Landslide

A/N: This chapter set during 4x16 (Feud) and is an alternative ending- a change to the final Finn and Santana scene.

Santana didn't bother talking to Grimace about his pedestrian existence. But she had his back when it counted and he had hers. So, when Santana Lopez found herself suddenly homeless in New York and on a mission to prove that Brody 'no personality' Man Whore, was exactly who she said he was, Finn Hudson was her first call. He'd stepped on the first plane from Lima and here they were. She'd placed her 'order' and was now having to wait for Herp Boy.

Was this whole thing too mean? It didn't bother her that Midnight Cowboy was poor and had to do this to pay his way. But Berry wasn't the kind of girl who was ever going to be okay with it. And he knew that. And yet, he kept lying to her face every day. That is what's fucked up!

But people lie because there's a stigma… Santana heard that little voice in her head, you lied about a few things too, because you didn't want people to judge you. Then the mean voice told the nice voice to shut the fuck up.

To be convincing she'd had to rent a fancy motel room under a fake name. And the icing on the cake was her middle-aged, PTA Mom outfit. A layered, Azure blue, faux leather, front zipping dress, with a sash, and an attached white jacket. Squishy Teats couldn't help but check her out in it upon arrival. Seriously Lumps! God, you have bad taste.

And now they were both just waiting. And the longer they had to wait the more uncomfortable it became. She was painfully reminded of a crappier motel room in Lima. And a shy boy.

Lumps hadn't really been talking to her since Grease. She wasn't sure if that was because she'd rejected his attempt to get in her panties, or because he'd finally figured out why she was mad at him. Sure, he'd called her to show his misfits how it was done during Diva Week. And she'd seen him for a second at Mr Schue's bomb of a wedding. But he was being a sulky man-child. She'd gotten so close after Grease to telling him the truth. He'd looked so pathetic and she just had this gnawing feeling that caused her to back down. But after what had happened at the wedding, she felt she couldn't keep this to herself any longer.

She went to the minibar and sort some liquid courage. There was a bottle of champagne. It would probably be ridiculously expensive in a swanky place like this, but she didn't care.

"What are you doing?" Sad Sack asked at the sight of the green bottle in her hands.

"You're in the city of dreams," She pressured him, "live a little," holding the bottle between her knees as she set about popping the cork.

Once the bubbling white foam spilled out on the carpet, Santana had gone to sit on the bed. Despite his silent judgement, she took a long gulp right from the bottle. Lumps was clearly expecting an explanation. She offered him the bottle.

But he waved it off. "I want to be ready."

She always wondered why he never drank. It didn't go with the rest of his popular, jock persona.

"Suit yourself," She said, taking another long guzzle.

She kept at it, with him watching her intently, but silent. And her remembering why she hated the taste of champagne. But it was doing its job all the same.

Santana decided now was as good a time as any, "Do you remember the last time we were in a motel room, alone?"

All this time later, Fatty Gassy McGravy Pants, still looked ashamed.

"Of course, I do," He sounded downright pissed. "I just don't understand why you always feel the need to bring it up!" He looked up towards the ceiling as if reasoning with God to help his frustration.

Santana felt the anger well within her, of course you fucking don't!

"You've made it pretty clear you don't have feelings for me," He reasoned, annoyed, "I used to think it was so everyone would think you're straight… but, we're alone, and you're as out as out can be, so I just don't get it!"

She crossed her arms and steeled her face, "I get mad when you try to pretend it didn't happen."

"Why torture me with ancient history?" He held his hands up in surrender, "I'm sorry I called it meaningless, okay."

"It did fucking happen! And I have to live with it. So why should you get to forget?"

"You have to live with it?" Lumps took aim at the dire nature of her tone, "Like you have PTSD!" Before he just sounded defeated, "It was sex, for like one minute. Surely I can't have done it that badly."

More like 30 seconds… if we're being kind. "You still don't get it!" Her anger matched his.

"Look, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, okay!" Mama's Boy stated, as if done forever with this conversation.

I'm not done. "You think this is about how you hurt my itty bitty feelings?" Santana knew she sounded like the Queen of Sarcasm-ville, "God! You're annoying!"

"Then what!" He lost his shit.

At least he was finally asking the question, she'd been trying to goad him into asking for three years now.

"Because you got me pregnant!"

And now he was the one who was shocked. His eyes searched her full of disbelief at first.

Like I'd joke about that!

His mouth was open, and he just looked so… naïve. She hardened her expression and refused to look away. She couldn't hide the bitterness, "Now try and pretend it didn't happen."

He was rooted to the spot for a while. Finally piecing it all together. She could practically see the lightbulb going off.

"That's why you said I was your Kenickie."

She didn't have a chance to respond though, because they both heard footsteps coming down the long hallway. Finn quickly moved to turn down the overhead room light before slipping into the bathroom. Santana sat the champagne bottle where the furniture would obstruct any view of it. Then she struck her pose on the edge of the bed, using her hair to obscure her face. She just needed Plastic Man to come about five steps into the room. She heard the keycard swipe and the ping as the door unlocked and light from the corridor flooded in.

"Good evening, Vicky."

It was Donkey Face alright. She got a perverse pleasure from seeing the look of shock on his stupid, shiny face.

"Santana!" He said, "how did you…"

"I told you," She reminded him, getting up, "this is what I do."

"You can't tell Rachel, please," Sack of Crabs immediately went to pleading. "I'm not proud of this," Those words were probably the only honest thing he'd said from the moment she'd laid eyes on him.

She didn't care, she'd given him the opportunity to come clean, "Save it." And then she let him understand the full trap she'd laid for him, "I think there's someone more important that you should convince tonight."

The bathroom door went. Brody came face to face with a mighty pissed off Finn, towering over him, fists balled.

"Well, okay," Santana was gratified knowing her work here was done, "I am going to let you two have a little girl talk."

She brushed past Finn on the way out. That cold-hearted snake wasn't going to get Berry off her career track. As much as Rachel pissed the hell out of her 95% of the time, she wasn't some… little woman. Santana strutted towards the elevator, hearing a thud, and a crash pretty quickly. Finn was way bigger than Plastic Man, so she wasn't worried. But she kind of wanted to hang around, so they could talk. She just didn't want this thing to be hanging over her head anymore.

Man Whore ran out of the room, a fresh shiner on his eyebrow ridge. He saw her still waiting for the metal doors to open, and so B-lined for the stairwell. She turned to see Finn, a bright red trickle of blood sliding down his forearm, starting at his knuckles. He was heaving, like he was about to turn into The Hulk, with an intense expression that he directed at her. He clearly wanted answers.

"We should probably talk," He said, motioning with his head for her to come back to the room. She was relieved. She wanted to have it out with him, even after all this time.

A table had been broken and a lamp and a few things knocked over. All in all not too bad, but her security deposit wasn't coming back. Santana resumed her place, sitting on the bed as before, and Finn was wired, pacing like a smack head at a rave. He was attempting to stem the bleeding with his shirt. Santana got sick of watching him fumble even the most basic of first aid, so she stripped a pillow, went to the minifridge, that was lying on its side, and scooped ice into the corner of a pillow case.

"Press this on your hand." She ordered.

He was upset though and didn't want to accept it. She held it out and waited. Eventually, he begrudgingly snatched it from her hand. She resumed her position on the bed, and retrieved the bottle of champagne. She took another really long swig from the bottle. Bracing herself for what she was now sure was going to be an ordeal.

Finn was waiting for her and she was waiting for him.

He broke first, "Aren't you going to tell me what happened?"

"You were there."

"No, I…" Finn was flabbergasted, "I mean, after… to our baby."

It wasn't a baby.

He stopped pacing, and dragged the lonely chair from the small table by the minibar over to sit facing her. He clearly wanted to watch her reaction to what he was about to say.

"You left school before the end of the year, sophomore year," He began, reminding her, "Cheerleaders had already won nationals, Glee were done by regionals, I remember, like early May." He was leading the conversation. "Is that why?"

Oh my God! Santana realized for the first time that Finn really wasn't sure what happened, like he thought she'd hidden her pregnancy and given the baby up over the summer.

Is he serious?

"My abuela was dying, my whole family went to Puerto Rico, that's why I left early," She explained. "It's not what you're thinking."

Finn's brow impersonated a Neanderthal, "I thought your grandma was fine, just, you know… a bigot."

"My mom's mom," She corrected him, "And she died. Cancer."

"Oh," He said, his arms hugged himself.

"Are you even sure it was mine?" His words were full of judgement.

She slapped him as hard as she could across the face. He grabbed his cheek, but otherwise, just glared at her.

"You get one of those," She held up her finger to keep score, "next slut-shaming comment you make, I walk."

He seemed relieved at that. She'd swear getting bitch slapped was foreplay to him. Stay focused!

But she answered his question plainly, just so he didn't think she was manipulating him. "Yes, I'm sure, you fucking prick!"

He nodded, but she saw his face smirk a little.

He's happy?

He was examining the floor, "You didn't keep it."

No, I didn't, Sherlock.

His jaw kept locking in anger, and he wouldn't look at her. "Just tell me, everything from the start," He demanded, frustrated.

Three years of prevaricating on whether or not to tell him, and rehearsing in her head what she'd say if this day ever came, and Santana still felt unprepared.

"I found out right after regionals," She began her narrative, looking out the window, the lights in the distance, it made it easier to just speak. "I wasn't taking great care of my body back then… sometimes my cycle skipped a month…" She was nonchalant, "I'd been feeling a bit flat, and then I started my Linda Blair impersonation every morning."

All that time she'd had to think on it still didn't make it easier on her end. She'd been through the guilt and the self-loathing, and the depression. And had finally had to make her peace with it.

"I peed on a stick and I was freaking out…" Santana took refuge inside the bottle as she brought it to her lips. "I wanted to be head cheerleader and I thought you were cute, but I didn't want that!"

She looked at him, how to explain all the spinning at the time. Just everything going so fast, and where it all comes down to this one decision. And nothing is ever going to be the same again no matter what you do.

"You and Berry were all… you know… lovey dovey, and I just wanted to punch you. Right in your ignorant guy face!" That anger still shone through even now just recalling it, "You didn't have to deal with it, you were barely talking to me."

Finn still just looked mad. Like he wanted her to throw herself at his mercy and apologize. "Why didn't you tell me?"

But she was all out of apologies. Whatever it was for him now, in the abstract, she'd lived it.

"I went to see Quinn right after she gave Beth up," Santana admitted.

She shook her head just remembering it now. Quinn had looked haunted. Like she hadn't slept in days. She spent most of the summer lying in bed, not moving, not showering, barely eating.

"I didn't tell her why," She admitted.

"And?" His tone was snappy.

"And, she said it felt like they cut her arm off in the hospital. This part of her was just missing," Santana tried to convey that feeling to him.

"I didn't know," He admitted, maybe a little sorry, "I couldn't deal with her back then."

Santana made him look into her eyes, she needed him to understand the truth of what she was saying, "I couldn't have done that."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He repeated, petulantly.

"You know why."

He wanted to pretend that he didn't.

She shouldn't have to explain, "I'd just watched you go through hell with Quinn, you didn't want to deal with this again, not with me, the girl you didn't give a shit about," Santana didn't want to muddy it up, "I was just a tramp to you."

They both knew that was true. There was no point in trying to pretend otherwise.

Finn measured his words, "Whatever was or wasn't between us," Finn lectured, "isn't the baby's fault."

"It wasn't a fucking baby, okay!" She fumed, "It was a little fucking lump of cells invading my uterus."

That shut him up at least. Finn's arms were crossed, clutched tight at his chest. For someone so freakin' huge, he could still look like a little boy.

"I didn't want to be Teen Mom. I want to do stuff with my life." It was the truth. "So, I did what I had to do."

"Just like that?"

"Not just like that!" She wanted to hit him in his stupid fucking man brain! "You don't just blow right past something like that." Just remembering back to it now, made her whole chest tighten. "It stays with you."

Finn was catty, "You've always hidden, if you'd gone Quinn's way, then everyone would have known. It's like you being gay."

"You really wanna go there!" She challenged. Fuckface who outed me!

"I mean, you're always been so afraid of everyone judging you."

"Do you really think your little high school fairytale with Berry would have gone down like it did, if I'd told you," She gestured between them, "if we'd tried to make this work."

"I had a right to know," he sulked.

Finn pulled a face, she wasn't sure at the beginning of the evening if he'd be mad, but the intensity of his anger seemed surprising to her. Maybe he had some picket fence fantasy in his head about throwing a baseball and being the dad, he'd never had.

She kept justifying herself, "And I think, if you're being really honest with yourself, you know you didn't want that either, not back then." She added as an afterthought. "And definitely not with me." We'd have killed each other.

Finn was livid, "Don't pretend you did this for me."

"I did it for both of us," She retorted.

"Then why tell me at all!" Finn suddenly blew his lid.

It made her hesitate.

He kept losing his shit, getting up and throwing his arms up in the air, "It's done! You made the decision without me, so why tell me at all!"

"Mr Schue's wedding," She said flatly, "you and Berry hooked up, right?"
"So? Everyone was hooking up, you and Quinn…"

Santana crossed her arms, just get it! Replying tersely,"I'm not going to get Quinn pregnant!"

Finn's face fell, "are you saying Rachel's…" His whole face went into shock.

"No!" She needed to be clear, "but you weren't careful, were you?"

His self-righteous indignation calmed somewhat.

She lectured him, "It's hard to get how important it is to be careful, until the situation smacks you right in the fucking face. I was 16, Finn!"

He just looked mopey.

"I was raised a certain way, you didn't talk about this stuff," She enlightened him, "My whole family are Catholic."

The reality of how difficult it had been for her was starting to sink into his thick skull.

Santana lightened her tone, as if joking, like she was talking about some other girl, "They make you bring someone to drive you home afterwards."

He spoke softly, still studying the carpet, "Does Brittany know?"

She shook her head. Brittany won't crack eggs because she's worried about hurting baby chickens!

"Quinn?"

"Pro-lifer Quinn," She scoffed. No way, I was telling her.

Finn clearly wanted to know, "You must have told someone."

"Matt."

It took Finn a moment to remember their former Glee Club member, Matt Rutherford. Santana had dated him a little sophomore year, but they had been long over by then, but they had always been good friends.

"He sold his X Box to help me pay for it. I stole a whole heap of shit and put it on EBay."

Finn was still hurting, but he was listening.

"I was so terrified my dad was going to find out, he works at Lima General, like all the staff know me."

"What did you do?"

"Matt drove me to Philadelphia."

"Really?"

"Yeah, four hours each way, and we stayed overnight in a motel while I was bleeding and crying."

Finn's whole face fell.

Now she found the courage to tell him right to his face, "You feel bad enough without some prude with a placard telling you you're going to hell, or the way the nurse looks at you, full of judgement, like this is your preferred method of birth control!"

Finn was listening, but remained silent.

"You feel relief, and guilt, and guilty that you feel relieved, and then sad, and mad at yourself. And I was so fucking mad at you, for ages."

She'd never said these words out loud and it was cathartic. Matt had moved away over summer after his mom had gotten that big job. And they'd stayed in touch for a little while, but she was relieved that no one around her knew. At first.

"Because you got the luxury of ignorance and got to go back to your little Disney romance with Princess Purity."

He was looking at her in a way she'd never seen. A mixture of regret and sadness, maybe?

"In a way," Santana refocused on the buildings out the window, and the vague promise of lights. "Going through that forced me to deal with shit I was trying not to deal with."

Finn's face changed, he wanted her to explain, but he didn't interrupt.

So, she told him, "After was the first time I admitted to myself that I love Brittany. The landslide that brought me down." She took a few deep breaths, to help stop the tears forming in her eyes.

She just kept confessing, "I never went all the way with Puck again after that. In hindsight I think that was a huge factor in him pulling away from me in junior year."

Finn was watching her so intently now. He finally started to look sorry.

"And when Sue let me know, she knew about my big, gay secret," Santana recalled, "I couldn't just get any old guy, I didn't do that anymore, that's when I needed a weird, virginal jock like you or Sam to help me."

Technically, you weren't a virgin then, but you might as well have been. The wedding. She hoped he got it.

"But it just got too hard. Once you are so… consciously sure you don't want to, it's harder to go on with the lie…" Santana sighed, "That's when I found my Karofsky beard."

Finn nodded a little in understanding.

"All those insults," Finn seemed to be having a moment of clarity, "Fetus face, gassy infant, all the whale snipes, digs at my man boobs… all insults about how your body changes when you're pregnant."

She nodded

"Back alley taco addict…" He repeated, "there's other things that happen in back alleys."

Maybe he wasn't as stupid as he acted.

"The guy who asked me if I was okay the whole time, didn't check in after," Santana had her arms folded, gently rocking herself, as she stared at the carpet, "when I needed him too," Santana knew the tears were flowing again, but she looked right at Finn, who seemed scared of her outpouring of emotion. "Because I wasn't okay anymore."

"I'm sorry," He whispered, "I never thought… for a second… you were dealing with all that…"

"Yeah, well," The tears streamed down her cheeks now, burning her face, she silently demanded they stop, but they disobeyed. There was a resigned frustration to her words, "everyone just thinks I'm a bitch, and don't look any further for an explanation."

She wiped her eyes. Admonishing herself, do not fucking cry! He looked guilty, reticently moving to sit next to her on the bed. Putting a very hesitant arm around her shoulders.

"Like Kenickie, you're free, Finn," She stated, "you're not stuck in Lima supporting a kid, stuck changing tires for a living." She wanted to stop choosing to be miserable. "Rachel's single again now, or she will be soon enough… go reclaim your life. Live. Enjoy."

Finn just put his head in his hands and began to cry. That she had not been expecting, in any of the scenarios that had played out in her head. Santana had never been good at dealing with waterworks. And she wasn't about to start. His whole chest was shaking, but he was stifling the sound. Finn didn't strike her as the kind of person who cried much, he was more inclined toward chair-kicking anger, so it was unsettling.

"Finding out my dad was just…" He managed between tears, "I lived my whole life thinking he was this… hero, you know?"

She didn't.

"This great man, who died serving his country…" He sobbed again.

Santana very awkwardly leaned over and patted his back, in a gesture of support.

Finn wailed on, "And that was why he couldn't be with me!" He struggled to catch his breath, "and that's why my life was always this… struggle, but I had to be strong for him, and be good, and respect my mom, and try to make things easier for her," He admitted, oddly touchingly.

Santana had underestimated how learning of his father's overdose had affected Finn in the most profound way. She'd chalked his depression up to losing Rachel.

"And whenever I screwed up, I'd stare at his picture, the one in his uniform, and it was like… I needed to beg him for forgiveness."

His eyes were blotchy and his whole face was red. Finn just looked so lost. But also mad at himself.

"Because he'd never be so careless, he wouldn't get his girlfriend pregnant at 16, he probably wouldn't have believed that stupid 'sperm love hot tubs' BS Quinn told me either!" Finn admitted, mad at himself, "He wouldn't have gone down without a fight, he wouldn't have settled for being average…" Finn sounded so fatalistic, "not getting a football scholarship, or having a clue what to do with his life, he had a purpose, not some vain pursuit like acting, but a real purpose."

She just listened. Trying not to check the wall clock, wishing she could be someplace else. She put her hand back on his back and began to rub, the way her mother had done for her as a child. She didn't know what else to do.

He was seething mad, "But it was all a lie." He had this sense of doom, and the look in his eyes, that deep sense of betrayal.

"My dad could have been… alive and in my life," Finn admitted angrily, "but he chose getting high instead… over me and my mom."

"Finn," Santana tried to soften it for him, though that wasn't her usual way, "that doesn't mean you're going to turn out like that."

"How can I be with Rachel!" Finn explained his conundrum, "Rachel, who's really going places, who's so sure about who she is and what she wants. I'm just going to drag her down."

"Come on," She thought he was taking it way too hard.

He was adamant, "She should meet some fancy NYADA guy."

She threw in, "Who isn't a prostitute."

He chuckled momentarily, "yeah, well, I doubt Brody is a typical NYADA student. Then some Broadway heartthrob. Who am I to keep her small?" Finn questioned, "I am a loser, and I'm going to turn out just like him, I just know it."

"I'm sure he wasn't a loser," Santana tried her best at comfort, it felt just plain wrong on her. "Wars change people. My Abuela swears her first husband lost his mind during Vietnam."

Finn remained unconvinced.

"It's what they make you do that they can't live with."

Finn genuinely didn't understand.

Santana was ambivalent about telling him. Eventually deciding he should know, "He killed kids over there. That shit fucks you up!"

"Are you serious?" Finn couldn't believe that.

"Their orders were to treat civilians like they were all hiding the Viet Cong, they tortured villagers. Fucked up shit!"

Finn's expression said he didn't think that could be right. But she knew it was.

"How could they!"

"War is fucked," She tried to explain it, "It's not all good guys and bad guys. Simple. Like Call of Duty."

She took a long swallow of champagne, starting to feel really tipsy.

"Is he still crazy?" Finn asked, clearly not knowing anything about her family.
"He visited her after his first year of service, then went back." Santana admitted bluntly, "He couldn't live with it. He blew his brains out over there."

"Shit!"

"It is what it is." Santana shrugged, "if he'd lived, she wouldn't have married my grandfather."

Santana called it how she saw it, "Your dad was probably just doing the best he could to put himself back together, but sometimes they're too broken, or they just have one bad slip… you can't think like it's just inevitable."

Finn reached for the bottle and she obliged.

She tried again, "How he died, isn't… who he was," Santana cupped his cheek to make him look at her, "His life was a lot more than his last hours."

That seemed to hit home with him, Finn nodded absently, taking in her advice.

She continued to try and reason with him, "And it certainly doesn't prove anything about you. You're a leader Finn."

He looked at her now, questioning. Disbelieving.

She meant it, "You made it cool to join Glee, you helped me find the only place where Britt and I could just, be." She needed to lighten this shit up. She couldn't cope with end of the world talk.

Finn spat, recalling another one of his failures, "Until I outed you."

"Not your finest moment!" She elbowed him in the ribs.

He was dismayed.

Where is Finn Hudson? Not this weepy, sad sack.

"Make you a deal," Santana was being flippant and yet not, "one day, when I'm like… 40, and everything's starting to sag, and my life is over, and I've found Ms Right… well, I might need a sperm donor."

"Ah huh?"

She didn't really know how this conversation had taken such a peculiar turn. Am I that smashed?

Maybe she really did mean it, or it was the champagne talking, "And if you aren't already married to Berry with like… eight, annoying, type A, brats in tow… then maybe you could be that donor."

Finn looked oddly flattered, "Are you seriously asking me?"

She had to qualify her statement, "But I don't want your… receding hairline, beer gut, 40 year-old, mid-life crisis, sperms, I want the good looking, full head of hair, still have abs, sperms, you have now."

"You think I'm good looking," He smiled mischievously raising a brow, clearly chuffed, elbowing her in the ribs again.

Focus! "Make me a donation, or five, in a sperm bank, and we can put them on ice."

He finished, "So, one day…"

"I might actually have one of your sweet, pasty, rhythmically-challenged, offspring."

He laughed, "Well, when you put it like that…"

"You've got a lot of heart, and… you're kind and supportive… and have a lot of qualities I wish I had…" She revealed a vulnerability that she'd sooner wished no one would ever see. This conversation had just gotten down right absurd, maybe she was three shades to the wind. She couldn't help but add, "And how cute would our babies be?"

"True," Finn laughed, goofy smiling like he was actually happy. Taking another long swig from the bottle that was almost empty now.

"I'd never just have a kid and not be part of their life," He forewarned her.

She smiled, "I know you wouldn't," She patted his shoulder.

"Did we really just like… agree to have a kid together?" Finn just had to say it out loud.

He just had to ruin their moment.

Santana finished the last of the alcohol, "A back-up kid, if Plan A fails."

Finn deciphered her meaning, "Like the safety college you apply to in case everywhere else turns you down?"

"But like… don't tell Berry," Santana insisted, "she'd flip her lid!"

"I'm pretty sure she already planted her flag in my junk a while back."

"That's the beauty of this plan," She said, "if shit doesn't work out with Grandma Berry, you don't need to stress.

He admitted plainly, "I like that."

Santana didn't feel the need to wrap her words in an obscure reference or metaphor the way she usually did, "I bet you'll be a really good dad."

Finn smiled, chuffed.

"Deal?" She asked, holding at her hand for them to shake on it.

He hesitated, "So, I don't get any sex?" Waggling his eyebrows suggestively at her, "when we make this hypothetical kid?"
Santana threw him a bone, "Tell you what, if the baby turns out good, on their 21st birthday, I'll fuck your brains out."

He had to think on that math for a moment, "So, we'll be like… 61?"

"Yep," She beamed, "I'm sure Viagra will have minimal side effects by then."

He was enjoying the jibe, "Define 'turns out good'."

She thought for a moment, "I don't hate them for stretching out my vajayjay!"

"There's a visual," He laughed, faux cautioning her, "You'd better still be hot!"

"Please," Santana conveyed how insulted she was by his notion, "I'm gonna to age like Madonna!"

He just nodded in agreement.

"Deal?" She asked again.

But he hugged her instead, a really warm, beautiful, pulling her right into his body, squeezing hug. "Thank you," he whispered. "I get it now, I'm sorry I was being an ass. And... I'm grateful… for what you did for me."

And then it caught up with both of them that they were so close and in a motel room, and both found each other attractive… She pulled away to try and get her bearings again.

She was still holding back tears, ready to shatter any second, she whispered, "don't waste it."

When he finally pulled back, Finn seemed to have some epiphany, "Maybe I will move to New York."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Finn sounded really psyched, "I hear New York's where you go to chase your dreams."

"Well, if you need a housemate, I've had my fill of musical theatre geeks and their horrible taste in movies and music, and would love to have a place where I don't sleep on the floor of Grandma Berry's room, which can only be described as a Strawberry Shortcake-inspired creepy Barbara Streisand shrine all rolled into one."

"Maybe it's all gonna turn out like it should," Finn sounded positive for the first time in ages, "You know, I feel really good about this. No second guessing, I'm just gonna do it."

"Go for it," She encouraged.

A/N: I wrote this story because I think this genuinely was a subplot going on the in background. I think originally the Grilled Cheesus, Never Been Kissed, and Furt episodes were all intended to be part of season 1, (Sam and Beiste were meant to be mid-season, and mid-year transfers, like Sunshine) but were moved to season 2. I think part of the proof for this was the Cheerios spying seemed a little out of place to still be going in Season 2, (I've got another fic in the works that will explain this point better) and Finn barely caring when Burt had his heart attack, and Kurt didn't seem to be living with the Hudsons in that episode even though they were long moved in together by then. And the abortion plot line involving Finn didn't work so well anymore, since season 1 ended at regionals, so it was going to be Sam who got Santana pregnant during 'Blame it on the alcohol', and that's why in 'Sexy' Santana is weepy, and reevaluating her feelings for Brittany. But then it didn't work out either, because I think they wanted the conflict to play out during West Side Story- that got moved to the beginning of season 3 instead of post sectionals season 2 (Sam in anger at realizing the whole 'you used me as a beard' was going to be the one to out her not Finn), and when Chord didn't come back at the start of season 3, it kind of screwed their plans yet again. And so it became a Finn/ Santana subplot instead. And I think they were finally going to resolve it at the end of season 4, and it was going to be the thing that got Finn to move to New York as I've shown here. But it couldn't play out due to Cory's health issues. We probably won't get to know now. Anyway, thanks for reading.