Santana glanced curiously out the window and then back at Quinn in the driver's seat; she had insisted on driving, and Santana had eventually succumbed to the hazel puppy dog eyes once again with no idea of her girlfriend's intention.
"Quinn?" Santana prompted, getting the girl's attention. "Just a couple of things: first of all, we're going to be late and Berry's going to freak out. I know we saw her less than 24 hours ago, but you know how she gets. I don't want an angry dwarf after me. And secondly, I am almost one hundred percent sure you're not even going the right way."
Quinn shook her head distractedly. "I already texted her saying we'll be late. She's not even planning on serving lunch until later. She only wanted everyone there early so she could try out new audition songs and get different opinions."
"Oh," Santana said with a frown. "Okay, well, that still leaves the fact I have no clue where we're going."
"You'll see when we get there," Quinn mumbled almost unintelligibly. All morning long she had been seemingly preoccupied and anxious with something unknown; her answers to Santana's questions were short and succinct, not going into any detail or elaboration. She had zoned out more than once during conversation, and currently, her hands twitched and tapped nervously on the steering wheel as her knee bounced up and down in fretfulness.
"Quinn, are you okay?" Santana asked, because she was growing more and more concerned about the girl's state of mind.
"What? Yeah, no, I'm fine." Quinn bit her lip and stared straight forward out the windshield.
"Should I be worried about where we're going?" Santana tried to joke, laughing half-heartedly.
"No, I'm…" Quinn sighed in frustration. "Please, just trust me on this. I promise you it will make sense."
"Of course," Santana told her quietly, though she still had her apprehensions.
The rest of the drive passed by in silence. Quinn chewed on her bottom lip—a habit, Santana had deduced, she implemented whenever she wanted to say something but couldn't find the appropriate words. Santana kept sneaking side glances at the blonde every few seconds in an attempt to comprehend what was going through her mind, but no success presented itself.
A half hour later, when Santana was certain they weren't even in Lima anymore despite not having seen any signs that confirmed the suspicion, Quinn turned the car down a short driveway. A sign at the end of the drive read "Jefferson Hills Assisted Living Home" and Santana's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. A large, apartment complex-like building came into view in the middle of a vast parking lot that was relatively full with other vehicles. Quinn quickly parked the car and got out, while Santana followed her silently.
They entered the building through the automatic sliding front doors, and Santana was met with smells that resembled those of a hospital. She looked around and saw the walls were painted light shades of pink and blue and had paintings of flowers or ocean-views hung on them.
Quinn strode to the front desk in the middle of the lobby where a middle-aged woman whom Santana presumed to be a nurse sat, typing on her computer. She looked up when Quinn approached and grinned widely.
"Miss Fabray!" the woman said cheerfully. "It's been such a long time! I'm so glad you've finally managed to visit." Quinn gave her a tight-lipped smile in return.
"Hi, Sandy. I know it's been a while. I've been busy with school and such."
"Of course, dear, of course!" Sandy answered, nodding sympathetically. "Well, you know the drill. Sign yourself and your guest in here, and you can go right on back. Her room hasn't changed. I'm sure you remember where it is."
Santana walked up behind Quinn and glanced over her shoulder; Quinn picked up the pen on the desk and wrote both hers and Santana's name and the time of their arrival in the sign-in notebook. She glimpsed up at Santana and smiled slightly, but her eyes were dark and cloudy, as they always were when Quinn was trying to mask her emotions. Quinn reached for Santana's hand and led her down the long hallway to the right of the front desk. Near the end of the hall, she stopped in front of a room marked 216 and turned to face Santana, who could tell Quinn was about to say something important and waited patiently.
"My mom has Alzheimer's," Quinn blurted suddenly.
Santana heard the words, but they didn't make sense to her. She stared at Quinn with an open mouth. "I'm sorry, what?"
"My mom," Quinn repeated with a deep breath, "has Alzheimer's. Early onset Alzheimer's, that is. And umm…it's progressed a lot over the past few years."
"But…what…" Santana stammered, still not comprehending the sudden situation. "What does that mean?"
"It means she doesn't know who I am anymore," Quinn stated quietly and bluntly.
"She doesn't…"
"Know who I am," Quinn finished, nodding. "That's correct."
"Oh." Santana shifted her weight between her feet as she tried to come up with something more extravagant to say, but came up empty handed.
Quinn smiled sadly again before turning the doorknob and pushing the door open. Santana trailed behind her into what appeared to be a bedroom: a bed was pushed up against the wall on the right with a nightstand beside it, a flat screen TV hung on the wall directly across from it, and a bay window on the far side of the room showed a view of a small courtyard. There was also a gray wingback chair in the corner, angled towards the bed, and it was occupied.
Judy Fabray sat there reading a magazine; her blonde hair was tied up in a bun, and she was still in pink plaid pajamas and a fluffy white bathrobe. She didn't seem to have heard the two girls enter the room.
"Mom?" Quinn called out softly. The older woman looked up and smiled dazedly.
"Oh, hello," she said in a distant voice. "Is it time for me to take my morning pills already?"
Santana felt her heart break at the vacant expression on Mrs. Fabray's face. It was clear she didn't recognize the young woman standing before her. Quinn wasn't lying: her own mother didn't know who she was anymore.
"No, Mom," Quinn said with quiet desperation, "it's me. It's Quinn." She walked across the room and perched herself on the edge of the bed, facing her mother.
"Quinn?" Mrs. Fabray repeated. "Why, that's a lovely name, dear! In fact, growing up that was one of the choices to name my daughter if I ever had one."
Santana heard Quinn sigh. She didn't know if she should move to sit next to her girlfriend or if she should stay put as she leaned against the closed door. Mrs. Fabray hadn't noticed Santana, and Santana thought maybe it was best to keep it that way. She stared at the back of Quinn's head, unsure of what to do or what to say.
"How have you been?" Quinn murmured.
"Wonderful!" Mrs. Fabray exclaimed. A sly grin then found its way to her lips and she leaned in towards Quinn. "Can you keep a secret?"
"Of course," Quinn told her.
"I met this wonderful man at church a few weeks back. His name is Russell, and he is just the perfect gentleman," Mrs. Fabray said in elation. Quinn recoiled at the mention of her father, and Santana took a step forward, the desire to comfort the girl outweighing her fears of establishing her presence in the room. Mrs. Fabray finally saw Santana and smiled at her. "Well, hello. I'm getting all kinds of company this morning!"
"Hello, Mrs. Fabray," Santana whispered.
"Who's Mrs. Fabray?" the woman asked with a confused expression. "Why, that's Russell's last name!"
"She meant Mrs. Finch," Quinn intervened quickly, and Santana furrowed her brow before the insight hit her.
Right. She thinks she's much younger than she is, she thought. Maiden name.
"Please! Mrs. Finch is my mother. Call me Judy!"
Quinn and Santana both nodded, and Mrs. Fabray went on.
"I was just telling this young lady here—I'm sorry, what's your name again?" she asked.
"Quinn." The blonde's voice was faint and strangled, and stating her name seemed to be a large task for her accomplish.
"Right!" her mother responded. "Quinn! Of course, such a lovely name. I was just telling Quinn here about the young man I've started seeing." Santana nodded, but didn't say anything.
"I think he may be the one for me," Mrs. Fabray continued, and then looked at Quinn with interested eyes. "Have you found the 'the one' yet, dear?"
"I believe I have."
Santana glanced at Quinn, but could only see the back of her head still, so she didn't see the expression on Quinn's face. If it had been any other time and they were anywhere else, Santana would have grinned at Quinn's admission.
"That is great news! And have you gotten your parents' approval? That's a very important part of a relationship," the older blonde informed them. It was then that Santana stumbled upon another realization: Quinn's mother would never know her daughter had ditched the male population completely in favor of females.
Quinn cleared her throat awkwardly as she tried to come up with a reasonable response. "Umm, no, not exactly. My parents aren't really in the picture."
Santana felt as though a lead weight had been dropped into her stomach; Quinn sat there, staring at the woman who gave her life and raised her—even if it hadn't been to the best of abilities. The woman who was supposed to be there for Quinn no matter what, and who was supposed to only be a phone call away at all times. And there wasn't even a flash of recognition in her mother's eyes. Just a dark pool of nothing.
Mrs. Fabray frowned. "I'm sorry, dear. That must be very difficult for you."
"It is," Quinn agreed weakly. "But you find a way to live with it."
The pain in her voice tore through Santana, making her want to throw her arms around Quinn and promise her everything would be okay. But she didn't. She bit her lip and kept quiet, knowing there would be a time in the future for comfort and consolation.
"Well, your perseverance is admirable, young lady," Mrs. Fabray said to her daughter.
"Thank you," Quinn forced out.
"You know," Mrs. Fabray started as she changed the subject, totally oblivious to Quinn's anguish and uncomfortableness, "last week, Russell took me…"
Santana zoned out as Mrs. Fabray launched into a story about a date with her ex-husband—even though, in Mrs. Fabray's mind, they were just starting out in their relationship.
She continued to stare at the backside of Quinn's head, wondering how the girl had managed to keep so much to herself. How much self-control did it take? How could a person keep an entire portion of his or her life a secret? It had to have ripped Quinn apart not having anyone to confide in.
She didn't know how long she stood there, looking at the long blonde hair of her girlfriend as Mrs. Fabray told story after story, but eventually the older woman mentioned something about taking her usual mid-morning nap soon. Quinn nodded in understanding.
"It was nice seeing you, mo—Judy," Quinn corrected herself.
"Yes, goodbye, dear," Mrs. Fabray replied vaguely as she reached down to pick up her magazine that had fallen to the floor. "I'll see you when you come get me for lunch."
Comprehension suddenly dawned on Santana as she realized who Mrs. Fabray thought the two girls were. Nurses. She thinks were nurses.
Quinn stood up from her spot on the bed and, after one last glance at her mother, turned and walked past Santana and out the door without a word. Her features were hard, and whatever she was thinking and feeling was carefully covered up. Santana quickly followed as Quinn led her down the same hallway they had already walked. Once they re-entered the main lobby, Quinn strode out the front entrance, into the parking lot. Instead of heading towards the car, though, she made a sharp left and walked parallel to the building. Santana trailed close behind; she had no idea where Quinn was taking her, but she knew it was not the time to ask questions. Quinn would talk when she was ready to.
The blonde seemed to be guiding Santana to a large cluster of trees that stood across from the end of the building, but as they got nearer Santana could see a well-hidden pathway amongst the foliage and Quinn led Santana straight to and down it. It was a manmade trail, with gravel underfoot, but it was short; just a few yards ahead Santana noticed the path led straight into an overgrown, circular garden. The hundreds of flowers around it gave of a fresh, sweet scent. A large wishing fountain stood in the middle of the grassy area and a bench was situated to face it. Quinn went directly to the bench and sat down, Santana right after her, keeping a little distance between herself and Quinn.
"So," Quinn started with a sigh, "I know you probably have some questions."
"Just a couple," Santana murmured.
Quinn nodded in understanding and directed her gaze to the fountain. "She thinks she's twenty years old again," Quinn explained to Santana, referring to Mrs. Fabray's joy about a figment of her imagination. She waited a second before continuing. "It started during the summer before senior year of high school. Just small, stupid things at first, you know? She couldn't remember where she put her keys, or where her glasses were. I didn't really think anything of it at the time." She paused and fiddled with her hands in her lap. Santana watched her attentively, knowing Quinn was far from done.
"But then it got bad. Really bad. And really quickly, too. It was like all of a sudden she couldn't even remember what day it was or where she was supposed to be. I had to start writing her notes every morning telling her what she had to do that day or where she needed to be and at what time. Some days were better than others—sometimes she went an entire week without forgetting anything. But after a few months she could hardly go two days without forgetting what my name was." Quinn stared down at her hands and let out a deep breath.
"You didn't say anything?" Santana asked her quietly and Quinn shook her head.
"No. I thought I could manage her on my own. Turns out I couldn't, though," Quinn told Santana, still averting her hazel eyes from the dark brown ones.
"What happened?"
"She kind of…lashed out at me," Quinn admitted reluctantly. "I came home from school one day and she just…didn't know who I was. It wasn't the first time it had happened, but I could usually talk her off the ledge and get her to trust me, and eventually she would become lucid again. But this time it was different. I tried to explain how I was there to help her and I didn't want to hurt her, but she didn't believe be. Which resulted in her sort of attacking me."
Santana's jaw dropped in surprise. Quinn had been keeping more from Santana than she could have ever imagined. "She did what?"
"Attacked me. She got me across the face with her nails pretty good, too," Quinn said as she chuckled humorlessly. "After a while she locked herself in her room and fell asleep."
"What did you do?" Santana inquired.
"The only thing I could think of," Quinn responded softly. "I called my dad."
For the second time in the matter of hours, Santana felt her heart shatter. Pain and anguish tore through Quinn's words; she sat on the bench looking more vulnerable and helpless than Santana had ever seen her—including the night Quinn had confessed her true feelings for her best friend. She was well aware of Quinn's relationship with her father. It was never good, and it certainly didn't end any better. Santana swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, but wasn't able to reply because Quinn started again.
"In retrospect, it was a terrible decision. He was disgusted—I mean, he was actually disgusted at what had happened to my mom. As if there was something I could have done to prevent it. I knew she needed help, though. And I knew she couldn't live at home with me anymore. So, I blackmailed into helping my mom and me." Quinn shrugged her shoulders indifferently, but Santana couldn't process the words.
"You did what?" she asked in a strangled voice.
"Blackmailed him," Quinn repeated. She finally lifted her gaze to look at Santana in the eye. "I threatened to tell all of his church and golf buddies about his affair with that tattooed skank, how he kicked me out of the house, and how he found comfort in glass after glass of Scotch. I don't think they would have respected him so much after finding all that out. And pretty much the whole world knew just how much he needed to be respected by anyone and everyone. I know it probably wasn't the best way to go about things, but it was all I could come up with at the time. And it was effective."
"So it worked?" Santana replied. "I mean, he helped you?"
Quinn nodded. "He found this place for my mom, and he's the one who pays the bills for it all. Not that he's ever been to visit her, but still. I don't know what I would have done had he not helped out." She bit her lip as a guilty expression flitted across her features, and Santana reached over and laid a comforting hand on her back.
"Hey," she said gently, "Quinn, you did what you had to do, okay? You didn't do anything wrong. But, umm, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"I don't mean to sound…harsh, or anything, but didn't people notice the fact your mom basically just disappeared?"
"Not really, to be honest," Quinn confessed. "Anyone she was friends with was through my dad and church, and once they 'consciously uncoupled,' as they so eloquently told everyone, she didn't exactly have a lot of people to talk to. She pretty much just kept to herself."
"Okay," Santana allowed, nodding, "but what about you? Your mom was no longer living with you, so what did you do?"
"I just lived alone," Quinn answered off-handedly.
Santana gaped at her. "What, in your house?" When Quinn nodded in affirmation she went on, "You lived in your house, all alone?"
"Yes," Quinn confirmed. "Just until graduation, obviously. Like with this place, my dad took care of the bills and taxes and everything, again because of my threat to uproot his precious reputation, and I lived alone."
"Wasn't your mom at graduation, though?" Santana returned as she scrunched up her face in confusion.
"Yeah, and I was completely against the idea. A nurse accompanied her, just no one knew it was a nurse. Actually," Quinn continued as an afterthought, "that was one of her last 'good' days. She wasn't lucid the entire day, but the nurse told me afterwards she was aware of what was happening through a lot of the ceremony. It was mainly downhill from there."
"Quinn, I love you, I really do," Santana began as she shook her head in confusion, "but some of this doesn't seem plausible. Didn't your neighbors notice the absence of your parents? Or at least your mom? Didn't someone somewhere wonder what happened to her?"
Quinn let out another unamused laugh. "Santana, you're forgetting that this is my father we're talking about here. I'm not sure how many people found out along the way about what happened to my mom, but whoever and wherever they are, I am absolutely certain my dad paid them to keep quiet. Anybody who questioned our situation? Yep, he paid them off, too. Like I said, his reputation was the most important thing in his life. He would never want it getting out that his ex-wife had early onset Alzheimer's. People would think that's why they got divorced and their view of him would drastically change—for the worse. Once again, the Fabray household swept all of the bad feelings under the rug. They can't exist if we don't talk about them." She stood up and started pacing back and forth in front of the bench as Santana stared feebly up at her. "As for the whole neighbors not noticing thing," Quinn added, "even when they were married my parents were hardly ever home. It was normally just me. So after my mom left, nothing really changed. The neighbors accepted it a long time ago that we liked to keep to ourselves; no one ever questioned it."
"You were going through all of this during senior year and you were able to keep everything a secret?" Santana asked, half-broken heartedly and half-amazedly. "Jesus, Quinn," she muttered disbelievingly. Apparently, Quinn Fabray was even better at hiding her thoughts, emotions, and feelings than anyone could have guessed. Once again, Santana couldn't even imagine how hard it had been for Quinn to push everything away and pretend it didn't exist.
"Yeah, well, it's not as though I handled it incredibly well," Quinn responded, still pacing. "It resulted in my hair being dyed pink and me hanging out with a group of girls who called themselves 'The Skanks.'" She scoffed at the memory. "And then it led to me attempting to get my daughter back by going to extreme, borderline illegal measures."
"That's why you did all that stuff? Because of your mom?"
"Mhmm," Quinn answered without breaking her stride. Santana was beginning to get anxious just from watching Quinn continuously retrace her steps. "Mostly because of my mom, that is. Because in addition to that, I don't think I had really ever gotten over the whole Beth thing. I still felt so broken. So lost. I felt like I was the biggest screw up to ever walk the earth."
"You weren't, Quinn," Santana told her sincerely. "You aren't."
The blonde stopped pacing for a moment and gazed at Santana with intense eyes. "Thank you," she said quietly. As she took a deep breath Quinn resumed her treading back and forth. "Thanksgiving night you asked about me visiting Lima and I told you I haven't been back in three years. I wasn't lying. After we moved my mom to this place I visited two or three times a week or as often as I could, but it was essentially pointless. She just got worse and worse and, the summer after graduation, it reached the point where she didn't know who I was anymore, ever. I mean, she didn't even have lucid moments.
"I kept visiting, though, until I left for school. For the first few months I came back whenever I found time; I felt like I was abandoning her by just dumping her here and going off to college. I didn't tell anyone when I was here, obviously. Each time I kept hoping some miracle would happen and she'd be okay, but of course no such thing happened. Eventually, seeing her not even give the slightest indication that she recognized me pushed me over the edge. I stopped coming back and started just calling every week to make sure she was okay. And I just…stayed away," Quinn finished as she came to a halt again.
"I know what you're thinking," Santana said sharply, leaning forward on the bench, "and you're wrong."
"Santana-"
"No, Quinn," Santana cut her off. "You're not a horrible person. I know this entire situation with your mom makes you feel like one, but you're not. Not even in the slightest. You did what you needed to do, alright? This whole thing totally and completely sucks. But you didn't do anything wrong, and you are not a horrible person."
"I stopped coming to visit! I just left my mother—my own mother—here and went off to college," Quinn replied as she threaded her hands through her hair. Santana quickly stood up and faced her girlfriend.
"It's not like you stopped caring," Santana tried to reason with her. "Quinn, I know this is the last thing you want to hear, and you're probably not even going to believe me, but you did the right thing. You were put in a difficult position—scratch that, an impossible situation—and you had to make a choice. You did what was best for your mom, and you and I both know she would have wanted you to go to Yale. She wouldn't want you worrying about her or missing out on the chance of a lifetime in attending the school of your dreams." She took a step closer to Quinn when the girl didn't say anything. "Do you disagree with that statement?"
Quinn's eyes dropped down to her feet as she shook her head slowly. "No," she whispered. "You're right."
"Good, okay," Santana said with a nod. "So will you please stop beating yourself up and feeling guilty about this?"
"I can't help it," Quinn murmured, and Santana took another step forward.
"I know you can't, but I need you to try. You cannot go the rest of your life with this holding you down."
"I'm working on it," Quinn replied as one side of her lips turned up in a half-smile.
"That's all I ask of you," Santana told her.
Quinn returned her stare to the fountain in the middle of the garden and seemed to get lost in thought for a moment. Santana watched her closely, waiting for her to sort out whatever was running through her mind. After a minute, and to Santana's greatest astonishment, a small laugh escaped Quinn's mouth; but it was cold and brittle, and so unlike Quinn's natural laugh.
"Quinn?" Santana asked uncertainly.
"I'm sorry, it's just…" she trailed off with a shake of her head.
"Just what?" Santana urged.
"It just feels like there's someone out there who's using my life as some sort of crappy storyline and making as many bad things as possible happen to me just for the hell of it," Quinn explained. "Getting pregnant; my dad being an abusive, alcoholic asshole; my mom and early onset Alzheimer's; going a little bit crazy at the beginning of senior year; the car crash," she ticked each event off on a finger. "Nothing good ever stays with me." Her voice suddenly became soft and sad, and it was laced with hurt and sorrow. Quinn stared at Santana with eyes that were blazing with fire and emotion, and Santana could tell where she was going with everything.
"Quinn, don't you dare even think about saying what I know you're about to say," Santana warned her.
"You don't know what I was going to say," Quinn argued in a mumble. She dropped her eyes from Santana's face.
"Yes, I do. Of course I do," Santana responded. "You were going to turn the conversation to our relationship." Quinn opened her mouth to say something but snapped it shut when no words came out, and it confirmed Santana's prediction.
"Santana," Quinn eventually began, and she didn't even try to hide the desperation in her voice, "don't you get it? Almost anything that is even remotely good in my life leaves at some point. Or I ruin it. I have sent every single relationship I've ever been in up in flames because of my insecurities or just plain stupidities. And I refuse to do that to you. I refuse to keep you around just so I can screw something up and lose you or push you away."
Santana closed the distance between them and gently cupped Quinn's face, forcing the girl to look at her. The hazel eyes were clouded over again, and Santana could see the countless emotions floating around inside them.
"I'm going to need you to stop," Santana told Quinn in a voice that held both firmness and softness. "I get where you're coming from, but you are not going to lose me, Quinn. I am not going anywhere. I don't care about what happened in previous relationships, and I don't care if you think you've lost every good thing in your life; you're not going to lose me."
"Everyone just always leaves," Quinn said in a thoroughly broken voice, and Santana felt the tug on her heartstrings at the sound of it.
"I'm not going anywhere, Quinn. Nothing and no one can make me leave you. I can't promise that I'll never be a bitch or say something stupid, but I can promise you I will never leave you."
"But I-"
"Do you love me?" Santana interjected.
"What?" Quinn asked, stunned by the question.
"Do you love me?" Santana reiterated.
"More than anything."
"That's all I need. Quinn, you are the strongest person I have ever met. You have survived things that would break most people—myself included. And that is a testament to your character. I should've told all of this when you got pregnant or when you started hanging out with The Skanks. You're not a bad person and you've done nothing to deserve everything that has happened to you. What you do deserve is happiness," Santana said and her eyes didn't falter away from Quinn's.
"You make me happy," Quinn answered quietly, and Santana couldn't help the smile that formed on her lips.
"Then you are most definitely never losing me. Besides, this is you and me. We're not just anyone. We," Santana said as she moved her face closer to Quinn's, "are flawless."
"That's not entirely true," Quinn breathed with a smile.
"No," Santana agreed, shaking her head, "it's not. But that's okay. We can pretend, at least."
Quinn chuckled in response and Santana claimed her lips with her own, moving her hands from Quinn's face to wind them around her neck. They stayed like that for a few minutes, enjoying the much needed break from heavy conversation.
"I thought I was the one who's supposed to have self-esteem issues?" Santana teased into the silence after they pulled back.
"Well, we all have our problems," Quinn replied with a smile.
"We're so damaged." Santana meant it as a joke, but both girls knew the reality and validity of it.
"We really are," Quinn acknowledged. "I don't know, though, maybe that's why we work so well together. Our broken pieces fit perfectly with one another."
"Quinn, that's so sad," Santana pointed out, though she knew Quinn's statement was yet another accurate assessment of their relationship.
"Actually, I think that's just life."
"I guess I shouldn't question it then," Santana remarked before leaning in for another quick kiss.
"No, you shouldn't," Quinn told her. "But hey, I'm sorry for kind of springing all of this on you so suddenly. I thought it would be better to show you rather than try to explain everything. And considering I don't know when we'll be in Lima again, it seemed like as good a time as ever."
Santana shook her head quickly. "I'm really glad you decided to. It makes more sense now why you haven't been back. I just wish you could've told me sooner. Like, years-ago-sooner."
"I'm sorry. I've been keeping it from everyone—literally, everyone."
"Quinn, I…" Santana struggled with finding the right words. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the shitty hand life has dealt you over the years. I'm sorry about your mom, and I'm sorry your dad really isn't a good person at all. I'm sorry about everything in high school. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you through most of it."
Quinn smiled endearingly. "As much as I appreciate it, why are you apologizing? Don't get me wrong, I love you for feeling the need to say you're sorry, but Santana, there isn't a thing you could have done to prevent anything that's happened to me."
"I know," Santana responded. "I know that. But you don't deserve it—any of it. And I want you to know how serious I am when I say you're not going to lose me. I'm very aware of the fact trust isn't a strong point for either of us, and I know that everything you've been through has led to you having some insecurities, but I love you." She paused to take a deep breath. "I love you, and I don't plan on letting anything else bad happen to you. Just so you know."
"You know," Quinn began with a grin, "five minutes ago? I didn't think it was possible to be more in love with you."
"And now?" Santana asked.
"Oh, it's definitely possible," Quinn told her, and found Santana's lips again as if to prove her point. After a moment, she broke away from Santana. "I love you."
"And I love you," Santana told her.
"So does this make you my…Princess Charming?" Quinn inquired. Her eyes twinkled brightly and she bit her lip to stop from laughing.
"Quinn," Santana grumbled as she stuck her bottom lip out in a pout, "that's lame."
"Fine. How about this makes you…the love of my life?"
"Much better."