.

Dressed in a rainbow dream coat, Kurt was flawlessly singing and dancing to a choreographed rendition of "Rainbow High" from Evita. The number was a duet and he was performing with Madonna—except it wasn't her, it was a large stuffed animal version of Madonna. Despite his cotton-filled partner, they executed the song perfectly.

In the middle of the high note during the chorus, Kurt was awoken by an ominous, looming shadow peering over him in the dark. He tried to shriek but his mouth was silenced with a firm hand—causing him to swallow his scream.

"Jesus, Kurt, stop getting spit all over my hand. It's me," Santana whispered, finally letting go of his lips. "My palm is all wet. What the hell!" She wiped her hand on her shorts and straightened the tank top she was wearing.

"Why are you in my room at…" Kurt peered around her body to glance at his clock, "at three in the morning? What is going on?" Santana sat down on his bed and looked sheepishly at him.

"Can I see… the pictures?" she asked softly. His eyes widened. "I've been up all night debating over whether or not to ask—and ultimately I want to see them." Kurt rubbed his eyes and nodded his head. He leaned over his bedside table and clicked on his side lamp. Then he scrambled out of bed under his roommate's nervous gaze. He noted that she looked ragged and was wearing her thick-framed glasses instead of her contacts- but she still looked radiant. He wanted to tell her, but figured she'd tell him to fuck off so he didn't.

Kurt located the camera in his bag and handed it to Santana, noting how her eyes lit up as she flung herself down onto his bed to look through the pictures. Kurt lay down on his stomach next to her and watched as she scanned through the photos, passing by a dozen or so before finding the face she was looking for.

Santana paused on the picture Brittany crossing the stage to receive her diploma in her cap and gown for several long minutes, apparently forgetting that Kurt was with her too. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, so incredibly proud at the accomplishment.

"She looks so… happy… and so fucking beautiful," she whispered quietly, more to herself than to Kurt. He stared at her face, studying it. This was the first time that she'd directly mentioned Brittany in the entire span that they'd lived together. He nodded gently. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

"She did… she was really proud," Kurt told her in a low voice. Santana didn't snap at him for talking about her. Instead she just sort of half smiled at him gratefully. She turned her eyes back to the illuminated screen before her.

For a moment, she felt guilty again for not having been there—but the feeling passed as she clicked to the next picture and found a shot of Brittany hugging Sam, a diploma clutched in her fist, arms around his neck. Santana withheld the urge to smash the camera. Instead, she sniffed softly to herself. She turned and held the camera out to Kurt. She still wasn't quite comfortable outwardly crying in front of him.

"I think I'll finish looking later," she muttered. Kurt slightly panicked at this. He stopped her as she tried to move from off the bed. He handed the camera back, pressing it softly into her hands and encouraging her to keep going.

"There are some really good pictures in here, Santana," he prodded, scanning away from the picture of Sam and Brittany hugging. He showed her the rest of her friends graduating, going through them quickly. Santana looked uncomfortable, contemplating why he was forcing her to see the photos. She didn't get it… until they reached the one he'd taken of Brittany at Tina's graduation party. "See?"

Normally, Santana would have bitten off his head for being so forward about a topic she adamantly avoided. However, she was clearly taken aback at how breathtakingly lovely Brittany looked. His heart swelled when he saw an expression overtake her face that he hadn't seen in forever: adoration. Even after the rejection and the lonely months passed, Santana still loved her completely. She couldn't help but to be blatantly obvious. He watched as she held the camera in her hand as she might a tiny baby bird—careful and reverent- peering down at the picture.

Santana's eyes ran over the contours of the blonde's body, taking every detail in, no matter how subtle. Brittany was wearing a yellow sundress that had a sky blue bird pattern on it. The matching blue sash around her waist accentuated her toned body, leaving very little of her curves to the imagination. Sadly, the long legs that Santana loved to run her hands along were just out of the picture; the frame cut off just below the knee. One of the blonde's hands was placed carelessly on her hip and the other was raised to her cheek, as if she were feeling shy or pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her blue eyes sparkled jovially as her frame was backlight against the evening dusk by paper lanterns. The small lights illuminated her features, giving her a soft glow. She looked radiant and just as beautiful as she'd ever been.

The picture left a sinking, hollow feeling within Santana's chest. How stupid could she possibly be to willingly end things with this stunningly gorgeous and remarkable woman? The thought plagued her and that hole in her heart seemed to only fill with remorse and shame. She handed the camera back to Kurt, almost in tears.

"Thank you for showing the pictures to me, Kurt," she managed through the thickness in her throat. She moved to get off the bed. "You can delete those now. I don't need to see them again."

"Bullshit," Kurt's voice challenged her through the darkness of the room. Her face was half-hidden with shadows but he could still see the shocked expression on it. He leapt to speak before she could smack the shit out of him. "I saw your face. We never ever talk about her… but we're going to now. You made a choice for the sake of her happiness and broke things off. You're allowed to feel sad because you miss her. You're allowed to be regretful of how things turned out. You're allowed to forgive yourself."

"Don't start, Kurt," Santana's voice snarled, moving into the shadows. She was leaving his curtained room. He panicked, unable to convey what he needed to the first try.

"I talked to her at Tina's," he admitted, somewhat startled that he'd even choose to mention this to her. He squinted in the dim light and saw that she'd paused in the doorway, her back to him, waiting. "She misses you… maybe just as much as you miss her." There was a very heavy silence that blanketed the entire room and the two of them for long seconds. Santana kept her back to Kurt, refusing to allow him to read her expression.

"Did…" Santana whispered, just loudly enough for Kurt to strain to hear it, "did she seem happy?" Kurt's heart melted. After all this time, Santana's first and possibly only question that she allowed herself to ask was about the welfare of the blonde. So few people really understood the volume and depth of her heart, he realized, or fathomed her capacity for real kindness.

"She seemed happy enough. She graduated… and has several college choices to consider," he replied. He didn't exactly mentioned which colleges, just that she had opportunities- so technically he wasn't divulging too much.

"Are… are any the schools she's considering… in New York?" Kurt could only imagine how much courage it took for her to ask that. But he couldn't find it in him to answer her. If he told her yes, she might get her hopes up to only have them cruelly dashed. If he said no, she'd lose all faith in the blonde. He didn't know what to tell her.

"I… don't… know," he forced out. She couldn't see his face with her back to him, so she couldn't read his panicked eyes and know he was lying. She just stood stock still for a few more seconds and then turned to look at him over her shoulder.

Their eyes met briefly, despite the darkness. Kurt wanted to repay Santana's kindness. He longed to pull her to him and embrace her and whisper that everything would be ok. He struggled to keep his body in place as he saw her head drop to her chest and her shoulders heave a sigh. There was a back-story to the photo that he knew he couldn't mention to her, not yet anyway. Too many things were up in the air. As much as he desperately wanted to get her to listen to him, he knew it wouldn't make any difference. Proudly dictating how he'd preserved her honor and stood up to Sam would only anger her and put out a hit on the trout-mouthed ignoramus. Detailing how Finn had stepped to his rescue and punched Sam might only make her snap that she was surprised the fish face was capable of being knocked down by marshmallow gravy arms or something (that one might be slightly funny). Admitting that Brittany had been in town without calling them, or even trying to rationalize what explanations the blonde had given would only serve to further Santana's pain—it would get her hopes up when there was nothing set in stone.

Kurt bit his tongue and filed the hidden truths away, knowing that eventually he'd be able to tell her. One day, they'd look back at all the things he and Rachel had withheld out of love and laugh at how those problems didn't exist anymore. They'd sit with a huge picnic spread in Central Park on nice day and drink wine out of paper cups. They would people-watch and eat finger food off of a checkerboard blanket. They'd stare up at the blue sky, its brilliant hue unmarred by clouds, and each think of how the darkest days they had spent together were long gone. There would be new problems, new drama—but the things that seemed so big to them before would be miniscule and solvable in retrospect. They'd share that future together, he was sure of it.

In that fantasy, where they shared an afternoon of laughter and cheap wine, it wasn't just the three of them. It wasn't even that Blaine was there with them (though sometimes, when Kurt wasn't mad at him, he made a cameo)—it was always Brittany. Every time, Santana's hand was clutched in Brittany's. The blonde was always there with them when Kurt pictured the scenario—even in his daydreams about idyllic, halcyon days- she was there with Santana.

Kurt wondered how much of his brain's interworking that Santana could sense in her long glance at him. He was frozen to the bed, camera in hand as she stood there in the doorway. He couldn't tell her those things, but he wanted to. But before he could even say a word, she turned back around to leave.

"Thanks, Kurt. Goodnight." Then she was gone. He slumped back against his headboard and pillows after a few seconds, when it was apparent that she wasn't coming back. He stared down at Brittany's face on the camera screen again. He wouldn't erase the pictures, he promised himself, and he would save them until Santana would come for them. He knew (well… hoped) it would happen. In three or four months, when everything was settled and she was happy or something, then he'd give them to her. She'd be grateful he'd saved them, he was sure of it.

With exams approaching, Kurt and Rachel spent the next week at the library. It came as somewhat of a surprise to them that NYADA had finals considering the arts curriculum. Neither one was laughing when they were trying to memorize historical facts about the origins of stage performance or writing essays on the complexities of the human vocal chords and how they impact range and voice.

Santana maintained her ban on Facebook. She spoke to Quinn every night still, but neglected to mention that Kurt had shown her pictures from Lima. She didn't even talk about that with Rachel. Once the morning came after their late night camera perusing, both she and Kurt pretended like it hadn't happened. She became intensely more focused on her fast-approaching first day at Metropolis Records instead, channeling her energy on more productive pursuits.

There were many reasons why they were all busy. They barely saw one another; finding time to sit down and just talk became scarce during those couple of long days. Because Santana wasn't constantly on Brittany's Facebook profile and Kurt or Rachel were too busy to be worrying about social media sites, all three failed to notice when Brittany S. Pierce's relationship status went from "in a relationship" to "single" three days after graduation.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, yes... Brittany wasn't in this chapter. Have patience... next chapter just might fulfill those needs.

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