Quinn sat in an Uber outside the Lima Country Club. Her bags were packed, ready for her 4 o'clock flight back to New Haven. She thought she'd had orgasms, until last night. Now she was certain that whatever she'd had up until now, wasn't the Big O. She didn't know that your body could do that! She thought Santana had broken her vulva.

That of course didn't change anything about her sexuality. Santana just knew what she was doing better than high school boys… and apparently more than thirty five-year old Econ professors. Damn Santana and her lesbian voodoo magic!

She could just imagine daddy's lecture if he ever found out, 'Fabray's don't have one-night stands, and they definitely don't have homosexual relations!'

It was 11 am and Quinn was meeting her father for brunch. Since Beth, she had no longer existed to him. But for the past year, they had very slowly been mending their relationship. Well, since Russell Fabray had found out his little girl was going to Yale. Something Frannie, hadn't even managed in her perfect existence. He liked bragging to all his golfing buddies about his daughters' achievements. It almost made up for his failure to produce a son. Almost.

He was early as always. The club did buffet champagne brunch one Friday a month. Their greeting was stiff. Quinn had last been home in November for Thanksgiving, and they had met for lunch the day before, because Quinn had spent the holiday at her mother's. And she saw him once more on Christmas Eve.

Her father seemed a little more relaxed, but he still ordered for her. He asked how to she was liking her latest subjects, the campus and the dorms. He seemed distracted, and was accepting of her very vague answers. Then he launched into animated discussion about how well business was going. He politely asked after her mother, and was satisfied with a one-word answer.

The small talk grew monotonous. And the food arrived. Quinn had just taken her first bite of her granola with panna cotta, when her father cleared his throat. She recognized it as a sign that he was about to say something that was making him uncomfortable.

"Sweetheart, I have some news."

She leaned in, automatically.

"I'm getting re-married."

"Oh," Quinn was quite thrown, "I didn't know you were seeing anyone."

Her dad had been having a mid-life crisis of sorts, going through many younger women for the past couple of years, if her mother's gossip circle was to be believed, but he'd shown no signs of anything lasting.

Dad explained, "her name is Cindy, and she's a yoga instructor."

Yoga instructor was code for, young, fit and flexible, and Quinn really didn't want to hear the rest of the explanation.

"She's 28, and we've been seeing each other for six months."

Twenty-eight! Like when Cindy was starting grade school, Frannie was being born!

Say it isn't so!

"I need to go freshen up," Quinn announced suddenly, getting up, wiping her mouth with her napkin, a physical representation of her dripping disdain.

Quinn stared at herself in the bathroom mirror as she washed her hands. Why should she be surprised really? Why should she even care? She barely had a relationship with him anymore. So, what if her father was making a fool of himself! He didn't care that her mom was drinking her life away and still shattered over the divorce. It just seemed a waste that she'd spent so much of her life trying to make him proud.

She reapplied her lipstick and then she pulled out her phone. No texts from Santana. Good. Relief. That was the last thing she needed. She was going back to New Haven and there she'd stay. Santana was respecting her and her wishes, she'd said she didn't want anything more. If you touch anyone in the right spot you can get fireworks. Quinn logged into Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Santana hadn't posted anything. Not that unusual. Suddenly, it was like her hand had a mind of its own, and her contact list was open and she was dialing Santana's number.

It only rang once.

Her friend answered, "back for more?" Her voice was extra low and sexy, and pretty damn pleased with herself.

Shit! And then Quinn hung up. SHIT!

She knows now.

No! This is crazy.

Quinn was still staring at the screen, completely torn, when her phone signaled she had a text message.

Santana: Mami is out. Got the house to myself. Come over. I'll drive you to the airport myself.

No!

But then she was doing it. She was tapping her Uber app and working out the fastest route to Lima Heights Adjacent. She'd just left her father waiting at the table for her, in the country club of all places. Too bad!

Quinn was going to knock then hesitated. She hated Santana's house, her whole neighborhood actually. The houses were small with run-down wooden exteriors. They looked more like cabins than proper homes. And there was no shortage of trash, kids or dogs. Not to mention shady-looking people, standing around, staring at her with contempt. She clicked the gate, stood on the verandah and was about to knock.

Not doing it! This is insane.

She turned and looked to see if the driver had already gone.

"Hey, there," Santana's sexy voice called to her.

Her friend was leaning against the door frame, wearing skinny jeans and a fitted red tee, looking sultry, undressing Quinn with her eyes. She casually motioned with her head for Quinn to follow her, before strutting back inside hips swaying as she went with Quinn gingerly trailing after her.

No sooner had she cleared the porch when Santana pounced. The door slammed shut with the weight of Quinn's body being pressed against it, as Santana pinned her, the brunette smirking with a devious expression. Quinn bit her lip in anticipation. Santana leaned in slowly and took Quinn's bottom lip between her own and began to suck. Her arms snaked around Santana's neck, and she hugged her in tight, deepening the contact between their bodies. Her friend's hand rucked Quinn's yellow baby doll dress up passed her waist, so her palm could press against her inner thigh, transferring heat and sensation causing her hairs to stand on end. Santana's thumb drew circles on the sensitive flesh as she approached the white cotton of her panties. The contact against her folds, even through the flimsy material led to that familiar heartbeat, aching deep in her core. Quinn was heaving, as she scrunched handfuls of Santana's dark brown locks.

Quinn sighed, feeling Santana rub against her inside and stroke her nub outside. She let her head fall back, thudding against the front door. Santana had unzipped the dress enough that she could further plunge the neckline, and had pushed the bra down enough to expose her bare breasts. And now Santana had her lips twirling around Quinn's hardened peak.

Quinn could hear herself moan involuntarily as Santana continued to finger her, pressing in a little further, rubbing her inside wall, in just the right spot. Santana's other hand was tickling her other nipple, gently, teasing her, shooting vibrations through her whole body.

The sensations continued to build, the pleasure becoming overwhelming, the pulsing more intense. She felt her muscles tense, as the explosion between her legs overtook her. Quinn felt herself let go, she cried out, as she stopped supporting her weight, leaning into Santana, forcing her to catch her body.

Santana grinned. Pleased. Chuffed.

Quinn felt exhausted, but so relaxed. Santana led her down the hall to her room and helped her flop on the bed. Before Quinn knew it, she was lying back on that bed, staring at the Bob Marley poster while Santana disrobed her, and spread her thighs apart. She felt Santana licking her breasts, massaging her, before achingly slowly making a trail of wet sloppy kisses down her stomach.

After so much anticipation she finally felt Santana's lips close over her clit.

Oh. My. God!

Her touch was featherlight. For someone who was so forceful in life, she was a surprisingly tender lover. The warmth of her mouth, and the delicate ministrations that were rhythmic and momentarily subsiding, but continuing to stimulate her in all the right places… Quinn didn't know how to describe it.

Three mind-blowing orgasms later, Quinn laid still almost drifting off to sleep.

"Wanna have a bath?" Santana suggested.

Quinn nodded. While Santana fiddled in the bathroom, Quinn took in her surroundings. Santana's room was not something Quinn's parents would have tolerated. Her walls were black and she had posters stuck to them. She kept it pretty messy, and her duvet cover was black satin with matching pillows. And she didn't seem to have a desk or anywhere she could do any study. Her wardrobe was small, but her clothes were always spilling out into the room. She kept necklaces hanging off the black wrought iron bedframe.

Her friend came back with a bottle of red wine, and took a long sip from the bottle before offering it to Quinn. It was nice. She accepted and took a long swig herself. Why shouldn't she have more fun. The Lopez's bathroom was old, and it had a free-standing tub. Santana had added some bubble bath. Her friend got in first, before motioning for Quinn to get in, in front of her. It was warm and actually did feel really good. Relaxing. Everything with college was the opposite of relaxing.

Movies always made college seem like one, big, frat party, adventure of self-expression and dabbling in counterculture. Quinn was finding it was just a lot of work and she was spending a heap of time in the library. And she hadn't found anyone yet that she really clicked with. There were a lot of kids from well off families, a whole heap of high achievers, with huge work ethics, all too willing to tell her how great they were. The dorm was unbearable, it was so cramped and how was she, as an eighteen-year-old woman, supposed to share such a tiny cramped space with a total stranger. Jess, from Michigan, was sickly pale, had no social skills, and seemed to be gaming all hours of the day and night.

Santana began to massage her shoulders. Quinn's eyes fluttered closed as she decided to just concentrate on how good it felt and she continued to take long gulps of the fermented beverage. And then Quinn just started to release in another way, she started talking about brunch with her father and how he had startled her with the news of his impending nuptials. Santana listened attentively, but her hands were busy with an exploration of their own below the surface. Quinn felt Santana's hands cupping her breasts, among other ventures.

"She's a 28 year-old, get this, aerobics instructor!" Quinn whined, "or yoga or Pilates, some… job that implies she's young, energetic and nubile!"

"Did you see a picture?" Santana enquired.

"I ditched him before we got to that."

"If she looks like you or Frannie," Santana instructed, "I'd say run, and don't look back. That shit is creepy!"

"So, gross!" Quinn motioned vomit, "Am I supposed to call her 'mom'?"

Santana sat up, amused by that, "I mean you're grown, you're weaned, you only need to see him for like… major holidays." Her friend motioned as if actually weighing it up on invisible Lady Liberty scales, "in terms of how much it matters? Not that much."

That did actually make her feel better.

Santana's fingers were tracing Quinn's labia. She let herself relax back into the touch.

"The whole thing is so…" She sought the word that adequately described her feelings of queasiness, "Gross!"

"Men suck!" Santana agreed whole heartedly, "so fuck them, figuratively, by fucking women instead."

Quinn felt Santana's finger slip inside her.

"Nice try," Quinn smiled, "I'm NOT gay."

"No one said you were," Santana replied automatically, but she had this chuffed look on her face every time reflected in the mirror. Her lips were gently nibbling on Quinn's neck.

Santana added another finger and her thumb was gliding gently over her engorged nub.

Quinn leaned back into her, and just tried to let it all go.

"I really thought he loved me."

Santana held her tighter, and kissed her neck to soothe her.

She eventually said, "you know what happened with Professor Patches is not a reflection of you being unlovable, right?"

Quinn shrugged. She didn't know that. The proof seemed to be all too clear. That despite her being smart and pretty and going places, all of her friends could find love and she couldn't.

"He's probably some insecure man who likes to feel worshipped," Santana psychoanalyzed the situation, "so he preys on these… barely legal, girls going through all these scary, isolating, life changes."

Quinn couldn't help but smile.

Santana explicated effortlessly, "He finds these hot, young women to stroke his ego, until he gets bored, or until he finds another, needier girl, who makes him feel more important…"

Quinn pointed out, "you haven't even met him."

Santana doubled-down, "Am I wrong?"

"Spookily accurate, actually," which just made Quinn feel further dismay. Santana wouldn't have fallen for his bullshit. "You should be a psych major."

Santana scoffed, opened her mouth as if to make some smart-ass comment, then didn't. The brunette went back to touching Quinn, so she didn't mind.

Quinn felt her chest tightening at yet another one of her failures. "I just feel…" She trailed off before the words 'so stupid' left her lips, she'd really believed James was going to leave his wife, even after he began to work late more often, and his calls and texts got fewer and farther between. But It wasn't until she'd glimpsed her replacement, a fresh faced brunette with wide blue eyes and freckles, leaving his office, too late to be tutoring, that the truth had become all too glaringly clear.

Santana worked her magical fingers all over her, and when Quinn released, she cried too. Big wracking sobs. Despite her embarrassment, she just couldn't seem to stop herself. Santana hated waterworks just as much as she did. But her friend had managed to just hold her.

Santana dried her hair and Quinn finally got dressed again.

"What time's your flight?"

"Four."

Santana's eyes went wide. "Um, I'll get my keys."

Quinn scrounged for her phone. 2:45. Shit!

Santana drove like Vin Diesel from The Fast and the Furious, with Quinn hanging onto the handrail and stressing the entire time. She made it to the terminal just before last call, and didn't have a chance to think on any of it until well after take-off when she was finally relaxing in her seat. They didn't get a chance to talk, just a hurried, "Good luck, safe flight."

What was there to say? They were friends, and it was just a lost weekend. Now, Quinn needed to get back to real life. Yale was her life now, and that's where she needed to be putting down roots.

Santana needed to kill a minute while she waited for her wee to do its thing.

She had another text from Finn. All it said was, 'All good?'

He means, all clear. Not pregnant.

She went back to the stick.

Two bars. Two bars means pregnant.

FUCK!

Santana looked at the pregnancy test, the box it came in with some carefree white girl smiling in delight. Fuck you!

She was in the shared bathroom in the dorm, where there was hardly any privacy. She'd been really tired, and it was hard to describe her body, she just felt a bit off or something. Her period was two weeks past due, and she was hoping it was Plan B wreaking havoc on her body's hormones. Apparently not.

She wasn't telling him. Finn had all these 'do the right thing' ideas about family. And she wasn't telling Quinn 'pro-lifer' Fabray. And she couldn't tell Brittany, not because she would judge her, but because she saw Finn every day, and Britt wouldn't be able to handle that kind of pressure, she might blurt out something confidential. And she definitely couldn't tell her mom.

DAMN!

Well… I was already going to hell for being gay anyways!

Finn kept on wondering about whether the thing Santana was determined to avoid was a reality or not. He gave it a week after the wedding before he sent her a text message.

Me: Just checking in. hope you are okay. call me if you want to talk or you need anything.

And he got no response.

He sent a similar text once a week, not stalker-ish, just a gentle reminder that he was there for her. He got the team ready for regionals. He worked at the tire shop and he went to class. But it was in the back of his mind. He was hoping he'd run into Santana, without directly seeking her out. Which is why tonight was perfect. Brittany S. Pierce's birthday party was a rare, exotic event to be looked forward to every year. Mostly to see what kind of oddity would be the theme. Last year, Lord Tubbington had been made a throne, and a crown and a red cloak and Brittany was dressed as his queen.

Sam had had some influence on this year's party, because the theme was Avatar with a Brittany spin on it, unicorn horns. They had gone all out with the blue body paint.

He glimpsed Santana standing by the chocolate fondue fountain.

"Can we talk?" He asked.

But Santana made an excuse, "I promised Britt I'd help with the nibbles."

She walked back into the kitchen, clearly in order to keep avoiding him. But he followed her anyway.

"You're not drinking," Finn commented.

Santana shrugged, but she wouldn't look at him, "Hung over from last night, decided to give my liver a break."

Finn watched her intently, looking for a tell, she stared back at him in challenge, as if daring him to call her a liar.

"Okay," he accepted her answer at face value.

She moved away from him, busying herself, rearranging the snacks. He hung about, watching, awkwardly shifting between feet.

"It's been five weeks," He spoke softly, "did you… you know… have your…" This is mortifying, "time of the month?"

Tactless as it was, he was trying to avoid saying the word 'pregnancy'.

Music was playing and they were a good eight feet from the nearest guest. Even still, her panicked eyes told him to shut up. She motioned with her hand frantically, "not here!"

He held her wrist and began to walk her out to his car. Santana shrugged violently away, and walked through the kitchen and disappeared. He didn't see her again for quite a while. Santana made sure she was on the other side of the room all night, if he tried to approach, she pretended to be deep in conversation with someone.

Does she already know? She probably did by now.

Finn hung around once the party died down. He grabbed a big trash bag and started picking up plastic cups, and whatever other rubbish he could find, just hoping to remain near her as long as possible. Finn decided to help by packing the dishwasher. Not long after Santana came into the kitchen, and saw him and immediately intended to retreat into the backyard, but as she went to slide the glass door, she was stopped in her tracks by whatever sight was outside. Curiosity got the better of Finn, so he looked too. It was Brittany and Sam standing together in the moonlight, making out now that they were alone. He watched Santana watching them. She just looked devastated. He knew that feeling.

He snuck up behind her and whispered, "Can we talk?"

She jumped, and looked mad at him for scaring her.

"You're like a fucking retriever, no wonder Berry doesn't want you!"

The mention of Rachel sent him into a tail spin. Their brief encounter at the wedding had been strained. Rachel has moved on, she lives with a guy in New York. He hugged himself, and tried to stay focused.

She's gets extra mean when she's scared.

"It's been like, five weeks," he said, trying not to let her derail this conversation.

"We're all good," was all she said in response.

Finn felt his brow buckle, "So, you're not pregnant?"

Santana spat, "you're in the clear."

Phew! He felt relieved, he smiled and was just happy that there wasn't a situation and he didn't have to deal with his feelings about it if there was. Santana was watching him intently. She really cares what my reaction is. Maybe don't celebrate too much, she'll think I'm being a jerk?

"Satisfied?" She challenged, before pushing passed him.

He grabbed her wrist, he really felt bad about the whole thing, "I am really sorry, I mean, I'm glad it's good news and everything, but… it was still really stressful."

She mocked, "Well, I'm sorry you went through that."

Finn wished he could have taken all the anxiety out of the last few weeks for her, not that Santana 'Bad Ass' Lopez would admit to being stressed, "I mean I've been a bit freaked out, I can only imagine how it's been for you."

Her face softened a little, that he'd acknowledged that he had done something to her.

Her face conveyed a kind of sadness, and then it was gone, replaced with her hard exterior. "Yeah, it's all worked out great for you."

Why does she sound angry?

Finn was a little shocked by how cold her words were, how little she must think of him. "I care about you." He kept trying to apologize, "I'm sorry it happened like that… in the first place."

You were just trying to help me.

Santana seemed to want away from him, stat.

She motioned between them as if she had cooler places to be, "are we done here?"

And Finn couldn't help but feel stuff between them was going to be really strained from now on. And he felt sad as the realization hit him, that he had no control over whether or not they could get past it.