A/N: First, I want to thank everyone who read and/or comment on the last chapter. There won't be a lot of setup for this one. It's pretty self explanatory. I will say that I've had envisioned the last part of this chapter in my mind's eye since about chapter two. I'm excited and anxious to share it. As always, read, review, follow, favorite and enjoy.

...

It's a gorgeous morning in Southern California. The sun is shining. Birds are chirping. Santana is standing, left leg firmly planted in the ground. Her right leg is bent at a forty-five degree angle, her foot against the opposite leg. Her arms are stretched above her head, hands meeting in the center. Her eyes are unblinking as they focus on a point far off in the distance. She can feel the rays of the sun beaming on her face. As she concentrates on her breaths, an unmistakable sense of peace washes over her. She usually doesn't reach her place of inner calm until she is well into her routine, but lately this sense of serenity has been a constant state.

She and Quinn had just returned from taking Judy to the airport. She has mixed emotions about her departure. Happy that Judy had such a good time, but a little sad that she had to leave so soon. After their heart to heart, the two had formed an inexplicable bond. She could also feel that Quinn was a lot more unreserved in regards to her. Santana was almost certain Judy had something to do with that. She didn't know what type of mojo the elder Fabray had worked on them, but she knew she would be eternally appreciative for it.

Quinn is standing in the sunroom, watching the graceful way Santana is moving. She doesn't want to disrupt the groove Santana is in, but at the same time, she has an urge to be near her. Quinn quietly steps outside, basking in the warmth of the early day.

"San," she calls out.

Santana turns her head but doesn't break her position.

"Hi honey, what's up?"

The sun doesn't come close to the brightness of the smile Santana gifts her with. Quinn's stomach does a little roll and she can't help but smile back. She stands glued in place, suddenly at a lost as to why she initially came outside.

"I, umm, I don't know," Quinn laughs bashfully.

Santana drops her pose and approaches Quinn.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you. I didn't mean to break your concentration. I don't even know why I came out here. I just was watching you and then my feet started moving," Quinn rambles on.

Santana moves even closer, diminishing the gap between them. She strokes Quinn's cheek and kisses her sweetly.

"Don't ever apologize for wanting to be around me. You're more than welcome to join me if you'd like," she says.

"Im ashamed to admit that I've never done yoga before," Quinn confesses.

"It's okay. We'll do some beginners poses. Go get changed. I'll be waiting."

Santana spends the next hour going through the basics of yoga. She helps Quinn with her technique and coaches her to breathe evenly. Quinn is admittedly refreshed after the whole experience.

"I never in a million years wwould have taken you as the yoga type," Quinn says.

"Why is that?"

"Because I've always pictured someone who regularly practices yoga to be full of peace and tranquility," Quinn explains.

"And one might say that I can be a bit of a firecracker," Santana interjects.

Quinn snorts, recalling on more than one occasion where Santana was less than friendly with the paparazzi.

"It's because of the yoga that I'm as calm as I am eighty percent of the time. I have so much going on at any particular moment, but for an hour a day, I'm able to center myself and contemplate on the things that are truly important. The things that make life worthwhile instead of all the superficial bullshit. It's the only thing that keeps me from slapping a bitch on the regular."

"I can see that," Quinn laughs.

She follows Santana into the kitchen, each grabbing a bottle of water.

"I also never took you to be the domestic type. To say that I'm surprised that you maintain your house yourself would be an understatement," Quinn says.

"That's because my home is my refuge. I have people fawning and falling all over me on a regular basis. The last thing I need is another person kissing my ass. When I come here, I like to be a regular person. Besides, looking after myself keeps me humble. I don't ever want to get to the place where I think I'm too good."

"You truly are an enigma. For all your brash and bravado, you are one of the most down to earth people I know. You aren't at all caught up in the trappings that success can bring," Quinn observes.

"The way I carry on in public, is just that, for the public. It's not who I really am."

"I know babe. Every day that I spend with you it's becoming more and more obvious to me who you really are," Quinn says.

Santana inwardly does a little happy dance at Quinn calling her 'babe'. She's pretty sure the blonde doesn't even know she said it. She had been doing that a lot lately. Santana tries not to read too much into it, but it is proving to be a harder task than she thought. Every day, she can feel Quinn gravitating closer to her. Every endearment, every absentminded touch, every thoughtful act Quinn does just because, has her falling a little deeper. Patience has never been Santana's strong suit. She is accustomed to getting what she wants when she wants it. As anxious as she is for Quinn to truly be hers, she keeps her composure despite herself. Judy's advice has been Santana's guiding force. Slow and steady was going to win this race.

...

As had become their routine, Quinn made breakfast since she was up first. It had been a few days since her mother had left, but the good energy she had brought along with her had remained. Ever since talking to her mother, she was very aware that something was changing for her emotional. For the first time in her life, she decided to roll with it instead of running from it. Quinn was a bit woeful after Judy left. She and her mother were finally connecting on a level she had wished for all of her adolescence and a good portion of her adult life. She didn't want the two thousand plus miles between them to diminish it. Not only that, but Quinn is fearful that the magic that was happening between her and Santana in her mother's presence was going to leave with her. Quinn is determined not to let either of those things come to fruition. She hops out of bed with an extra bounce in her stride, eager to make Santana something special.

She whips up a delicious breakfast and sets the table. Quinn checks her watch expecting Santana to be just about done with her morning yoga session. After about fifteen minutes of waiting with no Santana, Quinn goes in search of her.

After checking the yard, the gym and just about every other room in the house with no sign of Santana, Quinn heads to the only place left that she could be. The door to her bedroom is closed. Quinn knocks a few times and waits. When she doesn't hear anything coming from the other side, she lets herself in.

"Santana if this is another one of your tricks to get me into bed, it isn't going to work," she says as she enters.

She stops as she see the curtains are still drawn and the room is pitch black. The only reason she knows Santana is in there is because she can hear her breathing. Quinn knows Santana is consistently an early riser and is puzzled as to why she's still in bed.

"Santana," Quinn whispers out.

Santana makes a few grumbling noise, but doesn't give any real sign that she's awake. Quinn feels around in the dark making it to the lamp in the corner. She turns the switch and the room is immediately illuminated. Santana scrunches up her face as the light hits it.

"Quinn?" Santana asks as she starts to come to.

"Yeah it's me."

"What time is it?" Santana rasps.

"Almost ten."

"Dammit. I have to call Noah and tell him push my meetings back," she grumbles.

Santana attempts to get out of bed and almost falls. Quinn rushes to her side to help steady her. She runs the back of her hand across Santana's forehead. It feels like it's on fire.

"San lay back down," Quinn directs.

"I can't. I have too much to do today."

"Sweetie you are burning up. I think you have a cold," Quinn says.

"I don't have time to be sick."

"Well you better make time. You're no good to anyone if you're not firing on all cylinders. I need you well and in tip top shape," she says firmly.

That seems to have the desired affect. Santana reluctantly lays back under the covers. Quinn goes to the bathroom, finding the thermometer in the medicine cabinet.

"Open," Quinn instructs as she sits back down on the bed.

Santana complies and lifts her tongue. Quinn waits for the device to beep before she checks the read out.

"San your temp is one hundred and one. You need to see a doctor sweetie," Quinn coos.

"Grab my phone. My physician's number is in my contacts."

Quinn does as she's asked. She calls Santana's doctor and arranges for her to come out to the house as soon as she can.

After a bit of poking and prodding, it's concluded that Santana has a virus. The doctor tells her there isn't much she can do but to drink a lot of fluids and get plenty of rest and that the bug will be out of her system in a few days.

"There's only one reason I like to be stuck in bed and this is not it," Santana gripes.

"Is that all you can think about?"

"Quinn do you have any idea how hot you are? Of course that's all I can think about," Santana answers.

"Well I promise to wait on you hand foot while you're confined to the bedroom."

"You don't have to do that," Santana says.

"But I want to Sweet Pea."

Sweet Pea? That was a new one. Santana thinks she likes it the best so far.

"No te mereces," Santana murmurs.

"Have I ever told you how incredibly sexy I think that is?" Quinn asks.

"When I speak Spanish?"

"Mm hmm. You don't do it often, but when you do, it hits me in all the right places," Quinn explains.

"Now who's mind is in the gutter?" Santana teases.

"Do you have any idea how hot you are? Of course that's all I can think about," Quinn parrots.

Santana sticks out her tongue. They both laugh until Santana's mirth turns into a coughing attack.

"San I'm going to make you some soup," Quinn announces.

She kisses Santana's brow before heading to the kitchen. Quinn makes her chicken noodle soup from scratch and freshly squeezed orange juice. She places Santana's meal, along with some water and a couple pills to manage her fever, on a tray. She carries it all back to the master bedroom.

"Prepare to be amazed by another one of my culinary delights," Quinn boasts.

She turns to find Santana, fast asleep. Quinn places the tray down and climbs in next to her sleeping beauty. Santana immediately wraps her limbs around Quinn, settling into a deeper slumber.

Quinn dozes off herself, waking to the sound of Santana having a fit of coughs.

"San let me make you some tea. It'll soothe your throat," Quinn offers.

"Nuh uhn."

"Honey you have to let me get up," Quinn says.

"No I don't," Santana pouts.

"The tea will make you feel better, I promise," she coaxes.

"But I don't need the tea if you stay put. Having you underneath me always seems to brighten my mood."

Quinn brushes back Santana's hair to see that as sickly as she looks, there's still a naughty twinkle to her eyes.

"What am I going to do with you," Quinn sighs.

"Whatever you want to do baby."

"You are incorrigible," Quinn chuckles.

"And your bedside manner is impeccable. Promise me we can play doctor when I get better."

Quinn swallows at all the lude scenarios running through her mind at Santana's suggestion. She is flabbergasted at Santana's ability to always know what to say to get her going. Although Santana is in no condition to act out anyone of them, that doesn't stop Quinn's libido from revving up. A suitable distraction is needed immediately.

"How about we play one of your many board games instead. Don't think I didn't notice the stash you have in the family room," Quinn proposes.

"You're going to willing subject yourself to a Lopez ass whooping? Oh my silly, naive Quinn," Santana taunts.

"Bring it it on," Quinn says confidently.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

...

"Q-u-e-t-z-a-l-s. That's a 50 point bingo, triple word score, a double letter score and I win. Again," Santana boasts.

"No you don't. That's not even a word," Quinn argues.

"Yes is it Q Bear. It's a bird. Also the a form of Guatemalan currency. You can look it up if you need to."

"There's absolutely no reason you should know that," Quinn says.

"Don't apply logic to Lopez. Trying to do so will only give you a headache."

"How is it that you have handed me my ass five games in a row. I went to Yale!" Quinn exclaims.

"And its evident that your thousand dollar Yale words are no match for my superior Stanford education."

"I forgot that you did go to Stanford," Quinn says.

"And that I graduated in the top ten percent of my class," Santana adds.

"Yes and that you graduated in the top ten percent," Quinn repeats.

Santana is sporting a self satisfying smirk, rubbing Quinn's defeat in her face.

"There's something that has always puzzled me about you," Quinn remarks.

"What's that?"

"You are clearly of above average intelligence. Why the dog and pony show that you put on?" Quinn inquires.

"Are you talking about Snixx?"

"Yes. If that isn't who you are, why do it?" she questions.

Santana exhales before giving Quinn an abbreviate version of her career track after she was discovered.

"What I don't understand is if being wildly successful was what you had to achieve to be free creatively, why are you still doing the same old song and dance? I mean, you're practically Mercedes Jones famous?"

Santana picks up on the slightly ribbing tone Quinn uses when saying the last part of her sentence. She flips her the bird and Quinn smiles sweetly.

"More like practically Beyonce famous, but that's a discussion for a later date and time. I've been demanding that they honor the promises they made to me, but I'm being met with a lot of resistance. I want to be true to myself and they want their golden goose to keep laying multi million dollar eggs."

"There isn't any middle ground?" Quinn asks.

"Apparently not. That's what's taking so long for my album to come out. I have to keep swapping out song until I have a 'suitable' enough body of work put together."

Santana's disdain with being forced to do something against her will was obvious in her tone. Quinn wished there was something she could do to help. Then she got an idea.

"Why don't you just start your own company?" Quinn suggest.

"What?"

"I mean you would be able to do your music, your way. You'd be the boss, so you'd have the final say in what you put out," Quinn elaborates.

"That's easier said than done."

"What's so hard about it?" Quinn asks.

"First I'd have to buy myself out of my current contract. Then I'd have to find investors so I could have some financial backing. Starting and maintaining a label is expensive and I don't have the capital to do it alone. I'd have to set up a deal with a distributor so my product can get to the consumer. Then there's getting my imprint incorporated. Not to mention the money I would have to come up with to buy back the songs that I don't own the rights to. And that's just the begin of the slew of other things that I don't have the time, nor the resources to do right now."

"I haven't know you that long, but I have never known you to shy away from a challenge. You're the kind of person to make her dreams come true by any means necessary. Sure it'll be a lot of work, but won't the end result be worth it. Having the liberty to be your authentic self seems like sufficient enough motivation to me," Quinn states.

"I don't know."

"Not only that, but you're wickedly talented. When I discovered that you wrote music for Mercedes, I went back and did some research. Half of my favorite songs of hers were written by you. You already have mass appeal Sweet Pea. You just have to have faith that you can make it happen," Quinn assures.

"You did it again."

"I did what?" Quinn asks, puzzled.

"Called me Sweet Pea."

"Oh that. I can stop if you don't like it," Quinn backpedals quickly.

"No I very much like it."

"Good because I very much like calling you it," Quinn says shyly.

"Pushing me to follow my dreams. Calling me cute names and being all flirty. Gosh if I wasn't a swirling cess pool of disease right now I'd kiss you."

"Such a romantic. I don't know how it is that I'm able to resist you," Quinn cracks.

"I can't fathom it either."

They spend the remainder of the day in bed enjoying the vast board game collection Santana has. Quinn decides it's finally time to give it a rest when she sees the younger woman practically asleep while they are playing Connect Four. As stealthily as possible, she collects the pieces the game to put away before turning out the lights. Quinn is almost out of the door when a voice barely above a whisper calls for her.

"Don't leave," Santana mumbles.

"You're tired honey. I'm going to let you get some rest."

"Come lay with me. I always rest better when I'm next to you," Santana discloses.

Quinn's heart does a little stutter step at Santana's admission. She climbs back on the bed and allows Santana settle on her chest, where she stays for the remainder of the evening.

...

The next morning Quinn leaves a sleeping Santana in bed while she goes about get them some nourishment. When she returns to the room, food in hand, Santana is very much awake with a disgusted look on her face.

"What's wrong San?" Quinn asks.

"I haven't bathed in more than twenty four hours and I feel gross. I'm afraid to look in the mirror. I probably look like Amy Winehouse after a bender. God rest her soul."

Santana make sure to cross herself after her last statement. Quinn wince, because Santana is very correct in her assumption.

"You don't look that bad," she lies.

"Although I appreciate your attempt at being polite, dishonesty isn't necessary."

"I can run you a bath," Quinn volunteers.

"I'd rather shower. I want to wash my hair."

Santana goes to stand but her legs are a little wobbly.

"Sweet Pea are you sure you're okay to shower? You're still not too steady on your feet," Quinn says.

"Can you help me please?"

"Of course," Quinn replies.

She turns on the faucet and lets the water get just right as they undress. Quinn is so focused on caring for the ill woman in front of her, that she doesn't realize what she's agreed to do until it's too late. She swallows hard as she processes that she and Santana are naked. Together. In the shower. Santana looks so weak, barely keeping herself upright. She just wants to get clean, while Quinn is imagining all the sordid things they could be doing right now.

Quinn closes her eyes tightly for a moment in an effort to keep her longing at bay. She is runs the loofa over Santana, trying very hard to be clinical and keep the bath about cleanliness only. It would be a lot simpler if her body wasn't reacting to Santana's body reacting to hers. Quinn's not sure if it's a visceral reaction or not, but Santana's breathing has deepened and her nipples are standing at attention. She's watching as Quinn openly gawks at her. Quinn witnesses a trail of suds as they slink between Santana's breast. Never in Quinn's life had she ever coveted an inanimate object, but she had a stronger inclination to be the soap running down Santana's body.

"Turn around baby, let me wash your hair," Quinn directs.

She hopes the change in position will help to assuage her want. It seems to have the opposite effect. If anything the back view of Santana is more dangerous than the front. Quinn massages Santana's scalp, cause some unseemly noises to come from her. Quinn tries to find something to do with her eyes. They end up firmly glued to Santana's ass. It's glistening as the water cascades over it. It looks like a delicious piece of fruit and Quinn very much wants to take a bite. She hurries the rest of the process along, wanting to get Santana in some clothes as soon as possible.

Quinn quickly helps Santana dry off and dress. She's sitting at the vanity as Quinn combs out her hair.

"You totally want to do me don't you?" Santana says.

She catches Quinn's reflection in the mirror. She doesn't think she's ever seen her turn that shade of red before.

"It's okay baby. I know I really am sick, cause if I was myself, I would have had you all over ever surface of that bathroom," Santana says casually.

Quinn finishes putting Santana's hair up before kissing the crown of her head. Santana turns around and smiles.

"I feel so very well taken care of. I never would have taken you for the nurturing type," Santana comments.

"I like looking after you."

"You're going to make such a good mom some day Q Bear," Santana says.

She notices the way Quinn's face immediately pales.

"What's wrong baby?" she asks.

"Nothing," Quinn says quickly.

Santana knows it isn't true, but she also knows Quinn isn't going to supply anything more until she's ready. She stands and offers her hand for Quinn to take.

"Come cuddle with me. Let's see if we can find something interesting on these nine hundred plus channels I have."

They lay down in the middle of the bed, Santana snuggling on to Quinn's chest. Quinn is flipping through the channels, fingers tangled in Santana's mane. She's scratching lightly, relaxing Santana even further. She discovered the other day that the action practically makes Santana purr like a cat. Santana's breathing has slowed and Quinn can tell that she's almost to the point of unconsciousness.

Now this is a story all about how

My life got flipped turned upside down

And I'd like to take a minute

Just sit right there

I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air

"Don't change the channel," Santana mumbles.

She opens an eye as she starts to sing along.

In west Philadelphia born and raised

On the playground was where I spent most of my days

Chillin out maxin relaxin all cool

And shootin some b-ball outside of the school

When a couple of guys who were up to no good

Started making trouble in my neighborhood

I got in one little fight and my mom got scared

"She said you're moving with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air," Quinn chimes in.

Santana pops all the way up, bopping to the music. They finish the theme song together, complete with Quinn doing the Cabbage Patch.

"Q bear I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you have a lot more flavor than I initially assumed," Santana admits.

"I'll take that as a compliment and that's a side effect of living in the Jones household for six plus months."

Santana slides back to rest against the headboard.

"Do I finally get to hear the story of how you came to know Mercedes?" she asks.

"Yes. I don't know really where to start."

"The beginning is always a good spot," she suggests.

"Well I was born Lucy Quinn Fabray," Quinn commences.

She goes on to describe her adolescence. She explains to Santana how she wasn't the most popular girl. She was a tad on the heavy side and had glasses. She was shy and quiet and very much the introvert. She would often turn to books for companionship, preferring the camaraderie of fictional people versus actual ones. She didn't feel like anything was wrong with herself until she got to high school.

"You know the private school scene as well as I do. Teenage girls can be so mean. Rich, entitled ones take cruel to a whole new level. The Regina Georges aren't just in the movies. I can't count how many times I came home in tears. I was finally able to convince my mom to convince my dad to let me go to public school," Quinn says.

"And that's where you met Mercedes?"

"Yup. We were both part of the Glee Club. It was the one place where I felt I belonged and I could truly be me. Her and I were an unlikely pair but we clicked immediately," she explains.

"Ok so how did you end up living with the Joneses?"

Quinn pauses, trying to figure out how to explain her temporary banishment.

"My parents and I, mostly me and my father, had a difference in opinion about a few things. We couldn't find an amiable solution, so it was decided that it was best if I stayed some where else for the time being," she offers.

"So you had a little bit of teenaged angst. We all go through that. I hardly think it's a suitable reason to put your young daughter out."

Quinn averts her eyes and tries to think fast. She doesn't know how to get Santana to understand the whys behind her exile without divulging the entire story. Santana knows there's more to the tale, but can't figure out what could be so horrible that Quinn wouldn't want to share.

"So you only stayed with Mercedes a few months. What happened to cause you to go back home?" Santana probes.

"I, I had an accident."

"An accident?" she asks.

"Yeah, a car accident. I had been living with the Jones for a while. At this point, my father had forbid my brother and mother from speaking to me. My mom had insisted on meeting me. She missed me and wanted a chance to explain herself. I was on the way to her when it happened. A semi truck driver had fallen asleep at the wheel. I didn't see him coming and he ran right into my car."

"Oh my gosh baby," Santana gasps.

"I was touch and go for a while. I was in a coma for two weeks. In was in the hospital for a month and a half total. Then it was months of physical therapy. My spine was damaged from the pieces of the car they had to remove from it."

"Your scars," Santana says.

"Yes. The doctors said that I was lucky. Had the debris been a centimeter to the right, I would have been paralyzed forever. I was in a wheel chair for a few months. I had to learn how to walk all over again. After all of that, my mom insisted I move back home and took me out of public school."

"So where does the name change play into all of this?" Santana wonders.

"I felt like a part of me died in that accident. I spent many days in that hospital bed wishing I had. After I recovered, it was like I was reborn. I promised myself I would take advantage of the second chance and not make the same mistakes Lucy had. I had already lost a great deal of weight. So I ditched the glasses and got contacts. Changed how I dressed. Dyed my hair."

"I knew that wasn't your natural color," Santana comments.

Quinn cocks her head to the side, curious for Santana to elaborate.

"Carpet doesn't match the drapes baby," she says ruefully.

Quinn gives Santana's shoulder a shove, but laughs anyway, thankful for a break from the somberness of the conversation.

"I went back to my old school with a new name and a new personality to go along with it. The girls who so unmercifully crushed my spirits, didn't even recognize me. They welcomed me into their circle with open arms. It proved to me how shall and vain people really are. It also taught me not to trust."

"And Mercedes?" Santana asks.

"I kept in touch with her. She and her family were so good to me. I could never turn my back on them. We've been close ever since."

"Mercedes is truly one of a kind," Santana agrees.

"You know I've been doing a lot of self introspection lately. I've been through a shit load of misery, but I can't help but feel like all of those things were leading me to where my life is now. I mean it was the whole need to be able to escape from my reality that pushed me to want to act in the first place."

Santana concurs with Quinn's analysis, all too familiar with using her music as an outlet to cope.

"It's like every mistake and misstep has ultimately lead me to the place I'm supposed to be and the people I'm supposed to be with," Quinn muses.

She didn't actually speak the words 'with you', but Santana felt what she was implying all the same. She pulls Quinn into a hug, hoping the show of affection can express her gratitude for Quinn being so forthright.

...

Santana wakes up the next morning feeling very much like herself. Although Quinn is grateful that she is well, she is a little disappointed that her unencumbered access to Santana has come to an end. She was getting used to all the up close and personal time they were spending together.

Santana quickly showers and dresses, eager to get some fresh air and some work done. She's more than disappointed at the view of the steady downpour outside of the window. In no mood to brave the rain, Santana opts to workout for a little while, allowing the storm some time to pass.

The rain doesn't stop all day, forcing both women to occupy themselves indoors. After her workout, Santana goes in her office to sort through some emails and the myriad of other things that went unattended while she was bedridden. After spending a good three hours working, she decides to give it a rest. She stretches, hoping to help the blood circulate. She gets up and wanders around the house, seeking Quinn out. She hadn't seen her since earlier in the day and had grown accustomed to their one on one time. She walks into the sunroom, disappointed when Quinn isn't there. That's almost always where she is, often lost in quiet reflection. When Santana doesn't find her in her other hangouts, she knows exactly where to look next. She opens the door to her study, spying Quinn sitting on the ledge of the bay window. The room is virtually dark, the only light coming from the fireplace. Santana is always astonished at how California weather allowed you to wear shorts and flip flops all day, yet it was still chilly enough in the evening to light a fire.

Quinn has a mug in her hand which she isn't drinking from. She is instead watching the rain fall, a pensive look on her face. Santana watches her, not wanting to break her concentration. Her gaze takes in all the sights before her and Santana is, once again, entranced by Quinn's beauty. She contemplates to herself how quickly and how completely the woman in front of her has captivated her. Like a moth to a flame, Santana is drawn to be closer to Quinn. She steps into the room and stops at the baby grand piano. She runs her hands over a few of the keys which causes Quinn to look up. The dark cloud that was covering her countenance brightens at the sight of Santana.

"Hi,"

"Hi," Quinn whispers back.

"Hope I'm not interrupting."

"Never," Quinn says.

"You looked deep in thought."

"I was," Quinn concedes.

"About?"

"Stuff," Quinn answers.

"Ever the evasive one, you are."

"It's not intentional. At least not with you it isn't," she replies.

Quinn watches as Santana runs her hands along the surface of the piano.

"Do you play?" Quinn asks.

"Not as well as I should. I can play some basic chords. It's enough to help me when I'm writing."

Santana taps a few more keys. Quinn turns back to the view, which is matching her emotions at the present moment. Santana can feel her dismay and is desperate to brighten her mood.

"You know one of my favorite things to do on a rainy day is to lay in front of the fire and listen to music," Santana says.

She goes to the wall and pulls out a record. She places it on the player. She arranges some pillows and a blanket in front of the fireplace. Santana steps closer as the soft tones fill the air and pulls Quinn down to lay next to her.

They lounge on the floor for a long time together, listening to all the greats. Bessie, Billie, Ella, Nina. The rain a beautiful accompaniment to the sounds coming forth. They lay with their fingers intertwined, discussing their favorite parts of a song or the merits of the use of one instrument over the other. Their voices are nothing more than a whisper, afraid that anything louder might shatter the enchantment of the moment. Neither one has the desire to move, only doing so when it's time to flip the record over or change to a new one.

As the white noise of the current album they're listening to fills the room, Santana hops up, knowing exactly what she wants to play next. She walks along the wall, fingers touching everything as she goes. A smile graces her features when she finds what she's looking for. She places the record on the player and drops the needle. Quinn's smile matches her own when the first tones of 'Stormy Weather' ring out.

"Very appropriate," Quinn says.

"I thought so," Santana smiles.

She resumes her position on the floor, next to Quinn.

"I was wondering when we were going to get to Etta," Quinn comments.

"Saving the best for last," Santana replies.

They continue their discussion. They debate which one of Etta's songs is her greatest and who's cover had done her the most justice. Quinn even suggests that Santana do a cover herself. Santana politely declines, explain how you have to have a certain 'je ne sais quoi' to properly pull off one of the legend's numbers.

They converse about a number of other things as the records are changed. Quinn smiles at how, while cocooned in this room, she feels so safe to be completely open with Santana. The conversation is constant and riveting and Quinn tries to remember the last person she was able to carry on with in such a manner. The searching of her memory banks is brought to a halt as the notes of the next song travel across the room.

Someday he'll come along

The man I love

And he'll be big and strong

The man I love

And when he comes my way

I'll do my best to make him stay

Quinn turns her head, eyes running over the features of Santana's face. There's a serene look to her, lips turned up in a slight grin. Her fingers on her free hand are tapping against Quinn's thigh to the beat. Quinn is compelled to touch her. She runs a finger over Santana's brow, then down her nose, then across her lips. Santana kisses it and Quinn closes her eyes.

He'll look at me and smile

I'll understand

And in a little while

He'll take my hand

And though it seems absurd

I know we both won't say a word

The light from the fireplace is flickering off of Santana's skin. She looks like she's glowing. Quinn can feel the invisible tug on her heart strings. She acts on instinct, unable to fight its magnetism.

"Dance with me Santana."

Quinn stands and pulls the smaller woman with her. She smiles when Santana places her hands around Quinn's neck, signaling that she is leading this dance.

Maybe I shall meet him Sunday

Maybe Monday, maybe not

Still I'm sure to meet him one day

Maybe Tuesday will be my good news day

They sway together, completely enveloped in each other. No words are spoken, yet so many things are being said. Quinn marvels at how dancing always seems to convey the thoughts and sentiments they can never seem to communicate with each other.

He'll build a little home

That's meant for two

From which I'll never roam

Who would, would you

And so all else above

I'm waiting for the man I love

As the music continues to play, Quinn pulls back to look in to Santana's eyes. She swallows hard as her heart beats out of her chest. Santana knows her truth. She can see it all over the younger woman's face. She sings along, hoping to reaffirm the conviction of that truth.

Maybe I shall meet her Sunday

Maybe Monday, maybe not

Still I'm sure to meet her one day

Maybe Tuesday will be my good news day

Santana is a little taken aback at Quinn's serenade. She notices the pronoun change and is desperately trying to decipher the meaning behind it. She can hear the emotion in Quinn's voice as much as she can see it on her face.

She'll build a little home

Just meant for two

From which I'll never roam

Who would, why would you

And so all else above

I'm waiting for the woman I love

The record ends, but neither one wants to disturb the momentous nature of the atmosphere. Quinn takes Santana by the hand and leads her to Santana's bedroom. She leaves her by the bed and goes to light the fireplace. She returns to Santana's side, slowly undressing her. Quinn then removes her own clothing. Santana continues to let Quinn lead, knowing that they have reached a watershed moment in their relationship. She doesn't move a muscle, not wanting to frighten the woman in front of her. Quinn grazes her fingers over every inch of Santana that she can reach. She's seen her this way numerous times before, but it feels like Quinn is just seeing her for the first time. She wonders how the woman before her unceremoniously broke down every barrier she so masterfully placed around her heart.

"Quinn?" Santana whispers.

"I'm scared beyond belief. This was completely unexpected and I don't know what to do with it. There is so much at stake for the both of us and I want to be certain. Just continue be patient with me. Please," Quinn begs.

"I'd wait a thousand years for you if that's how long it takes. Whatever you need, I'll do it Quinn. I love,"

Quinn places a finger on Santana's lips, effectively stopping her. She's not yet ready to hear the words from a conscious Santana that seem to tumble forth so uninhibited whenever they share a bed.

"Don't. Not yet. I'm not ready to say the words back," Quinn says in a hushed tone.

"What do you need from me baby?" Santana asks.

"I need you to just hold me," Quinn replies.

Santana drawers back the bedsheets, pulling Quinn along with her. She lays down first, positioning Quinn flush against her chest. Santana caresses Quinn's shoulders, then down her back. She repeats the pattern, hoping that her touch will both relax and reaffirm the unsure woman in her arms. The soothing sound of the rain lulls Santana into a peaceful sleep. Quinn lays awake, listening to the steady beating of Santana's heart against her ear. She is amazed at how easily Santana always seems to find rest when they are wrapped around one another.

The storm has slowed down to a trickle, providing a nice rhythm against the roof and windows. Quinn plays with the skin on Santana's stomach as she ponders all of the circumstances that have lead her to this point. She so desperately wants to just lose herself in Santana, but can't seem to cross over that last hurdle in her way. Santana has given her no reason to doubt her. Why was she so petrified? Quinn bites her lip and shakes her head, disappointed in her inability to be more inhibited. As if she is subconsciously aware that Quinn needs some encouragement, Santana tightens her arm around Quinn, drawing her in closer. Quinn squeezes her eyes tight, but can't stop the single tear that escapes. Why would anyone ever want to keep themselves from the beautiful soul lying underneath her. She places a kiss over Santana's heart, knowing that if she wants it, it is hers. All she has to do is say the word.

"I love you too, Santana," she utters.