It's been seven days since the meltdown, and they've been the longest seven days of Santana's life. Things have progressed (or, well, maybe regressed) to the point where it's as if Quinn and Santana had never met, had never bonded at all. Quinn doesn't acknowledge her existence, doesn't talk to her, doesn't eat meals with her; fuck, she's even gone so far as to trade bunks with one of the other girls in the cabin so that she doesn't have to be near her. It pains Santana in a way she can't describe and a way she wishes she wouldn't have to, but she keeps a straight face to save face... at least during the day.

It's only after lights out, after the cabin settles into the ambient sounds of sleep, that Santana lets it out, her pillow and her burning eyes the only ones bearing the evidence of her absolute emotional despair. The playlist that was once happy and hopeful now draws tears, and the absence of Quinn's tired murmur from the next bunk over―replaced by the buzzsaw snoring of some other random, nameless girl―cuts right through her.

Fact is, Santana's always had reason to be cocky: she's rich, she's hot, and she's popular. It's like the fucking trifecta of awesome. But now, watching Quinn gradually drift away, she's never felt so humbled. None of it means anything because none of it can help her get Quinn back, can make things go back to the way they were. And yeah, ok, Santana will admit that maybe the whole codependency thing she's had going on with Quinn the entire summer is possibly a little creepy, but that doesn't change anything. It doesn't make the hurt go away.

She's been smoking more than she'd like to admit, and more than her lungs seem to like, but it passes the time and fuck if it doesn't let her relax for at least a few minutes. She spends all the hours of the day that she's not holed up in the cabin with Sam, if for no other reason than to just not be alone. Well, maybe that's a little harsh. Fact is, she likes Sam. He's a solid guy, well put together, and he's there for her... not that she takes advantage of that fact. Sam has been her rock, perhaps unknowingly so, as she's watched Quinn start to interact with the Lima Middle girls. Quinn has, apparently, found some sort of common ground with the utter bitches that Santana has spent the better part of her life hating, and it's grating to say the least.

It's just after afternoon session, before dinner, when the group ends up with a bit of free time. Santana and Sam decide to play catch in the field, just chattering away about idle things like the upcoming school year. Sam's excited to get back to his school, and, truth be told, Santana's starting to get a little excited, too. Really, right now she'd take any excuse to go back to Lima and back to her friends rather than stay out here and continue to get royally frozen out by Quinn.

Santana runs her fingers over the dotted leather of the football before settling them across the laces. She cocks her arm back and fires a tight spiral, but it travels well over Sam's head. He rushes back to try to catch it, but it impacts the grass with a light thud before bouncing on its end and rolling over towards a group of girls settled on a blanket.

Sam hustles over to retrieve the ball, exchanging a shy smile with one particular red-headed girl before heading back towards Santana. The girl watches longingly as Sam jogs away, and Santana cracks a bit of a smile at the sight.

She tips her chin up slightly as the boy approaches. "Who's the girl?"

Sam's brow furrows as he tosses the ball. "Who?"

Santana catches the ball between her hands and shakes her head. "Little redhead you've been eyefucking the past couple weeks."

Sam huffs a laugh. "She's no one. Just a girl."

Santana laughs lightly as she throws the ball back. "She's cute. And she's obviously into you."

Sam jumps to catch the toss before stilling the ball between his hands for a thoughtful moment, looking over with an eyebrow raised. "You think?"

Santana nods, "Yeah. She watches you when you're not looking. I'm pretty sure she either wants to jump your bones or harvest your organs."

Sam laughs lightly at that. "Yeah, yeah..." he chuckles as he fires the ball back. "I think you might be the last person I'd turn to for girl advice right now, though."

Santana's brow furrows as she looks up. "What? Why?"

Sam stares at her pointedly, his head tilting slightly to the side. "I'm not blind, you know."

Santana rolls her eyes and tosses the ball. "I don't even know what the fuck you're on about."

Sam arches an eyebrow, settling the ball into one of his hands as he starts to walk over. "You and Quinn?" he says softly as he approaches, and he doesn't miss the way Santana's eyes briefly widen. "Yeah," he chuckles. "I think you two are more than meets the eye."

Santana's brow drops. "So, what, we're fucking Transformers now?"

Sam's just a foot away now, and he drops his head down, shaking it with a laugh before looking up with soft, green eyes. "I'm serious, Santana. If you need someone to talk to... I'm here," he shrugs lightly, looking nothing if not sincere.

Santana scoffs. "Thanks, but I don't need a human diary, shark bait."

Sam arches a teasing eyebrow, handing the football to Santana as he moves to settle atop the picnic bench. "Seriously? Quoting movies? Now you're just getting lazy."

Santana laughs in disbelief as she climbs to sit up on the table next to him, arching a critical eyebrow. "This from the guy who spouts Star Wars quotes like it's his fucking religion?"

Sam grins. "Ah, but, it's against my programming to impersonate a deity."

Santana rolls her eyes with a bit of a groan. "Do you just flap your lips for better air intake, or...?"

Now Sam rolls his eyes, though he releases a soft chuckle, bumping his shoulder against Santana's lightly. "Let's just call it an evolutionary advantage," he smirks before throwing an arm over the brunette's shoulders and pulling her into a bit of a headlock.

Santana laughs―she really laughs, for the first time in days―as she struggles to escape, poking her fingers out at Sam's side. After a few moments of playful struggle Sam relents, and Santana slaps his shoulder lightly with a wide smile across her face. Fact is, if she and Quinn are done for good, if these seven weeks of cultivating a friendship have been a complete waste, then at least she knows she's still got Sam.

And maybe that's all the comfort she needs.

It's not long before the dinner bell rings and the camp herds towards the dining hall. Sam and Santana collect their food from the buffet-style servery before they take their usual seats near the back of the hall. When they settle in, Quinn is already sitting with her new 'friends' just a few tables down, and, as much as Santana doesn't want to, she finds herself staring at Quinn over Sam's shoulder.

Truthfully, she doesn't want to notice Quinn, doesn't want to watch the girl like it was her motherfucking job, doesn't want to pine over a girl that doesn't seem to want a single thing to do with her; but, like so many other things in her life, it seems as though she doesn't really get a say in the matter.

What she does notice is how Quinn's hair is pinned back, (Santana really prefers when it's loose and flowing,) how she's terribly overdressed given the temperature, (Santana's pretty sure she must be sweating under that white cardigan... and that thought makes her lick her lips slightly,) and, most disturbingly of all, how her smile is missing something. It's all teeth and no emotion, Santana thinks, and she honestly wonders when that changed.

While a silent meal hasn't really been uncharacteristic between the pair over the past week, Sam seems to notice that Santana's attention is elsewhere, and that her expression reads nowhere near happy, so he clears his throat lightly.

"So, I've been really into the Whedonverse lately," he says casually before taking another bite of his burger.

Santana shakes her head free of her thoughts before turning her focus to the boy in front of her, perking up slightly as she arches an eyebrow. "You mean, like, Buffy and shit?"

Sam nods, "Yeah. Buffy, Angel, Firefly, everything. I mean, the guy's a freaking genius. The comedic timing in all of it is just perfect."

Santana shrugs lightly. "I guess. I mean, I was into Buffy when it was on..." she trails off, trying to downplay it as she takes a bite of her food. Truth is, after the Harry Potter experience, she's not so sure she wants to mention the fact that disc 6 of season 4 is currently safely nestled in her DVD player at home.

Sam must have seen the shift in her demeanour, though, as he raises a curious eyebrow. "Got a favourite episode?"

Santana nods as she swallows another bite. "Yeah, the dream one."

"Restless," Sam corrects with a bit of a smile.

Santana nods again, "Yeah. The cheese guy is fucking hilarious... I mean, I wear the cheese―"

"It does not wear me," they voice in unison, and Sam laughs with wide eyes and a slightly amazed shake of his head.

He points his fork out towards her. "Keep talking like that, and I'm gonna start being attracted to you."

Santana huffs a laugh and rolls her eyes. "Please, start? I'm fucking hot shit and you know it," she lets out with a cocky wink.

Sam rolls his eyes and just smiles, and Santana smiles, too, as she looks him over, loving the fact that, no matter what, he's still her boy. No matter what type of shit goes down between herself and Quinn, things with Sam don't change. They can still banter back and forth and Santana can still make fun of his comically oversized mouth and his overwhelming nerdiness, and it's still all good.

She grows slightly thoughtful as she continues to stare at the boy, wondering if he would have been a better candidate for a summer love―after all, she wouldn't have had to see him after Saturday, wouldn't have had to deal with any potential fallout... but her brow quickly furrows, her face twisting as she truly considers the idea. Thinking about it now, it all sounds a bit too incestuous―like fucking around with her own brother or something―to be at all appealing.

Santana shakes her head slightly, and with the jolt to reality she realizes that she must have been silent for a long while since Sam is staring at her curiously. She shifts in her seat, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. "What?"

Sam just shakes his head with a soft smile, "Nothing." He chews another bite of his food before launching back into conversation. "So, Joss has that new show 'Dollhouse' coming out this winter..."

Santana nods. "Yeah, I saw the commercial for it. It actually looks pretty interesting... not to mention, Eliza Dushku is fucking hot," she footnotes, though her face instantly reddens as she realizes she said it aloud.

Sam almost laughs out his food before he manages to swallow it down, looking over with wide eyes and a bit of a grin. "Well, I won't argue that."

Santana just stares down at her plate in utter embarrassment, her cheeks burning hot, but Sam comes to her rescue.

"It has Helo from BSG in it, too."

Santana looks up, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Ok, now you lost me."

Sam chuckles. "Battlestar Galactica."

Santana just nods in understanding, and she takes to eating her food as Sam starts to prattle on about the significance of the show and its meaning and all sorts of shit that Santana doesn't care about and honestly tunes out for a good portion of.

Sam's still carrying on when a noise cuts straight through Santana's consciousness, drawing her attention back across the hall: Quinn's laugh. It's surprising how deeply it cuts to her core, and how quickly it restores the throbbing ache in her chest. Hearing Quinn laugh with someone who isn't her, seeing Quinn smile for someone else, makes her feel almost physically ill, because as much as she wants more than anything in this world for Quinn to be happy, she wanted Quinn to be happy with her.

Quinn's eyes absently drift over to Santana's and they lock for a brief moment. Santana smiles softly, sombrely, but Quinn just steels her expression and turns her attention back to her table. Santana sighs and hunches slightly over in her chair, taking to pushing the mac 'n cheese on her plate around with her fork. Fact is, as much as she'd like to be over Quinn, as much as she'd just like to forget that anything ever happened, she's pretty sure that the Quinn-shaped hole in her heart is one that's never going to heal.

And it fucking sucks.