A Little Unbroken

by trifectaimperfecta

The story of how the misunderstood dreamer, the attention seeker with a secret, and the outcast-turned-social butterfly became what was known as the Unholy Trinity. It begins when Brittany and Santana are twelve and follows the journey all the way to senior year. Pairings: principally Brittana and Faberry.

11. I and Love and You

AN: The lyrics that appear in this chapter are from Landslide by Fleetwood Mac and Stupid by Sarah McLachlan.

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Quinn sat up groggily and pressed a hand to her forehead. Sunlight was pouring in through the blinds directly into her eyes and it made her wince. The room she found herself in was cold and unfamiliar. She shivered and rubbed her arms, only to realize just why the air seemed so chill: she wasn't wearing a shirt. With a gasp, Quinn frantically looked around and spotted pieces of clothing strewn hither and thither near the foot of the bed.

She clutched the covers close to her body. What happened? There was no sign of whoever else had been there. Quinn desperately wanted to believe she had simply pulled a Brittany and become a stripper drunk, but the warm space on the mattress told her that someone else had only recently gone.

With one hand shielding her eyes, Quinn reluctantly left the shelter of the blankets. She saw upon looking down that, while her underwear was still in place, it had a rip down the right side that left it almost completely open. Also, there were finger –shaped bruises on her hips and biceps. Carefully, Quinn lined up her own hand with the placement of the markings. The fingers that left the bruises had been so thin and small, not like the hands of any man she knew.

But, if it wasn't a boy…

Quinn sat down on the bed with a thump.

This was more than her brain was ready to process while she had such a splitting headache and her memory was still so foggy. Regardless, the one fact she had deduced about the previous night refused to leave her consciousness; she had slept with a girl. Quinn hastily gathered her clothes and wriggled into them while her mind scrambled for more details.

There had been dancing. She'd had so much to drink that her inclination to be consumed by rage while inebriated had somehow shifted into this pervading lust. Quinn remembered seeing somebody – a familiar face – and it was dark and cloudy, the perfect conditions to get some alone time without the prying eyes of the other people in the room. She recalled how different that body had felt, with curves where she was used to a smooth expanse, fullness where it should be thin. After the first touch, it had been too hard to resist. Her inhibitions were gone and all she wanted was to explore and be explored.

Beyond that, all Quinn remembered was shadow and heat. The blackness of the guest room had been liberating, no need to worry about appearances. She had been in control, and that had been almost as much of a turn-on as the newness of her partner's form.

Quinn shook herself and tied her shoelaces, trying to put the foreign feelings as far away from herself as possible. She left the room and stuffed her hands into her pockets nervously. Though the basement was still very messy, there was no sign of anyone else who had been at the party.

When she reached the top of the stairs and entered the main part of the house, Quinn's agitation heightened. She was terribly afraid that the Changs might be at home and would see her making this walk of shame. As she passed the kitchen though, thankfully, the only person eating at the table was Mike. Quinn gave him an awkward wave. He waved back and smiled before returning his attention to his cereal, seemingly unruffled by her presence in his home.

Once outside, Quinn wearily climbed into her car and immediately groped around in the glove compartment for her sunglasses. She shoved them onto her face and fumbled in her pocket for the keys. However, before she started the engine, Quinn found that what she really wanted was advice, comfort, or at least someone to talk to about what had happened. Her hand went to her other pocket and pulled out the cell phone stored there. Trembling fingers accessed her contacts and sent a vague starter message.

Can I ask you something?

Quinn left the Changs' driveway while she waited for the reply. She had only gotten halfway down the road when her phone buzzed with an incoming response. At the next stoplight, Quinn checked what it said.

Of course, Goose. What is it?

Quinn took a shuddering breath and a moment to fight down her shaky nerves before she was able to type back.

Does sleeping with a girl make you a lesbian?

The next message came a short while later as Quinn was passing the parking lot to a supermarket. She flicked on her turning signal, drove onto the lot, and found a vacant parking space.

Not necessarily. Sometimes it's incidental. It can also be to experiment. Why?

Quinn leaned forward and rested her head on the steering wheel. Unable to bring herself to see the words in print, she typed the next text without looking and hit send.

Because I did.

After a beat, Frannie's reply came.

Oh. With whom?

Quinn pressed a palm to her forehead as a fresh wave of embarrassment washed over her.

I don't know yet. I can't remember.

She covered her face with her hands until the reply came and, even then, only peeped out from between her fingers to read it.

Were you drinking?

Quinn gulped down what threatened to turn into a sob and picked up her phone.

Yes.

She could almost envision her sister closing her eyes and sighing heavily.

You're sure it really happened, from what you remember?

It was so tempting to deny it, to convince herself that there was room for debate, but Quinn plowed on and did not allow herself to lie.

I'm positive.

Frannie was gone a moment while she considered how to proceed with helping her sister assess the information.

I know the situation itself is frightening, not remembering, but the biggest question is this: How do you feel?

The query was so simple and direct, but Quinn found it incredibly hard to respond. Blackouts and unanswered questions aside, how did it feel to know she had shared herself with a woman?

I think I feel more upset about not being able to bring the details back, she confessed at last. The fact that it was with a girl… It doesn't feel bad, I guess, but it doesn't feel good either. It just feels… scary.

That's understandable, Frannie assured her.

But what does it mean?

It doesn't have to mean anything yet, Frannie responded. You're only seventeen, Quinn. There's so much about yourself you're going to learn yet. This doesn't have to define you any more than any single action does. It's the summary of all the parts that will tell you who you are. Give yourself time to figure it out.

Quinn nodded as though her sister could see her. She wiped under her eyes with the pad of her thumb.

So just wait for now?

Yeah, Frannie confirmed. When you're ready to give what you feel a name, you'll know.

A huge brunt of the burden lifted from Quinn's shoulders. She swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat and sent a grateful parting message.

Thanks, Frannie. It's a relief that, for once, I don't have to have all the answers.

… … …

Santana couldn't sleep. A week had gone by since the party incident yet, even still, she felt as though her skin was crawling. Granted, plenty more had happened since then to distract her – not the least of which involved a Glee performance that concluded with both Brittany and herself vomiting in front of the entire student body because they'd had too much to drink. By some miracle, Principal Figgins had thought that the puking was staged for dramatic effect and no one was punished.

No, even that humiliation couldn't quell the fears roiling around in her gut. Santana had been deliberately avoiding any recollections from what had happened with Quinn. Push it away though she might, nightfall was the biggest enemy to this self-imposed repression. When there was nothing but the darkened room and her thoughts, it all ganged up on her and made Santana feel crushed beneath its weight until she couldn't breathe.

As had been her nightly custom ever since middle school, Santana had the TV playing while she tried to drift into slumber. The sound of pre-recorded laughter helped a little, serving as something to break up the silence. Santana tried to focus on the rerun, but it was something she had seen so many times that it simply wouldn't hold her attention.

Her thumb pressed down on the channel button and surfed until she came across a late night movie. She pushed her glasses up her nose to squint at the title.

"Monty Python and the Holy Grail," Santana read aloud. "Okay then. Why not?"

She settled back against the pillows and folded her hands on her stomach. After a few minutes, her eyebrows drew together and she sat up again.

"What the fuck…?"

The crusaders in the film were in a forest and found themselves surrounded by impossibly tall knights with shrill voices and antlers fixed to their helmets. For the first time in quite a while, Santana laughed.

"How high were these guys when they wrote this?"

The yipping knights then made a bizarre request of the crusaders:

"We want … A SHRUBBERY!"

Dramatic music blared after this announcement.

Santana snorted and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from guffawing. She took off her glasses, muted the television, and rolled onto her other side to face the wall.

"That is officially the most ridiculous shit I have ever seen," she giggled. "I'm gonna have to rent it sometime."

Her eyelids lowered and she hugged her pillow close. In what seemed like an instant, Santana began to dream.

She was walking across soft, almost impossibly verdant grass. It must have been the grounds surrounding some mansion, because the land stretched on forever with no sign of any building. You would never see a place like this in Lima. There were tall animal sculptures on every side made out of the plantlife. A soft breeze rustled the leaves and, for the first time, Santana looked down to realize that she was naked. No one else was around, so there seemed to be little harm in the exposure. With no particular destination in mind, she walked among the greenery and studied the shapes that it formed. There was a shark fin protruding from the ground amid faux waves represented by blue flowers, a tyrannosaurus with its jaw open wide in a silent roar, a lion crouching as though approaching prey, and four birds with wings outstretched in flight.

Then Santana rounded a corner and saw the first and only human sculpture in the garden. It was a dancer with long legs and subtle curves with her arms stretched up to the sky.

"Brittany?" Santana murmured softly.

Suddenly suspicious, she hastily checked over her shoulders. Still, there was no one.

The dancer was clad in a simple dress fashioned from white, tufty dandelions. When the wind rushed by again, it almost gave the impression of movement as the flowers swayed. Santana's heart felt heavy as she reached out to touch them. Her fingers lingered over the intimate space between the sculpture's thighs, a place she was no longer allowed to caress on the figure's real life counterpart. She sighed and stepped back, hugging herself while the feeling of emptiness grew stronger.

Then a brief glimpse of yellow caught her attention. Curiosity piqued, Santana followed the impulse to get a closer look. She reached through the flowers and grabbed onto the branches, grasping firmly as she hefted herself higher and higher up the sculpture's body. The branches cut her palms, but she ignored the pain. The soft down of the floral dress was pleasant against her bare skin and she was determined to find the source of that different hue. Her legs clamped tightly and one hand kept its hold while the other reached tentatively into the dancer's chest. When she withdrew it, her fingers were grasping a single, still-yellow dandelion.

Unbidden, Santana's memory was flooded with a scene when Brittany had made them necklaces and headdresses from these flowers. She'd had two leftover at the end and, not wanting to let them go to waste after they'd already been plucked, Brittany fashioned them into rings and offered one to her friend.

Santana woke up with a constricted throat and damp cheeks. She pouted sulkily and rubbed at her face with the backs of her hands.

"Damn," she groused. "If that's the closest thing I'm going to get to a sex dream anymore, I'm really screwed."

… … …

"Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Abrams. It was really good," Brittany said politely when Artie's mother cleared away the dishes.

"Always a pleasure to cook for appreciative diners," Mrs. Abrams replied humbly.

Brittany watched as the woman precariously balanced the plates near the edge of the sink while she opened the dishwasher. They wobbled a little and Brittany sprang to her feet, gathering the whole stack into her arms where they could be easily picked up and transferred one at a time.

"Thank you," Mrs. Abrams beamed and then turned to her son. "She's helpful, this one. Don't neglect her like the last young lady you brought home."

Brittany blushed and turned away but she saw that Artie was now looking right at her.

"I won't," he said earnestly.

When the dishwasher was loaded, Mrs. Abrams closed it and pushed the button before facing to the two teenagers behind her. She ran a hand through her slightly disheveled, shoulder-length brown hair and then tapped her palms against her thighs.

"Well, I will be in the living room watching TV if you need me," she stated with an awkward smile. "Help yourself to dessert later, if you want any."

Mrs. Abrams headed for the doorway that led out of the kitchen. When she reached it, she jokingly touched her middle and index fingers to the lids below her hazel eyes and then pointed at her son.

"Keep it PG," she jested with a wink and then walked away.

"We will," Artie called after her.

Brittany went back to the chair she had occupied during dinner and sat down once more. She held Artie's hands in hers and ran her fingers along the lines on his palms.

"She's so nice," Brittany smiled. "Not all moms are, but you have a really good one."

"Yeah, I do," Artie agreed. "I just wish I could do more for her, you know?"

He cast a glance at the kitchen counter, which was so loaded with old mail and miscellaneous cardboard boxes that there was scarcely room for a dishrag.

"Mom hangs on to so much stuff, you know?" he said in a low voice. "It started after Dad left but I think it's getting worse. Maybe it's because I'm in high school now, just a couple of years away from college and moving out. I think, in the back of her mind, she thinks that if the house is crowded then she can't feel like she has an empty nest."

Brittany frowned sympathetically, sad to hear that so kind a woman was suffering so much inside.

Artie shook his head a little before his expression brightened and he caressed the sides of Brittany's hands with his thumbs.

"She is right though, you know," Artie acknowledged. "About you, I mean. You're really good, not just to her and not just to me, but to everybody."

"Life has enough bad stuff in it already without people being mean to each other," Brittany shrugged self-consciously. "I'd rather make people happy."

"Exactly," Artie nodded. "That's why you're special and, um, it's why I have something important I want to say to you."

Brittany's eyebrows lifted and she studied his face intently, trying to discern what it might be.

"I know I kind of accidentally said it already," Artie prefaced. "But that was when we'd been drinking and it wasn't like I wanted it to be. I wanted to say it to you for real, sober and face-to-face, so you'd know I really mean it."

Butterflies stirred in Brittany's stomach and she sat up a little straighter.

"What is it?"

Artie cleared his throat and withdrew his hands to readjust his glasses. Then his fingers wove together with hers and he simply looked at them for a moment, quietly content. His eyes lifted to hers and a small smile graced his features.

"I love you."

Brittany's eyes widened and her jaw dropped slightly.

There it was, just like that. It had sounded almost easy passing his lips but, in Brittany's experience, love was never so simple. Her throat felt a little dry and she licked her lips.

"It's okay if it's too soon," Artie hastened to add. "You don't have to say it back or anything."

"No, I want to," Brittany replied. "I was just surprised, that's all."

"You're right," Artie said guiltily. "I sprang this on you out of nowhere. I shouldn't have put you on the spot. It just felt like the right time and –"

"I love you, too."

Now it was Artie's turn to blink and gape.

"What?"

"I love you," Brittany repeated softly and smiled.

"You do?" Artie asked feebly, as if convinced he had misheard.

"Yeah, I do," Brittany confirmed.

The grin on Artie's face almost completely drove away the twist of guilt in Brittany's stomach. Almost.

"C'mere," she said and reached for him.

Artie wheeled back from the table so she could sit on his lap and hug him. As their lips met, Brittany tried to block out the inner voice that said her heart wasn't free to be given. It did not due to dwell on what she could not have and bar herself from the happiness here in her arms. She had carried that torch so long that it had been reduced to ash and scalded her hands.

… … …

"Friday night movie?" Santana said hopefully when Brittany opened the door.

Brittany chewed on her lip and pressed her hand against the doorframe.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" she asked softly. "I mean, after Rachel's basement…"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Santana said with forced cheer. "That was just a drunken fluke. You know how I get."

"Accidents happen," Brittany mumbled and looked away. "Okay, come in."

Relief washed over Santana's face as she turned right and made a beeline for the living room.

"I brought popcorn, too," she called over her shoulder. "Extra buttery, your favorite."

"Thanks," Brittany murmured and took the folded brown package from her hand. "I'll pop it in now."

"Sounds good. I'll get the DVD started while you do."

Brittany went into the kitchen and put the popcorn in the microwave. She punched in the numbers and hit start. As it began to rotate, she folded her arms over her chest. All of this, the whole routine, was utterly familiar and yet felt utterly wrong. Brittany closed her eyes slowly and sighed.

The beep shook her from her reverie and she opened the microwave again, picking the bag up by the corner to avoid getting burned.

"What did you choose this week?" she asked Santana when she returned to the living room.

"One we've been meaning to watch for ages," Santana answered. "500 Days of Summer."

"Cool," Brittany nodded and went to her usual spot on the nearest end of the couch.

Out of habit, Santana nearly settled on the middle cushion. Then she seemed to catch herself and sat at the far end, allowing a fair amount of distance between them. She set aside the DVD player remote and opened the popcorn.

"Smells good, huh?" Santana smiled.

Brittany nodded and curled her legs up against her body. Santana frowned a little and picked the remote back up to press play.

Aside from the movie and the occasional crunching of popcorn, the silence in the room was painfully impenetrable. Brittany was too afraid to look in Santana's direction. She could sometimes feel the other girl's eyes on her, but she didn't dare to meet them.

Instead, she sucked pensively on a particularly flavorful piece of popcorn and paid attention to the lines being spoken by the film's two leads. They had reached the scene where Tom was finally confronting Summer about what exactly their relationship really was. Summer started to say that they were just friends, but Tom cut her off.

"No! Don't—Don't pull that with me. Don't even try to – This is not how you treat your friend. Kissing in the copy room… holding hands in IKEA… shower sex! C'mon! 'Friends,' my balls!"

As Summer proceeded to explain that she didn't want a relationship, Santana cleared her throat uncomfortably. Tom asserted that she wasn't the only one who got a say, and that he said they were a couple. Brittany's lip trembled and she stuffed her hands under her armpits, rocking back and forth.

By the time the music began to play, tears were sliding down Brittany's cheeks and dribbling off her chin. She barely heard the subsequent dialogue over her own hiccups and sniffles. When it was implied that they slept together again later that same night, it took all her self-control not to lob a handful of popcorn at the screen.

Santana hit pause, but Brittany couldn't regain her composure in time to feign indifference.

This was what she'd become in Santana's company; she was Tom fucking Hansen. She was left clinging to threads of hope that led nowhere and her best friend refused to tie up the loose ends. Brittany pressed a hand to her chest, half-expecting to feel her heart bleeding straight through the skin. It was as though it were trying to rip itself from her body, finally forsaking her after years of pain with little reward.

"Britt?" Santana said quietly.

Brittany opened her eyes just enough to see that Santana was kneeling on the floor in front of her.

"Please don't cry, Brittany," Santana begged and rubbed beneath the other girl's eyelids with her thumbs. "It's okay. We don't have to finish the movie. Look, I stopped it."

Brittany looked at the now blackened screen but only to avoid Santana's unwavering gaze.

"I have to tell you something," Brittany hiccupped.

"That's funny, because I've got something I have to talk to you about, too."

"You first," Brittany said.

Santana got off her haunches and moved back onto the couch, sitting directly beside Brittany now.

"I need your help," she confessed. "Things always make more sense when I can talk them out with you. I've really missed that lately."

"Me, too," Brittany acknowledged quietly. "What is it?"

"I slept with someone."

Brittany pulled a face and withdrew a little.

"If this is about Sam, I really don't know if…"

"It's not," Santana interjected and ran a hand through her hair. "Damn, I wish it were that simple."

"So you guys haven't?"

"No," Santana chuckled. "God, no. We spend more time jumping mushrooms than jumping each other's bones."

Brittany mouthed the phrase 'jumping mushrooms' before Santana elaborated.

"Super Mario Brothers."

This clarified the expression and Brittany nodded understandingly.

"But wait, if not Sam, then who?"

The other girl looked down at her knees and knocked them together, twiddling her thumbs without answering the question.

"Santana?"

Her response was murmured so quietly that Brittany couldn't catch it. She scooted a little closer and tentatively put a hand on Santana's shoulder.

"Who was it?"

"…Quinn."

Brittany sat back against the couch and stared at the carpet. Her brow furrowed as she tried to sort out her thoughts on the matter before she posed the next question.

"When did that happen?"

"Mike's party."

"Is she okay?" Brittany asked next.

Santana's lip curled confusedly.

"I don't know. We haven't really talked since then. That isn't exactly what's been weighing on my mind."

She reached for Brittany's hand and held it in hers.

"I need you to help me figure out what I'm supposed to do," she admitted feebly.

"I don't think Quinn will talk about it," Brittany stated conclusively. "She'll let it stay pushed under the rug."

"Of course she would," Santana said and waved her hand dismissively through the air. "She's not going to blab anything to tarnish her perfect reputation this close to prom. Honestly, I don't give a damn about her part in this. I want to know where this leaves me."

"Right where you already are, if nobody finds out," Brittany replied with a baffled expression.

"No, you don't understand. Hell, I don't understand but I've got to figure it out," Santana said desperately, clinging to Brittany's wrists and arms as if she were a life raft. "I need to know where it puts me here and here."

She jabbed roughly at her temple and her chest.

"What the fuck does this mean for me?"

Brittany blinked back tears as she whispered, "You already know what it means."

Dismay twisted Santana's features and she pulled back, recoiling as if to protect herself from the words she knew were true but did not want to hear.

"No, that's not me."

Brittany knew better than to argue, so she merely watched Santana sadly.

"No," Santana repeated more vehemently. "I don't know what's wrong with my head lately but it's not that. I'm just lonely and it's messing me up. What with my family being how they are and Puck being with Zizes and you ditching me –"

"I didn't ditch you."

"—which, quite frankly, was the worst part because even if the rest of the world was complete crap I always had you. Now I have nothing all because some mouth-breathing, near-sighted, misogynistic asshole –"

"Artie told me he loved me," Brittany blurted out suddenly, unable to listen to Santana raging against him when the situation at hand really had little if anything to do with him at all.

Santana looked as if she had been struck across the face. She staggered to her feet and stepped away.

"I said it back," Brittany confessed.

Santana said nothing. She shook her head, again and again, every inch of her face covered in disbelief.

"I shouldn't have come here," she said to herself.

"You needed someone to talk to," Brittany protested. "I'm sorry…"

"No, it was a bad idea. I just – Never mind. Don't worry about it okay?"

Santana ejected the movie, returned it to its box, and tucked it under her arm.

"Wait," Brittany begged. "You don't have to go. I don't want you to deal with this alone."

"I'll handle it," Santana insisted and backed toward the door. "Seriously, I'll be fine. Congratulations on, you know, being happy. I'll see you Monday."

"Santana, don't leave. Please… Santana!" Brittany called after her, but she shut the door against her pleas and vanished from sight.

… … …

Sam had nodded off watching The Hunt for Red October when he awoke to the sound of frantic pounding on the front door. He rubbed at his eyes and shuffled across the living room to answer it.

"Santana?" he mumbled groggily. "What are you doing here?"

She threw her arms around his neck and he hugged her back automatically, stroking her hair.

"Whoa, what happened?" he asked bewilderedly. "Are you okay?"

"No," Santana wept in misery. "No, I'm not okay at all."

"Shh," Sam urged gently. "Everybody else went to bed. Here, come on. We can sit on the sofa."

He led her to where he had been sleeping only moments before and tugged her down onto the cushion, offering his shoulder as a place for her to rest her head.

"Talk to me," he said simply.

"I can't," Santana blubbered.

"Okay," Sam nodded patiently. "Take your time. Who upset you?"

"I can't tell you."

Sam rubbed her back and puzzled over this for a moment.

"You're upset about something you can't tell me about and I can't know who made you feel this way?"

"Basically," Santana sniffled and brushed away her tears with the tips of her fingers.

"But, then, what good am I going to be?"

"I just need to be held," Santana admitted wretchedly.

"Sure," Sam readily agreed.

Santana fell gratefully against him and let his arms form a protective barrier around her to shield her from her sorrows.

"It's okay," he promised. "I'll stay right here. Cry as hard as you need to. It's an old shirt anyway; some mascara stains will just add character."

Santana laughed a little and hugged his middle more tightly.

"You're too good to me, Sammy."

They stayed that way for some time, enjoying a quiet that was punctuated only by the faint chirping of crickets. Santana felt her eyelids getting heavy and tried to push herself upright.

"Don't worry," Sam assured her. "You can just stay here tonight."

"I'm pretty sure your parents wouldn't be too thrilled finding us in a compromising position in the morning," Santana countered.

"I'll sleep down the hall," Sam said. "I can tell them in the morning that you just needed a place to crash."

He gently disengaged from their embrace and grabbed a pillow to put under her head in his place. Then he tugged the afghan off the back of the couch and draped it across her body.

"Just like that?" she marveled. "No 'why don't we take this to the bedroom' or 'I know how to make you feel better'?"

Sam's nose wrinkled and his breath whooshed out in silent laughter.

"Puck really said things like that?"

Santana giggled and nodded.

"Well, that's not my style. You're upset and a distraction - even a really nice distraction like that would be - wouldn't make the problem go away. I want you to really feel better, not just think you do until it catches back up with you."

He punctuated this statement with a brief and tender kiss on her forehead.

"Sleep tight."

"Saint Sam of the Sofa," Santana mumbled as she began drifting off in earnest. "Shelter for the Unstable."

Sam chuckled and shook his head.

"Goodnight," he told her and turned off the light overhead. "Tomorrow will be a fresh start."

… … …

"You're hiding something."

"For the last time, Rachel, even if I were, it is none of your concern," Quinn replied without breaking stride on the way to her locker.

"That depends on the nature of the secret," Rachel countered. "If it endangers the Glee Club's chances, I and all the other members of the New Directions have a right to know."

Quinn opened her locker with a slam.

"All right, let's be real here," she said through gritted teeth. "The only real danger there's ever been to that club is you and your desire to have it all at anyone else's expense. Have to have the solos, have to have the guy, and damn anyone who gets in the way."

Rachel blinked and forced her tone to remain even.

"I've meddled in ways I shouldn't have in the past, I admit. Still, that doesn't have any bearing on whatever you are up to right now."

"I am not 'up to' anything!" Quinn cried exasperatedly. "So I don't want to talk to the girl who tried to steal my first boyfriend from me about how he and I are doing now that we're back together. On what planet would it make sense for me to do otherwise? What, you want me to give you a chance to find some new chink in the armor?"

Rachel's jaw clenched and she closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said finally as she opened them again. "Your relationship with Finn ended very tempestuously, no thanks to me. It must be hard enough to start again without me hovering around you asking questions."

"Finally, she sees reason!" Quinn said with her eyes turned heavenward and her hands lifted.

"So, you give me your word that this won't affect the club?" Rachel confirmed.

She held out her hand to shake. Quinn tried to laugh but found herself reaching out to put her hand in Rachel's just the same.

"I am really done with romantic drama," Quinn assured her. "I had enough of that last year to last a lifetime. I just want things to be simple again."

"That's what you meant about 'focusing on you' through rejoining the Celibacy Club?"

"Exactly," Quinn nodded. "Sex has caused me way more trouble than it's been worth. Things would be far less complicated if I just stopped, at least for now. So I'm putting my love life on indefinite hold."

"I agree wholeheartedly, my friend," Rachel concurred boisterously. "When the time is right for us to be intimate, we'll know. It's our decision to make."

Quinn blinked rapidly at the way Rachel was referring to them as a unit.

"Yeah," she said slowly. "I guess you're right."

… … …

The rain was pouring down so thickly it was nearly impossible to see from one end of the sidewalk to the other. Brittany stood under the awning outside McKinley's front entrance and peered out worriedly.

A faint voice reached her ears and she looked around, struggling to discern its source out there in the blurred gray.

"Brittany!" Santana called again.

The first time she had cried out, it had been from the safety of her car. When it became clear that Brittany could not see her, she had exited the vehicle to wave her arms over her head.

"Where's your mom?" she hollered.

"Caught in a traffic jam," Brittany shouted back. "I told Artie and his mom to go ahead because I thought she'd be here by now, but there was an accident."

"Text her and tell her I'm taking you home."

Brittany chewed on her lip. Santana sighed and walked until she was under the awning, too.

"C'mon," she urged gently. "I'm getting soaked here. It'll be safer than your mom having to come the rest of the way and get caught in more backups. She can head for home instead and we'll meet her there."

She gave Brittany a small smile and nudged her hip with one hand.

"Okay," Brittany agreed at last. "Thank you."

While Santana tried in vain to wring out her hair, Brittany texted her mother to tell her the change of plans. When the message was sent, she looked up at the rain and grimaced.

"How far away are you parked?"

"Just there where the sidewalk bends," Santana answered and gestured in its direction. "I could see it just a second ago. Shit, should we be building an ark?"

She reached down and held Brittany's hand.

"We're just gonna have to run for it. Are you ready?"

A glimmer of the old Santana appeared in her features then, ready for any adventure as long as Brittany was by her side.

"I'm ready," Brittany said softly.

They bent low as though preparing for a track race and took off toward the as-yet-invisible car. They were soaked through in an instant, giggling and shrieking as they held onto each other.

Brittany tried the handle on the passenger side, but it did not yield to her touch.

"It's not unlocked!"

"The damn button's not working!" Santana explained from where she was clutching her key ring with little success. "I'm going to have to open it manually!"

She stumbled off the curb and fumbled with the key until a faint click confirmed that the door was ready to be opened. Then Santana circled her car and unlocked her own door to climb inside. The two girls panted heavily and flopped back against the seats, pushing dripping hair off their foreheads and away from their eyes.

"Well, that was fun," Santana laughed and shoved her key into the ignition.

She squinted through the back window as she pulled away, but everything looked the same no matter which way they looked: like the sidewalk in Mary Poppins after the chalk drawings were ruined.

"I can't see a thing," Santana announced when she had only driven a short distance. "Have we even passed the first stoplight yet? If we have, I'm pretty sure I ran it."

"I don't know, either," Brittany said and held onto the top of the door while the tip of her nose pushed against the glass.

She gave up the effort and turned instead to Santana's window.

"Wait, there's where the visiting teams' buses park! See the gravel leading off the road on your side? Pull over here."

Santana obeyed immediately and they both stiffened reflexively as the uneven rocks below the tires made their seats rattle.

"There," Santana sighed once she had parked. "I guess we're just going to have to wait this out until it lets up a little."

Brittany nodded and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering.

"Your jacket is dripping all over," Santana noted. "Here, just toss it in the back for now. You'll be warmer without it."

She pulled one sleeve off Brittany's arm before she realized her mistake. Her fingers grazed her friend's bare skin beneath and a shockwave ran up her entire arm. Brittany held stock-still for a moment before she removed her other arm from the opposite sleeve.

"Thanks," she mumbled uncomfortably before folding the jacket and placing it on the floor behind Santana's seat.

"I've made things weird between us, haven't I?" Santana asked miserably after a moment.

"No," Brittany insisted automatically. "Well, I'm not really sure. I don't think either of us made it weird, it just got that way. Things are different now."

Santana's lip quivered.

"I don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me," Brittany insisted and grabbed Santana's hand, enfolding it in both of hers. "Santana, we've been together our whole lives. I would never leave you."

"But Artie…"

"Me and Artie and Me and You are two different things," Brittany responded.

"How?"

Brittany frowned and looked at Santana despairingly, as if the answer should be self-evident.

"So," Santana hazarded and scooted nearer. "If they're different, that means different rules apply, right? We're not in the same category. Our pipes aren't even constructed the same way."

"I guess," Brittany conceded as their foreheads pressed together.

"Then, if I kissed you right now, we wouldn't be cheating because we aren't touching other boys."

"I don't know; I kind of think -," Brittany started to protest, but then Santana's lips were touching hers and she lost the heart to argue.

"Fuck, I've missed you so much," Santana whispered.

She climbed over onto Brittany's seat and straddled her. Brittany whimpered and shut her eyes. Santana guided the other girl's hands to the buttons on her blouse. It took gentle but insistent coaxing before Brittany's fingers moved, deftly pushing the buttons aside with practiced ease. The last one did not obey her command and she tore it from the shirt in her haste.

Santana sighed and shrugged out of the top, tossing it disinterestedly on top of Brittany's jacket. She tried to free herself from her slacks as well, but the fabric only went so far before she ran out of room. Brittany caught her lips again and tangled her hands in Santana's hair.

"The glove compartment is really cold against my ass," Santana murmured into the kiss. "Can we move to the back?"

Brittany clumsily climbed backward past the center console, dropped once but caught herself, and then hauled herself onto the seat. Santana clambered eagerly to join her and kicked off her pants before settling on top of her waiting friend.

"Aren't you freezing?" Brittany worried, rubbing Santana's legs to chase away the goosebumps.

"I'm sure I'll warm up after a little while," Santana chuckled and reached for the hem of Brittany's sleeveless shirt.

Brittany sat upright and allowed it to be pulled off her torso. Santana made a low sound in the back of her throat and immediately pulled Brittany close. She unhooked and discarded Brittany's bra so quickly that the strap snapped back and stung her wrist. Heedless of the sting, Santana licked and sucked on Brittany's breasts until her arms were all that was preventing the other girl from melting back onto the seat cushion.

While Santana was busy, Brittany managed to just reach the clasps of her companion's bra and unfasten them. Santana felt it release and happily shed the garment before she surged forward to savor the touch of skin on skin.

Brittany panted as she watched Santana sink lower and lower, scrunching her body against the door behind her. Santana folded back Brittany's skirt, tucking it tenderly over Brittany's chest to provide her with a little extra warmth. She looped her fingers around Brittany's underwear and pulled it down past the other girl's ankles.

By the time Brittany felt that mouth meet her flesh again, she was trembling and her legs clamped tightly against the sides of Santana's head. Her hips bucked repeatedly and she pressed the heel of one hand to her forehead while the other held onto Santana's hair.

Free to be heard in a way that she generally had to stifle, Brittany moaned and shuddered violently. When she finally gasped and fell silent, Santana gradually slowed her lapping and withdrew with a proud smile. Brittany inched weakly in the opposite direction until she could use the other door as a backrest. Still breathing heavily, a small smile spread across her face when Santana crawled over to curl up in her lap.

"I think the rain is letting up," Brittany noted and draped one arm around Santana's shoulder.

"Good," Santana murmured while her fingers tickled a trail across Brittany's abdomen. "Once the storm passes, we can get this show back on the road."

… … …

"So, that song the substitute performed in Glee yesterday was interesting," Rachel commented while she and Quinn were waiting in the lunch line. "I admit that it was fun and catchy to sing, but not conducive to our efforts to persuade people of the benefits of celibacy."

"Ms. Holliday does have a way of getting everybody on their feet," Quinn acknowledged. "But, honestly Rachel, I don't think we had anyone listening to us even before she sang Do You Wanna Touch Me. That's okay. We don't necessarily have to recruit people. After all, the best way is to lead by example."

Quinn scooted her tray briskly away, hoping to outdistance Rachel and avoid having to discuss sex, or lack thereof, with the other girl any further. Rachel kept up pace and remained evidently oblivious to her conversational partner's attempted exit.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," she grinned. "I've already spoken to Ms. Pillsbury about it, and she is helping me with a song that the Celibacy Club could sing to counter Ms. Holliday's selection."

"Does anyone even have an anti-sex song?" Quinn murmured.

"Perhaps not, but there are songs that involve expressing affection in a chaste manner, and that will do just as well," Rachel replied. "We've actually already found a song. I have the lyrics here."

To Quinn's dismay, Rachel had been carrying the sheet music beneath her tray all the while and passed it to her classmate as soon as they reached a table and the other girl's hands were free. Quinn reluctantly took it and settled down to skim the lyrics. After a moment, she quirked an eyebrow and glanced over the paper.

"Rachel," Quinn prefaced delicately. "I'm not so sure this song is what you want for this performance."

"I worried the same thing. I was unfamiliar with the name at first, but Ms. Pillsbury tells me that Afternoon Delight is a kind of dessert."

"I see," Quinn mumbled and sipped pensively from her lemonade.

"Now that we know what we'll be singing, I thought perhaps you could help me choose the ensemble."

Quinn looked up again, this time with curiosity.

"Do you mean ensemble as in the singing variety or, like, clothes?"

"Our outfits," Rachel clarified. "As your friend Santana has made it abundantly clear, my taste in fashion is woefully off-target. You, however, are always impeccably dressed. I'm sure you could help me find us something eye-catching yet modest and appropriate for the subject matter."

"So you want to go shopping with me?"

"Yes," Rachel smiled. "I would like that very much, if it would be all right with you."

Quinn stirred her straw around in her drink for a moment while she considered the offer. She looked at Rachel, trying to envision what colors and cuts would suit her complexion and body type. An outfit began to take shape in Quinn's mind. Given the chance to scour the right stores, she was certain that she could find it.

"All right," Quinn said finally. "I'm free Wednesday. Meet me after school in the parking lot."

… … …

"I really hope you're right about this," Santana fretted aloud as she fussed with her jacket and fiddled with the zippers.

"It's the right thing to do," Brittany insisted. "This, you and me, the way things are now, it isn't going to make anybody happy. I just need somebody to help us fix this and make everything okay, somebody who's a total outsider to the situation, a 'neutral third party.'"

Brittany beamed at the term she'd been able to remember from class and gave Santana's ribcage a reassuring nudge.

"You'll see," she guaranteed. "It's like I've been telling you: talking about feelings can be good, especially when they're important feelings. Plus, I promise, if today doesn't work out, I won't ask to talk to any more adults. It'll be just this once."

Santana looked at the unspoken plea in her eyes and sighed. She linked her pinkie with Brittany's and squeezed it lightly.

"Okay," she consented. "I'll try. For you, I'll try it."

When their tryst in the backseat of Santana's car had led to a resumption of their sexual encounters, Brittany had finally mustered the courage to say she wanted them to get help. Santana had tried to dance around it, hoping that if she was stand-offish and abrasive enough Brittany might back down, but her best friend knew her tactics too well to be deterred. What was worse, Santana knew that Brittany's conscience was plagued by guilt. Having one foot in a new relationship with Artie while the other remained beside Santana had led her to cheat, and that sort of dishonesty was not in Brittany's nature.

Against her better judgment, Santana had agreed to speak to Holly Holliday. To her mind, the sassy and savvy substitute was the best choice because she wouldn't be sticking around too long. Eventually work would call her elsewhere and they wouldn't have to have any follow-up appointments.

Santana studied Brittany as they entered the library in search of the teacher. Something about the way the other girl was dressed made Santana's chest ache. Her hair was pulled back only slightly to one side, mostly hanging down to brush her shoulders. She had not worn her hair that way since they were still in middle school. Then there was the top that Brittany had chosen: over a long-sleeved, black-and-white striped undershirt, she wore a red short-sleeved shirt with an oversized pink heart dominating its front. Santana could not help but think how fitting this seemed. Generally, the expression was that someone 'wore their heart on their sleeve.' Not so with Brittany. No, she did the world one better and made her love large enough to be visible even from a distance.

If only the whole world could be so brave, Santana thought with a brief smile.

They approached Ms. Holliday and gave her a quick, hushed overview of why they needed to have a private conversation. Holly asked them to follow her and led the girls to her temporary classroom, where she fetched a disc from a drawer before turning out the lights. She played the soothing, strangely exotic music through her CD player and asked Brittany and Santana to sit with her on the floor.

Holly did not take long to get right to one of the biggest points that needed to be addressed: whether one or both of them thought they might be a lesbian. Santana felt as if the rest of her insides vanished while her heart crashed painfully down somewhere behind her navel. She let Brittany speak first, hoping desperately that she would take over, but all the other girl would say was a despondent "I don't know."

Santana took her cue to talk, but she still could not commit to a simple answer.

"I'm attracted to girls and I'm attracted to guys," she said as flippantly as she could manage in such a quiet and vulnerable setting. "I made out with a mannequin. I even had a sex dream about a shrub that was just in the shape of a person, so…"

It was evasive and noncommittal, but it was all Santana could force past her lips while her heart now seemed liable to burst through her chest given how hard it was pounding beneath her skin.

Then Holly Holliday spoke the words that changed everything.

"Anyway, it's not about who you are attracted to, ultimately. It's about who you fall in love with."

Santana felt certain she was going to be sick. A faint buzzing started in her eardrums and her palms became sweaty and clammy. That wasn't the way it was supposed to work. If she'd had sex with guys, then that was supposed to mean she was into guys. Now, being asked to examine how she truly felt about her partners, where she felt that her emotions were pulling her… There was only one place she had ever truly felt safe, cared for, and protected, and that was in the arms of the girl sitting next to her on the cold concrete.

While her mind was whirring, Santana began wringing her hands. She looked to Brittany and waited for her immediate reaction, still incapable of putting her own into words.

"Well, I don't know how I feel because Santana refuses to talk about it," Brittany responded honestly.

She tried to look Santana in the eye then, but Santana had lowered her gaze to the floor. Brittany's jaw clenched at the fact that, even now when they were supposed to be spilling things out into the open, Santana could not look at her directly during a moment of such emotional truth.

Holly suggested that the two should try singing a song instead, to see if that would help them start the conversation they so desperately needed to have. Santana felt her spirits lift a little and agreed.

"I have the perfect song," she explained falteringly while the lyrics began playing in her mind. "There's just one problem, though. Britt and I may need your help to sing it."

Holly smiled serenely.

"I thought you'd never ask."

… … …

"Are you sure you don't favor the pink?" Quinn called from behind the door while she shimmied into her dress. "It's okay if you want to go with your favorite color. I could pull it off, I'm sure."

"I know you could, but you clearly prefer the blue," Rachel countered from where she waited outside the changing room. "And the final choice should ultimately defer to you, seeing as you're the president."

"Rachel Berry turning over control," Quinn marveled teasingly. "I never thought I'd live to see the day."

Rachel laughed and shook her head.

"It's a little surprising even to me."

Quinn was just starting to work on the buttons up the front of her outfit when the other girl spoke again.

"Let me see how it looks," Rachel said and barged in without so much as a knock.

Quinn yelped and slammed backward against the wall. One hand reached for the fabric of the dress, trying to tug it closed over her torso, but her fingers just missed and she was left groping the air.

"Sorry," Rachel mumbled and tucked her hair behind her ear as she turned to lock the door. "I should have announced myself first."

She continued facing the opposite direction and clasped her hands in front of her.

"I'll let you finish," Rachel said patiently.

Quinn nervously tried to push the buttons through, but her fingers seemed to have lost all dexterity.

"Damn," she grumbled when she missed the hole for the third time.

Rachel peeked over her shoulder and then turned. She approached Quinn with her eyes downcast and held out a hand.

"Here," she offered timidly. "I can get it."

Rachel took Quinn's hands and moved them away from the troublesome fastens.

"You're shaking so hard," she noted worriedly. "We'd better get something to eat after this. Your sugar level must be dropping off or something."

"Yeah," Quinn agreed almost inaudibly.

She held stock-still and watched Rachel working her way up, successfully closing the shirt over her abdomen and her breasts. Quinn gulped and shivered just as the last button was pushed through and her outfit was ready for appraisal. Her overall appearance in the mirror seemed to be on-par with the look they'd had in mind. Then Quinn turned to Rachel and shrugged a little.

"Thoughts?" she queried.

"Oh, yes," Rachel nodded decisively. "This is much better than the pink. It suits you. Are the ruffles okay? They're sort of touching your chin just now."

She reached for the fabric along the collar of the shirt and tried to fold it away from her classmate's face. Quinn licked her lips and curled her hands into anxious fists.

"There," Rachel declared. "Better?"

Her gaze lifted to meet Quinn's and the latter was acutely aware of how close their bodies were in the cramped stall.

"Yeah, it's perfect," Quinn replied softly.

"Good," Rachel smiled and turned away, breaking the moment. "I'll just wait outside while you change back and we can have the cashier ring them up."

… … …

Santana gave Brittany the sheet music in the morning. Brittany studied the lyrics enough to memorize the chorus, but she tried not to think too much about the meaning. She wanted to wait until she heard Santana sing it in person before she read anything into the selection. The song was by Fleetwood Mac, a band to which Brittany was aware that Santana's mother had always been partial. Brittany had vague memories of the voices playing in Mrs. Lopez's car and the way that Santana used to sing quietly along with the parts she knew.

This particular track was called Landslide.

The three of them, Santana, Ms. Holliday and Brittany, sat on stools in front of the Glee Club to perform the number. Though Ms. Holliday sat between them, Brittany kept her eyes focused only on Santana seated a short distance away.

During the entire performance, she could see Santana's emotions hovering slow close to the surface. The tears were gathering there, so near to being spilled. Brittany's heart throbbed in her chest and she knew the message even before Santana's voice reached her ears.

"I've been afraid of changing, 'cause I've built my life around you

But time makes you bolder, children get older

I'm getting older, too."

Brittany sent all the encouragement she could to Santana with warm eyes and a reassuring smile. Still, it was all she could do not to spring from her seat and hold the other girl in her arms. Then the song concluded and Santana had to pause to catch her breath and wipe her eye with the edge of her finger.

Brittany could barely fight down her hope as she asked, "Is that really how you feel?"

"Uh, yeah," Santana answered tremulously.

She got up from her stool and walked over to her then, moving gratefully into the embrace that Brittany was always waiting to give.

"Thank you," Santana whispered earnestly.

Brittany simply smiled and held her that much tighter. For one glorious moment, it felt as though they had really made a breakthrough. Then Rachel Berry spoke.

"Can I just applaud this trio for exploring the uncharted world of Sapphic charm? Brava. Brava."

Though she was unfamiliar with the term, Brittany knew by the way Santana's body tensed beside her what it must have meant. Brittany clenched her teeth and scarcely resisted the urge to glare at Rachel. She felt her bubble of hope burst almost as quickly as it had formed. There was no retrieving it now.

"Look, just because I sang a song with Brittany, doesn't mean that you can put a label on me," Santana retorted. "Is that clear?"

Santana left Brittany's side, giving her only one last glance. That was all it took for her to know; the walls were back up again. Brittany grasped the hem of her skirt and shifted awkwardly as she was left alone in the middle of the floor.

… … …

"That was completely humiliating," Rachel stated flatly as she entered the green room. "A nooner? Since when is that even a thing?"

Quinn quietly removed her shoes and reached for the flats she'd been wearing prior to their performance.

"So much for chaste expressions of affection," Rachel despaired and covered her face. "Instead, we serenaded the rest of the club with a celebration of grabbing a quickie just before lunch!"

Rachel sat heavily on one of the empty chairs and began unbuttoning her dress.

"You knew though, didn't you?" she asked, glancing up fleetingly at her companion in the adjacent seat. "About the real meaning. You tried to warn me."

Quinn shrugged.

"I gave it the benefit of the doubt," she said as she set to work on her own dress. "I Googled it and there really is a dessert that has that name. It sounds pretty good, actually. Anyway, at least Brittany clapped for us."

"Brittany cheers on the worst numbers!" Rachel cried. "She does it to be nice, including the times that the number clearly sucked and the persons involved ought to be told so. I bet even she knew what the song was really about. Brittany is Queen of the Quickie. We probably just gave her a new personal anthem."

"She's not a slut," Quinn countered immediately. "I know everyone talks about her like she is, but Brittany is just… free. She follows what she feels in the moment. Her spirit is impulsive, but she also has the greatest heart you'll find in anybody."

"I'm sorry," Rachel said contritely and stepped out of her dress. "Brittany is one of your best friends. I shouldn't have spoken that way. It isn't fair to judge someone based on the common perception."

Quinn nodded with her eyes on the curve of Rachel's back until she finally shook herself.

"Right, because if people did, then they would still think you're a driven control freak and that I'm some heartless tramp who got pregnant and then gave away the baby like it was somehow her fault that my life had been turned upside down."

Rachel turned to Quinn. Her face was etched with so much sympathy that it was clear she knew the assessment was Quinn's own, not that of their peers.

"In both cases they'd be wrong," Quinn concluded and forced a smile. "Especially yours."

She put her dress on a hanger and then reached for her skirt.

"But I am a driven control freak," Rachel pointed out dejectedly.

Quinn pulled on her blouse and frowned.

"You're ambitious," she conceded. "But calling you a freak for it is sexist and unfair. A boy in your position would be 'take-charge' and 'a real go-getter.'"

Rachel listened with undivided attention. She stepped a little nearer to Quinn, desperate to hear a more positive view of the way she presented herself to the world.

"Don't let them put you in a box," Quinn continued. "People are always trying to reduce everyone to something easy for them to understand. Humans aren't simple. Relationships aren't either. Life is complicated."

Much like what was coursing through her with Rachel so near in only her bra and underwear. Quinn's wisdom nearly flew from her mind as her thoughts drifted elsewhere. She cleared her throat.

"Just don't let anybody tell you who you are," she advised. "Otherwise they start setting boundaries around you and get mad if you cross them."

Rachel looked as if she wanted to embrace Quinn after this impromptu speech. In spite of herself, Quinn prayed that she would. Then the other girl's dark eyes blinked and the possibility vanished.

"You're so smart," Rachel praised as she went back to getting dressed. "If you aren't our valedictorian, I'll eat my headband."

They both laughed and, for that moment at least, it almost felt as if they were really friends. Quinn tried her best to let that be enough.

… … …

The doorbell echoed through the Lopez household, stirring Santana where she lay listlessly on the sitting room loveseat. She lifted her head and squinted in the direction of the door, scowling at the interruption to her time of solitude. Grumpily, Santana shuffled to answer the ringing summons.

"What do you w—Quinn?"

Santana drew up short and let her hands fall to her side.

"Um, hi. What's up?"

"We need to talk," Quinn stated simply.

She brushed past Santana and walked into the foyer. Her legs continued to carry her along up the stairs and back toward Santana's room.

"Please, come in, make yourself at home," Santana drawled as she followed. "What do you want to talk about with me?"

"You."

Santana's eyebrows drew together, scrunching the skin on her forehead. They reached her room and stepped inside, standing together on top of the tiger rug in front of her bed.

"You want to talk to me about… me."

Quinn bobbed her head in confirmation and folded her arms.

"Anything specific? My curvaceous ass? My divine, albeit surgically enhanced rack? My sparkling personality?"

Quinn pressed her lips together.

"Be serious."

Santana waved a hand in front of her own face and feigned a stoic expression.

"You have the floor, Ms. Fabray."

Quinn rolled her eyes but plowed on with what she needed to say.

"It's about a lot of things, but I'll start with the one that involves me and work up to the most important. So, let's begin with Mike's party."

Santana's eyes became guarded and she folded her arms as well.

"Part of a blurry, drunken weekend. One of many. What about it?"

"You can cut the crap; I remember," Quinn said irritably. "That was you in that guest room. We were with each other that night. You didn't leave until the morning, just before I woke up."

"How the hell did you come to that conclusion?" Santana incredulously asked. "Did you find some abandoned piece of jewelry, Sherlock?"

"No, it was a smell, actually," Quinn answered. "It was on my clothes and I knew it was familiar but I couldn't place it. Then I sat next to you in Glee Club and I smelled it again."

She went to Santana's vanity and sifted through the perfumes there, sniffing each experimentally.

"This one," she declared at last, holding one bottle aloft. "Escape by Calvin Klein."

"Other girls could wear that perfume," Santana argued stubbornly.

"The only other girl in the Glee Club who could afford that is Rachel and she wasn't invited to Mike's," Quinn immediately countered.

Santana sat on the bed and scuffed her foot on the floor.

"Damn."

"My thoughts exactly," Quinn concurred ruefully.

She grabbed the nearby chair and turned it around to sit.

"I assume you told Brittany?"

"I don't report my every move to her!" Santana protested. "I'm not on a time card."

Quinn quirked an eyebrow.

"Fine. Yes, I told her. Goddamn it."

"It must have gone okay," Quinn surmised. "You guys sang a song together this week, finally."

Santana glared upon hearing this last word, but Quinn remained unfazed.

"I was so happy for you guys," Quinn told her. "But no one in that room was as happy as Brittany."

Santana lowered her head in shame.

"She did seem pretty glad I went through with it."

"I know she was," Quinn agreed. "Then you went and screwed it up with the 'no labels' spiel."

"Why is everyone suddenly so concerned about how I define myself?!" Santana complained loudly and rose to her feet. "I don't see you having some intervention to tell you that you can't bang a girl or two without rearranging your whole life around that fact."

"I'm dealing with a lot of soul searching too," Quinn replied. "Trust me; I'm not letting myself off the hook but making you go up to bat. It's just that there's one really important difference: you have Brittany. Whatever you decide, that's going to affect her too. She's been waiting a really long time, Santana. You can't keep jerking her emotions around this way."

"I don't want to make a decision that everyone is going to force me stick to for the rest of my high school life and maybe longer!" Santana wailed. "I can't have everyone at school looking at me differently, not to mention my family…"

"You don't have to proclaim your identity right now," Quinn assured her. "Brittany wouldn't ask for that. All she wants is for you to really be with her, none of this secret lovers bull crap."

Santana appeared prepared to argue again, but a stern look from Quinn silenced her.

"Straight, bi, lesbian, whatever, she doesn't care," Quinn continued. "All she wants is for you guys to be honest with yourselves and the world about how you really feel for each other."

"I am so sick of everyone bringing that word into this conversation!" Santana fumed. "I keep trying to make them understand. It is my call here, after all. So, for the last time, I am not a –"

She dropped her voice to a furious whisper.

"I am not a fucking lesbian."

Quinn's shoulders sagged and she shook her head sadly.

"I've known you for long enough to be well aware that you're going to do whatever the hell you want to do," she sighed. "But, in the end, you've got to ask yourself one question: do you want to be right, or do you want to be happy?"

… … …

The long abandoned bedroom was so cold and still when she entered. Santana ran her hands along her arms before she rubbed her palms together.

"Okay, Tony," she whispered. "I'm here. I have your letter."

She produced the envelope she had removed from his desk and held it aloft as if he were sitting there to see it.

"I told myself that I was never going to read it," she confessed. "I just kept this locked away because I didn't want you to have any last words, not for me. I never wanted there to be a goodbye."

Santana sat on the floor and folded her legs beneath her. She set the envelope on the floor in a patch of sunlight. It sat bathed in the almost heavenly glow, promising yet frightening at the same time.

"I'm just so lost right now," Santana finally wept. "I'm so fucking lost. I really need someone to talk to about everything. I need you."

She traced her finger lovingly over the handwriting and smiled a little.

"You always knew how to make everything better. You're really going to have your work cut out for you with this one but it's worth it to try. I'm really hoping that before… before you died…," Santana paused a moment as a sob cut off her words. "Maybe… maybe you looked back on life and saw something that I can't from here. Maybe you can tell me what I'm supposed to do."

Santana hesitantly reached for the envelope. She turned it over and eased it open, careful not to tear the flap. Her hands trembled visibly while she unfolded the papers within and smoothed them out in her lap. Then, with one last bracing breath, she began to read.

"Dear Santana,

Hey, Tiger. I know this isn't the way that either of us wanted our next conversation to be, with you where you are and me where I've gone. As I write, I'm hoping that I won't have gone anywhere and maybe you won't ever have to read this. Maybe I can tell you this stuff in person. But, if life didn't last long enough to give me that chance, I want to make sure my words get back to you even if I do not.

Firstly and maybe most importantly, I need you to know that you have nothing to regret when it comes to me. I know, when people lose someone they love, they do that whole "would have, should have, could have" thing. Don't think like that, Tana. You and I had normal brother and sister squabbles, especially back during the "Garbage Face" days (ha ha), but we both know we never meant any of the mean things we said as little kids. Try not to imagine all the good times we could have had. Think instead of the ones we did have, and look back on them as fondly as I do now. You were the most awesome little sister I could have asked for, even with that loud mouth and the windmilling arms. All bruising aside, I actually really loved that you were a fighter. I know that, no matter when you're reading this, you still are. Don't forget that. Your fire is your greatest strength.

All right, secondly: go easy on Mom and Dad. Don't pull that face at me; I mean it. They show it differently – well, Mom shows it differently and Dad tries not to show it at all – but they're hurting, too. I'm not saying become the best buddies ever, but don't be afraid to level with them now and again. They might surprise you.

Then there's the last thing. Right now, at the age that you are in my time, it may be too early. I hope I don't scare you. Just bear with me, okay? I'll try my best.

There may come a time when you realize that you're different. Not in the 'people are like snowflakes' way, but a kind of different that will probably lead to people giving you a hard time. It may even mean that you give yourself a hard time. Standing out can be hard, especially for something that not everybody accepts. I'd try to give you advice there, but it's hard to do without being able to tailor it to exactly how your situation will play out, you know? I can, however, tell you three things I want you to know for certain.

1. Don't hide from yourself. – Maybe you won't want everybody in on your business, and that's totally okay. It's not their life; you don't owe them the details. Just don't keep yourself in the dark. You know that saying, "The truth will out?" It's totally right, even when you don't want it to be. We can only fake being something we're not so far and for so long. What you've got to do – and I know this is scary as hell – is look your reflection right in the eye and ask yourself, 'If no one else was looking, who would I be?' Whatever the answer is, no matter how different it may be from the way you've convinced everyone that you are, that's the real you. Be her. Embrace her. She'll make you happy.

2. Being louder doesn't mean you're winning. – You know what I'm talking about, Tiger. You used to do this to me all the time. If I was saying something you knew was right but you didn't want to hear it, you'd drown me out until I stopped talking and thought you beat me. I'd bet every penny I have you're still doing that. Blocking out the truth doesn't make it stop being fact. Just know this: a fact alone cannot defeat you. It's how you respond to that truth that makes all the difference. Let it get past your defenses and look at it from all sides. Sometimes a thing is way less scary up-close than it was when it was looming in the distance.

3. Trust Brittany. – I know you'd insist that you already do, but I'm talking about a much bigger kind of trust. I write these next words with complete certainty. I trust Brittany with your life. You're my favorite person, Tana. I would only feel right letting someone else watch over you if I knew they felt the same way. Brittany aces my Protective Big Brother Test with flying colors. I know that, no matter where your life is taking you, Brittany's footsteps will run parallel to yours. Maybe they won't always be right next to you but, when you go looking for her, there she'll be just like always. Even if I can't be the one to keep you safe from harm, I at least know there's one person still there that will surround you with the support and love you deserve.

I hate to say it more than anything, but it's time for me to bring this message to an end. There are just a few last things I have to say. I am always with you, Tana. Don't let that box they put in the ground fool you; I'm still here. When you visit my old room or wear a jacket that used to be mine, know that I'm there hugging you and watching over you in whatever way I can. Stay strong, Tiger, but remember that strength doesn't always mean that your face stays dry. Admitting you feel at all can take more courage for some than fighting ever requires. Deja que tu mente aconsejar pero tu corazón decidir, hermanita. I love you.

Ever yours,

Tony."

Santana let the letter drift down onto the carpet. She rose to her feet and went to her brother's old closet. After a few minutes' perusal, her fingers found the old coat they sought. It was one of his favorite camo jackets; he had worn it all through college. She put her arms into the sleeves and then returned to the floor, curling up into a ball with her knees clutched close to her chest.

Then Santana veiled herself from the rest of the world by closing her eyelids and she allowed herself to weep freely.

… … …

When Brittany first heard Santana's breathy voice beside her, she wasn't altogether certain what to expect.

"Hi," Santana greeted nervously.

"Hey," Brittany smiled back.

"Can we talk?"

"But we never do that," Brittany remarked. She tried to turn her lips up at the corner as she spoke the words, but the response was passive-aggressive and they both knew it.

"I know," Santana acknowledged guiltily. "But, um, I wanted to thank you for performing that song with me in Glee Club."

She was back again. Brittany could see it when Santana looked into her eyes. The walls had lowered – but for how long? She nodded her head a little.

"Yeah," Brittany said in response, leaving the 'of course' unspoken.

"'Cause it's made me do a lot of thinking," Santana proceeded.

As she spoke, Brittany could hear the way her breath was shuddering. It was as though Santana was trying to hold it and speak at the same time. Brittany stayed close to her and listened carefully. Santana looked so small and fragile. It was clear that, in spite of the crowded hallway, this was intended to be a hushed and private conversation.

"What I've realized is why I'm such a bitch all the time," Santana explained. "I'm a bitch because I'm angry. I'm angry because I have all of these feelings – feelings for you –"

Brittany felt the blood drain from her face. Her heart felt as though it momentarily vanished only to reappear a second later and find that it couldn't reattach itself properly.

"—that I'm afraid of dealing with because I'm afraid of dealing with the consequences."

There was a catch in Santana's voice as she confessed this. Brittany wanted to hold her, but she was afraid any sudden moves might end the monologue prematurely and she needed more than anything to hear how it would end.

"And, Brittany, I can't go to an Indigo Girls concert. I just can't."

"I understand that," Brittany hastened to confirm. She had never expected Santana to embrace a whole community and thrust herself into its center.

"Do you understand what I'm trying to say here?" Santana asked hopefully.

Brittany knew exactly what it meant but, after three years of waiting, she still wanted to hear the words.

"No, not really," Brittany said with a slow shake of her head that moved the rest of her body with it.

"I want to be with you."

There it was. Everything she'd ever wanted in one simple sentence. Brittany couldn't decide how to respond. She felt an overwhelming urge to cry but, with Santana so close to doing so herself, it seemed important to stay strong at least for now.

"But I'm afraid of the talks, and the looks. I mean, you know what happened to Kurt at this school."

This was more than just a confession of feelings, Brittany realized then. It was an acknowledgement of the part of herself that Brittany had always wanted her to find a way to accept. It was an admission that Santana had made a discovery about herself and was trying to come to terms.

Brittany brightened while wanting to believe that, just as she had always been even since childhood, Santana would be invincible.

"But, honey," Brittany said optimistically. "If anybody were to ever make fun of you, you would either kick their ass or slash them with your vicious, vicious words."

She looked to Santana, hoping the gentle teasing would at least make her smile. They both knew from her altercations in the past that Santana had yet to come out the victor in a physical fight. To Brittany's dismay, Santana appeared closer to tears than ever.

"Yeah, I know," Santana sniffled. "But I'm so afraid of what everyone will say behind my back."

As the first tears sprang to life on the edges of Santana's eyelids, Brittany checked again for any possible eavesdroppers. The last thing either of them needed right now was an interruption when Santana was at her most vulnerable.

"Still, I have to accept…," Santana plowed on, struggling to form the words and fight down a sob simultaneously. "… that I love you."

Just three words, so simple and overused, yet Brittany knew she would play them back over and over again in her mind when all this was finished.

"I love you," Santana repeated more adamantly. "And I don't want to be with Sam, or Finn, or any of those other guys. I just want you."

It was all that Brittany had wished and, at times, even prayed for over the course of the past few years. She had waited so long but, now that it was here, she was tied to someone else. It was getting increasingly difficult to be the strong one when it seemed as if fate was somehow mocking her and offering her what she'd always wanted at the precise time that she could not have it.

"Please say you love me back," Santana begged. "Please."

"Of course I love you," Brittany asserted. "I do."

Here now was the hardest part. Brittany cursed herself for adding it but this was something she knew could not be omitted.

"And I would totally be with you if it weren't for Artie."

"Artie?" Santana repeated disbelievingly.

"I love him, too."

Santana looked as if she had just been stabbed in the ribcage. Brittany wanted to add that the loves were different, that all she needed was patience and time. However, given how hard it had been for Santana to say these words at all, she doubted that the other girl would be willing to comply with a plea to wait a little longer.

"I don't want to hurt him," Brittany explained. "That's not right. I can't break up with him."

Especially not after Tina already had. Two desertions in favor of another partner would crush the boy altogether. He would never trust his feelings again, never freely give his love to anyone. Brittany did not want to be responsible for twisting someone she cared about into something bitter and jaded.

"Yes, you can!" Santana argued. "He's just a stupid boy."

She was looking away and shaking her head now, avoiding eye contact while tears streamed down her face. Brittany knew she was losing her again and there didn't seem to be anyway to retrieve the moment they had shared only a few seconds before.

"But it wouldn't be right," Brittany tried to help her see, to no avail. "Santana, you have to know if Artie and I were to ever break up, and I'm lucky enough that you're still single…"

No, the voice in Brittany's mind thought vehemently. Not another girl. There isn't supposed to be any other girl. It's supposed to be me.

All the same, she knew what it was to wait indefinitely and knew she could not ask that of Santana, no matter how much she wanted to do so. Santana's arms were crossed tightly over her body, shutting out the argument, shutting out the urge they both felt to hold onto each other. Brittany couldn't bear it. She reached out and tried to loosen the hold.

Santana freed her arm with a light swat and her eyes flashed.

"Don't," she commanded and held her hand aloft.

"I am so yours," Brittany said honestly. "Proudly so."

Santana tilted her head from side to side, as if all of Brittany's love was worthless to her now if she couldn't have it in the form that she wanted and at time that she declared she wanted it.

"Yeah, wow," she responded sarcastically. "Whoever thought that being fluid meant you could be so stuck?"

The verbal stab struck true and Brittany's chest throbbed painfully. This was the only time Santana had ever spoken to her as though the way she shared herself was somehow corrupt. Brittany could hear the accusation in it, feel the blame being set on her shoulders. If she loved only one gender and not another, she could wash her hands of the ties that bound her and be free to be with Santana. Still, Brittany could not give Santana what she wanted. Artie was a person, too. Just because she had inadvertently attached herself to him just before she would want to be free did not mean he deserved the emotional wreckage that would follow.

"I'm sorry," Brittany whimpered when Santana began to sob openly. "Don't…"

She finally reached out her arms and tried to enfold Santana in an embrace, but the latter was ready and shoved her away.

"Get off me!"

Santana took one last look, turned on her heel, and stalked away. Brittany stomped her foot. Why was it that trying to do the right thing always led to her being in the wrong?

… … …

"So this is weird," Finn admitted.

"Yeah," Quinn concurred with a humorless laugh. "It's been a long time."

"Uh huh," Finn nodded and rubbed his hands on the knees of his jeans. "Plus we're in your bedroom. We never came up here… before."

"Being home alone until dinner does have its benefits," Quinn said. "Mom's finally out of my hair because she has to work to pay the bills and I get some unsupervised time with you."

Finn nodded and smiled but did not move. Quinn laughed and reached for his hand.

"You can come sit on the bed with me, you know."

Sheepishly, Finn left his place on Quinn's wicker chair to join her on the mattress.

"Wow," he said quietly. "A year ago, I couldn't wait to be here this way with you. Now, I don't really know what to do."

"You could start by kissing me," Quinn suggested.

Finn cupped her face and pressed his lips to hers. Quinn gave him an encouraging smile and scooted higher onto the bed so that her legs were no longer dangling over the edge.

"Where are you going?" Finn queried in dismay.

"I'm getting more comfortable," Quinn giggled. "C'mere."

Finn followed her lead and stretched out beside her. They kissed again and Quinn guided his hand to her rump. She felt the boy's eyebrows lift in surprise but he did not withdraw his palm.

Then her cell phone buzzed. They both sighed.

"Just a second," Quinn said apologetically.

"Who is it?" Finn asked.

"It's Rachel," Quinn mumbled and ran her thumb over the name. "Just one of those club reminders she sends out."

"Ignore it," Finn urged and sat up to kiss Quinn's neck. "You can talk to her about it when you see her at school tomorrow."

Quinn nodded absently and, with difficulty, returned the phone to her nightstand.

"Where were we?" she purred and wrapped her arms around Finn's shoulders.

"Right here," Finn answered and returned his hand to where it had been prior to the text.

"Now I remember," Quinn smiled and arched her back, pressing her torso to his.

"Quinn?" Finn asked hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"This feels like it's going somewhere."

"That's the idea," Quinn confirmed and nibbled on his earlobe.

"Are you positive that's what you want? You're sure this okay?"

The phone buzzed again and Quinn shut her eyes. She deliberately brushed her lips against Finn's as she whispered.

"Of course I am."

… … …

The weekend that followed their conversation at the lockers was the longest of Brittany's life. She barely ate; her sleep was sporadic and broken, and nothing seemed to require enough of her attention to distract her from what had happened.

When Monday arrived, Brittany resolved to try to approach Santana and discuss things further now that, hopefully, the other girl would have had time to cool down and be open to talking again.

She found Santana in the hallway at their lockers, just as she had been on Friday, only now it was Brittany who was approaching nervously while Santana's back was turned.

"Hey," Brittany greeted softly. "Can I ask you a question?"

Santana remained silent and refused to even spare her a glance.

"We used to be really close, and I really miss being your friend – " Brittany prefaced.

"Still waiting for the question," Santana interjected coldly.

"Did I do something wrong?" Brittany queried feebly. She knew what was coming even as she voiced the words, but it was the only way she could think of to get inside Santana's head and find out where things stood between them now.

"No. Look, I don't know. Did you?" Santana asked sarcastically. "All I know is you blew me off to be with Stubbles McCripplepants. That's fine. It's your loss."

She had taken their previous conversation for an outright rejection, then. Brittany tried to make eye contact, to plead for her to understand, but those dark irises would brook no arguments or see any pain outside of her own.

"'Cause now I get the chance to write an awesome heterosexual song about Sam," Santana added spitefully. "That we're gonna sing at Regionals."

"Wait, you're still dating Sam?" Brittany asked incredulously.

Another heart in the balance, another kind person being dragged into a messy situation of which he was being kept in blissful ignorance. Brittany tried to set that consideration aside long enough to press on to what she really needed to clarify.

"But you told me you were in love with me," she reminded Santana in an undertone.

"I honestly don't know what I was thinking," Santana fired back before she returned her attention to the lock in her hands.

Brittany pressed her lips together. Now all that progress was just another retreat, another time that Santana dipped her foot into the water only to sprint back into the pool house.

"Look, can you stop staring at me?" Santana demanded in frustration. "I can't remember my locker combo."

"Well, well, well," a cold voice behind them interrupted.

Alarmed, they both turned to find themselves face to face with Sue Sylvester.

"If it isn't Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Fake Boobs," Sue sneered.

Brittany crossed her arms and mustered her courage.

"You know, you can't talk to us like that," she said firmly. "You're not our cheer coach anymore."

"I'm not anybody's cheerleading coach anymore," Sue pointed out mournfully. "You betrayed me and, in case you haven't heard, I like to play dirty."

Brittany and Santana turned in unison, opting to ignore her taunts and get their books. It was nearly time for class anyway; they couldn't afford to dawdle while she played head games. They managed to open their locks and get into their lockers – only for a sudden rush of soil to come streaming out and cover their faces and torsos. Brittany gagged and spat repeatedly as she got a mouthful of dirt.

The soil had been packed solidly, covering everything they stored in that small space. It would take ages to clear away the damage and, even then, some things would be ruined beyond repair. By the time Santana and Brittany turned again to look for Sue, she had gone, no doubt smirking and walking with an extra bounce in her step.

"Shit!" Santana fumed and kicked one of the bottom lockers. "I do not need any of her fucked up retribution right now!"

"We're gonna have to go clean this off," Brittany determined.

"Oh no," Santana waggled a finger. "There is not going to be any 'us' in this. You made that abundantly clear on Friday. I will clean off my own damn face, thank you very much."

She stomped off toward the bathroom with Brittany not far behind her. They stepped onto the linoleum and approached adjacent sinks, turning on the taps before running their hands underneath the faucets.

Brittany bent low and caught some of the stream in her mouth, swishing it around thoroughly before she parted her lips again and let the now brown water wash down the drain. Santana scrubbed her cheeks repeatedly and splashed some water on her neck.

"That was cool of you to stand up to Sue like that," she admitted after a few minutes. "Coach has always been horrible to you and I know she scares you. That must have been hard."

Santana twisted off the tap and tore a paper towel from the dispenser.

"Shame you couldn't find balls like that when I needed you to be brave."

She left the bathroom and turned right, heading toward the nurse's office to make the call for a fresh change of clothes to be brought to her. The other girl did not follow.

Brittany turned off the water in her own sink and walked to the end of the line of bathroom stalls. She went into the handicapped stall, locked the door, and sank down onto the toilet with her head in her hands. When the first bell finally rang, she ignored it while her sobs echoed off the walls and filled her ears.

… … …

"Are you sure I really have songwriting talent?" Rachel asked despondently from where she was sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by crumpled papers covered in crossed-out lyrics.

"Of course you do," Quinn assured her while she doodled in the margins of her own notebook. "Listen, of all of us, you have the most extensive theatrical background. You know what makes songs work, what elements create a crowd-pleaser."

"I suppose that's true," Rachel nodded and reached for one of the paper balls, tossing it in the air and catching it in the opposite hand. "But none of that knowledge seems to be doing me much good in creating my own award-winning hit."

The New Directions, in an attempt to make themselves stand out and put their club ahead, had voted to write original songs for the Regionals competition. They had very nearly vetoed the idea and shut Rachel down but, just as the decision was being put to a vote, Quinn had spoken up on Rachel's behalf. She volunteered to work with her on the group number while the rest of the club came up with an opening song.

While Rachel viewed it as an unexpectedly kind gesture, Quinn had ulterior motives. She had taken her erstwhile rival's side to keep Rachel and Finn apart and – on a level that she would not admit even to herself – to try out being in Rachel's company away from all the drama in the halls of McKinley.

"I think maybe what you just said is the problem," Quinn mused aloud. "You want an award-winning hit. Your goal isn't to express emotional honesty; you're trying to manufacture a specific reaction in your audience."

Rachel sat up with a furrowed brow.

"But isn't that what all good songs do?" she inquired. "They make us feel very deeply; they connect with us on an almost spiritual level. It's like someone found the lyrics of our soul."

Quinn slid off the bed and settled in front of Rachel on the floor.

"Exactly," she nodded. "But you can't achieve that by writing something and thinking 'I want this to make you sad' or 'I want this song to make you smile.'"

"Then what should I do?"

"Try this," Quinn suggested. "Close your eyes."

"If I do that, I may fall asleep sitting up. All this brainstorming has been exhausting."

"Yes, yes," Quinn acknowledged impatiently. "You've been working very hard. Now come over here; sit with your back facing me."

Rachel tilted her head to the side confusedly but complied. Quinn splayed her legs and scooted until her front was pressed to Rachel's back. She covered Rachel's eyes with her hands and rested her chin on the girl's shoulder.

"All right," she said quietly. "I need you to picture everything I describe, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel softly consented.

"You're fast asleep," Quinn murmured. "But it isn't peaceful. You're tossing and turning. The sheets are getting all knotted around your ankles. You wake up gasping and your heart is pounding."

Rachel whimpered a little but nodded.

"What fear is it that was playing out in your nightmare?"

"Finn hated me," Rachel said honestly. "He stopped believing in my talent and my dreams. He stopped caring about me at all. I was on my path to stardom and he wasn't beside me."

Quinn gritted her teeth. She grimaced and shut her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Why don't we just set that train of thought on the maybe track?" she suggested tersely. "I'll try something else. Ready?"

Rachel nodded again and wrung her hands together in her lap.

"The sun is up and it's morning," Quinn prompted. "The alarm goes off and you sit up in bed. What's your first thought?"

"My rituals," Rachel replied. "I've maintained the same morning routine for my entire high school career."

Quinn sighed.

"All right, maybe that's the wrong part of the day to address," she mumbled. "How about this one - you get to school and walk down the entrance hall on the way to your locker. What's on your mind?"

"I really hope I don't get slushied because this is my favorite sweater," Rachel fretted.

"Good!" Quinn encouraged. "Now we've got something."

"We do?" Rachel asked amazedly.

"Yes," Quinn enthused. "Bullying. The school does virtually nothing to stop it. Athletes essentially receive a slap on the wrist and are sent on their way."

Quinn relinquished her hold on Rachel and crawled around to sit in front of her.

"Don't you see it?" she prompted. "This is the one issue that unites the entire club: the treatment we suffer at the hands of the rest of the student body."

"Our peers have been decidedly less than supportive of the performing arts," Rachel nodded. "And some have crossed over into being outright aggressive in the expression of their displeasure. It can be a tad disheartening."

Quinn rolled her eyes affectionately and summarized:

"They treat us like crap and we're all sick of it."

"Yeah," Rachel mumbled and lowered her eyes to the floor.

Quinn crooked a finger and tilted her chin up so they were eye to eye.

"So fight back," she challenged. "Use the thing they try to kill as a weapon against them: your song. That's what these lyrics need to be about for us to all connect to them. It's a declaration. It's going to say that they can have their kicks now, but we'll get the last laugh."

Rachel took Quinn's hand and gave it an excited squeeze.

"Hand me that notebook again, Quinn," she instructed happily. "I have an idea."

… … …

Brittany woke to the sound of crackling. She sat upright and pushed her mussed hair away from her eyes. Nothing in the room seemed amiss. Lord Tubbington had not even lifted his head where he was lightly dozing at the foot of the bed.

Then she heard the sound again. It wasn't coming from inside the room at all; it was outside the window.

"Not again?" Brittany murmured disbelievingly as she clambered over the pillows lining the vacant side of the mattress and shuffled toward the curtains.

When she peered out into the darkness, there was no sign of the face she expected. The stars were twinkling in the pitch black sky and the oak tree was swaying slightly in the nighttime breeze. Then small dots flew at her face and smacked the glass. Brittany drew back in alarm until it finally registered: pebbles.

Brittany unlocked her window and pushed up the bottom pane.

"Santana?" she whispered raggedly.

"… Yeah," was the feeble confirmation from the ground.

"It's two o'clock in the morning," Brittany called back. "Why are you throwing rocks?"

"Gravel, actually," Santana corrected. "Look, I've been standing here for fifteen minutes trying to even hit the damn window because my aim is crap. Will you please get your ass down here?"

"Okay," Brittany agreed. "I'll be down in just a minute."

She closed the window again, locked it, and reached for her fluffy robe. Her feet slid into a pair of soft slippers and she padded out of her bedroom. A few moments later, Brittany emerged from the house and walked along the brick path to the driveway.

"Santana?" she called out timidly.

Santana appeared under the lattice arch, strode toward Brittany, and jerked her head over her shoulder. Brittany followed the unspoken command and they both moved to stand together on the other side of the garage, using the structure as a sound barrier so they didn't have to modify their tone.

"I need to talk," Santana stated abruptly.

"Just you?" Brittany clarified.

"Yeah," Santana confirmed impassively. "I need you to listen."

Brittany folded her arms and nodded, rubbing her legs together to ward off the chill.

"Last week, I told you something important," Santana prefaced. "I told you the most important thing in my whole life. Then you just weren't there. I needed you and you weren't there."

"You pushed me away," Brittany pointed out despairingly.

Santana held up an impatient finger and Brittany closed her mouth again.

"At first, I just accepted your response. I wanted to be with you but you didn't want to be with me. What else could I do?" Santana miserably explained. "But you know what? No. Fuck that. You and me… We've been us for almost longer than that creep you call your boyfriend has been alive."

This estimation was off by about five years, but Brittany did not dispute it.

"My point is, I don't give a damn about whatever moral code is governing you right now," Santana stated heatedly. "You and I trump you and Artie, do you understand me? I can't just keep going to school every day and seeing you with him. That spot he's in belongs to me. You know it does. How can you choose him over me?"

"I tried to tell you before," Brittany wept. "It's not choosing one over the other. I just… I know you don't know him as well, but Artie has had a lot of people leave him. I can't be another one of those people. Not without a reason."

Santana tried to interject but Brittany gently pressed a hand to her chest.

"Not that you aren't a reason. You're the best reason in the world. But it would be like punishing Artie for something he didn't do. I can't do that to him. He really is a good guy. He deserves better."

"So set him free. Let him find better," Santana retorted. "Be with me instead."

"Not yet."

"Don't give me that 'give it time' bullshit!" Santana growled. "It has taken me seventeen years to get this far. I beat my way around that bush for a ridiculously long amount of time and now you want me to turn a few more circles until you're good and ready?"

Brittany's mouth twisted and she pulled away, shaking her head.

"I'm the one who is making you wait?" she inquired bitterly. "Santana, I have been in love with you since I was thirteen years old! Maybe longer, but that was when I finally figured it out. Then, when we were fourteen, you… You kissed me. On purpose. We were together and I thought it meant you wanted me too but then I woke up and there was just an empty bed and a note."

Santana's features were etched with regret, but she could not offer a sufficient explanation.

"And it's been that way ever since," Brittany cried. "That's what we come down to: an empty bed and a note. I keep waiting and waiting, hoping and hoping, and you leave me. You're there and then you're gone."

"Fair enough," Santana conceded. "But I'm here now and Artie doesn't –"

"Don't," Brittany hiccupped. "Don't try to say more bad things about Artie. Yeah, he is a boy a-a-and he and I won't always be together. It's a high school relationship and it won't get far. But he's sweet and he says what he means and he doesn't change his mind all the time. When we have sex, he stays with me after it's over."

"That's because he can't get back up."

Brittany's eyes glinted in a way that Santana seldom saw and she lowered her head.

"Sorry."

"Plus, Artie says he loves me and doesn't take it back," Brittany continued. "You finally said it to me for real on Friday and then told me Monday it was a mistake. Artie says he loves me and I talk to him the next day and he still does. A week later, it's still the same. I feel like, every time something goes wrong, I lose you. Even when it's out of my control, you just slip through my fingers and I can't make you stay."

Santana folded her arms and slumped against the side of the garage, unable to look up as she continued to listen.

"Honey, we had just done it in my bedroom and you said I was just filler until Puck got out of juvie. I-I couldn't keep giving you everything and having you throw it all back at me whenever you got scared," Brittany explained. "Just for a little while, I needed to be somewhere that didn't hurt so much."

"You needed Artie," Santana said wretchedly.

"Yeah," Brittany helplessly shrugged. "Only then you finally wanted me back and… now we're like this."

"So, instead of punishing Artie for what he didn't do, you're punishing me for not speaking up soon enough," Santana concluded.

Brittany tugged at her hair and gestured exasperatedly in the air.

"No!" she negated wearily. "I am just letting everything run its course. I am so afraid, Santana. I'm scared of other people getting hurt. Worst of all, I'm scared that, even now that you know how you feel, you won't stick around. Somebody will say something you don't like or look at you the wrong way and you'll disappear on me."

Brittany turned away and paced a little, drumming up the courage to say the thing she needed to voice but feared to release into the air.

"You can't keep leaving me alone," she declared finally, voice breaking. "What you do is shitty, Santana. It's really shitty. Until you can promise me that you'll let me be by your side at the bad times as well as the good, I think it's only going to be bad for everybody."

Rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands, Brittany turned around and marched back toward the house. She heard a car door and an engine rev as she stepped onto the porch but did not look back. The headlights washed over her and Brittany shut her eyes briefly before opening the front door. Then she stepped back inside the house and left only an empty driveway behind.

… … …

"Hi, Brittany," Quinn greeted listlessly from where she was leaning against one of the tables in McKinley's courtyard.

"Hey, Quinn," Brittany said back and joined her on the bench.

"Why the long face?" Quinn asked.

"My face is always long," Brittany joked.

"Har har," Quinn said and nudged her friend reprovingly. "Seriously. You look really sad."

"You don't look very happy, either," Brittany noted.

"Yeah," Quinn admitted slowly. "That's probably my own fault, though."

"What happened?"

"I had a bit of an argument with Rachel the other day," Quinn sighed.

"I thought you guys were being friends now?"

"We were," Quinn nodded. "But then I said some things she didn't want to hear and now she'll probably hate me forever."

"What did you tell her?" Brittany asked.

"I said that she should be somewhere bigger and brighter than Lima," Quinn replied.

"That was nice."

"I also said she couldn't take Finn with her."

"Oh," Brittany said quietly. "And that's when she got upset?"

Quinn nodded grimly.

"Eloquent as ever, Fabray," she berated herself. "All I was saying was that he can't keep up with her life. Some people have that star quality, others don't. Finn, for all his musical ability, is not the man she wants to think he is. He'll be an anchor; he'll weigh her down."

Brittany nodded and slumped until she could lean her head back against the table.

"So then what happened?" she queried.

"She walked away," Quinn answered sadly. "She said she wants to write a song on her own."

Brittany tilted her head to the side and brushed her fingers over her friend's knee.

"I'm sorry, Quinn," she said sincerely. "I know you really liked working with her."

Quinn's eyebrows lifted.

"I-It was – we made a good team, I guess."

"You like being around her," Brittany surmised.

"How…?" Quinn marveled.

Brittany touched a finger to the tip of her nose.

"Best friend," she said simply. "I see stuff."

Quinn laughed and shook her head.

"Yeah, you really do."

Brittany reached out and held Quinn's hand in hers, knocking their clasped fists together against their thighs companionably.

"Your turn," Quinn prompted.

"For what?"

"To spill," Quinn expounded. "I told you my tale of woe. What's the cause of your personal raincloud? But wait, let me guess: Santana."

Brittany covered her eyes with her free hand.

"Yes."

"What this time?" Quinn asked.

"She told me she loves me."

Quinn brightened and sat upright.

"No shit? It is about damn time."

"Yeah, but she took it back," Brittany said. "Then tried again. It's different every day, back and forth."

Quinn rested her head on Brittany's shoulder.

"Remember when none of us were dating anybody?" she asked wistfully.

"Simpler times," Brittany concurred.

They laughed.

"You said it," Quinn chuckled. "Now trying to fix one mess just creates another."

"How do we make it all better?" Brittany asked desperately.

"I really wish I knew," Quinn admitted. "Maybe it doesn't ever get back to where it was. Maybe we have to make a new kind of good."

"Maybe so," Brittany said thoughtfully. "Do you think Santana and I can have a new kind of good?"

Quinn twisted onto her side to look at her friend directly.

"I can't be sure, but I do know this: if any two people in this godforsaken town have earned their happy ending, it's you guys."

… … …

Santana arrived at school early that day. She didn't want to have yet another conversation at the lockers. Trying to behave normally around Brittany was impossible now. Instead, she gathered some of her books in advance and took them all to her first period classroom, leaving them stowed under her desk. So she'd be walking around looking like a nerd with an armload of books; it had to beat being forced to remember their conversation in Brittany's driveway and all the things that had been weighing heavily on her mind since then.

The plan seemed altogether perfect until she nearly walked headlong into Brittany an hour later.

"Hey," Brittany said gently.

"Hi," Santana returned and heard an edge in her voice that she had not necessarily intended. "So I saw you on T.V."

Brittany nodded and scuffed her shoes on the floor.

"Artie and the rest of the Brainiacs needed another member because one of theirs bailed."

"Good thing they asked you, 'cause you saved their sorry asses. You owned that cat diseases category."

Brittany laughed self-consciously and shrugged. They both shifted uneasily, unable to think of more to say and yet unwilling to sidestep each other and walk onward to the next class.

"This is the worst feeling in the world." Brittany frowned.

"Which part?" Santana retorted before she could stop herself. "Breaking my heart or having to face me after you put it through a wood chipper?"

Brittany's anguished expression was enough to make Santana immediately regret her words.

"Both," Brittany answered thickly. "Also knowing that, no matter what I do, someone I care about will be hurting. I can't help anybody."

"Not even yourself," Santana remarked.

Brittany looked up hopefully, uncertain whether this observation was being spoken from a place of anger or mutual personal experience. Before either of them could analyze the situation further, however, their exchange was cut coldly and harshly short by Karofsky passing by with a cherry slushie.

It hit Santana squarely in the face. She opened her mouth as if to cry out but instead stood shocked and sputtering as the freezing liquid stung her eyes, seeped into her scalp, stained her striped shirt, and oozed down her bra.

"Santana!" Brittany cried and immediately reached for her.

"SON OF A BITCH!" Santana bellowed hoping that, wherever Karofsky was, he could hear her rage. Mentally, she vowed revenge in whatever way presented itself first.

"C'mon," Brittany urged as she checked her pockets. "Darn… I'm out of tissues. I'll walk you to the bathroom, okay? Just hold my hand. Baby steps."

Santana resisted the urge to snark and clung to Brittany's arm tightly. They shuffled toward the girls' restroom at the other end of the hall. Brittany snatched a towel from the dispenser and immediately began dabbing at Santana's eyes.

"You know, it really doesn't make sense to help clean somebody up after they were being a bitch to you," Santana commented somewhat guiltily.

"But it does if that person means more to you than what they say," Brittany murmured without stopping her attentive care.

Santana tried to suck on her lip but got a mouthful of cherry flavor.

"The second time this month I'll have to call for a change of clothes," Santana remarked bitterly. "My mother's gonna have a coronary."

"If you explain, she'll know it wasn't your fault."

"Let her know that I'm being assaulted with soil and icy drinks?" Santana laughed. "I think not. The last thing I need is Maribel Lopez storming the halls with lawyer guns a'blazing. No, I'd rather not give those bastards the satisfaction of knowing I ran home to mommy."

"Why won't you let anyone help you?" Brittany whispered sadly.

"I thought that's what you were doing."

Brittany pursed her lips and let the comment go without rebuttal. She gingerly picked the ice chunks out of Santana's hair and, after moistening a second paper towel, dabbed at her scalp.

"I thought a lot about what you said," Santana confessed while she tried to be patient and hold still. "In the driveway, I mean. You… You weren't wrong."

Brittany did not make any verbal response. However, her lip quivered slightly as she wiped Santana's neck and collarbone.

"I'm sorry I'm such a fuck up," Santana mumbled around the lump that had formed in her throat.

"You're not," Brittany asserted while shaking her head adamantly. "I'm sorry I said more things that hurt you."

Santana grabbed the sides of Brittany's face and forced the other girl to look her in the eye.

"Don't be," she said firmly. "You get a say, too. It's my fault for trying to silence you so long just because you tell me things I need to hear that aren't always what I want to hear. I love you. I should be the one encouraging your voice, not hushing it up because I'm afraid what it will make me face."

Brittany clutched the backs of Santana's hands and allowed a few tiny tears to trickle out of the corners of her eyelids.

"I love you, too," she whimpered.

"You are the wisest person I know," Santana told her genuinely. "I need to learn to look at things from the perspective you try to show me, not just shut it down because it doesn't fit the way I want things to be."

"So, you understand?" Brittany asked quietly.

Santana took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yeah. I mean, I'd be a damned liar if I said I liked it but I do get it. You're pure goodness. That means toward everybody, not just me. You've got to do the right thing, even if that means putting off something you want."

"Need," Brittany corrected in an almost inaudible voice. "Someone that I need."

Santana popped up on tiptoe and held Brittany's shoulders. She pressed a light, chaste kiss to her lips. Brittany returned the kiss while her body shook beneath Santana's palms.

"I won't move on, okay?" Santana said. "I need you to know that right now. Whenever you and Artie are done, I'm gonna be here."

Brittany pressed their foreheads together and nodded.

"Now," Santana said with forced brightness. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go wipe cherry juice off my tits."

… … …

"Can I see you?" Quinn asked gently.

"All right," Rachel hesitantly consented. "But I should warn you; it's likely worse than you may have imagined."

She dug her short nails under the bandage across the bridge of her nose and peeled it away from the skin.

"Damn, Finn!" Quinn exclaimed although he was not present in Rachel's bedroom to hear her. "You bashed it to hell and back."

"He didn't mean to," Rachel defended mildly. "It was just a dancing accident."

"I know, but still," Quinn clicked her tongue. "How badly does it hurt?"

"It's very sensitive," Rachel admitted. "It still twinges and throbs now and again. It's especially unfortunate that this happened during allergy season so I've had to learn to contend with the pain of sneezing through a broken nose."

Quinn studied the bruising with a sympathetic expression and rubbed Rachel's arm.

"I really do hope it heals soon," she said earnestly. "But I'm confused. What could I possibly have to do with your recovery process?"

Rachel sat up a little straighter.

"That brings us to why I called you here today," she announced. "I need to ask you a favor."

"What kind of favor?" Quinn asked.

"I need something from you. Only if you're willing to give it, of course."

Oh God, Quinn thought in spite of herself. No, stop thinking like that. She does not mean this the way it's sounding. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

"And what's that?" Quinn prompted in an octave slightly higher than her natural register.

"Your nose."

"My what?"

"Your nose," Rachel repeated benignly. "The doctor suggested that I use this opportunity to alter my looks and my voice by changing my nose. So I thought maybe, if you were all right with it, I'd like to have yours."

"I… Rachel, I…. I need to think about this for a minute," Quinn said and sat heavily on the bed.

Rachel sat beside her. The brushing of their bare calves did nothing for Quinn's concentration level.

"Why mine?" Quinn finally queried. "You could have anyone's in the whole world. Angelina Jolie, Marion Cotillard, Natalie Portman… Why me?"

"Because Finn likes your nose," Rachel mumbled. "Along with the rest of you."

Quinn looked at her with a strange mingling of emotions ghosting across her face.

"Rachel, you don't want to change something like that to get someone else to like you."

You mean just like you did, said the little voice in the back of Quinn's mind. Are you really going to tell her she can't change one thing when you did a physical 180°?

"I know you don't approve of my continued interest in Finn," Rachel said tersely. "We discussed that matter on the stage in the auditorium and you stated your position on the matter in no uncertain terms. Still, the fact remains that I do care about him very much."

Quinn hid her face behind her hands for a moment. Then she lowered them again and turned to face Rachel more directly.

"All right, here's the thing," she said firmly. "You cannot do this because you want a specific person to see you differently. This is a major alteration, Rachel. If you commit to this, then it has to be for you and only you."

Rachel bit her lip and nodded slowly. Quinn reached out and took the other girl's hands in hers.

"I'm the last person in the world who would have room to tell you what decision is right for you," she said. "But, as your friend, I just really want you to be sure."

"I understand," Rachel acknowledged softly, looking down from Quinn's eyes to study their hands.

"Now, just hypothetically speaking with no offense intended, if ten years from now you and Finn weren't together in any sense of the word but you still had your new nose, would having the operation done be something you regret?"

"I can't be sure," Rachel shrugged. "It's hard to think that far ahead into the future and know how I'll feel about much of anything. It's even harder to think ahead and not see Finn as a part of my life."

Quinn sighed heavily and nudged Rachel's shoulder with her head.

"Well just think about it for a little while, all right? Sleep on it at the very least. I don't want to see you trap yourself into something that would do you more harm than good."

… … …

"Hey, Sammy."

"Hey Santana," Sam greeted from her front porch. "What's going on that you had to tell me in person?"

"Um, it's kind of a long story," Santana said, shifting from one foot to the other. "Here, come in."

She took him by the hand and pulled him into the foyer. Instead of turning right into the living room, she took him left into the sitting room and coaxed him into settling on the loveseat in front of the window.

"You're making me nervous," Sam told her, trying to force a laugh. "What's the news, Doc? Tell it to me straight."

Santana grabbed one of the Prussian blue armchairs and dragged it over to sit in front of him. She tucked her hair behind her ears and licked her lips.

"I need to talk to you about something," she began shakily. "It's something that's a little bit about us but mostly about me."

"I'm not about to get the 'it's not you, it's me' speech, am I?" Sam asked worriedly.

"No, no," Santana hastened to assure him. "I mean, not exactly. Ugh, let me try to start from the top."

Sam bumped his hands against Santana's affectionately and nodded, clearly pushing down his anxiety to concentrate on whatever she had to confide.

"You remember how I sang that song with Brittany, right?"

"Sure," Sam nodded. "That was really cool."

"Yeah, it was," Santana murmured. "The thing is… I meant that song, Sam."

"I get that," Sam smiled. "You connected with the lyrics and wanted to share them."

"I don't think you get it just yet," Santana disputed slowly. "I wasn't just singing the song with Brittany. I was singing it to Brittany."

Sam's brow furrowed and he absentmindedly rubbed Santana's hands with his thumbs while he tried to make sense of this.

"Here," Santana said and reached into her back pocket, carefully removing the envelope she had stowed there – her brother's letter. "I want you to read this."

"I'm not so good at reading," Sam said apologetically. "'Cause of the dyslexia, remember?"

"It's okay," Santana told him kindly. "Not the whole letter. Just…"

She paused to open the envelope, scan the letter's contents, and find the passage.

"Right here," she pointed. "Read from that sentence down to the end of Number Three, okay?"

Sam nodded and accepted the paper from her.

"I'll try."

"Take your time," Santana said patiently. "I won't rush you."

She sat back and folded her hands in her lap, knotting and unknotting her fingers while she tried to calm her nerves.

Sometime later, Sam set the paper aside gingerly on the empty cushion and looked up at her.

"Your brother… The way that Tony talks… He almost makes it sound like… Like you're…"

"I'm gay, Sam."

Sam sucked on his bottom lip and rubbed his hands on the knees of his jeans.

"How long have you known?"

"I have fought it for so long," Santana answered. "I thought that if I could somehow hide from it, maybe it would go away. Only it didn't."

"Was being with me hiding?" Sam asked tremulously.

Santana's lip quivered as she met his gaze.

"Sort of."

"So, yes."

She nodded and sniffled.

"You got me to figure out about Quinn and Finn so you could date me and hide?"

Santana lowered her head and clutched fistfuls of hair in her hands.

"I am a complete shit," she mumbled miserably.

Sam patted her back gawkily and squeezed her shoulder.

"Don't say that," he admonished sweetly. "I mean, no offense, this definitely wasn't the highest point in your moral history. Still… you were scared."

"Terrified," Santana whispered tearfully as she looked up at him again.

Sam bobbed his head and rubbed her knee.

"So you're really in love with Brittany?"

Santana nodded silently.

"Are you going to be with her now?"

Santana shook her head.

"Why not?"

"She doesn't want to hurt Artie."

"How is she going to avoid that?" Sam asked confusedly.

"Stay with him until they break up on their own, not make it because of me."

"That means she already thinks they're not going to last?"

"Not forever, no," Santana verified. "It's complicated."

Sam puffed out his cheeks and flopped backward.

"Yeah, it is," he concurred. "But, if she isn't going to tell him about this, why tell me?"

"Because I really like you, Sam," Santana explained. "As a friend, yeah, but I like you so much. I can't pretend to want things with you that I know I don't. Especially since, if I did, I'd be taking your first time from you. I've been there and I do not want to do it again. You deserve better. You deserve special. You deserve real love."

"Thanks," Sam mumbled despondently. "I'm glad you think so, I guess, even if it means I'm getting dumped right now."

"I am so sorry, Sammy," Santana apologized sincerely.

"Me, too," Sam agreed with a watery smile.

He stood and Santana followed suit. She threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly. Sam embraced her in return and rested his cheek on her hair.

"Thank you for telling me," he said quietly. "I know how big a deal that's got to be for you. I won't tell, I promise."

"I know you won't," Santana said confidently as she pulled away and caressed the sides of his face. "Saint Sam. I can trust you with anything."

… … …

Following the gentle breakup with Sam, Santana began Phase Two of her plan for how she would present herself to the student body while she waited for Brittany.

She had finally found dirt on Karofsky following the slushie facial he had given her. However, in light of the nature of the discovery, it was not something she could in good conscience use against him: Dave Karofsky was gay.

Santana caught him looking at Sam's backside while he was drinking from the water fountain. That was when a plan began to form inside her mind: she and Karofsky could be one another's beards. Granted, it would take a little deception on her part, but it was worth the try. If she could get Karofsky on her side, she could recondition and reform him, make him less of a threat to everyone. Maybe, if she did her job well enough, Kurt could even come back to McKinley and be with the friends he missed so badly.

There was just one problem: when she set her plan into action, having Dave join her for an announcement of their relationship in front of the Glee Club, she did not have a chance to brief Brittany on the latest development first.

When the club dispersed and left the choir room, Brittany was waiting at the lockers for Santana with her arms crossed. There was a half-confused, half-betrayed expression on her face.

"'I won't move on,'" Brittany quoted her in a voice thick with emotion. "'I'm gonna be here.'"

Santana took long strides to close the last bit of distance between them and whisper:

"It isn't real. Me and Karofsky, we aren't real. I promise you."

Brittany inhaled sharply through tightly pressed lips and nodded. She held Santana's hands and squeezed them.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I just got scared you had changed your mind."

"Not a chance," Santana asserted and briefly reached up to touch Brittany's cheek.

"So, what is going on?" Brittany asked bewilderedly. "Why are you with him?"

Santana checked over their shoulders and then pressed her lips to Brittany's ear.

"We're beards."

Brittany pulled away with a furrowed brow and a frown.

"Huh? Is that like a political party?"

Santana chuckled.

"No, those are Whigs. We're going to be each other's beards. Like gay beards. It's what it's called when two people who are gay date each other so people won't know they're gay."

"Karofsky is -"

"Shh," Santana urged gently. "Yeah. That's the only way I got him to agree, by pretending I'd tell. I wouldn't, of course, but I needed a little fear to goad him into compliance."

Brittany's mouth twisted a little, clearly bothered by the faux threat, but she did not say anything yet.

"That's how you got him to start that new club with you, the Bully Whips?" Brittany clarified.

"Uh huh," Santana nodded. "Karofsky is our school's biggest menace. If we can bring him to the side of the defenders rather than being a bully, maybe McKinley won't be such a hostile environment when… When you and I can be us for real."

Brittany nodded.

"I wish you didn't have to scare him, especially not with that," she said. "But I do hope you can get him to be nicer. Maybe, once he starts to like being good instead of being mean, you won't have to threaten him to make him do it and you can tell him the truth."

Santana smiled at Brittany lovingly.

"You always hold out hope for the most hopeless cases," she marveled.

"Nobody here is hopeless," Brittany insisted softly. "Somebody's got to believe."

"Fair enough," Santana said and inclined her head. "You keep believing in the goodness of mankind and I'll just keep believing in you."

… … …

"Frannie," Quinn sobbed as she paced back and forth in the empty gymnasium. "Pick up, pick up, pick up. No, not the answering machine!"

She stomped her foot and ran a hand through her hair.

"Frannie, it's me. I need you again," she laughed hysterically through her tears. "If you had a dollar for every time I said that to you I could pay for you and Alisha to commute from Chicago to Lima every weekend. Something's happened. Something really bad. They know. The whole school knows. A girl hacked into my records and found out about Lucy… about who I used to be and how I looked. I -"

"Hello?" a voice suddenly interjected.

"Oh, thank God," Quinn sighed with relief. "Frannie, it's all over for me. I'm completely ruined."

"Okay, okay," Frannie soothed. "Breathe, Goose. Sit down for a minute and just breathe."

Quinn obeyed and sat in the bleachers. She inhaled and exhaled shakily.

"There you go," Frannie encouraged. "Now, I need a little more information than what I caught while I was running toward the phone. A girl hacked your records? Why on Earth would she do that?"

"Because I want to be prom queen."

Frannie made an almost comically indignant noise on the other end of the line.

"What?"

"Prom queen," Quinn said again. "We kind of had a spat in the hallway the other day, purely verbal and very brief. Still it, uh, kind of drew a line in the sand between us. Lauren wanted to take me down. She doesn't know what this would mean to me. Or, at least, she didn't until recently. Somehow she got her hands on my file, did some digging and now she knows."

"All right," Frannie acknowledged thoughtfully. "But does it have to be so bad? You're a different person now, not just physically. You've grown and experienced so much. Lucy and everything she stands for is behind you now."

"Not anymore," Quinn wept miserably. "They'll use it against me. It's punishment, I know it. I got popular and conceited and this is the cosmic smack down that's supposed to put me back in my place."

"It is not some kind of divine discipline," Frannie negated with a laugh. "Sweetheart, I refuse to believe in a God that plays Whack-a-Mole with our self-esteem, and I know you don't believe in that either."

"I guess not," Quinn conceded. "But it still feels like somebody's getting back at me."

"The only person doing that is this Lauren you just told me about," Frannie asserted. "And, you'll see, even the results she's seeking won't pan out for her. You aren't half as bad as you think you are. If anything, this gossip should help your campaign."

"How so?" Quinn asked.

"Because, I still remember how high school worked. Centuries ago though it was," Frannie joked. "Nobody really wants to see the top of the top, cream of the crop type get the gold. Sure, there are plenty who will vote that way just because they figure that's how it will turn out regardless. The thing is, if we had an underdog, somebody else who could have that spot and prevent the popular kids from having complete reign, they had our attention and our support. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

"Not quite," Quinn admitted.

"What if, instead of using it as ammunition, the rest of the kids see it as something that humanizes you?" Frannie suggested. "If they see you as somebody who used to be as bullied, ignored, and neglected as they feel, they will vote for you as a kindred spirit. Seeing you win would be a chance to live vicariously through you."

"You really think so?" Quinn asked hopefully.

"I'm certainly hoping so," Frannie replied. "I'll keep my fingers crossed for you okay, kiddo? Don't let it get you down. You're not out of this race yet."

Quinn dried her eyes and managed her first true smile since she saw the campaign posters Lauren had printed.

"You're right," she said as the determination returned to her eyes. "I still have a shot at making my dream come true. The past shouldn't have the right to ruin my present."

… … …

Another week, another assignment. This time, in light of Rachel's recent injury and her interest in cosmetic surgery, Mr. Schuester decided to make the theme Born This Way – a week of encouraging everyone to accept and love themselves as they were. He even got Emma Pillsbury in on the idea. She provided a letter press and said the kids could use it to print a word or a phrase onto a white t-shirt that represented the thing about themselves they were most self-conscious about and were now making an effort to embrace.

When the time came for Brittany to use the letter press, she did so with some trepidation. It was her first time speaking to the guidance counselor directly since the incident in her office regarding the baby bird. However, Emma mercifully made no mention of it and behaved normally around Brittany. Ms. Pillsbury quickly showed her how to set up the press and then left her alone to work.

Brittany finished her shirt first; she had already mentally selected the phrase on the day the assignment was announced. Once it was done, she stepped back and admired the words: I'M WITH STOOPID -intentionally misspelled for effect. An arrow above the letters pointed toward the collar of the garment, drawing the reader's attention to the individual the message indicated. Brittany couldn't help but feel proud of how apt her choice really was. Any time that anyone in the school saw her face, they automatically identified her as the dim-witted ex-Cheerio. Meanwhile the rest of her personality, the part they wouldn't give her the chance to let them see, was saddled with that alter ego wherever she went.

If she was lucky, maybe this week would be a step in the right direction to change things.

Which brought her to the other shirt she intended to make, the one that might just help her ease Santana's struggle in a way that the words and gestures she had tried before failed to do. Brittany arranged the letters of the secret the other girl could hardly bring herself to speak even when alone: LESBIAN. Somehow, even without being applied to the perfectly white surface of the shirt, the word glared terrifyingly up at her. Still, if Santana didn't take this chance to finally tell the people she cared about what she had discovered about herself, what if another opportunity never presented itself? But it wasn't right. It didn't feel right. It was too much too soon.

Brittany paced as she wrestled with her decision. Carrying the truth inside and bearing it alone was too much of a burden; it was eating Santana alive and making her miserable. All she wanted to do was give Santana a little nudge in the right direction, to set things in motion so she could begin to embrace all the things that made her who she was. That was okay, right? After all, it was only in the Glee Club, not in front of the whole school. But Santana wouldn't see it that way. She was always so scared of the gossip giving her a label that she hadn't chosen for herself, always testing the air with her finger to see which way the wind was blowing.

Brittany's eyes fell on her own shirt where it lay draped on a table while it dried. A smile lit up her face as she had a sudden burst of inspiration. Her fingers swapped out some of the letters on the press until a new word was formed. She spread the unmarked tee out carefully and applied the text. After it was ready, she held the top aloft to survey her handiwork.

LEBANESE.

There. Another deliberate misspelling, but this time used to provide a blanket. The others would likely take it at face value and assume it referred to her heritage but Brittany and Santana would know the truth. This could be a way for Santana to get used to acknowledging the fact without anyone actually catching wise. It would be like telling the secret without really telling it. Granted, she would still have to say it aloud eventually, but wouldn't it be nice to do this as practice and know that she had the courage for when the time came?

It was the ideal compromise, a midway step to proudly claiming all the qualities she possessed.

Brittany's face brightened with an eager grin. She slung a shirt over each arm and left to change in the bathroom. Her heart fluttered excitedly in her chest. She couldn't wait to show Santana.

… …

Brittany could hardly keep herself from beaming when she found Santana at their lockers in the hall.

"Hey!" she greeted. "Do you like my shirt for Glee Club?"

She yanked open the buttons of her blue jacket to display her work.

Santana smiled and nodded her approval.

"That's perfect. Check out mine."

Her hands pulled back her vest to reveal a single word: BITCH.

Though the smile did not leave Brittany's face, she pursed her lips briefly and looked her companion directly in the eye.

"What?" Santana demanded defensively. "This is perfect. Legend has it that, when I came out of my mother, I told the nurse she was fat."

Brittany braced herself as she prepared to reveal her surprise. Again, her lips tightened. She tilted her head from side to side as she looked at the t-shirt clutched in her hands.

"Well, I made a different one for you."

She spread the top across her own chest while Santana read the word printed there.

"I'm Hispanic," Santana pointed out flatly.

Brittany almost began to feel discouraged when:

"Wait, was that supposed to be 'Lesbian'?"

Even as she said the word, her eyes flicked around the hallway to ensure that no one else was listening.

"Yeah," Brittany replied innocently. "Isn't that what it says?"

Just like that, those familiar walls started going up. She could see them behind Santana's eyes. Realizing that it was going to take more than a code word to sell her on the idea, Brittany continued. In an effort to appease Santana's desire for discretion, she kept her words vague.

"When you told me all that stuff the other week, it meant so much to me to see you be so honest. Especially 'cause I know how bad it hurt."

Santana's expression softened a little and wistfulness appeared in the depths of her pupils.

"I was so proud of you," Brittany concluded.

"I was kind of proud of me, too," Santana admitted. "But that's got to be where it stops, Britt. I've already probably told too many people as it is. Karofsky, Sam…"

"But that's why the shirt is perfect!" Brittany explained happily. "Only you and I know what it's supposed to say. You can wear it and know what it represents, know what it is about yourself you're accepting, but nobody will bother you about it."

Santana shook her head and took a step back.

"I don't think so, Britt-Britt," she disagreed regretfully. "It's too risky. I can't take that chance. I know you did this for me but I can't follow through. Not yet. I'm sorry."

Brittany sighed and closed her eyes.

"All I wanted was for you to put on this shirt and dance with me," she explained feebly.

"Someday," Santana promised in a whisper and linked their pinkies briefly.

Brittany gave Santana's finger a squeeze and tried to smile. She reached for the other girl's arm and carefully draped the t-shirt over it. Her hand reached out to rub Santana's arm as her entire expression warmed with patient devotion.

"Just in case you change your mind."

… … …

Quinn was surrounded by her Accelerated English and Accelerated History coursework when her phone buzzed. Quinn tucked her pen behind her ear impatiently and snatched up the cell. The name on the glowing screen surprised her, if only because it had been some time since the last time she saw it there.

Hey, Quinn. I hate to ask but can you do me a favor? Sam asked.

Quinn's brow furrowed as she texted back.

Sure. What's going on?

My dad lost his job.

Quinn touched her hand to her mouth and her eyebrows lifted.

I'm so sorry to hear that, Sam. When did it happen?

A while ago. I didn't say anything 'cause we were all hoping it'd get better. It didn't. We lost the house.

Quinn folded her legs beneath her and texted back quickly.

It makes me so sad to think what this must be doing to your family. What can I do?

It's just that Stacey kinda needs somebody who gets girl stuff, you know? Sam replied. I do my best, but it's not the same. Could you maybe come over and do like makeovers or play dress up? Just to keep her entertained for a bit while our parents are looking for work?

Quinn frowned. The request was so simple. It pained her to think that how she had ended things with Sam made him avoid even asking for something so easily done.

Of course I will, she answered readily. I'll help you however I can.

But don't tell anyone at school, okay? Sam said. I don't want it to become this big thing.

They won't hear it from me, Quinn assured him. This will stay between you and me.

… … …

"What the hell kind of color is Raven Red?" Santana asked while she sifted through Brittany's box of nail polish on the bed.

"Um, the color of something after it got pecked to death by one?" Brittany hazarded as she examined the bottle.

"Huckle Buckle?" Santana read aloud off the outside of a silvery purple option. "Who came up with this one, Mark Twain?"

They both giggled and Brittany nudged Santana with her foot.

"The name's not supposed to matter; you just choose whichever one you like."

"What about the one in the bottle that looks like an ass?" Santana suggested.

"Red Riding Rump," Brittany laughed. "It's all yours."

She plucked it out of the box and passed it to Santana to use.

"I've really missed this," Santana confessed as she unscrewed the lid.

"Me, too," Brittany said with a small smile.

"So, prom is coming up," Santana remarked lightly while she applied the polish.

"Yeah, it is," Brittany acknowledged faintly.

"I assume you and Artie…?" Santana's voice trailed off and she avoided looking up from her work.

"I guess," Brittany shrugged and traced the pattern on her bed sheets. "It's still a little early yet, so he hasn't asked me."

"Two weeks," Santana scoffed. "He'd better get cracking before somebody snatches you up."

Brittany trailed her index finger along Santana's calf.

"What about you?"

Santana blanched until she realized that it was an inquiry into her own prom plans, not a request for relationship thievery.

"Karofsky's my running mate for Prom Queen and King," Santana reminded her.

"Yeah, I know but did he actually ask you or did you just tell him you guys were going?"

Santana's lips turned up at the corners.

"We're both gay and we were bitter enemies until I blackmailed him between a rock and a hard place," Santana said. "Which do you think?"

Brittany rested her chin on Santana's knee.

"You deserve to be asked, though," she murmured. "Like with flowers or a singing telegram or something."

"I'm afraid romance is for the lovers," Santana sighed.

Brittany tilted her head to the side and rested her cheek on Santana's skin. Santana closed and set aside the nail polish. She reached out and touched Brittany's cheek.

"I don't think he'll ever know how lucky he is," she whispered.

Brittany opened her mouth to protest but saw from the expression in Santana's eyes that she did not want to hear any Artie accolades just now. So, instead, she simply nodded and nuzzled Santana's palm.

Santana cupped the back of Brittany's head and pulled her in for a kiss.

"Santana, your nail polish," Brittany protested feebly. "It won't be dry yet."

"I don't give a shit."

She shoved the box of polishes aside and crawled forward until Brittany had to lean back from the sheer force of her mouth's advances.

"Santana…," Brittany tried again but Santana touched a finger to the other girl's lips.

"Not tonight," she begged. "Please. Don't think about anybody else, just you and me."

Brittany softly kissed Santana's finger in acquiescence. Santana smiled before she unbuttoned and pulled down Brittany's cutoffs. Then she shucked her own shorts, underwear, and t-shirt in rapid succession. Brittany's underwear was added to the growing pile with one fluid movement of Santana's arm. The other girl's legs quivered as she watched Santana reach behind herself to remove her bra. She sat up and let Santana remove hers next, quaking when her torso was left bare.

Santana noticed the guilt and uncertainty flitting across Brittany's features in equal measure. She tried to chase it away with another passionate kiss. When Brittany's body melted against hers, Santana shut her eyes and told herself everything was all right now. Here, safely ensconced in Brittany's room, it was easy to pretend that there were no extenuating circumstances and no one was being wronged by what they shared. Still there was Brittany beneath her, weak with wanting but so much less involved in their movement than she had once been. Santana tried to chase away the whispers of her conscience by dragging her open palms along Brittany's body to watch the way the goosebumps raised in her wake. Though the effects sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine, it could not silence her misgivings.

Santana dropped onto her side, away from Brittany's trembling mouth and those sorrowful eyes. She reached for both smooth, long legs and arranged them with her own. Brittany extended her arms so they could clasp hands. Santana fought back a fresh wave of remorse and pulled herself forward. While their bodies writhed, Santana lifted her eyes heavenward and her gaze fell on the wallpaper. The songbirds perched among the flowers even seemed to look down upon them too knowingly, as if they had been observing all along and could foresee her fate. Santana closed her eyes immediately and shut them out of sight.

… … …

Katy and Brittany were playing hopscotch in front of the garage when Quinn pulled into the driveway.

"Hey, ladies," Quinn greeted through her rolled down car window. "How's it going?"

"Good! I'm winning!" Katy called back happily and bounced the pebble off her palm.

Brittany winked at her friend and Quinn smiled.

Quinn climbed out of her car and clicked the button on her key ring to lock the doors.

"So your sister tells me you're going to be the camera girl today," Quinn remarked as she pocketed her keys.

"Uh huh," Katy nodded enthusiastically. "Here, c'mon, I'll show you how it works!"

She ran across the front lawn toward the door. Brittany and Quinn followed a short distance behind her.

"Thanks again for letting me do this," Quinn told Brittany. "An online show tailored to the students at McKinley is the perfect place for me to reach them all and get the votes I need."

"No problem," Brittany beamed and gestured for Quinn to go inside first.

"Have any of the other candidates appeared to make their own campaigns?" Quinn asked.

"Not yet," Brittany said as they ascended the stairs. "I want to invite Santana, maybe."

"How are you feeling about that?" Quinn asked in a low voice, glancing to make sure Katy was well out of earshot.

Brittany frowned and shrugged noncommittally.

"They crown a king and queen," she said softly. "Not two queens and no king. If she gets this, it'll make her feel really good. I'm happy when she's happy."

Quinn gave her a small smile and rubbed her arm encouragingly.

The two of them entered Brittany's room and found Katy donning a beret and standing importantly behind the camera.

"You look very official," Quinn remarked sweetly. "Your sister showed you all the ins and outs of operating this thing?"

"Yup," Katy bobbed her head. "The red one is record and if I press it twice it quits. The stick helps me turn the camera and this one lets me go real close to somebody's face or pull far away."

"Very impressive," Quinn praised and moved over to perch on the foot of the bed. "Am I in the frame if I sit here?"

Katy looked at the view screen and gave her two thumbs up. Brittany sat in her chair and reached for the notecards on her nightstand. She gave Katy a subtle nod and focused her eyes on the camera lens.

"Hello and welcome to Fondue for Two," she greeted brightly. "I'm Brittany S. Pierce. Today we have a prom candidate - and one of my best friends in the whole world - Quinn Fabray with us."

Quinn gave an almost regal wave and inclined her head.

"So, Quinn, prom is coming up really soon and it looks like this may be a close race. What are your thoughts about the fearsome competition?"

Quinn smiled at the way Brittany folded her hands and put on her most attentive Interview Face. She could tell her companion had been practicing.

"Well," she answered carefully. "I'm well-acquainted with my competitors. I certainly don't feel inclined to throw dirt at any of them. They're great people."

Brittany smiled appreciatively.

"That's a very nice approach. So what makes you the best?"

"As you may have heard, certain aspects of my past have recently come to light," Quinn said slowly.

Brittany's expression was instantly and genuinely sympathetic. She simply nodded.

"I'll be honest," Quinn confessed. "That was not a part of my plan at all. I was… devastated… humiliated. I didn't think I could ever show my face again."

She gave the camera a shrug.

"But, after the news spread, I realized something important that I had lost sight of until now: that girl that I used to be, the one who never got noticed or appreciated, she's the one who deserves the crown."

Quinn readjusted to face the online viewers more directly.

"I spent so long trying to erase all the traces of who I'd been but, let's be honest, what good does that do? It takes away all the meaning of the journey. If I'm not the girl who was bullied and ostracized, rising above it all and making something good out of the dung heap that was her entire childhood, then I'm just some skinny blonde stereotype. I don't want someone like that to wear the crown and I know that the voters don't either."

Quinn took a deep breath and looked to Brittany, who was watching her silently with watery-eyed pride.

"So vote for me, McKinley," Quinn concluded. "And, with that vote, cast your ballot for the candidate who refused to be defined by the labels others gave her. We can't let the world tell us where we fall in; rather, we tell the world who we are with our actions and achievements. I'd really like to be able to say that I made a difference and left my mark."

… … …

Artie did not even wait to get Brittany's attention before he plowed into the questions that had begun surfacing in his mind.

"What's going on between you and Santana?" he inquired, trying his hardest not to sound harsh or accusatory.

"Nothing," Brittany responded automatically, although her stomach twisted unpleasantly with the utterance.

"It doesn't sound like nothing," Artie disputed sadly. "It sounds like something, which is almost always more than nothing."

Brittany had difficulty keeping up with his muddled words and laughed uncertainly.

"Calm down, Artie."

"Are you cheating on me with her?" he asked pointblank.

"No, of course not," Brittany protested feebly even as she could feel any potential argument falling apart. "I mean, I can't. She's a girl."

"Cheating is cheating. Gender doesn't matter," Artie argued in return.

"They're totally separate things," Brittany pressed on while a wave of panic washed over her. "'Cause of the pipes."

Artie's brow furrowed and he blinked rapidly.

"That doesn't even make any sense," he said. "Who told you that?"

"Santana."

"Don't you see that she's manipulating you?" Artie demanded. "Don't you see what's going on here?"

Brittany held still and said nothing, too sick with shame to admit she knew exactly where this was headed.

"You're the hottest girl in this school and I wear saddle shoes on legs that don't work," Artie expounded. "This shouldn't be happening. Not because I'm in a wheelchair, but because I'm obsessed with Angry Birds and my mom cuts my hair."

Brittany folded her arms and regarded him with affection.

"I like your haircut," she offered sincerely.

"It's hard enough for me to believe this is real," Artie continued as if she had not spoken. "If I know that you spend even a little time sharing yourself with someone else, that there's one other person in your life that can provide for you things that I'm supposed to provide, it's just too much for me to take. And Santana knows that."

Brittany gripped her backpack straps and felt as if she were shrinking in size, hiding away from the possibility that Santana had tried to keep a foot in the door in the hopes that it would keep Artie's place in her life from ever being secure.

"She's taking advantage of it to break us up," Artie asserted.

It was true; Brittany knew it was true. Yet she could not hear Santana slandered – albeit accurately – without trying to help him see all the good she knew the other girl possessed in her heart.

"No," Brittany tried to dispute. "Everybody thinks she's a bad person, but she's not."

"God, Brittany!" Artie fumed despairingly. "Why are you so stupid?!"

Brittany was stunned into silence. Her mouth hung slightly agape and her eyes were wide with hurt and disillusionment. Anger she understood; betrayal made perfect sense. However, she had wanted to believe that Artie would never belittle her, never revoke his belief in her, even if their relationship were to fall apart. Now he was thrusting her under the same label she had only just recently used a t-shirt and a Glee number to rebel against, openly acknowledging that it was the thing that bothered her most. He was going for the jugular and the deliberate choice to hurt her was what cut the deepest.

They looked at each other for a moment, both nearly in tears with the realization that something between them had broken.

"You were the only person at this school that never called me that," Brittany whimpered and walked away from him.

Her feet carried her while her mind was still racing. She knew exactly where Santana would be: checking the latest Prom Queen Poll for the estimated results that were pinned to the bulletin board by the cafeteria each day. When Santana came into view, exactly where she had predicted she'd be, Brittany really allowed the tears to fall. She walked directly over to her and sobbed without restraint.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Santana said. "What happened?"

"We're done," Brittany choked out. "Artie and I are done."

Santana opened her arms and let Brittany lean on her while she rubbed her back.

"How did that happen?" she asked, too concerned over Brittany's distress to rejoice.

"It's our fault," Brittany blubbered. "It's all our fault. He was so mad, Santana. I hurt him and so h-he… he wanted to hurt me back. I know he should totally be allowed to be disappointed in me… I'm disappointed in me… but I didn't want to think he'd ever be mean."

"What kind of mean?" Santana asked with an edge in her voice. "Britt, what did he do to you?"

"He didn't do anything," Brittany said while her lip continued to tremble. "He just… He called me stupid. He knows that word is what makes me the saddest but he said it anyway because of what I did. The worst part is that I think he's right."

"Hey," Santana said sternly and gripped Brittany's arms. "You are not stupid, okay? If you want to put that on anybody, put it on me. I interfered in your relationship instead of waiting like you asked. I pushed it to the brink. If I really had your best interests at heart I should have backed off."

Brittany watched a tear drop from her own cheek to dribble down Santana's shirt.

"You were just lonely and scared," she said kindly. "It's not your fault you didn't want to face it all by yourself."

It was only with repeated, gentle shushing and stroking her hair that Santana was able to keep Brittany from hyperventilating.

"I'm the worst girlfriend ever," Brittany despaired. "Maybe you shouldn't date me, either."

Santana stepped back to look her friend in the eye.

"Don't believe that for a second," Santana commanded. "I don't care what mistakes I've led you to make. You are the sweetest, gentlest, most loving person anyone could ever ask for, do you understand? Don't let Artie get in your head and convince you otherwise. If that's how he sees it, he doesn't deserve you."

She booped Brittany's nose and put an arm around her shoulder. Brittany looked at her hopefully and tried to believe.

"C'mon," Santana urged kindly. "Let's get out of here."

… … …

"Okay," Quinn led in tersely with her teeth already bared. "For the umpteenth time since you and I met, we need to talk."

Rachel looked up from where she was arranging her highlighters beside her notebook.

"About what?" she inquired benignly.

"What else?" Quinn rolled her eyes. "Finn. I know what your angle is and it has to stop."

"I don't know what you're trying to insinuate," Rachel said tactfully. "But my motivations are entirely pure and above-board."

Quinn closed her trapper keeper with a sharp snap.

"Rachel Barbra Berry, you are entirely full of shit," she stated flatly.

Rachel tried to force a derisive smile.

"There's no need to bring middle names into this," she replied. "Just because I am on the cusp of bringing your underhanded dealings to light, if Jacob Ben Israel and The Muckraker don't beat me to it…"

Quinn gestured skyward and snarled.

"I am not cheating on Finn with Sam!" she cried out heatedly. "I don't give a damn what you, the Glee Club, or that ridiculous school gossip magazine that Sue started have to say about it. You're off the mark this time. Way off. Sam and I are only just starting to salvage some semblance of a friendship after the way things ended between us."

"You don't have to be close to someone to hop into bed with them," Rachel pointed out spitefully.

Quinn clicked her pen several times to vent her frustrations.

"Why do I get the feeling that, in so many words, you're trying to say that I'm a whore?"

Rachel pursed her lips and her eyebrows quirked.

"Wow, okay," Quinn said irritably. "Throw me under the tires for your own agenda then. But you know what? Hurting an innocent man like Sam to steal the boyfriend of someone you very recently called friend doesn't make you much better."

She gathered her things and moved to a table at the opposite side of the room, as far from Rachel as she could get without climbing out the window and listening to the lecture from outside.

Both girls sighed heavily and purposely avoided one another's gaze, each unwilling to give the other the satisfaction of seeing where their words had left them wounded.

… … …

Santana released a tense breath and fanned herself.

"Okay," she muttered while she paced back and forth. "No Ms. Holliday this time. Just me and Britt-Britt. I can do this. It'll be fine. I'll be fine."

She turned to Brad the piano player and lifted her eyebrows.

"Some words of encouragement?" she demanded testily. "Nothing? Still mute, huh? If only the student body shared your preference for stoic silence…"

Brad nodded his approval of this wish but refrained from audible comment. Despite his lack of reassuring input, Santana found his presence strangely comforting. For reasons she could not explain, he reminded her of an Old English Sheepdog.

"I brought the sheet music with me," she told him. "Um, here. Take a look at it."

She placed it before him and wrung her hands anxiously.

"You know this one, don't you?" she asked worriedly. "Like you can play it smoothly with no hiccups?"

Brad gave her a look that said all too clearly, 'Bitch, please.' Santana snorted.

"Right," she said and jokingly smacked her palm against the side of her head. "Who am I talking to? You can play anything."

Brad gave her a less-than-humble shrug.

"I like you," Santana determined aloud. "You can stay."

Brad smiled disinterestedly.

"Oh my god," Santana said and smacked his arm, which earned her an affronted eyebrow lift. "She's here."

Brittany was approaching from the hallway, utterly beautiful with her hair cascading down in waves and clad in a burnt orange dress with floral print. Santana squeezed Brad's shoulder and braced herself.

"Here goes everything…"

… … …

Brittany floated along in a bizarre emotional limbo after Santana sang to her. She was still grieving the end of her relationship with Artie, but having Santana serenade her with Songbird by Fleetwood Mac had been enough to make her have hope again for the future. Even though they had gone about it the wrong way, Brittany wanted to think that she and Santana could be together somehow and finally be happy.

Tonight was to be the first step in that direction. Brittany had invited her to appear on Fondue for Two, where she would ask Santana out to prom and all she would have to give was a one word answer: yes.

Brittany decided she would do her own recording for tonight. Having anyone else present, even someone Santana adored like Katy, might frighten her off from committing to the public announcement that she had feared greatly for so long.

Lord Tubbington watched Brittany's fidgeting with a mild curiosity that quickly faded into sleepy indifference when he realized that none of her movement involved bringing him food.

"Seventy minutes to show time," Brittany announced to the empty room after checking her bedside clock. "This is it, Lord Tubbington. I'm gonna ask her. She's gonna be my date and then… my girlfriend."

She let the words hang there in the air for a moment, testing how they sounded to her ears. A radiant smile spread across her face and she forced herself to sit down lest she pace a hole in the floor. Her hands tapped the seat of her computer chair and she spun around in circles, checking the passage of the minutes with each turn.

Then her phone buzzed.

Brittany snatched it up immediately, anticipating the name on the screen even before she read it. She opened the message eagerly, face alight with excitement, and her bright eyes scanned the words.

It did not take long to read.

The smile faded from her face and her shoulders sagged. She stood and walked across the room to where Lord Tubbington was snoozing at the foot of her bed.

"Change of plans," she announced and held up the phone for him to see.

Not unlike the letter she had written after their first night together, Santana had left only two apologetic words to excuse herself:

I can't.

Brittany sniffled, fluffed the cat's fur, and shined his identification tag with her sleeve.

"Get ready for your close up, Lord Tubbington," she said in a strained voice. "Our special guest has cancelled and I need someone to talk to."

… … …

Mrs. Fabray pulled into the parking lot of David's Bridal and smiled at Quinn. Her daughter gave her a small, slightly forced smile in return.

"Here we are," Judy announced cheerfully.

They unbuckled their seatbelts and climbed out of the Range Rover. Quinn walked a little ahead of her mother but kept her pace slow enough that the distance never exceeded a couple of yards. She held the door since she reached it first and they entered the building. Inside it was cool and brightly lit with a wide array of gowns on racks that stretched out in every direction. Quinn began walking toward the prom dresses when she realized that she did not hear the clack of heels behind her. She turned and lifted an eyebrow.

"Mom?"

"You go ahead and take a look around, sweetie," Mrs. Fabray encouraged. "I'll leave you to it and you can call me when you've found the one you like. Here…"

She pulled her wallet out of her purse and fished out a credit card.

"Charge it to here and then you won't have to wait for me to pay," Judy offered.

She touched Quinn's cheek and then grasped her shoulder.

"Good luck, Quinnie. I'll just be running some errands until I hear from you."

Judy backed away and gave her a parting wave before she stepped outside again. Quinn pursed her lips and nodded bitterly. She wasn't fooled by the flimsy excuse; she knew exactly where her mother was going: Judy was about to drive to the ALDI store on Elida Road and peruse their wine selection.

Quinn pocketed the credit card and lifted her head high, determined to enjoy the process of selecting a dress even if she was doing so alone. She naturally gravitated toward the blue gowns, of which there was thankfully a decent variety. Quinn held each one aloft and tilted it back and forth, appreciating its appearance in both light and shadow. Ultimately, she draped four over her arm to take to the dressing rooms: a royal blue that covered one shoulder but left the other bare, a midnight blue strapless with a glittering bodice, a form-fitting peacock blue with a feathery skirt, and a princess blue adorned with sequins.

The sales associate was very accommodating and gave positive input for each option. Quinn turned in front of the mirror and scrutinized her appearance from all angles. In spite of herself, she wished that she was trying on dresses with her friends the way she had heard some of them were planning to do. At least then the critiques would be formed by people familiar with her personality and taste, not quietly trying to gauge how much she was able to spend.

Each dress was tried at least twice before Quinn was able to narrow it down. Ultimately, she decided that the princess blue felt the most comfortable against her skin. Prior to taking it to the register, Quinn snapped a close-up picture of its skirt on her phone and sent the image to Finn so he had a color basis for the purchase of his bowtie.

"Good luck on your big night, honey," the associate said after she rang up the dress.

"Thanks," Quinn said with a little laugh. "Hopefully it's worth the $260."

… … …

Santana received a text saying that neither of Brittany's parents would be able to pick her up from dance class and that she would need a ride, if Santana was free to come get her. Though she knew that the brief message by no means meant that all was well after her pre-show bailout, Santana replied in the affirmative. She drove out to East Road and saw that the parking lot was nearly empty. It came as no surprise that Brittany stayed after hours even when the rest of the company had gone.

As Santana stepped into the front lobby, she could already hear the faint sound of music drifting down the long hallway ahead. She followed the sound past one darkened studio after another until she saw a room with light still spilling out of the doorway. Santana drew level with the entrance and peered inside to see Brittany dancing alone.

Her movement was full of such graceful abandon. It had been some time since Santana was afforded the chance to watch her this way and it left her breathless with awe.

Then her attention shifted to the lyrics of the song that was playing and she felt a fresh wave of remorse.

"Love has made me a fool

Set me on fire and watched as I floundered

Unable to speak

Except to cry out

And wait for your answer"

Though it was clear that the dance was intended to be a solo performance, Santana could not help but notice that the steps centered around one central point, as if Brittany were envisioning a figure positioned there. Slowly, tremulously, Santana walked into the room and out to the middle of the floor, out to that spot to which Brittany's feet always returned.

Brittany continued dancing like nothing had changed, as if her eyes could see no difference. When her face was tilted up to the light, Santana could see that she was crying. The song reached the next repetition of the chorus and it seemed like the piece was not made up of deliberately choreographed steps at all, but rather stemmed from someplace much deeper in the depths of Brittany's soul.

"How stupid could I be?

A simpleton could see

That you're no good for me

But you're the only one I see"

Santana tried to reach out for Brittany as she drew near once more. Brittany caressed her face with a brief brush of her fingers and a mournful look before she danced in the opposite direction.

"Everything changes

Everything falls apart

I can't stand to feel myself losing control

In the deep of my senses I know"

When Brittany passed by again, Santana simply stayed as she was, shutting her eyes and focusing every fiber of her being on the simple contact between them.

As the song ended, Brittany's body folded up and crumpled to the ground at Santana's feet. Santana watched her back rise and fall with each panting breath and resisted the urge to pick her up and cradle her close.

A few moments passed in silence before Brittany stood and walked over to the CD player to turn off the music. Santana followed and cautiously touched her back.

"Was that about us?" she asked softly.

Brittany nodded without turning around to face her. Santana wrapped her arms around Brittany's middle and kissed her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry."

"Me, too," Brittany acknowledged and leaned back against her. "Artie asked me to go to prom with him today."

Santana stiffened.

"What did you say?"

"I turned him down," Brittany replied. "There was so much more I wanted to say and explain, but I let him know that what he called me wasn't okay."

Santana reached for Brittany's arm and gently turned her around so they could look each other in the eye. She rested her palms against the other girl's clavicle and bit her lower lip.

"Can you forgive me? For everything?"

Brittany let her head fall forward until their noses were touching.

"I already have."

Santana inhaled deeply and wrapped her arms around Brittany's neck.

"Are you the last one here?" she whispered.

"Yeah," Brittany confirmed just as quietly. "They taught me how to lock up when I leave."

"Good," Santana murmured and pressed a hard kiss to Brittany's lips.

Brittany sighed and enfolded Santana in her arms. She staggered backward until they slammed into one of the full-length mirrors and the air rushed out of her lungs. Santana's hands ran hungrily along her sides and wriggled beneath the waistband of her sweatpants. She shoved the heavy material past Brittany's hips and it dropped to the floor, pooling around the girl's feet. Brittany stepped out of them and kicked them aside. One of her bare legs lifted to lock against Santana's waist while they continued to kiss passionately.

Santana noted with a snarl that, unlike when they had worn their Cheerios uniforms every day, Brittany had forsaken her No Underwear policy. The ties were thin, however, and Santana snapped them easily with both fists tugging in unison. In the absence of the music, the only sounds were their overlapping breathing and the occasional squeak of skin on glass when Brittany had to fight against slipping on unsteady feet.

Her hands clawed at Santana's dress. The fabric resisted and put strain on the sensitive skin beneath her fingernails but Brittany gave another determined yank and managed to bring the outfit up to waist level. Santana's chest heaved as she lifted her arms high and allowed Brittany to pull the garment over her head and past her outstretched fingers.

Santana rolled Brittany's sports bra up a fraction of an inch at a time, savoring the way the chill of the studio drew pinpricks all over the exposed flesh. Brittany barely restrained herself long enough for it to be removed before she saw to Santana's undergarments and discarded the two pieces with a flick of her wrist.

Now that no further encumbrances were in their way, Santana surged forward with renewed urgency. She laced her fingers together with Brittany's and pinned the other girl's arms out away from her body. Her mouth broke away to drag down Brittany's neck and suck on her shoulder. Brittany nuzzled her ear and cheek and brushed light kisses along the side of her face. Santana gave her a flickering sideways glance before she lifted Brittany's hands above their heads to join them at the wrist.

Then Santana lowered Brittany's arms until they were looped around her neck. All it took was one direct look to communicate her meaning: keep them where they are. Brittany blinked slowly and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Santana smiled and coaxed Brittany's legs apart with gentle nudges from her kneecaps. Then her hand slid down to the space between them.

Brittany drew a shuddering breath. The first teasing drags of Santana's fingertips made her torso tremble and her eyelids flutter. Then she felt the familiar trace, a deliberately circuitous route that came so close to where she needed the touch the most but did not grant immediate satisfaction. She wriggled her hips and whimpered but kept her hands clasped behind Santana's head.

Santana studied the longing in Brittany's expression for a moment. Her lips were slightly parted as she briefly forgot all else and simply stared. Then she granted Brittany's unspoken request and she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning herself when the other girl keened. Santana pressed her forehead against Brittany's clavicle and fell easily into the rhythm, curling two fingers while her thumb worked in a focused circle.

Brittany was panting nearly as much as she had been immediately after her dance. It was becoming harder to obey the command to keep her hands still. She pressed the pads of her fingers down against the backs of her hands to keep them together as her breathing was reduced to shuddering gasps. Recognizing the signs, Santana lifted her head to whisper into Brittany's ear.

"Go ahead."

Brittany grunted and unclasped her hands. She grabbed at Santana's back as though she were struggling to save herself from tumbling off a cliff. Her short nails left long, crosshatched scratches as they scrambled for purchase. Despite her desire to be free from the locked arms rule, Brittany instinctively embraced Santana again as her thoughts gave way to pure feeling.

Santana eventually withdrew her hand and prepared to reach for her clothes again. Brittany caught her hand and stilled her departure.

"What about you?" she murmured.

Santana's eyebrow quirked until Brittany reached out to hold her hips and she understood.

"You don't have to…," she started to protest but that blazing in Brittany's eyes was a difficult thing to turn away even on a night when she wasn't this vulnerable.

Brittany hoisted Santana skillfully and carried her to the barre. Once Santana's back was resting against the wall and she was perched atop the polished wood, Brittany helped her maintain balance by propping Santana's thighs up with her shoulders.

As Santana watched Brittany dropping into a crouch, she felt her chest constrict and a wave of emotion unrelated to the other sensations coursing through her.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," she mumbled in a rush. "I said I would be and I wasn't."

Brittany stayed on her haunches for a moment and leveled an unblinking gaze on the other girl. Then she turned her head and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of Santana's leg, just above the knee. It was such a tender and absolving gesture that Santana was almost able to forgive herself, too.

While Santana was still looking down at the space above her kneecap, Brittany gripped the barre on either side of her thighs. She inched forward and extended her tongue, face concealed from view as she moved it in earnest. Santana shuddered and had to wrap her hands over Brittany's while she fought to keep still enough that she would not fall. Her hips bucked involuntarily and she bit hard on her lower lip. A hiss escaped Santana as her back arched.

The guilt of only moments before ebbed away and she turned herself over to the thrilling surrender of being in Brittany's capable care. There was no need to perform or wear any façade; she could not have maintained one even if she'd tried. Being with Brittany now after all that had passed obliterated her ability to dissemble. All she had room for in her heart and body was an overwhelming adoration that tumbled past her lips in an echoing and incoherent cry.

When Brittany finally pulled away, Santana slid limply to the floor. They knelt there on the cold floor, holding each other in still-quivering arms, and kissed so hard that they both swayed unsteadily.

"I love you," Santana whispered while her eyes were still shut tightly.

Brittany crooked one finger and tilted Santana's head upward. She waited patiently until her lids reopened and then looked at her directly. Her lips turned up ever-so-slightly at the corners and she spoke in a low, warm voice.

"I love you, too."

… … …

"All right, everyone," Rachel announced cheerfully. "Prom is nearly upon us. Since the New Directions are going to be providing the live music, we need to settle on a set list. Does anyone have a selection in mind that they'd like to hear me sing?"

"Or that they'd like to perform themselves," Kurt called sternly from his seat.

"Right." Rachel forced a smile. "Suggestions, anyone?"

"Oh, I have a few suggestions of what you could do, but they have nothing to do with singing," Santana quipped.

Brittany nudged her gently in the side.

"Why're you the one organizing this shindig anyway?" Santana inquired in a slightly milder tone. "Where's Mr. Schue?"

"Ultimately, our selections have to be submitted to Principal Figgins for approval and, since Mr. Schuester isn't even going to be a chaperon, his input wasn't really necessary," Rachel explained. "He says he'll help us with arrangements if we have something special in mind but, otherwise, it's up to us. This is our night."

"The guys and I want to cover Friday by Rebecca Black," Sam said. "Puck told me he and Artie couldn't make it today 'cause they're out securing supplies, whatever that means, but we're calling dibs on that one."

"Fun!" Rachel beamed with excessive enthusiasm and wrote the song's name on the dry erase board in red marker.

"Dancing Queen," Santana added with her eyes trained on Brittany. "Mercedes will join me on that, won't you?"

"Hell yes," Mercedes nodded and gestured toward the board, indicating that Rachel should add it to the list. "Santana and I are ready to get our ABBA on."

Mercedes and Santana high-fived behind Brittany's chair as their choice was written on the board.

"I might have one," Brittany said as she bit one of her fingernails. "It's called I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance with You. It's by a group called Black Kids."

"Oh, I want to be on that one, too," Tina piped up and leaned forward. "I love that song."

Brittany glanced over her shoulder at the other girl and smiled. Tina beamed back at her. Santana inched her chair a little closer to Brittany's and folded her arms.

"Never heard of it, but I will pencil you in!" Rachel said and turned back to the list.

"Also, can Blaine be a part of one of these numbers by any chance?" Kurt interjected. "He asked if he could help and I told him I'd put in a good word."

"He certainly may," Rachel agreed and wrote his name beside Brittany's and Tina's.

Kurt's eyes narrowed and he crossed his legs.

"All right, what's going on?" he demanded suspiciously. "Rachel Berry has never been one to dole out free passes to center stage without a catch. What's made you so obliging all of the sudden?"

Rachel carefully set down the marker and turned to face them all.

"I have a date," she announced as her face suddenly lit up in a large grin. "Jesse St. James is back in town and has asked to escort me to prom."

"Jesse Trashed-Our-Choir-Room –and-Stomped-on-Your-Heart St. James?" Mercedes clarified. "What about Sam and me? Isn't it safer to just stick to the plan of us all going together?"

"Jesse can accompany us," Rachel said brightly. "He'll pay his own way, so it won't drain any extra from our prom budget. The more the merrier, right?"

"Sure," Mercedes agreed in a strained voice. Sam wore a similarly hesitant expression, although he only knew of Jesse by word-of-mouth.

"Great!" Rachel nodded and returned her focus to the set list. "Now, I've given it a lot of thought, and I think I'm favoring Christina Perri for my own performance. It will be the first slow song of the night, just in time for everyone to catch their breath and listen to my voice while they dance with their dates."

The rest of the group took advantage of Rachel's absorption in her ramblings to convene in a huddled circle.

"I smell disaster," Kurt muttered in an undertone. "And we all know who's going to be at the center of the uproar."

"Finn," Mercedes supplied.

"Well, look at it this way," Santana suggested. "If Berry lands herself in a teenage testosterone tug-of-war, she can't be terrorizing the rest of us while we're trying to have a good time. This may be a blessing in disguise."

Brittany nodded before propping her chin on the arm she had bent over the back of her chair. Her lips barely moved as she murmured worriedly.

"But poor Quinn…"

… … …

The night could not possibly have gone worse. It fell apart in ways Quinn could not have imagined if she had sat down to write out a worst case scenario. The beginning of the evening had been so perfect, too – perfect descent down the stairs, perfect reaction from Finn as he saw her in the dress, perfect wrist corsage – yet now it was all for nothing.

The first sign of trouble arose at Breadstix when she and Finn went to have their pre-prom dinner. A few other Glee Club members were already present: Mercedes, Sam, and Rachel. There, seated on Rachel's right, was Jesse St. James. Finn was instantly jealous, seething internally and taking every verbal jab at Jesse that he could work into their brief conversation. When they took their leave to find a table of their own, Quinn spoke to him in a quiet supplication.

"Please do not turn this into a contest tonight, Finn," she begged. "There's only one competition I want you to be worrying about, and that's who will win Prom Queen and King. Don't cause a scene that might get us disqualified."

Finn gave a noncommittal grunt and continued to glare over his shoulder. Quinn grimaced and tugged him along to a booth out of sight from where their friends were seated.

She had hoped that might be an end to it. Provided that they didn't run into Jesse and Rachel on the dance floor, all would be well. In fact, Quinn made it her mission to keep a fair distance between them and kept tabs on the other couple just to avoid such a mishap.

The gymnasium had been decorated so beautifully. It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement of the night and forget all about everything but the thrill of being in someone's arms as the music played. Unfortunately, though Quinn had maintained plenty of space for the first hour, there was no way to control Finn's line of sight. He caught a glimpse of Rachel and Jesse laughing as they danced, clearly enjoying one another's company and picking up where they left off prior to their messy breakup, all hurt feelings now either set aside or forgotten. His jaw clenched and he could not tear his eyes away.

Quinn barely had a moment to register what was distracting him before he strode over to where the other couple was entwined and moved to break them apart. She followed and stood a short distance behind him. The excuses he offered for intervening during their intimate moment were feeble at best and Quinn did not bother to suppress a roll of her eyes. Despite the slim likelihood, she hoped that when Jesse was unfazed by Finn's objections he might just walk away. Not so.

They began a shoving match that grew increasingly violent with each contact. Rachel and Quinn rushed forward, shoulder to shoulder as they tried to force their boyfriends away from one another and talk them back down. It was useless; neither boy heard the girls' cries over the pounding of blood in their ears. Quinn fought back tears and Rachel looked completely dismayed.

Just as the first punch was thrown, Sue arrived and hauled both boys out of the room, saying that prom was over for them both. Quinn tried to call after her former coach and remind her that Finn was a candidate for Prom King, but she was met with cold indifference.

Quinn sidestepped Rachel and stalked away, hoping that at least the outcome of the votes could salvage the disastrous affair. She stood with Santana, Lauren, and the other candidates and anxiously awaited the reading of the winners. Karofsky was named King and it seemed that all might be lost. Still, Quinn held her head high and refused to let Santana's taunting affect the smile on her face.

Then Principal Figgins read the name of the Prom Queen. It was not Santana after all. Nor was it Quinn, or Lauren, or anyone else standing on that stage.

It was Kurt Hummel.

The silence that followed the announcement was deafening. Then it was broken by a low whistle, a cruel howl, and a slow clap. The animosity radiating off the anonymous voters was so palpable that Quinn could feel it even where she stood. Her stomach dropped and she tried to see Kurt's face. His eyes were wide and his face was drained of all color. He turned away from the crowd and ran for the exit. Blaine followed and called out desperately for him to stop.

Quinn's mind immediately began reeling. She could not bear to stand there a moment longer under the lights while everyone waited for what would happen next. Her feet carried her from the room, too, darting through the double doors on the opposite side of the gym from where Kurt had departed. The sound of a second set of footsteps followed her and she did not have to turn to guess whose heels were clacking on the linoleum. Awareness of her pursuer only quickened Quinn's pace as she rushed toward the bathroom.

She choked back a sob although her throat was already burning.

"Quinn, you need to calm down," Rachel insisted as she entered the room behind her.

"This is your fault," Quinn spewed out furiously. "Nobody ever would have voted for me, 'cause they know he would rather be with you."

"That's not true," Rachel started to protest and took a step closer – too close.

Quinn's hand flew before she had time to think. It struck Rachel's face audibly and left her doubled over clutching her cheek. The self-loathing that flooded Quinn was immediate. She quaked with revulsion at the sight of what she had done.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered sincerely.

Rachel gave an almost imperceptible nod. Her eyes and expression were free of blame, although the shock still showed in the way her mouth hung slightly agape. Quinn turned away and buried her face in her hands.

She had sworn to herself she would never be like him. She would never raise a hand to anyone, no matter the circumstances. Now she had broken that promise to herself and, worst of all, she had hurt Rachel. Rachel, who she had already caused so much pain when all the other girl ever wanted was to be her friend.

"I'm sorry," Quinn repeated miserably. "I – my father – I didn't mean it. I panicked. It won't happen again, I swear."

Quinn inhaled sharply through her nose. The panic was still there, sharpened now by the manifestation of a behavior she had prayed she would never inherit. But what had triggered it? Her feet paced the floor while she tried to discern some logical explanation, avoiding Rachel's gaze as she did so. None of what had been surging through her made any sense. The outcome of the votes had nothing to do with Rachel. Nor, for that matter, did they have anything to do with how the student body felt about Quinn.

It had been about their hatred, about their disapproval of anything that was outside the norm.

And you're more outside the box than they know, her mind mocked.

Quinn stopped pacing and felt her blood run cold. She knew why she'd had to leave the room, and why the votes had pierced her heart beyond the bitter disappointment of losing. Her hand pressed against the cold bathroom wall as she tried to steady herself. Rachel's features were etched with concern and it only added to Quinn's wretchedness.

"There's no way I'm staying at this school," Quinn said finally. "I'm gonna transfer."

She pressed her lips together and nodded, trying to convince herself that this was the best way to move forward from this point.

"What?" Rachel cried. "No, you can't do that. Quinn, the only person who will think less of you for not winning Prom Queen is you. Don't run away."

"That's not why I'd be running," Quinn explained around her constricting airway. "I've got to try to get away from myself. Clean slate. I've made too much of a mess here. It will only get worse if I stay."

Cautiously, Rachel reached out to touch the other girl's arm. Quinn flinched but held still.

"You can't spend your whole life running away and burning bridges," Rachel told her gently. "You did that once before as Lucy."

Quinn felt an ache in her chest upon hearing Rachel speak her first name. She gulped and held onto the edge of the sink.

"But it caught up to you," Rachel reminded her. "The past didn't go away; it didn't stay where you tried to leave it. It was still a part of you. Who you are now will work the same way. She'll follow you."

"I don't want her to," Quinn cried. "This person that I thought I was is a complete sham. She gives advice but can't take it. She's supposed to be so smart but she can't even figure out her own goddamn life. She hurts everyone around her, most especially the ones who don't deserve it."

Her eyes were bright green as she lifted her gaze to lock contritely on Rachel's face. Rachel held the stare for a fraction of a second before she turned to the mirror.

"Most girls would be upset about being slapped in the face," she remarked casually. "But I happen to appreciate the drama of it."

Quinn busied herself with checking her own appearance in the mirror, although she felt a surge of gratitude to Rachel for downplaying what she now considered her new all-time low.

"I know you think it's hard to be you, Rachel," she said as she turned back around again. "But at least you don't have to be terrified all the time."

Her voice broke in spite of herself and she stared determinedly at the empty bathroom stalls. If she looked at Rachel now, Quinn knew that her fragile façade would break.

The sink squeaked as Rachel finished dampening a towel and turned off the tap.

"What are you so scared of?" she asked and offered the towel to Quinn.

Still, the unmerited gentleness, still she showed such concern when Quinn knew that she had not earned the consideration. She accepted the towel and brushed her fingers across the back of Rachel's hand, expressing the thanks that her mouth was too dry to voice.

"The future," she confessed softly in response to Rachel's inquiry. "When all this is gone."

She indicated her physical appearance with a vague wave of her hand and dabbed under her eyes as she sniffled.

"You have nothing to be scared of," Rachel insisted. "You're a very pretty girl, Quinn. The prettiest girl I've ever met, but you're a lot more than that."

Quinn made the mistake of looking Rachel in the eye as she voiced this last assertion. The sob she had fought down earlier threatened to rise again. Her skin flushed and her mouth twisted. She took a deep breath to maintain her composure.

"Here," Rachel offered kindly. "Can I help?"

Quinn nodded and Rachel began dabbing carefully at her eyelids with the towel. The touch of the side of her friend's hand on her cheek made Quinn tremble.

"Perfect," Rachel declared a moment later. "Just like always."

Quinn took the towel from Rachel's hand and threw it in the general direction of the trash can without looking. She pulled Rachel close and enfolded the other girl in her arms.

"I really am sorry," she said sincerely. "For the slap and just for everything."

Rachel awkwardly pressed her palm against Quinn's back.

"I'm not used to anyone voluntarily consenting to share a hug with me," she joked lightly. "I usually have to give them a warning first."

"Not with me," Quinn smiled a little.

Rachel allowed herself a smile too and held Quinn more tightly.

"Good to know," she murmured.

… … …

Quinn and Kurt were not the only ones who sought a moment of solitude after the announcement. Santana also left the gymnasium and sped off to someplace quieter where she could think: the choir room. Brittany walked calmly behind her and waited in the doorway, giving her room to pace. She tried to reason with her that the tiara wasn't worth much, but for Santana the title of Prom Queen had little to do with the actual crowning.

"I'm gonna be an outsider my whole life," Santana said without turning to face her. "Can't I just have one night where I'm queen? Where I'm accepted?"

She sniffled and clenched her jaw.

"Soon as we get to New York, I'm bailing to live in a lesbian colony. Or Tribeca."

"You don't mean that," Brittany said gently as she stepped farther into the room and circled around to look Santana in the eye. "I know you want to be in that Nationals competition. You wouldn't miss the chance to be on that stage."

Brittany swayed on her feet for a moment and reached for Santana's hand.

"Plus you wouldn't leave me," she added softly.

Santana frowned and caressed the back of Brittany's hand with her thumb.

"Yeah, but what will we be coming back to?" she wondered. "You felt it in there. All that animosity. How is winning some show choir competition going to change any of that?"

"Because it will show you that there's more than Lima and more than high school," Brittany replied. "And it'll let you be a winner, just like you deserve to be."

Santana snorted derisively.

"Those assholes out there wouldn't let me have that. I could come back with my own damn parade and they'd still ruin everything, just like they didn't let me win tonight."

She turned from Brittany and began pacing again.

"They must have sensed that I was a lesbian," she concluded. "I mean, they must have. Do I smell like a golf course?"

It was the first time that Brittany had ever heard Santana claim the orientation aloud. She licked her lips and chose her next words carefully.

"People don't know what you're hiding," Brittany assured her. "They just… they know that you're not being yourself. If you were to embrace all the awesomeness that you are, you would've won."

Santana shrugged and looked at her sadly.

"How do you know?"

"Because I voted for you," Brittany answered and took a step closer. "And because I believe in you, Santana."

Santana brightened for a moment but remained tearful.

"This prom sucks! Now what am I supposed to do?"

"Go back out there and be there for Kurt," Brittany told her. "This is gonna be a lot harder for him than it is for you."

She offered Santana a tissue to wipe away her smudged mascara and tears.

"I can't believe they did this to him," Santana said. "I really thought the Bully Whips were making a difference, you know? Changing things for good. Instead it just made people sneakier about being the complete shits they've always been."

"Still, it was really nice of you to look out for a friend," Brittany remarked. "I'm sure Kurt appreciated it that you tried."

"Only it wasn't for Kurt," Santana reminded her guiltily. "I wanted the halls to be safe for me. I wanted this place to be safe for us."

She tapped the toe of her heel against Brittany's shoe.

"I know," Brittany acknowledged quietly.

"Some friend I am then, huh? Only helping when there's something in it for me."

"There was something in it for a lot of people," Brittany countered. "A lot of people who are too scared to raise their voices. Somebody has to make the first move to change things for the better. No matter who you were doing it for, it's still really cool that you spoke up and did something."

Santana shook her head and laughed a little.

"You can turn even my most selfish moves into something heroic," she marveled.

"That's because you are a hero," Brittany replied and brushed a little of Santana's hair off her bare shoulder. "You just don't wear the cape."

Santana kept her eyes downcast while she fought back another surge of tears. Brittany lifted her chin and smiled at her sweetly. While Santana was still searching her features for comfort, Brittany closed her eyes and gave the other girl a lingering kiss. Santana sighed and melted into the touch.

"I should have come here with you," she whispered and pressed their foreheads together. "Backlash be damned."

"It's okay," Brittany murmured.

She kissed Santana's cheek and spoke teasingly into her ear.

"But next year you owe me a dance."

… … …

"Ouch!" Quinn exclaimed when she bumped into the window sash.

"Watch your head," Santana drawled as she climbed out behind her.

Quinn shot her friend a look over her shoulder but continued to cautiously edge out onto the awning.

"Are you sure this can hold us?" she asked Brittany fretfully.

"Of course," Brittany confirmed. "My whole family comes out here sometimes. It'll be fine."

Quinn dropped onto her rump and scooted forward by pulling herself along with her feet, aided by the occasional extra push with her hands.

Santana held her hands out on either side as if walking a tight rope and settled comfortably with her legs folded beneath her. The late spring air lifted her hair from her shoulders and she inhaled the scent of the flowers in the Pierces' garden below.

More for her own amusement than anything, Brittany tucked her arms up against her body and rolled until she neared the edge. At the last second, she sat upright and swung her legs smoothly around to dangle in the air.

"Show-off," Santana jested.

Brittany winked at her.

Quinn sighed heavily and flopped onto her back.

"It's been a long week," she grumbled.

"Yeah, no kidding," Santana seconded and stretched out, tucking her arms behind her head.

Brittany took off her hat and used it as a pillow before folding her hands atop her stomach.

"I know she's always been really mean to everybody, but I feel sorry for Coach Sylvester for losing her sister. I can't imagine losing Katy."

Quinn and Santana nodded.

"That was the first funeral I had been to since… you know," Santana mumbled. "It was really rough, but I made it. I want to think my brother would have been proud of me for keeping it together."

Quinn gave Santana a small smile before she looked back up at the sky and covered her face with her arm.

"Now you guys have me feeling like a selfish bitch for thinking that was a bad day for me."

Brittany turned onto her side.

"Because of Frannie?" she asked sympathetically.

"No," Quinn confessed embarrassedly. "I did have a moment where I thought about that but – God, I think I'd have a complete collapse if I didn't have her. Um, actually, the reason it was so hard didn't have anything to do with death at all, unless you count the death of a relationship."

Brittany and Santana turned to her expectantly.

"Finn broke up with me," Quinn explained.

"Ah, but is that really such a terrible loss?" Santana quipped.

Brittany sat up to give her a look and shook her head.

"I know it was ridiculous to try to salvage something already so completely broken," Quinn admitted. "I was just trying to get back to feeling like I was doing something right again. Instead, yet again, it's Life 1 and Quinn 0. It's all just a merry series of screw ups with me, each more shameful than the last."

"I don't think you're a screw up," Brittany voiced quietly.

Quinn gave her an appreciative smile.

"I'm afraid you make a Party of One there," she laughed humorlessly.

"Two," Santana interjected and lifted a hand. "I'll join that table. Maybe you are a screw up but so am I, and I don't think either of us should have to be punished for that."

A feeble smile formed on Quinn's face and she extended both arms to brush her friends' hands with her fingertips.

"Thanks guys," she said sincerely. "As long as you two are in my corner, I may have a little fight left in me."

… … …

"I can't believe I'm actually doing this," Santana said as she settled onto the Pierces' couch. "This is going to be one of the most awkward conversations in the history of human speech. You realize that, don't you?"

"It's the right thing to do," Brittany insisted. "He deserves at least this much."

The doorbell rang and they both jumped.

"He's here," Brittany announced unnecessarily.

She walked over to the front door and opened it.

"Um, hi," Artie greeted uncomfortably. "Mom's going to get the groceries and then swing back around to get me, so I can't stay for really long."

"That's okay," Brittany assured him hastily. "I'm glad you could make it."

"You let me say what I wanted to with my song when I tried to ask you out to prom," Artie acknowledged. "And you danced with me and posed for a picture even though you turned me down. I figured I owed it to you to hear you out."

Brittany led the way into the living room and sat on the couch, leaving a respectful amount of distance between herself and Santana to spare Artie's feelings in what little ways she could.

"So," Artie said as he brought his chair to a halt in front of them. "What did you want to say to me?"

"We owe you an apology," Santana said and, to her own surprise, she really meant it. "Me even more than Brittany. I'm the one who didn't respect her wishes and give you guys space. I wanted her back so badly that I couldn't stay away."

Artie's jaw was clenched but he gave a curt nod to acknowledge her words.

"And I'm sorry that I wasn't honest with you," Brittany added. "It wasn't fair for you to have to piece it together. You should have heard the truth from me."

Artie gave another nod, although his expression softened somewhat when he looked at her.

"It's really important to me for you to know that I did love you, Artie," Brittany continued. "That was the honest truth. It's just that what we had was new love and Santana and I are…"

"Forever love," Artie supplied. "I couldn't compete with something that was already there before you even met me."

Brittany met his gaze guiltily and nodded. Artie sighed heavily and wheeled a little closer so that he could address Brittany more directly.

"I did a lot of thinking about it," he told her. "I was really mad at first. I mean, obviously. But then I tried to look at it like I was somebody else instead of me. And I thought, if you didn't have any feelings for me, you probably would have just dumped me like Tina did. So you must have really meant it because some part of you didn't want to let me go. That helped a little."

His gaze flickered toward Santana for a moment but then he forced himself to look back at Brittany.

"It sucks being single again and it sucked losing you to somebody who made it clear she wanted to break us up," Artie said. "But if there was one thing you convinced me of while we were together, it's that I deserve to have good stuff in my life. I deserve to be happy. You made me happy for a while, but I couldn't give you that back. Not the lifelong kind of happiness, anyway. So, even though I hate not having you around as much and I'm still going to miss you, it would be worse for us to stay together if we couldn't share forever."

"That's really cool of you, Artie," Santana said softly.

Artie shrugged and finally looked into his rival's eyes.

"You're the one who makes Brittany feel best. If I really loved her the way I said I did, I should want to see her where she feels like she belongs… even if that isn't with me."

Brittany knelt and held Artie's hands.

"Thank you," she tearfully whispered.

Artie sniffled and gave her a watery smile.

"Good luck," he said sincerely.

"You too," Brittany returned thickly as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

Santana looked away while they shared a brief goodbye kiss.

Artie wheeled back and then rubbed at his eyes.

"I'll see you guys at the airport when we fly to Nationals," he said and turned toward the door.

After the boy had seen himself out, Brittany sat back down on the couch and flopped against the cushions.

"I should have known, if you cared about him so much, there was more to Artie than met the eye," Santana mused.

Brittany managed a tiny smile.

"I told you so."

They both chuckled a little and Brittany slid sideways to rest her head in Santana's lap.

"He'll be okay now, I know it," she determined as she laced their fingers together. "Somebody else will see how special he is. Then he can find his forever love just like I already did."

Brittany kissed the third finger of the other girl's left hand. Santana turned her head to hide a blush.

… … …

New York was everything they could have imagined: bright, bustling, and brimful of promise. Unfortunately, much as they wanted to, the New Directions could not afford to let all the attractions distract them. They still had two original songs to write before the competition and time was running out.

Their initial attempts were feeble at best, catchy but with little substance. Quinn suggested that the whole club venture out of their hotel rooms to let the city inspire them but, once they were outdoors, writing lyrics quickly became the last thing on their minds. They returned from the excursion having made no further progress.

Rachel and Kurt sneaked out the following morning to have breakfast at Tiffany's. The rest of the boys, Mercedes, Lauren, and Tina all gathered in the guys' hotel room to take another stab at writing their songs.

Santana awoke to find Brittany already dressed and sitting with her legs clutched to her chest, gazing pensively out the window. Muttering sleepily, Santana rolled out of bed and fished a change of clothes out of her suitcase. Then she crossed the room and stood beside Brittany to appreciate the view.

"It really is beautiful here," Santana said quietly.

Brittany bobbed her head in agreement.

"Everybody else is already gone?"

"Everyone except for Quinn," Brittany replied. "She went into the bathroom and didn't come out."

Santana's lips turned up at the corners and she bent to kiss Brittany's neck.

"Do you think we should maybe check on her?" Brittany worried. "What if she's sick or something?"

Santana groaned.

"Do we have to do the Good Friend thing right this minute?" she pouted. "There's a bed right over there with our names on it. Unless you'd prefer staying here in front of the window 'cause I could be down with that."

Brittany laughed and wriggled away.

"C'mon," she chided gently. "Quinn might need us."

"Fine," Santana sighed sullenly. "Might as well hurry her ass along because I need to use the bathroom myself."

They went to the bathroom door and knocked.

No answer.

Santana tried a second time.

Still no response.

"Quinn!" Santana snapped as she hammered the door with her fist again. "Quit hogging the bathroom! I needs to re-pencil my eyebrows on! Doesn't she get -?"

"It's all yours," Quinn said calmly as she finally answered their summons.

"Everybody's already in the other room working," Santana told her.

"Yeah?" Quinn challenged. "Is Mr. Schue in there? 'Cause I think I'm gonna tell him that Rachel and Kurt keep sneaking off."

"You can't do that," Brittany protested. "He'll have to suspend them."

"And then there goes our chances at Nationals. Darn!" Quinn said acerbically.

"You know what? We get it," Santana interjected. "You're pissed about Finn dumping your sweet ass. Get over it."

"I don't want to get over it, okay?" Quinn fumed.

There was a frightening glint in her eye; Santana and Brittany stood close together as they continued trying to talk her down.

"The only person that you're sabotaging here is yourself," Santana pointed out to her.

The spark in Quinn's eyes ignited into a flame.

"I don't care about some stupid show choir competition!" she shouted.

"Well you should, because this is the one chance that we have to actually feel good about ourselves!" Santana countered.

Something in her words finally broke through the haze and Quinn's mood immediately shifted. Her eyes were rimmed with tears as she finally looked at them again.

"Aren't we supposed to be the popular girls?" she asked sadly.

Brittany snorted and Santana scratched the back of her neck.

"So why can't we have our dreams come true?" Quinn asked sadly. "She has love, Tina has it, even Zizes hooks up…"

She looked at them both with their downcast eyes and shuffling feet and left the last part of her sentence unspoken: … even you guys.

Quinn sat down on the bed with a thump. Santana and Brittany joined her on either side.

"I just want somebody to love me," she choked out around the sob rising in her throat.

Brittany rubbed her friend's arm consolingly and tucked her hair back.

"I think I know how to make you feel better," Santana offered.

"I'm flattered, Santana, but I'm really not that into that," Quinn blubbered.

Santana's mouth hung open in shock for a moment before she spoke again.

"No. No, I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about a haircut."

"Yes, totally," Brittany concurred.

Santana rested her chin on Quinn's shoulder. Quinn gratefully leaned her head against Santana's hair. A long, low sigh escaped her and her shoulders sagged.

"I thought she was actually going to listen to me for once. I thought she'd seen New York for herself and she knew I was right that Finn wouldn't belong here. Now I find out they went out on some epic, Night on the Town date and she's all the way back to square one?"

Santana glanced over at Brittany and was mildly surprised to see that what Quinn was saying did not appear to shock her in the slightest. Then again, it was Brittany. She saw everything.

"You aren't ticked about Finn wanting to get with Rachel again," Santana deduced in bewilderment. "You're mad that she might take him back."

Quinn's entire face went red and she stared intently at her hands in her lap.

"Berry is the one who's got you strung out?" Santana clarified, still looking utterly flabbergasted.

Quinn flopped back and grabbed a pillow to cover her face.

"Yes," she groaned and hid away from her friends' view. "Fuck!"

Santana sat for a moment, blinking slowly, and tried to process the information. Then she suddenly rose to her feet and crowed loudly.

"I knew it! Did I call it or did I call it? Vouch for me, Britt. I hit the nail on the fucking head over a year ago! Damn, I am good."

Quinn peeped out from under the pillow and glared at her.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't turn my misery into a personal victory."

"Tough luck, lady lover," Santana cackled.

Her laughter was cut short by a pillow hitting her face.

"Ow!"

"Can you hold off your gloating for five minutes and at least give me something constructive?" Quinn demanded. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Santana opened her mouth to speak but, upon seeing the beseeching look on Brittany's face, did as Quinn asked and thought the matter over seriously.

"Still get the haircut," she decided aloud. "Everything about your life right now isn't working for you. So change it. Start small. After you feel different on the outside, you can start working on the inside."

"All right," Quinn nodded. "It certainly can't hurt. Let me just grab my purse."

Brittany looked at Santana and smiled proudly. Santana's expression lit up at the unspoken praise. She took a bow for having successfully defused Quinn in the midst of a particularly towering rage. Just as Quinn was checking her wallet, Brittany sprang up and gave Santana a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I'll bring one of our notepads and a rhyming dictionary," she offered. "I'll need some help, but I think I have an idea for our song."

… … …

They lost the Regionals competition. Just like the previous school year, Santana felt her spirits plummet sharply upon receiving the news. Only this time she felt as though she had someplace to direct that disappointment: at Rachel Berry.

After all their hard work, after she and Brittany – aided by Quinn's skill of rhyming - had written an amazing group number that earned them a standing ovation, it all went up in smoke. Finn and Rachel had utterly destroyed the New Directions' chances by sharing an onstage, unscripted kiss.

Santana had flown into a rage of her own as soon as they got back to the hotel room, although hers was of a more physical bent. Fittingly, Quinn was the first to dart forward and help hold Santana back while she strained to attack Rachel for her treachery.

Even after they returned to Lima, Santana's disappointment did not dissipate. She fashioned a Rachel voodoo doll just as a means to vent her frustration and avoid acknowledging that what she really felt was cheated – cheated out of ending the year with a bang, cheated out of having just one shining moment where she didn't feel as if success was something out of her reach.

Brittany approached her at their lockers, saw the doll she was holding, and smiled affectionately. She tried to cheer her up, although Santana stubbornly wanted to hold onto her grudge.

"How can you possibly be so calm?" Santana demanded.

"I don't know," Brittany admitted. "I hated losing just as much as everyone. But this year wasn't about winning for me."

Santana continued to grumble bitterly and Brittany allowed her to rant. Then Santana realized she had interrupted and apologized.

"Sorry. What was it about?"

"Acceptance."

As Brittany explained her view on how things got bumpy and tempestuous in Glee Club but that, above all, they remained a family, Santana couldn't quite bring herself to believe in the other students so completely.

"Yeah, well, this is a club. This is not a family," she disputed.

Brittany stopped leaning on the lockers and turned to look Santana in the eye. She had been expecting this continued argument.

"Okay, well, family is a place where everyone loves you no matter what and they accept you for who you are. I know I'm gonna be a bridesmaid at Mike and Tina's wedding. When they find an operation to make Artie's legs work again, I'm gonna be there for his first steps. I love them. I love everyone in Glee Club. And I get to spend another year with everyone I love so…I'm good."

Santana looked down for a moment before she voiced the question she most wanted to ask.

"What about you and I?"

"I love you, Santana," Brittany replied. "I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else in this world. All I know about you and I is that, because of that, I think anything's possible."

Santana grinned and hugged Brittany tightly.

"You're my best friend," she said softly.

They were not the three words she was thinking, but it did not matter. Brittany knew anyway.

"Yeah, me too," Brittany murmured back.

Santana offered her pinkie and Brittany accepted it with her own.

"When did you get so smart?" Santana teased.

Brittany grinned and brushed her hair aside.

"I guess we'd better head to the last Glee Club meeting, huh?" Santana surmised.

"Yep," Brittany confirmed and swung their arms back and forth. "We're supposed to get to see our twelfth place trophy today."

"Woohoo," Santana said drily. "Gather round to celebrate mediocrity!"

Brittany knocked her hip against Santana and laughed, shaking her head.

"It's okay, though," Santana determined and gave Brittany's pinkie an extra squeeze. "I don't mind being a loser that much so long as I'm with you."