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.

13. The Devil May Care

AN: The lyrics that appear in this chapter are from Heal Over by KT Tunstall, Strip Me by Natasha Bedingfield, and Fight for This Love by Cheryl Cole.

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Sugar was making Brittany laugh with her rendition of Chopsticks on the piano - the only song that she knew how to play - when Ms. Corcoran entered the room. The teacher's arrival was met with little more than a greeting smile until Santana followed shortly thereafter. The expression on Santana's face left the rest of the Troubletones abruptly serious.

"What's going on?" Mercedes asked. Her eyes went from Santana's uncharacteristically demure behavior to the worry lines above Shelby's eyebrows.

"We have been invited to a week of music hosted by the New Directions," Shelby announced without meeting anyone else's gaze. "We will mostly be listening rather than singing. The Troubletones are the guests of honor, namely Santana."

"What for?" Mercedes demanded.

"Santana was nearly suspended today for the slap that Finn now claims was staged," Shelby elaborated and paused to arch an eyebrow at Santana, although she did not call out the unlikelihood of this report. "I assume the invitation is a kind of olive branch to smooth out negative feelings."

"He thinks a week stuck in the same choir room is gonna make her not want to slap him again?" Sugar piped up quietly.

"It does seem counterintuitive," Santana drawled.

"However," Shelby interjected. "It's in our best interest to keep the peace. If all goes well at Sectionals, the New Directions may have to join forces with us if they wish to carry on competing. I don't want any bad blood getting in the way of future performances."

Sugar and Mercedes grumbled a little further but ultimately shrugged and accepted the arrangement. Brittany, however, crossed the room and leaned her head conspiratorially close to Santana's. She looped their arms together and led her girlfriend out the door.

"What's really going on?" she murmured.

"Finn blackmailed me," Santana responded in an undertone. "It's all a freaking ploy to merge the groups back together. I could tell by his stupid smirk that he expects the New Directions to win at Sectionals. That asshole told me I had to play along in exchange for the lie he cooked up to keep me from being suspended. He'll retract his story if I don't."

Brittany's lower lip protruded and she shook her head sadly.

"I don't understand it," she lamented. "Freshman year, he was just a sweet guy on the football team who couldn't work up the nerve to ask Quinn out on a date. Now he's bullying in the halls and manipulating to get his way? How does that even happen to a person?"

"It's the hate," Santana concluded and slumped against the wall behind her, eyeing the passing students warily. "It can be inside perfectly nice people, and you don't even see it coming. All of the sudden, somebody you thought was funny and cool gets a look on their face like they want you to play in traffic."

Brittany shivered a little and hugged Santana's arm close to her side. Her back straightened and her chin lifted, as if she were preparing to defend Santana from any sudden attack and was bracing her body for the fight.

Santana felt her heart swell in her chest and leaned her cheek against Brittany's shoulder.

"We're going to see a lot more of that really soon," she cautioned. "Maybe even worse. Much as it scares me to admit it, even just between you and me, Finn was only the beginning."

... ... ...

"Now, as some of you may have noticed," Mr. Schuester announced at Wednesday's start-of-day meeting. "The New Directions are still short of the minimum number of members to participate in a competition. Sectionals is almost upon us, guys. We need some new voices around here and fast."

"Especially now that I heard The Unitards are our other competitors," Rachel added.

"The Unitards?" Kurt queried.

"Their lead this year is Harmony Gold," Rachel declared ominously. "That sophomore we met at the NYADA mixer. The one with the red beret and the big voice that might literally bring a house down."

"Oh God, not The Gerber Baby," Kurt whispered in horror.

"Don't count out the Troubletones, either," Sam called from the front row. "Mercedes rehearses non-stop. They're gonna bring their A-game."

"Touching as your devotion to your new girlfriend is," Rachel dismissed. "We have more pressing concerns than those defectors."

"All the more reason to find fresh blood," Quinn concluded with an arched brow at how they were referring to her absent friends.

"So who can we ask?" Blaine inquired. "Maybe someone from the drama club? There's always the ones in West Side Story. We already know they can sing."

"No can do," Artie told them regretfully. "Most of them are also in Chorus and they've got a competition that weekend. I remember because that's why I scheduled West Side's performance nights for last week and this one. Otherwise, there'd have been a conflict and half my Jets and Sharks would have been absent from the final show."

The club collectively sighed and wracked their brains for another solution.

Rachel lifted her eyes and her expression suddenly brightened. Quinn turned toward her, already seeing an idea being born inside the other girl's mind. Rachel hopped down from her seat and crossed to where the Jazz Ensemble was standing near the drum set.

"What about you guys?" she asked eagerly.

One of her hands touched the arm of the drummer while the other caught the shoulder of the bassist.

"Do you even know our names?" the drummer challenged.

Rachel mouthed wordlessly and shuffled her feet.

"John and Scott," Artie called in a helpful stage whisper, although the crinkles at the corners of his eyes indicated that he found Rachel's discomfort amusing.

"John and Scott," Rachel repeated, mistakenly pointing to the bassist first and the drummer second. "Esteemed members of the band that backs us up for every performance."

"Uh-huh," John chuckled. "So valued that this is the first time you've ever spoken to us beyond shouting, 'Hit it!'"

"A grievous oversight on my part," Rachel stammered. "But one we can remedy right now if you join us for Sectionals! You wouldn't have to sing any solos. Just help get our numbers up and understand the basic choreography."

Scott fidgeted his guitar strap. Quinn suspected that he was recalling all the times Santana had affectionately ruffled his hair or touched his shoulder when she performed versus Rachel only just now acknowledging his existence. It was little wonder that he was reluctant to contribute to the competition against the Troubletones. John twiddled his drumsticks and also appeared less than enthused. Rachel was clearly floundering for the means to communicate with them.

Quinn strode over to stand beside her. She placed a hand on Rachel's forearm, hoping the other girl would get the hint and let her take over the conversation from this point.

"Scott, John," she addressed them, looking first at the bassist and then at the drummer. "You don't have to feel pressured at all. Singing and dancing are totally out of your comfort zone, we know."

The boys nodded.

"The thing is, the two of you have spent your entire time contributing to this Glee Club as the unsung heroes," Quinn continued. "You don't get any of the bows or the applause. This is our senior year and having you up there beside us would be a chance to make sure that, at least once, you got some of the recognition you deserve. Still, the choice is ultimately yours."

She gave Rachel's arm a gentle tug, silently urging her to retreat a step or two and let the musicians decide.

"We would like to help," Scott said at last. "But I'm not a really good dancer. You might wanna put me at the back."

"Me, too," John seconded.

"That won't be a problem!" Rachel consented readily. Quinn nudged her friend in the ribs with her elbow.

"I can give you some pointers too, if you want," Mike volunteered. "Not just with the choreography but, like, tricks I use for getting rid of performance jitters."

"Thanks, man," John said gratefully.

"Well, that settles it," Mr. Schue declared with a clap of his hands. "We have our new members. Sectionals, here we come!"

... ... ...

Santana poked her applesauce gloomily with a spoon and stirred it around in a spiral.

"You haven't had a bite in the past ten minutes," Brittany noted. "What are you thinking about?"

"The same damned thing that's been on my mind since Sue's office," Santana grumbled. "When that video is going to turn up on TV, who might see it, who might say something, how I'm going to tell my family sometime between now and then..."

She folded her arms atop the table and rested her forehead on them. Brittany rubbed her back.

"And what makes it exceptionally shitty," Santana added in a muffled voice. "Is that my eighteenth birthday is tomorrow and I won't even feel like celebrating."

Brittany pursed her lips and nodded.

"Why don't we try that practice we talked about tonight?" she suggested. "You're already staying over anyway. Maybe getting one set of parents off the checklist will make you feel better, you know? 'Cause then you'll know you can do it."

Santana reached for Brittany's hand and held it under the table, stroking the back of it with her thumb.

"Maybe so," she said. "Either way, being there means at least the start of my birthday will come out right."

"Why is that?" Brittany asked.

Santana gave Brittany's hand an affectionate squeeze and smiled.

"Because I'll be waking up next to you."

... ... ...

Quinn shouldered her backpack and fished in her purse for the car keys. They slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. She was just beginning to reach for them when someone else picked up the key ring first. Rachel handed it over with a small smile.

"Hey," Quinn greeted softly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Rachel said. "I actually came by to deliver a thank you of my own. You bailed me out of a bit of an awkward situation this morning. If it had just been left to me, I think John and Scott would have said no to helping us."

"It was no trouble," Quinn shrugged. "Problem solved."

She turned and walked toward the exit. Rachel followed.

"Actually, there was one other thing, too."

"I figured as much," Quinn laughed quietly.

"When you and Finn reconnected last year," Rachel said. "You and he... When you were alone..."

She faltered and Quinn bristled as she realized where this conversation was going.

"That is to say, Santana wasn't the only girl Finn was with before me, was she?"

The back of Quinn's neck grew warm and she avoided eye contact.

"No," she mumbled.

"I thought so," Rachel said.

"Why did you want to know?" Quinn asked uncomfortably.

"I was just wondering," Rachel tried to explain. "When you did, um, do that... How did he act?"

Quinn pulled a face.

"Are you really asking me for a bedroom play-by-play right now?"

"No, no!" Rachel sputtered. "Not like what he did to you. I was more curious about his behavior, particularly after the first time. What were the times after that like?"

Quinn twirled the keys around her finger and sighed.

"Honestly, we got back together for such a short while that it only happened a few times," she admitted.

"And?" Rachel prompted.

"And it was sad," Quinn confessed. "The first time was too little, too late. It felt like trying to revive a dream that had been dead too long to resurrect. Then the couple of times after that were a disaster. We were both trying to ignore what was staring us in the face: it wasn't working."

"But did he still act the same way toward you?" Rachel pried before dropping her voice to an undertone. "Were the times after that still... romantic?"

"Not even close," Quinn responded with a curl of her lip. "Is that what you needed to hear? Can we be finished with this now?"

Rachel looped an arm around Quinn's as they passed through the front door, effectively preventing her from darting toward her car.

"It's just that, ever since Opening Night," Rachel began, and Quinn grimaced at the unintentional double meaning. "He hasn't been as tender as I remembered from the first time. He doesn't ask me how I am or take his time. It's in, out, and over within a few minutes, sometimes without even a kiss."

"Oh, God," Quinn retched and pulled away from her. "Rachel, I can't know this!"

"Just tell me what I'm doing wrong!" Rachel begged. "Is he losing interest because he has you and Santana to compare me to? Am I bad at it and that's why he wants it to be quick? How do I make it be special again?"

She wrapped her arms around herself and her lower lip protruded. Now her dark eyes were rimmed with tears. Quinn's shoulders sagged and she took a few steps nearer. Her hands wrapped kindly around Rachel's wrists.

"None of this is your fault," she insisted. "If it's playing out the way you say, that means Finn is being a masturbatory dick. Talk to him. Make sure he knows you're supposed to enjoy it, too. And - seriously - don't pretend it's good if it's not. He'll never try to improve if you convince him that he's a stud."

Rachel nodded fervently.

"Do you think he'll be mad?" she fretted.

"If he is, then he never deserved to be with you in the first place," Quinn stated bluntly.

"You make it all sound so cut and dry," Rachel remarked.

"It is."

Rachel looked back toward the school and sucked on her lower lip.

"I guess so," she said noncommittally.

"Good luck with Finn," Quinn told her and backed away toward the parking lot. "Just do one favor for me?"

"Anything," Rachel promised. "What is it?"

"If it does get better, and you want to share all the great details... maybe tell those things to Tina or Mercedes?"

Rachel nodded and gave her a shaky smile.

"That I can do."

... ... ...

Santana scooted her chair closer to the dining room table and cleared her throat. Brittany rubbed her kneecap reassuringly. The smell of the grilled cheese Mrs. Pierce was preparing drifted over from the kitchen along with barely visible tendrils of steam from the tomato soup. Santana tugged at the neckline of her blouse as if she were having a hot flash.

"It's going to be okay," Brittany promised in a whisper.

Katy sat across from them, swinging her legs back and forth and humming quietly.

"Did you have a good day at school today, Katy?" Brittany asked as she reached for Santana's hand and held it tightly.

"Uh huh," Katy confirmed. "Wes Brody liked my pigtails."

"Aww," Santana said. "That's great, sweetie. How is little Mr. Freckles these days?"

"Not as little anymore," Brittany answered. "Wes was the first boy to get a growth spurt and now all his pants are two inches too short."

"That's precious," Santana chuckled and sipped from the iced tea in front of her.

"I think it's ready," Eileen Pierce declared as she began taking plates down from the cabinet. "Are you girls hungry?"

"Yes!" Katy confirmed eagerly.

"All right, I'll go get your father and then we can dig in," Eileen told them.

She walked to the sliding glass door and pushed it aside.

"Gregg?" Eileen called.

Mr. Pierce came into view from the left side of the house with the garden hose draped over his arm and the nozzle held in his hand.

"Dinner time?" he guessed.

"Yeah," Eileen confirmed. "You might want to wash some of that dirt off before you come in."

Mr. Pierce nodded and sprayed some of the water onto his stained palms.

"See you in a bit," Mrs. Pierce said as she turned away again.

"Sure thing," her husband replied innocently.

Then he angled the nozzle up and hit her with a quick spurt from the hose.

Mrs. Pierce yelped and whirled back toward her spouse with a laugh. Gregg waggled his eyebrows and tossed the hose from one hand to the other. Eileen smirked and took a step forward, shutting the sliding door behind her with one hand.

"The idea is to get yourself clean, not to make everything else a mess," Mrs. Pierce said with a chuckle.

"Oh, now where's the fun in that?" Gregg teased.

He sprayed just above his wife's shoulder and the water ran down the glass. Eileen dodged and rushed toward him, making a grab for his hands to wrestle the hose away.

Santana watched from the table, unable to stop herself from beaming at the Pierces' playfulness.

Brittany's parents shouted and laughed as they pretended to scuffle, but soon the hose fell to the ground and was forgotten. Mr. Pierce caught Eileen in his arms and pressed a whiskery kiss to her cheek. Mrs. Pierce's face scrunched up at the contact but her smile belied the feigned discomfort.

Santana was distracted from the endearing scene taking place outside when a pair of long arms wrapped around her middle.

"That'll be us one day," Brittany promised in a whisper.

Santana rested her head on Brittany's for a moment and sighed happily.

Gregg and Eileen came in a couple of minutes later, slightly damper than before, but grinning broadly. They washed their hands at the sink. Then Mr. Pierce set out the plates with grilled cheese and Mrs. Pierce doled out generous helpings of the warm soup.

The meal passed by in unusual silence. Katy broke it occasionally with an anecdote about her adventures in third grade, but Brittany and Santana kept their heads down and only exchanged occasional glances with each other.

"Can I bring Charity her dinner?" Katy asked when she had finished eating.

"Absolutely," Mrs. Pierce permitted. "Careful going up the stairs."

Katy poured cat food into a silver bowl and left the room with her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on not spilling any before she reached its intended recipient.

"So," Mrs. Pierce said slowly once her younger daughter was out of sight. "What's got the two of you so quiet?"

"Yeah, you look deep in thought," Mr. Pierce seconded.

Santana smiled at them sheepishly and reached for Brittany's hand. Brittany rubbed her thumb over the back of Santana's palm and gave her a reassuring nod.

"We, um, need to talk to you about something," Brittany prefaced.

"Fire away, Bumble Bee," Mr. Pierce encouraged as he wiped the crumbs off his face with a napkin.

"It's... It's not easy to say," Santana faltered. "Brittany and I... She's... We're..."

She covered her face with shaking hands and let out an uneven breath. Brittany patted her shoulder.

"We're dating," Santana said quickly before she could lose her nerve, and then she lifted her head to look at them more directly. "Brittany and I are a couple."

Sensing that there was more yet to be said, the Pierces did not immediately respond. Santana panicked at their silence and spoke in a rush.

"I realized last year that I'm not who I tried to be. I don't like boys, not the way people expected. I love Brittany, and she has been so good and so patient with me while I dragged my feet and changed my mind more times than either of us care to count," Santana elaborated. "Your daughter has been the only reason I was able to make it as far as I have. I wouldn't have been brave enough or strong enough. She's the one who gives me courage. I know... I know that I'm not deserving of the love she shows me every day - the love she learned from you - but she makes me want to spend the rest of my life trying to be."

Her speech hung in the air and Santana cleared her throat awkwardly.

"So, that's the way that things are now," she concluded lamely.

Mrs. Pierce stood and pushed her chair into place. Santana's shoulders hunched and she winced, waiting for whatever response might follow her declaration. Her eyes widened when she felt not one but two hugs enfold her simultaneously. She peered over the adults' arms to look at Brittany. When she saw the quiver in Brittany's lower lip as she smiled, Santana's eyelids began to burn and she burst into grateful tears. She clung to Eileen's shirt and Gregg's shoulder as she sobbed and trembled violently.

"Shh," Eileen murmured. "It's going to be all right."

"No, it's not," Santana despaired. "My family's not going to be as cool as you. They're going to hate me. I'll lose everything."

"Not necessarily," Eileen countered. "Give them a chance. Your parents... They already know what it's like to lose a child. I don't think they'd be so quick to cast one away."

Gregg pulled his chair over to sit beside Santana. He fished around in the back pocket of his jeans and produced a wrinkled handkerchief. Santana hiccuped but tried to hold still while he dabbed away her tears.

"Give them the benefit of the doubt," Mr. Pierce urged. "And, if it doesn't go as well as we'd hoped, just know you've got a backup family that will always have a place for you."

... ... ...

Quinn readjusted her grip on her textbooks and descended the stairs. Hours of staring at the same black and white pages were beginning to make her a bit cagey, so she decided to seek out a change of scenery. It had been some time since the party room had seen much use; there wasn't enough money in their budget to hold gatherings anymore. She stepped off the last stair and turned right. Quinn was headed for the small sofa against the far wall when what she saw made her stop short. The little couch was already occupied.

Frannie and Alisha were nearly horizontal, held aloft only by the upholstered arm of the sofa. Frannie's fingers were woven into her fiancée's hair and her lips were turned up at the corners in a contented smile.

Quinn felt a pang in her chest. She couldn't remember the last time that being touched by someone had made her as happy as her sister was now. Quinn shifted her weight from one foot to the other and debated retreating from the room. She tried to back away, but her hip hit the corner of the grandfather clock and caused it to chime noisily.

Alisha and Frannie sat upright immediately and distanced themselves from one another.

"Oh, hey, Goose," Frannie greeted breathily.

"Hey," Quinn apologetically replied. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"No, no, it's totally okay," Frannie insisted.

"What do you have there?" Alisha asked.

"Just some AP English and AP History," Quinn answered. "I tackled Physics as soon as I got home."

"Can I see the books?" Alisha requested.

Quinn handed them over readily. Alisha hefted one in her left hand and one in her right. Her blue eyes widened.

"Damn," she muttered. "Are they preparing you for backpacking through the Alps? These things must weigh more than the author's firstborn."

"They probably cost more, too," Quinn laughed.

She took her homework back from Alisha and pulled up a nearby chair.

"Sometimes I wish I had gone my friend Brittany's route and taken more electives, just enjoyed my senior year," Quinn confessed.

"What is she taking?" Frannie asked.

"She got into Journalism, actually," Quinn said. "She's the Graphics Editor for the school newspaper this year."

Alisha brightened and sat up a little straighter.

"Is she planning on pursuing that after she graduates?"

"I'm not sure," Quinn confessed. "I haven't really been asking people about their plans... mostly because I don't want them to ask me the same question."

She set her books on the table and sighed heavily.

"I don't have any idea what I'm going to do with myself," she admitted wretchedly. "All these classes that have me dead on my feet and yet - for what? What's the use in having a killer resumé and getting into a great school if it's ultimately just a waste of money?"

"Eighteen is such a young age to try to plan your whole life. Nobody should think less of you if it takes some time to find the answers; they'll come eventually. You'll figure it out," Frannie said confidently. "So long as you follow what you're passionate about, you'll find a way to turn that into a career that makes you happy."

"Frannie's right," Alisha confirmed. "I didn't start looking into journalism until my freshman year in university. Prior to that, I just knew I liked writing about what I saw and that people told me I was nosy. I'm still a snoop; it's just that now I get paid to be."

She laughed and Quinn smiled.

"I guess I'll get there at some point," Quinn said. "Something will start to stand out and I'll know that's the direction I want to take. I've got to stop myself from trying to rush that realization along. When it's right, I'll know."

Quinn nodded with more confidence than she felt and opened one of her textbooks. Much as the conversation made sense to her mind, her heart was still uneasy about how the rest of her classmates' lives were setting in motion and she was standing still.

... ... ...

Santana woke to warm breath tickling her neck and soft humming in her ear. Slender fingers pushed stray hairs away from her face and a chin rested lightly on her shoulder.

"Happy Birthday…," Brittany continued the song aloud, pausing to kiss her cheek. "… Dear Santana. Happy Birthday to you."

Santana opened her eyes blearily. With a faint groan, she peered at the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table.

"Oh, shit!" she hissed. "It's 8:30! We are so, so late!"

She started to rise but the other girl's hand gently pushed her back toward the pillow.

"It's okay," Brittany assured her. "We're right on schedule. I called in sick for both of us today."

"How-?"

"I disguised my voice," she explained proudly.

Santana smiled affectionately and shook her head. She wondered what her girlfriend must have sounded like trying to impersonate Maribel Lopez's thick accent.

"What are we going to do instead?" Santana asked and rolled onto her back.

"Well, you only turn eighteen once. Since you would never answer me when I asked what you wanted, I decided to come up with something on my own," Brittany replied. "I'm going to give you a perfect day."

Santana raised her eyebrows in curiosity.

"Step One," Brittany explained. "Let you sleep in and have one morning where you don't wake up to a noisy alarm clock."

She left the mattress and briefly stepped out of her room. A moment later, she returned carrying a tray heavy with plates, a glass, and a vase with a flower in it. Santana reached out to take it from her as she settled back onto the sheets.

"Step Two," Brittany said. "Bring you breakfast in bed."

Santana paused a minute to appreciate the arrangement. The center plate held a stack of pancakes with blueberries baked into them in the shape of a smiley face. Half slices of banana were arranged around the stack's outer edge. It made the meal look like a rather cheerful sun. The smaller plate held separate halves of a biscuit. Each side had been topped with strawberry jelly dolloped on in the shape of a heart. There were also some utensils, a glass of milk, and a single orange chrysanthemum for decoration.

"This looks fantastic," she said.

Santana's eyes lifted to look at her girlfriend, who was currently sitting on her own legs and beaming like a small child presenting their first finger painting.

"Home Ec paid off, huh?" Brittany asked bashfully as she flushed with pleasure at Santana's approval.

"It most certainly did," Santana agreed.

She leaned carefully over her tray to kiss Brittany lightly on the lips before she began to eat.

"Do you want some?" Santana offered while she cut the pancakes with a knife.

Brittany shook her head.

"I already ate while I was making this," she said.

She held her hands in front of herself and splayed out fingers that were stained indigo.

"I got a little carried away with the blueberries."

Santana chuckled and returned her attention to the breakfast. Brittany truly had outdone herself. It tasted every bit as good as it looked. When she finished, Santana set the tray aside and rubbed her hands together eagerly.

"Okay, what next?" she asked with a smile.

"Well, before Step 3, we take a quick shower and then we're going out for the day," Brittany informed her.

"All right. Wait a minute. 'We' take a shower?"

"Of course," Brittany replied, purposely widening her eyes in mock innocence. "I'm covered in flour and fruit juice stains. I can't take you out for your big day if I don't look presentable."

"If you say so," Santana sighed with feigned reluctance.

They climbed off the bed and walked toward the door. Once in the hall, they advanced with noticeably quickened strides.

"We'll go at the same time to save water," Brittany clarified casually.

"Right," Santana agreed as she practically sprinted toward the waiting bathroom. "It's important to stay mindful of the environment."

…

An hour later, they stepped into the morning sunlight and walked along the circular brick path to the driveway. Brittany pulled a key ring out of her pocket and unlocked the door for Santana to climb in on her side of the vehicle.

"I asked Mom if it would be okay for me to borrow the car today," Brittany explained while she opened her own door and slid in behind the steering wheel.

She leaned in front of Santana, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a red bandana.

"Here, let me put this on you."

Reluctantly, Santana held still. Brittany doubled the cloth over and tied it around her head, covering her eyes.

"There. Can you see anything?"

"Not a damn thing."

"Good," Brittany said with satisfaction.

She put the key in the ignition and checked her mirror while backing up the car.

"Britt?" Santana murmured quietly. She twiddled her thumbs and resisted the urge to remove the bandana.

"Yeah?"

"I totally trust you, especially after us practicing all summer so you could get your permit. I also know that my coming of age technically makes me an adult licensed driver, but I'm fairly certain that the law would find some issue with your accompaniment being blindfolded."

"Well, then I'll just have to drive really carefully so we don't get pulled over," Brittany reasoned. "Nice try, though. No peeking."

With a huff, Santana folded her arms and waited impatiently for them to reach their destination. Out of the corner of her eye, Brittany noticed the way Santana exaggerated her sulking pout, and she smiled.

… ... ...

"Hey, girlfriend!" Rachel greeted in a chipper voice when she found Quinn seated at a table in the library.

Quinn gave her a small smile and pushed aside some of the pamphlets she had spread out before her.

"Good morning," Quinn said. "Sorry there isn't much room. I think maybe I brought too many."

"What is all this?" Rachel asked curiously and picked up a couple of nearby papers. "Are these colleges you're considering?"

"Sort of," Quinn replied. "These are from all of the universities that have sent me mail since I was old enough to start applying anywhere. The thing is that..."

She paused to glance around the library and leaned a little closer.

"I literally have no idea what I want to do. I am completely lost."

Quinn shuffled through her pamphlets with an air of hopelessness and shrugged.

"I've been pouring over the lists of their majors just hoping that something - anything - would jump out at me and say 'hey, this is what you should be doing with your life,' but no such luck."

Rachel frowned sympathetically.

"I've spent my whole life with one dream," she said. "Sometimes I forget that not everybody had that early clarity of purpose."

"I wish I had," Quinn sighed. "That would make all of this so much easier."

She gathered the pamphlets into a pile and tied them together with a rubber band.

"I had a brief talk with Brittany about it last night," Quinn continued. "She called to tell me about something else and I was trying to keep my worries to myself but, well, Britt has a way of sensing those things."

"What did she say?" Rachel prompted.

"I said how I had been comparing myself to the rest of our friends," Quinn elaborated. "Everyone's walking around with this great sense of direction, but I don't have any idea where to go. It's embarrassing; after all my hard work, I feel like a failure. Then Brittany tells me, 'Fish can't climb trees.'"

Rachel's brow furrowed.

"It comes from something Einstein said," Quinn explained. "Basically, she was telling me that I have my own value and shouldn't use other people's standards to judge myself."

"Well, that was good advice," Rachel said brightly. "She's right, you know. You're so special, Quinn. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise, no matter who they are. You are meant to go places and do amazing things."

She reached across the table and held both of Quinn's hands with hers.

"Even if it's not something that makes you a household name, I know that you'll be the best in whatever field you choose," Rachel told her earnestly. "And, wherever I am, I'll read about it in the paper or online and I'll smile. Then I'll show everyone I know and probably hang it up on my fridge."

They both laughed.

"You're really sweet, Rachel," Quinn said softly and turned her hands so that their palms were touching. "I'm really lucky that I can count you among my friends."

... ... ...

"Finally!" Santana exclaimed when the car came to a halt.

She reached for the bandana but Brittany stilled her hand.

"Hold on, not yet."

Santana groaned.

"Almost time," Brittany assured her. She exited, circled the vehicle, and helped the other girl out of her seat.

Brittany guided Santana by the shoulders as they advanced.

"Careful," she cautioned. "Take a big step up."

Santana did as she was told. In place of pavement, something softer was now beneath her sneakers. Their footsteps crunched faintly as they walked.

"Okay," Brittany said. "And… ta-daa!"

She removed the blindfold with a flourish.

Santana's brow furrowed for a moment while she looked around, trying to figure out where they were.

"It's the playground where we first met," Brittany told her.

Santana's hand covered her mouth as she gasped. Her eyes rimmed with tears.

"Do you recognize it?"

Santana nodded.

"God," she breathed. "I haven't seen this place in almost..."

"…Twelve years," Brittany finished for her.

She reached down and took Santana's hand.

"Come on," Brittany said gently. "Follow me."

They walked toward the swing set on the opposite side of the playground. The two girls sat on swings side-by-side and kicked back and forth as they took in their surroundings.

"Do you remember the competitions we used to have?" Brittany asked. She leaned her head back and let her unbound hair billow out behind her on the breeze.

Santana's eyes sparkled. She smiled and nodded. They looked at each other and reached the same conclusion simultaneously. Without another word, they swung higher and higher until they had to cling to the chains to keep from slipping out of the seats. As they did so, they counted aloud in unison.

"One… Two… Three!"

They leapt from the swings and landed a few yards away with soft dual thumps.

"Yes!" Brittany crowed triumphantly. She threw her arms in the air and grinned.

"Not again," Santana complained, but she couldn't hold back her laugh. "More than a decade of growth spurts and you continue to kick my ass!"

She rolled over and rested her arm on the other girl's abdomen.

"I still say your long legs give you an unfair advantage."

"Oh, whatever!" Brittany cackled as she rolled her eyes.

Santana scooted up until she was near Brittany's face. She held both sides in her hands and her expression suddenly became wistful.

"At least some things stayed the same," she murmured.

Brittany reached up to gently wipe the worry from the other girl's features with her fingertips.

"Not all of those changes were bad, right?"

Santana closed her eyes and let the touch ease her troubled mind. She stopped the movement of Brittany's hands with her own and looked at her.

"No, I guess not," she agreed quietly.

Brittany sat upright and inched forward. She tilted Santana's chin up so they could look each other in the eye.

"I can think of one difference that's good," Brittany whispered.

She closed the gap between them and kissed her. Santana whimpered and clung to her tightly.

"Please don't cry," Brittany pleaded. "Today's supposed to make you happy."

"I am happy, Britt," Santana told her. "That's the best change that's come out of all this. I'm really, really happy."

They kissed again. Then the two of them rested their heads together and sighed, enjoying the memories that surrounded them before moving on to the next surprise that Brittany had in store.

… ... ...

"Hey," Rachel greeted when she sat down at the start of second period. "I've been thinking about it non-stop since we talked this morning, and I may have an idea."

Quinn looked up and turned to face the other girl.

"What is it?"

"The important thing to do when choosing a career is to play to your strengths, right?" Rachel prefaced.

Quinn nodded.

"Well," Rachel continued. "I considered it from all angles and it dawned on me: you love words."

Quinn tilted her head to one side and waited for her friend to elucidate her thought process.

"Think about it," Rachel urged. "Any time we have a lull in Glee Club meetings, you're always reading a new book. You have an extensive vocabulary and you always have the highest grade in whatever English class you're taking."

"That's all true, I guess, but I'm still not sure about what you're saying," Quinn replied. "Are you telling me that I should be an English major? Because I've heard that for some people that can be a little too broad and they get lost trying to find a job after they graduate."

"Not English." Rachel shook her head and then fanned her fingers out to emphasize the idea she was about to announce. "Songwriting."

Quinn nearly protested such a lofty goal but then she stopped short, genuinely considering it.

"You helped me brainstorm last year and gave really good advice." Rachel took advantage of Quinn's temporary silence to explain further. "When Brittany and Santana were working on Light Up the World, you consulted with them. I think maybe you're the member of the New Directions who is a skilled lyricist, not me."

Quinn blushed a little. It was not often that Rachel Berry admitted someone else's abilities surpassed her own.

"Anyway, it's something to consider," Rachel concluded self-consciously. "Depending on the university, you might not find that as a major per se, but you could study music and make songwriting your focus. That would actually be perfect, because it gives you the necessary foundation to write the music that will accompany your beautiful words."

She folded her hands in front of herself and nodded fervently. Quinn affectionately shook her head before enfolding Rachel in a tight hug.

"I think you're onto something," she murmured. "I really owe you for this one. Seriously, thank you. You dream bigger for me than I ever would for myself."

... ... ...

"The mall?" Santana asked once her blindfold was removed again. "Why here?"

"Because," Brittany said and twisted around to reach for something in the back seat. "We're going to beat the system."

She produced a small purse, which she slung over one shoulder.

"C'mon," Brittany urged. "Let's go inside."

Santana followed her lead as they entered the building. Brittany walked briskly and dodged the other shoppers with effortless grace. When she noticed Santana was falling behind, she reached back for her hand and led her through the passersby. She did not come to a stop until they stood before the waterfall fountain. Santana's face scrunched in confusion as she waited for an explanation.

Brittany held her index finger aloft and unzipped her purse. She plunged one hand inside and pulled out a plastic bag with pennies in it. An excited grin spread across her face as she shook the contents and made them jingle.

"Wishes," she said simply.

Santana cocked her head to the side, still not following.

"Every birthday, you get only one wish when you blow out the candles," Brittany explained. "But there's no limit on fountain wishes so, with these pennies, you can have eighteen – one for each year."

Santana's expression immediately softened and her eyes filled with warm appreciation.

"You're adorable."

"Here's the bag," Brittany said and handed her the coins. "Take as long as you need to come up with what you want. I'll wait right here."

She perched on the edge of the fountain and smiled patiently.

Santana shook her head slightly but did as she'd been instructed. She opened the bag and pulled out the first coin, turning it over on her palm as she thought. Then she flicked it toward the water and watched as it sank below the surface.

"It's more fun if you wind back a bit," Brittany called over the noise of the rushing water.

She shrugged when Santana looked her way.

"Just a suggestion."

Santana nodded. After her next wish, she used her hand like a catapult and shot the penny toward the highest level of the waterfall, where it came down with an impressive splash. Brittany clapped her approval, and it became a game of invention for Santana to think of new ways to entertain her girlfriend with each toss.

She bounced one off her wrists like a volleyball serve, kicked one in with her shoe, head-butted one through the air (a decision she immediately regretted), and spun one in as if she were throwing a very small Frisbee. Her eccentric behavior got them a few stares and odd looks, but Santana found that she didn't mind them because of the smile it put on Brittany's face. For the first time in a very long while, she couldn't possibly care less what other people thought.

When Santana had finished, Brittany got to her feet and wrapped one arm around her shoulders.

"Are you hungry?" Brittany asked.

"I could be."

"Good, because our next stop is for lunch."

… ... ...

Quinn settled down at a vacant table in the cafeteria and reached for her napkin. She fanned it out across her lap and opened her package of plastic utensils. When she looked up once more, she was no longer alone.

"We're seeing quite a lot of each other today," Quinn remarked.

"You haven't been flanked by your usual entourage," Rachel said. "Where are Santana and Brittany, by the way?"

"Well, today is Santana's eighteenth birthday," Quinn informed her. "Brittany couldn't say much over the phone last night because they were in the same room, but I got the feeling that she had a big day planned."

"Her birthday?" Rachel repeated. "Oh, I should text her my wishes..."

She immediately fished out her phone and prepared to type a message. Quinn gently covered the phone with her hand.

"Maybe just tell her tomorrow in person?" she suggested. "It means more that way."

"You're right," Rachel agreed and returned the phone to her purse. "I'll do exactly that when I see her at the start-of-day Glee meeting."

Quinn was quietly grateful she had persuaded her against it. She had a strong suspicion that receiving a message from their classmate might negatively color her friend's day.

"Speaking of Santana, though," Rachel said. "Could I ask you something about her? I completely understand if I'm putting you in an uncomfortable position, being her best friend and all, but I just wanted to know."

"I guess you could," Quinn consented. "What did you want to ask?"

Rachel stabbed at the cherry tomatoes in her salad with a fork and avoided eye contact.

"What exactly happened between her and Finn?"

"You mean with the slap?" Quinn inquired confusedly. "You were there. You saw it."

"Not the slap itself," Rachel said. "I meant before that. Why was she so angry at him? I could tell it was for something more significant than a whisper during the Troubletones' performance."

Quinn smiled bitterly and opened her water bottle. She took a brief swig and tried to reign in her temper.

"Finn didn't tell you," Quinn concluded flatly.

"No, he didn't," Rachel admitted in an almost inaudible voice.

"I suppose he wouldn't be too eager to explain, given that it doesn't cast him in a very positive light," Quinn grumbled. "He outed Santana in the middle of a crowded hallway."

Rachel lowered her fork onto the lunch tray and blinked rapidly.

"Outed?" she murmured with disbelief.

"Yeah," Quinn confirmed. "And some politician's niece overheard it, so now it's going into his campaign commercial against Coach Sylvester."

Rachel held her head in her hands.

"I don't understand," she said. "Can they even do that?"

"Doesn't really matter," Quinn replied as her shoulders sagged defeatedly. "After it hits the air, there could be a lawsuit, but what good would it do? The news would be out and the damage done. They are never going to get away from this. Either of them. Everyone will know the person she's most closely connected to is Brittany. Once the commercial is shown, the whole state of Ohio will know Santana's secret even if they forget her name. She won't be safe anywhere, and Brittany won't be much better off. It's possible it could even be seen by people out of state."

Rachel pushed her food away and wrapped her arms around her middle.

"I'm sorry," Quinn apologized. "Look, I don't want to put a strain between us by saying bad things about Finn. Hell, I wish I didn't even think those things. I dated him once myself. I want to believe in the good that's inside him, but this is a really big deal. If he had just thought before he spoke, just kept that to himself... Things could have been so different."

Rachel nodded vaguely, although she looked as though she were feeling decidedly sick to her stomach.

"I know Santana can be a bitch," Quinn acknowledged. "I've been her friend for three years. I'm well aware. I have no doubt she was tearing into him with everything she had, and some of those insults were cutting pretty close to the bone. Still, there is nothing she could have said that would justify putting her life at risk this way, however unintentionally."

Quinn ran her fingers through her hair and breathed through her nose.

"I'm scared, Rachel," she admitted. "They may never be safe again, not even in their own homes."

She pressed the back of one hand to her mouth and shut her eyes.

"Selfish as it sounds, I can't lose them," she whispered. "And they can't lose each other. It would destroy them."

Rachel folded her hands in her lap and cleared her throat.

"I just can't wrap my head around it," she said dejectedly. "I've told Finn the stories from when my dads were growing up. He knows how hateful people around here can be, and how dangerous it can get for someone who's different. I thought he understood. Especially after Kurt..."

Quinn nodded and resumed eating as an excuse not to comment.

"I need to talk to him," Rachel sniffled.

"Yes, you do," Quinn concurred softly.

Rachel reached across the table and held Quinn's hand.

"I'm glad you told me," she confided.

"Do you mind if I say something?" Quinn asked.

"Not at all."

"This is the second time in the past couple of weeks that you've had to talk to me about something that you really wanted to talk about with Finn," Quinn said.

She put her free hand on top of Rachel's.

"I'm glad I can help you, honestly, I am," she continued. "But - and maybe this is just me - it seems like maybe things aren't as comfortable between the two of you as they should be, considering where you are in your relationship."

Quinn withdrew her hands and gave Rachel an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry if that's overstepping," she said. "It's just an observation I've made."

Rachel waved the words away with a pardoning hand.

"It's okay," she forgave kindly. "In light of everything you've told me today, you may very well be right."

... ... ...

Santana had been quietly hoping they would go to her favorite restaurant so, when the bandana was pulled away to reveal a shelter at the park, it was difficult to conceal her disappointment.

"Are we having a picnic?" she asked tentatively.

"Sort of," Brittany replied vaguely. "I mean, we'll be eating outside."

They got out of the car and walked toward one of the tables under the structure. Once Santana was seated, Brittany went back to the vehicle and opened the trunk. She made two trips to fetch a thick green tablecloth, black ribbon, scissors, a sweater, and a box containing plates and utensils.

Brittany spread the cloth over the table and secured it to the legs with cut strips of ribbon. She put one plate and set of utensils in front of Santana and one in front of her own bench. Once that was done, Brittany walked to the other side of the table and draped the sweater around Santana's shoulders.

"The weather's getting colder," Brittany said as she helped her girlfriend slide both arms into the holes. "I don't want you to catch a chill while we're waiting."

"Waiting?"

"Mm-hmm," Brittany confirmed with a nod. "The food is coming to us."

She checked her watch anxiously.

"It should be any minute n—Oh, here it is!"

A green van pulled into place beside her mother's car. The driver got out, circled to the passenger's side to open the sliding back door, and removed several items. Then he hip-checked the door back into place and walked toward them. He was carrying two plastic cups and two large, brown bags with an instantly recognizable logo printed on their sides. Santana's jaw dropped.

"Breadstix delivers now," Brittany reminded her in an undertone as the boy approached.

The young man placed the cups and bags on the table.

"Here you are," he said cheerfully.

Brittany fished some money out of her pocket to pay him.

"Thanks, Max," Brittany said with a wave as he walked away. "Have a good day."

"You, too!" he called over his shoulder and climbed into the van.

She turned back to Santana, who was regarding her with a mixture of surprise and awe in her expression. Brittany winked at her and then focused on the table.

"I got us both some spaghetti, a salad…," Brittany listed while she removed four black, plastic containers from the first bag. She handed two to Santana and put the other two on top of her own plate.

Then she opened the second bag and tilted it toward Santana for her to look inside.

"…And one large order of breadsticks."

"This is amazing," Santana gushed. "But why go through all the trouble to have them bring it out here?"

"Because," Brittany said. "When we're at the restaurant, it's all about who else is there and who can see."

She reached across the table and wove their fingers together.

"Here it can just be about you and me."

Santana looked at their joined hands and smiled softly. It was nice to be able to sit that way without feeling the need to conceal it.

They shifted their attention to their plates. The meal was absolute bliss. Santana was warm, content, and growing increasingly full. She tried to get Brittany to eat some of the breadsticks, but the most the other girl would take was one, and only then just to humor her. Brittany insisted that Santana should be allowed full enjoyment of her favorite food without having to divide the portion with anyone.

When they had polished off the last bite, Brittany threw away the bags and containers and returned the other items to the trunk. Then she suggested that they go for a walk. Santana agreed, and they set off hand-in-hand down the path at the bottom of the hill.

The park was fairly deserted due to the slight chill in the air, so they were able to enjoy the nearness of one another with little fear of discovery. It wasn't until they approached an old, white gazebo that they saw any other signs of life at all. There, seated beneath the red roof, was a group of elderly gentlemen playing various instruments. Their music drifted on the autumn air and through the barren branches of the surrounding trees.

"Dance with me," Brittany urged suddenly.

"Britt, we can't," Santana murmured. "They might see us."

Brittany's face fell slightly, but she nodded her agreement. Santana's insides squirmed with guilt. Before she could halt her own movement, she turned her girlfriend around until they were facing one another. Santana's teeth worried her bottom lip while she summoned her courage.

"Oh, what the hell," she tossed out as flippantly as her constricting airway would allow. "Everyone will know soon enough anyway."

She grabbed one of Brittany's hands and pressed it to the small of her back. Then she took the other and held it in her own. Slowly, they started to sway and spin in place. Brittany's face lit up with a contagious grin that Santana couldn't help but mirror. They both knew what a huge step this was, but it didn't seem to matter so much once the joy of moving together to the melody settled over them.

Santana rested her head against Brittany's chest and, even through the layers of clothing, she could swear that she heard her heart beating. Her own was thumping behind her ribcage while her mind screamed at her to stop, but she ignored the warning. She wasn't going to let anything shatter this fragile, perfect moment, not even herself.

The song came to an end and Brittany started to pull away to resume their walk. However, Santana reached up to cup the back of Brittany's neck with one hand. She supported herself on tiptoe and kissed her. Brittany didn't know how to respond initially, but as the touch deepened she wrapped her arms around Santana's sides.

When at last they broke apart, Santana reached down and interwove their fingers once more. They continued along the path past the gazebo. One of the old men noticed them as they passed and tipped his hat. Santana grinned and nodded in his direction. Brittany watched the exchange with a wonderful pang inside her chest.

They might not have been quite to the point of displaying their affection in the halls of their own school, but this was most certainly a start.

… ... ...

Quinn exited the bathroom stall and pressed the soap dispenser with the heel of her hand. She ran water over her palms and blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. The door behind her swung open and she could see the incoming student in the mirror's reflection.

Rachel's cheeks were tear-stained and her lower lip was trembling. She saw Quinn standing at the sinks and drew up short.

"Note to self, for future reference," Rachel announced in a shaking voice. "Stop trying to have serious conversations in high school hallways, particularly in the general vicinity of where Jacob Ben Israel is readying his camera."

"What happened?" Quinn asked gently.

"It was a complete disaster," Rachel told her. "I caught up with Finn at the lockers and tried to confront him about what you had told me, but he got so defensive. He said I was making it all out to be his fault and that he would have thought I would support him more, being his girlfriend. It escalated into this huge shouting match and, of course, Jacob heard it and came running with his filming equipment. By the time he got there, all he caught was footage of Finn storming away from me, but still..."

She began crying again and let her chin fall onto her chest. Her shoulders shook and the tears dropped from her eyes onto the linoleum below her feet. Quinn hesitated a moment before she approached and gave Rachel a faltering hug.

"It's going to be okay," she assured. "The important thing is that the two of you have started to clear the air. Better that than sweeping everything under the rug, right?"

"I guess so."

She wrapped her arms around Quinn and hugged her back, clinging tightly.

"I miss the days when the only obstacle between us was his relationship with you," she joked.

Quinn rolled her eyes, but she found herself laughing.

"Sometimes I almost miss that, too," she concurred. "It was a lot simpler than the shitstorm we're in now. But you know what? I like it a lot better now that you and I are on the same side."

Rachel smiled a little through her tears and tilted her head to rest against Quinn's.

"So do I."

… ... ...

The next few hours passed by in a pleasant blur. They went to the theater to see a movie and stopped by the Lima Bean afterward to get a couple of pumpkin lattes for the ride home. By the time they returned to the Pierces' house, it was already dark and the stars were beginning to emerge.

Brittany pulled into the driveway and parked the car. The two girls climbed out and stretched their stiff limbs with a yawn, slightly fatigued after their busy day. Santana began to walk toward the front entrance, but she realized Brittany was headed for the lattice arch that led to the yard behind the house.

"Let's go in through the back door," Brittany suggested with an unreadable expression.

Santana studied her face with a knotted brow but hesitantly acquiesced. She was further perplexed when Brittany insisted that she lead the way, guiding Santana gently with a hand pressed against her back.

As they stepped through the arch and rounded the corner, she finally saw why.

"Surprise!" the Pierces yelled excitedly when the two girls came into view.

A strand of lights had been strung from the side of the house to the base of their oak tree and back. Beneath it, a long, white table was set up with a colorful cake in the middle. A banner with the guest of honor's name painted on it was dangling from the branches overhead.

Santana took a step back and gaped at the decorations, too shocked to fully register that it was all done for her. For the second time that day, she found her eyes brimming with tears. She looked at Brittany who was beaming proudly over the fact that she had so successfully saved the best secret for last.

"Step Seven," Brittany whispered into her ear as she wrapped both arms around her girlfriend's waist. "Bring you home to end the day with a family that loves you."

Santana was speechless. Without being told, Brittany had known the one, most hurtful thing that had been absent from the day and found a remedy for it. Her throat burned as she looked at the familiar faces. Mr. and Mrs. Pierce were already beginning to light the candles and prepare the plates. Katy was walking toward them with a rather displeased-looking Lord Tubbington in her arms. The disgruntled feline had been forced to wear a small party hat for the occasion, but he did spare Santana an almost friendly flick of his tail when he saw her.

"Happy Birthday," Brittany's little sister said with a grin.

Katy grunted and shifted the weight of the cat to pass Santana the card that she had clutched between her fingers.

"Tubbington signed it, too," Katy informed Santana and shuffled away with her furry companion.

"Thank you," Santana said softly while she looked down at the envelope in her hands.

Not wanting to lose control of her emotions in front of Brittany's whole family, Santana decided that she would wait until later to read the card. She took Brittany's hand in hers and walked toward the table. Her girlfriend pulled the middle chair out for her and scooted her in once she was settled.

Then the Pierces gathered around to sing and Santana could feel her face growing warm, unaccustomed to this kind of attention. When the song concluded, Santana blew out her candles and then helped remove them so that the cake could be cut. Mr. and Mrs. Pierce carried their slices out to the front porch to eat. Katy took hers inside to finish while she caught an evening program that she wanted to watch. Lord Tubbington followed the little girl's lead, swishing his tail and licking his lips in anticipation of sharing a few bites of the treat.

Though she had a feeling Brittany may have pre-arranged their convenient departure, Santana was grateful that she and her girlfriend were once again alone. When the rest of the family had gone, she and Brittany sat across from each other, enjoying their cake and one another's company. Eventually, they polished off the last forkful and Brittany moved so they could sit side-by-side. She leaned her head against Santana's and murmured into her hair.

"So, did it work?"

"Hmm?"

"The Perfect Day," she clarified.

"Absolutely one hundred percent flawless," Santana confirmed.

She kissed the end of Brittany's nose.

"I don't know how I could ever possibly repay you."

"I didn't arrange all that to get anything," Brittany protested. "I did it because it's what you deserve."

Santana was tempted to argue, but she knew how the other girl disliked that sort of self-deprecation, so she simply sighed and snuggled closer.

"Now that you mention it, though," Brittany said slowly after a few moments. "I do think maybe we could add one more step to the day. You know, just like as a bonus."

"Oh, really?" Santana asked with a smirk.

"Yeah, it could be like…," Brittany's eyes cast around for a comparison. "…the icing on the cake."

Santana could hear her smile at what she perceived to be a rather apt analogy.

"Okay," she agreed as they rose to their feet.

Santana wound her arm around Brittany's side and used that hold for leverage as she stretched up to whisper in her ear.

"But before we do, we'll need to make a quick stop back at the car."

"Why?" Brittany asked just as quietly.

"Because I think I may have another use for that blindfold."

... ... ...

Friday came and, with it, the final performance of West Side Story. Artie's Opening Night jitters had circled back around because he was equally concerned about the show's run ending with a bang.

Matters were made worse by the high tension backstage. Santana had been in considerably improved spirits until she nearly ran into Finn as he was presenting Rachel with Closing Night flowers. She dodged him successfully, but her smile vanished and she became taciturn. Even Rachel herself was less talkative than usual. Her acceptance of her boyfriend's bouquet was lukewarm at best and, when he tried to give her a good luck kiss, she turned her face aside and caused his lips to graze her cheek instead.

All external strife aside, the cast turned in their best performance yet. The emotions they conveyed were raw and believable and pulled the audience right into the world of the story. Rachel's disbelief and pain over a lover who could commit a vengeful act was particularly convincing. Quinn watched from the wings and could see the real tears as they streamed down her friend's face.

The biggest drama, however, occurred out of the audience's view, near the end of the night. It was Santana's final scene as Anita. Brittany, who was usually in the green room during that part of the show, joined Quinn in the shadows to watch her girlfriend.

Santana entered from the opposite side of the stage, draped in a shawl and in visible mourning for the man her character had lost. She approached the Jets with fear and intense dislike, prepared to convey the message that Rachel's Maria had given her.

Brittany nudged Quinn excitedly. Quinn glanced at her and could see that she was completely aglow with pride. Truly, Santana had learned how to shine alone and pull on the audience's heartstrings.

The Jets began to circle Anita and taunt her, tugging away her shawl and pushing her back and forth among them. Brittany chewed on her bottom lip and fidgeted, fighting against her natural instinct to protect Santana. When the Jets knocked Anita to the ground and closed ranks, with one of them climbing on top of her, Brittany forgot to breathe.

Quinn felt dread flow its icy path through her veins. She realized belatedly that she should have kept Brittany from viewing this scene and cursed herself for not thinking of it sooner. Santana screamed in a way that could have curdled the blood of even the most passive viewer and Brittany immediately dropped to the floor. She clutched the sides of her head and rocked back and forth, breathing shallowly. Quinn crouched down beside her.

"Come on," she urged in a whisper. "Let's get you out of here."

Brittany shook her head vehemently and continued to stare at Santana out on the stage.

Quinn wedged her arms under Brittany's and hauled the other girl to her feet. She cradled her friend's torso close to her own and dragged her toward the door leading to the back hall. Once the door was shut behind them and they were safely out of audible range, she lowered Brittany onto the floor and sat next to her.

"Breathe, Britt," she commanded in a quavering voice. "Please. You're scaring me. Here, put your head between your knees for a minute and try to take a breath. Just one."

Brittany did as Quinn said while wrapping her arms around her thighs. She remained that way for some time, visibly shivering. Santana came through the doors a few minutes later and, upon seeing her girlfriend curled up near the wall, immediately dropped to her knees.

"Britt?" she said quietly. "Britt-Britt, what happened? What's wrong?"

"She came in to watch your last scene," Quinn explained.

"Shit," Santana murmured. "Brittany, look at me."

Brittany lifted her now blood-red face, with eyes a bright turquoise from her silent crying, and tried to stop trembling. Santana held the sides of her face and scooted close until their legs were touching.

"It's okay," she comforted. "I'm okay. It wasn't real. See? I'm right here. Nothing really happened."

Brittany nodded, but sobs continued to wrack her body. Santana sat down and pulled the other girl onto her lap, wrapping one arm around Brittany's side while her free hand cupped the back of her head.

"Shh," she whispered. "You're safe. You're with me. Nothing's going to happen to you, I promise. I won't let it."

Brittany buried her face in the crook of Santana's neck and finally began to relax. Santana stroked her hair and nuzzled her forehead.

"I'm sorry, baby," she told her in a voice Quinn could barely hear. "I should've known you'd want to watch me. I should have warned you to stay away. I'm so sorry."

Quinn pressed her ear to the door and checked the clock on the wall.

"It's getting close to our last scene," she fretfully informed Santana.

Santana nodded and helped Brittany to her feet. She looped her arm around Brittany's waist and reached up to wipe the other girl's tears away.

"Let's wash your face and reapply your makeup," Santana said. "Don't worry, Britt-Britt. Quinn and I are here. We'll take care of you."

... ... ...

The following Monday marked the start of what Finn decided to call Lady Music Week. Rachel and Quinn were among the first of the New Directions to arrive in the choir room. Quinn settled into a chair near the middle and folded her arms. Rachel sat to her left and watched her boyfriend with mild trepidation.

"Finn and I had a really long talk this weekend," she confided. "I tried to speak in the most non-accusatory way I could, but I still wanted him to understand the severity of the situation."

"How did that go?" Quinn asked.

"I showed him a story online about how a kid who made an It Gets Better video recently committed suicide. Not that I think that's what's going to happen to Santana, but I thought it might help if Finn understood just how far being hated can drive a person."

Quinn nodded and studied Finn's face, trying to discern whether or not he had been appropriately affected by what his girlfriend had explained.

"He told me he'd try to use this week to turn things around, so... We'll see," Rachel murmured anxiously. "I'm keeping my fingers crossed."

"Same here," Quinn concurred.

The Troubletones arrived shortly thereafter. They had reverted to their former state of annoyance at the whole affair and were loudly complaining that they still didn't understand why they had to be there. Santana and Brittany chose adjacent seats and huddled close, saying very little on the matter. Brittany rubbed Santana's back occasionally and pressed her lips together in a thin line.

Finn walked to the front of the room and wrote the name of the week's theme in large, capital letters on the white board. He turned around and informed everyone that, during this week, both the New Directions and the Troubletones would be singing songs "by ladies and for ladies."

Even Santana had a few choice words to say about this idea. Drawing further attention to her plight was the last thing in the world that she wanted right now. It made her stomach turn just to imagine how it would be to spend the entirety of the next five days having people emotionally sing at her.

"Everybody in this room knows about you and Brittany," Finn pointed out gently. "And we don't judge you for it. We celebrate it, because it's who you are. Look, I know not everybody outside of this room is as accepting and cool, but we're doing this assignment this week so that you know in this rotten, stinking, mean world that you at least have a group of people who will support your choice to be whoever you want to be. That's it. That's what we're doing here."

Santana tried the cotton candy approach that Brittany had taught her, holding the anger inside for long enough that a piece of the treat could have melted in her mouth. She quietly objected to the use of the word 'choice' in his explanation, particularly since she felt like there was no choice to be seen anywhere in any of what was happening to her lately. However, Santana tried her level best to be receptive and at least hear what Blaine and Kurt, the first members to perform for the week, had elected to sing. It helped that Brittany's arm was draped across the back of her chair. She felt a little stronger just having her girlfriend so near.

The song began well enough. They had decided on Perfect by Pink, a song that the other couple enjoyed singing to one another in the car. While Blaine and Kurt were still standing in the middle of the floor, Santana felt at least a semi-comfortable sense of distance and was not as severely uncomfortable as she expected. It also helped that the boys sang at least half of the lyrics looking at each other; the less eye contact she had to share with them, the better.

It wasn't until they reached the rap that Santana felt her first real twinge of irritation. Her initial response was to be amused like everyone else, but then she really started to notice the other people in the room. Santana saw all the smiling faces, all the laughter, and it suddenly struck her as utterly useless.

She was sitting in a room full of people who behaved as if there was nothing to fear, as if one place of acceptance would somehow shield her from the dangers beyond those four walls. What if her family threw her out of the house? What if someone with an axe to grind decided she was the perfect person to make an example of and assaulted her? Were a series of cheerful pop ballads supposed to give her the strength to carry on after that? Well-meant though it may be, the entire concept seemed utterly laughable. Santana's anger bubbled up again, rising to the surface, and she was only able to curb her tongue until the end of the song.

"Thank you guys," she said with a fake smile. "Thank you, Finn, especially. You know, with all the horrible crap I've been through in my life, now I get to add that."

Santana gave a few sarcastic claps and glared right back when she saw the way that Kurt's lip had curled.

Let him be offended, she thought spitefully. Let them all just write me off after this, for all I care. If I'm expected to sit here and be grateful while they turn this into some fun group activity, they're all in for a week of disappointment.

... ... ...

That night, Santana decided it was time to sit her parents down for a talk. There wasn't much time left before the commercial was likely to appear on T.V., and she didn't want that to be the way that they learned the truth about their only daughter. She asked Brittany to accompany her, staying over for dinner and whatever might follow.

As was their custom, the Lopezs did not eat their meal in the same room. Matyas and Mr. Lopez had already taken their meals to separate places by the time Mrs. Lopez called for Santana and Brittany. The girls took their plates of carne asada and settled in the dining room.

Santana waited until her mother had departed for her office down the hall and was no longer in view. She nudged Brittany with her foot under the table and mouthed, 'I'm scared.' Brittany grazed Santana's hand with her own and gave her a reassuring smile.

"I know," she whispered. "But you don't have to go in there alone. I'll be right here with you, no matter what they say."

"Thank you," Santana said sincerely. "Much as I'd like to lie to myself, I don't think this is going to go as smoothly as it did with your parents."

"They might surprise you," Brittany told her optimistically.

Santana smiled softly.

"That's what Tony said."

"Well, there you go," Brittany replied as if that decided the matter. "He believed there was a chance, too. They love you, Santana, even if maybe they don't show it all the time or say it very often. This won't change their minds about that. I know it."

"I'm glad that at least Matyas is in his room," Santana told her. "Not that I think he'd really give a damn one way or the other, but this isn't something I want Ty talking about with his friends. Then again, if their families see the commercial, I may not be able to avoid that."

She sighed and rested her chin on her hands. Then she squared her shoulders and sat upright once more with her head held high.

"One thing at a time," Santana said determinedly. "The important thing is to tell them tonight before Reggie Salazar does it for me. Anything that comes after that, well... I'll just face it as it comes."

They polished off the last of their dinner and took the empty plates and utensils to the dishwasher.

"Ready?" Brittany asked once their hands were free.

She reached down and interlaced their fingers. Santana took a deep breath and nodded.

"Ready," she confirmed.

The two walked through the dining room and living room before reaching the hall that led to Santana's parents' offices. Santana knocked on her mother's door first.

"Mamá?" Santana voiced tentatively as she turned the door knob and entered the room.

Her mother looked up from where she had been sifting through that month's bills. Maribel's glasses were perched on the end of her nose, adorned with small chains that swooped low and disappeared beneath her auburn hair. It gave her a slightly more severe appearance than the way she was generally perceived, but her smile was all warmth and welcome when she saw her daughter standing in the doorway.

"There's plenty more left over, you two, so you can just help yourselves. I haven't heard anyone else stake a claim, so it's free to whomever wants it."

"No, it's not about the food," Santana told her bashfully. "I'd like to talk to you for a minute in the living room, if that's okay."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes. Well, no. I..." Santana closed her eyes. "It's hard to explain. Just wait for me there. I'll get Dad and tell you both at the same time."

Maribel carefully set her plate and glass aside on an end table and went to the room where her presence was required. As she passed, she gave Brittany an inquisitive look to see if the other girl knew what was going on tonight. Brittany merely gave her a small smile before turning and following Santana a few more strides to the next door.

Here, Santana hesitated. She lifted her fist and prepared to knock, but her hand was shaking. Santana gave her girlfriend a despairing look and, taking this as her cue, Brittany knocked for her.

They heard her father's smooth voice invite them in, so Brittany turned the knob and they stepped over the threshold.

"Papá, tengo que hablar con usted, por favor," Santana said.

Ernesto Lopez, in contrast to his wife, bore a rather severe countenance wherever he went. Even when he was at his most genial, his now-graying beard and mustache coupled with his hard, dark eyes gave the impression that he would not tolerate so much as one toe being put out of line. The hair atop his head remained as dark as Santana's and she had inherited his complexion.

When he noted the way that Santana shuffled her feet and did not hold his gaze, Ernesto set aside his newspaper and sat up a little straighter.

"¿Algo pasó?"

"Todavía no," Santana replied with a strained smile.

"We were wondering if you could maybe come to the living room," Brittany interjected. "Mrs. Lopez is there, too."

Ernesto's brow furrowed at the girls' odd behavior, but he gave a curt nod and did as his guest had requested.

By the time Brittany and Santana made their way back down the hall, both Maribel and Ernesto were looking highly anxious.

"What's going on?" Maribel asked at once before the teens had even taken a seat on the couch. "Santana Maria Lopez, if you've failed a course and never once mentioned to me that you were struggling-"

Santana gently waved a hand to dismiss this fear.

"This isn't about school," Santana told her. "At least, not directly."

Both her parents looked at her expectantly. Santana licked her lips and tried to speak, but her voice failed her. She reached for Brittany's hand and squeezed it as she tried to summon her courage.

"Mamá, Papá," Santana tried again, although her voice still quavered. "There's something I want you to know about me, something I've tried to lock away inside myself for a very long time."

She stared at her kneecaps and sucked on her lower lip.

"I know that when... when we lost Tony, you guys lost your best kid. You don't have to argue," she hastened to add when she thought they might protest. "It's a fact. That left a hole in all of us that nothing and no one can ever fill. Still, I have spent the past six years trying so hard to be somebody special, not just a consolation prize. I can only hope that what I have to tell you tonight won't make me a disappointment to you. That's the last thing in the world that I want but, this thing that I have to share, it's helped me see that there's a place where I am special and I do matter, exactly as I am. That's what makes it so important to me that you know about it and, hopefully, embrace and support it... if you can."

She inhaled sharply through her nose and sat upright again. Her eyes found Brittany's. The encouragement she saw there gave Santana all she needed to turn and meet her parents' gaze.

"This thing that I need you to know," she began. "Is that... I'm a lesbian."

Maribel blinked a few times, her expression neutral, while Ernesto sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin with his hand.

"Is this a conclusion that you reached very recently?" Maribel inquired.

"I was struggling with it all through last year but now I'm sure," Santana answered her. "This is who I really am."

Ernesto cleared his throat and ran a hand through his thick hair.

"Why tell us now?" he asked. "If you have kept it a secret for as long as you say, what prompted this announcement?"

Santana and Brittany shared a quick glance.

"That's the other thing," Santana elaborated. "Pretty soon, my choice to tell people individually, the way that I'm doing with you now, is no longer going to be an option."

"I don't understand," Maribel said.

"Well, you see, there was this boy at school. You'll remember his name, Mamá, he's been in my class since kindergarten: Finn Hudson."

"Carole's boy?" Maribel queried.

"Yeah, that's him," Santana confirmed. "He and I got into a fight in the hall not too long ago. We don't always get along, and I let my temper run away with me. I said a lot of things that weren't very nice."

"The same way you do with Ty," Maribel acknowledged without any surprise. "I've always said you need some way to curb that anger."

"I wish I had listened to you," Santana confessed miserably. "Because I went too far and Finn was really mad, so he decided to get back at me. He had figured it out, you know, about the way I am. So he called it out in the middle of the hallway where everyone nearby could hear."

Maribel's jaw clenched and Ernesto's grip on the arms of his chair tightened. Though their responses to their daughter's sexual orientation had yet to manifest, the familial protectiveness was still instinctive.

"What happened then?" Maribel prompted.

"Someone did hear," Santana told them. "The niece of this politician, Reggie Salazar. He was looking for fuel against my cheerleading coach, Ms. Sylvester, because she's his competition in the election. Evidently, he thought that this was fair game, because it's going into his next campaign commercial."

Maribel covered her mouth with her hand and Ernesto shut his eyes.

"Has it already been on television?" Maribel asked.

"Not yet," Santana responded. "I think it's due out sometime this week."

"That leaves a small window," Maribel said as though speaking to herself. "I can start preparing a case ahead of time."

"No, Mamá, please," Santana insisted. "I don't want to pursue any legal action. I just want to survive this."

She let go of Brittany's hand and knelt on the floor in front of her mother.

"I don't need a lawsuit or a settlement. I just need my family to stand by me and tell me that everything will work out okay."

Santana extended her fingers until the tips just barely grazed the back of Maribel's palm.

"Can I have that?" she whispered tremulously.

Maribel sniffled and ran one fingertip under each eye - a quick concealment of emotion that Brittany had seen Santana herself employ on numerous occasions - before she cupped her daughter's face in her hands.

"Santana, if you have been brave enough to tell us this tonight and you can be brave enough to face all of what is yet to come, whatever that may be, then surely I can find the strength to stand by you," Maribel concluded shakily. "I may not fully understand everything at the moment, but I can promise you that I will not desert you. You are still my daughter, no matter what hurtful things people may have to say."

Santana wrapped her fingers around her mother's hands and kissed the center of both palms gratefully. Then she turned to look at her father.

"Papá?"

"I will need some time to process this," Ernesto replied. "This will not be an easy thing to accept for a lot of people, Santana, some of our family included. Your mother and I may not be churchgoers every Sunday, but we come from a very Catholic background. You know this. Your abuelita is the most devout of them all."

Santana nodded and felt her stomach twist unpleasantly. That was the person to whom she most dreaded having to speak. All those years of being cared for by her grandmother in her parents' absence, all those Sundays of going with her to church simply as a chance to bond... if that crumbled, Santana did not know how she would find her bearings again.

"But you," Santana said after a moment. "Even if they don't like who I've realized that I am, what do you say?"

Ernesto leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together.

"I have known what it is like to have a child ripped from me," he said slowly. "To never see them again, and to have nothing I could do to bring them back. I will not leave my daughter exposed to danger and risk suffering that pain again. What you feel, hija, it is out of my ability to grasp. But I will not be the cause of my family dwindling down to three. Even if I can't comprehend the workings of your heart, you still have mine."

Santana remained on her knees, gaping at him, breathless. Then she surprised everyone by launching herself forward and hugging her father's legs, sobbing openly onto his neatly ironed slacks. Ernesto looked deeply uncomfortable for a fraction of a second. However, as he watched Santana's shoulders shake and heard her cry, Mr. Lopez placed one hand lightly upon her head and caressed her dark hair with his thumb.

Brittany watched the scene with a steady stream of tears flowing down her own cheeks. She knew better than anyone that her girlfriend had been waiting all her life for just a simple declaration of love from her father and, to receive it now, when she was afraid that she was most unworthy of it, was more overwhelming than Santana had been prepared to handle.

Maribel looked up and noticed Brittany's sympathetic emotions. She reached into the pocket of her blazer and withdrew a tissue. Mrs. Lopez walked over and pressed it into Brittany's hand.

"It was so kind of you to be here tonight, to give Santana your support," Maribel praised. "She is lucky to have a friend as true and long-lasting as you've been."

"She's not just here as my friend, Mamá," Santana said thickly, still gulping down the sobs that threatened to take over once more.

Maribel looked from her daughter to Brittany and back again. She nodded a little before shaking her head at herself for only just now catching onto reality.

"Of course," she muttered softly.

Ernesto's eyes widened, but he did not stop comforting Santana. He cleared his throat again and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

"This is going to be hard on you too, isn't it?" Maribel reasoned as she turned back to Brittany. "With the commercial that man is airing."

"I'm ready," Brittany declared firmly. "People can say whatever they want to. I'm where I'm supposed to be and I'm happy. That's all that matters."

"She's picking up some of your fire, Santana," Maribel chuckled. "But I think that may serve you well, in the near future. You know, you've been hand-in-hand with Santana ever since you met. It puts my mind a little more at ease to know that, when she is not here with us, she will still be with you. My daughter will never go anywhere that she is not protected by love."

Brittany shook her head and murmured, "I promise."

Ernesto at last allowed his hand to cease its movement as his daughter turned to look at her girlfriend with a shining expression. Santana reached Brittany's side in three quick strides and Brittany rose to meet her. Then Santana wrapped Brittany up tightly in her arms and pressed a hidden kiss against her shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispered earnestly. "I wouldn't make it through any of this without you here."

... ... ...

Tuesday morning, Santana and Brittany walked into the choir room arm-in-arm and sat at the back, as far from whatever musical extravaganza awaited as they could manage to be while still within the confines of those four walls. Both were taken by surprise when, out of all the students assembled there, the two who separated themselves from the group and walked toward the waiting stools were Quinn and Puck.

As Quinn crossed her legs at the ankle and smoothed her dress, she smiled kindly at her two best friends.

"Santana," she said. "I know that this week isn't something that you wanted or that you asked for in any way. In fact, you're probably sitting back there almost too pissed off to function. Still, if it's okay, I really wanted to use this chance to express my support for you both, and to promise I'm going to be there for you whenever you need me."

Quinn glanced to her left, where her duet partner was meticulously adjusting his guitar strap and determinedly avoiding eye contact with anyone.

"Puck called me up last night and told me that he wanted to sing something for you, too. He was having a hard time finding anything that felt quite right, so we did a bit of searching together and came up with this."

She gave Puck the nod to begin and he started strumming the strings of his guitar. Quinn locked eyes with Santana and, much as the latter wanted to look away, she could feel the sincerity behind her friend's expression and reluctantly returned the gaze. Then Quinn began to sing.

"It isn't very difficult to see why

You are the way you are.

Doesn't take a genius to realize

That sometimes life is hard.

It's gonna take time

But you'll just have to wait.

You're gonna be fine

But in the meantime..."

Puck joined in for the chorus. He still hadn't looked up from a spot on the floor, but his voice was raw enough that everyone could tell he was more invested in this performance than he let on outwardly.

"Come over here, lady.

Let me wipe your tears away.

Come a little nearer, baby,

'Cause you'll heal over

Heal over

Heal over someday..."

Santana clamped her teeth together. She tightened her hands into fists atop her thighs and fought valiantly not to let the words sink too deep into her chest. However, her resolve chipped away a little more with each line of the next verse.

"I don't wanna hear you tell yourself

That these feelings are in the past.

You know it doesn't mean they're off the shelf

Because pain is built to last.

Everybody sails alone

Oh, but we can travel side by side.

Even if you fail,

You know that no one really minds..."

By the time Quinn and Puck reached the second repetition of the chorus, Brittany had draped an arm across Santana's back and was gently rubbing her arm. Santana was able to draw additional strength from that, but then Puck finally looked up at her to sing a few lines on his own and her tears began to fall freely.

"Now don't hold on

But don't let go.

I know it's so hard.

You've got to try to trust yourself..."

Brittany scooted her chair closer to her girlfriend's seat. Santana immediately hugged Brittany's arm with both of her own. Puck and Quinn reached the end of their song and the New Directions and the Troubletones all clapped.

Then Puck climbed off his stool and prepared to speak, but not before he took one last glance back at Quinn, who tilted her head in Santana's direction and smiled.

"Santana, you pointed out once that I never sang a song to you here in Glee Club," Puck said. "And, even though you acted super mad about it, I could tell what it really meant was that I'd hurt you. I kinda did that a lot. I was a pretty crappy boyfriend."

Santana and Brittany nodded simultaneously.

"But just 'cause I really sucked at that doesn't mean that I can't be a good friend," Puck determined. "And, even though I know this is 'just a phase...'"

He paused to wink at Santana to make sure that she knew he was kidding.

"... I've got your back. Anybody gives you grief, you tell me, and I'll pound them into the ground like a freaking horseshoe spike. That's a promise."

Santana stood and descended to where he stood. She shifted her weight awkwardly and her hands twitched at her sides. However, her intent was clear enough that Puck took the initiative and tugged her in for a hug. Santana allowed herself the tiniest of smiles as she hugged him back.

... ... ...

"That was a really beautiful performance this morning, Quinn," Rachel praised when they saw one another again in class.

"Thank you," Quinn said. "I only hope that it helped Santana, at least a little."

"I'm sure it did," Rachel replied confidently. "We don't have much else in common, Santana and I, but we do share one thing: music is a comfort to us. I learned that working with her on West Side Story. She's different around music. Not so hard to be with and just, I don't know, happier."

Quinn grinned as she recalled the way her friend fairly glowed while onstage.

"Yeah, she is. Santana's in her element there. It's where she can leave everything else behind her."

Rachel nodded sagely.

"Losing herself in the role," she deduced. "Just like any other true performance artist."

Quinn busied herself with taking out her notebook and pen as she prepared to ask the question that was waiting there in the back of her mind. She chewed on her lip for a moment and inhaled deeply through her nose.

"So, my mom is going on a Booze Cruise thing this weekend," Quinn informed her. "It's supposed to be a Christian Wine Tasting event, but I know what it'll really boil down to."

She shrugged a little and tried not to see the way Rachel was studying her with sympathy.

"The point is, I'm on my own on Friday. I don't really want to be by myself with my thoughts and I was wondering, if you're free, if you might like to spend the night."

Quinn hesitantly lifted her eyes to see how Rachel would respond to this proposal. Her friend was already beaming excitedly.

"Have a sleepover?" she asked in an almost squeaky voice. "I'd be delighted to keep you company!"

"Great," Quinn sighed with relief. "Thanks, I really appreciate it."

"No problem at all! The pleasure is all mine," Rachel insisted.

Then she turned to face the front of the classroom as the teacher began the lesson. Rachel bounced a little in her seat with an expression that, to anyone else in the room, must have looked entirely too eager to discuss Elizabethan tragedy.

Quinn blushed and turned her book to the start of the next chapter.

... ... ...

That afternoon, during their class with Mr. Schue, Finn took his turn performing a song for their guest of honor. He chose to do a rendition of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper, but slowed down considerably and accompanied by a piano and a violin.

Santana was still thinking back to a conversation she had with Finn in the hall earlier that same day, in which the boy had confided that he didn't want her to end up hurting herself because of all that had happened. He had spoken in such an urgent undertone and, while Santana appreciated that concern more than she let on, it was still very uncomfortable to be so near to him after what he had done.

The anxiety she had been experiencing returned when Finn dragged a chair across the floor. He straddled it and sat in front of her to sing. In spite of herself, Santana felt her eyes filling with tears. She wished more than anything else that he would stop staring so intensely at her face. Finn meant well, but Santana wanted to disappear on the spot. By the time Mike and Artie joined in, along with the other Glee guys, Santana could feel her throat burning.

When the song finally reached its conclusion, Santana took a deep breath through quivering lips and tried to get her emotions under control.

"I know you're still feeling really guilty," Santana acknowledged. "I can see it on your face; you want me to say that I forgive you. Look, I wish it were that easy but I just... I want people to stop looking at me the way you're looking at me right now. Like I might shatter into pieces and no one will be able to glue me together again. I know you want to help and stuff, but just leave me alone... please."

"Santana, I never meant for this to happen," Finn told her in a pleading voice, still beseeching her for absolution. "I didn't think before I spoke and it just turned into this really huge mess. It was an accident."

"Bullshit."

Everyone turned in unison to face the voice that had spoken, shocked into collective silence. Brittany looked up from where she had been sitting cross-legged a few feet away. Her cheeks were pink and her eyelids were rimmed in red, but her bright blue eyes blazed with indignation.

"It is," she shrugged. "Santana told me all about that day. She walked away from you; she thought the argument was over, that she won. You didn't leave it there. You shouted the last thing you said. That's not how an accident happens. It isn't possible to accidentally call something out to someone from multiple yards away."

Brittany put her feet on the floor and folded her arms across her chest.

"And, I mean, your song was really pretty but I don't really understand it. What Santana and I have been through, it wasn't about fun. Even when we pretended it was, we both knew that was a lie. Every second getting here hurt like hell."

A tear escaped the corner of her eyelid but she swiped it away with the back of her hand.

"This week has been really nice so far, honest, it has," Brittany told the group at large. "You guys all letting Santana know she matters - that means a lot to me. I want it to make everything okay, but it just can't. Finn, I know you think that you're just trying to do the right thing, but I think it's something different. 'Cause, to me, if you wanted Santana to feel better, you'd let her do it in her own way, you know? In her own time. But you keep pushing and pushing. First by making her attend this week, then finding her in the hall earlier to ask how she liked the idea even though you know she doesn't, and now sitting right in front of her face and singing at her."

She smoothed her Cheerios skirt and bit the inside of her cheek.

"I kinda feel like what you really want is for you to feel better," Brittany told Finn at last. "You know you did a really mean thing and it hurt somebody in a way you can't take back. Plus, I bet it kinda got you in trouble with your step-brother and your girlfriend, and that made you feel even worse. You don't wanna be the bad guy anymore, so you're trying to make the person you hurt say that you're not."

Brittany rose to her feet and shrugged again, a little uncomfortable with everyone staring at her but still needing to say her piece.

"The thing is, you still are. You were like the first domino that made everything fall," she declared. "And, yeah, Santana and I will forgive you eventually. But you can't rush that and - even if you did get her out of being suspended - she doesn't owe you."

Brittany reached for Santana's hand. Santana was gazing at her in utter amazement. She stood and accepted the fingers reaching for hers, weaving them together proudly.

"So, thank you for getting everybody together this way," Brittany told Finn. "But, what you're trying to do here... it's too much and yet still not enough."

She gave Santana's hand a gentle squeeze and they both departed the choir room despite the fact that the class period was not finished. Everyone else remained dumbstruck and simply watched them go.

... ... ...

When that school day was over, everyone converged in the gymnasium to cast their official vote for senior class president. Brittany was feeling nervous after her impromptu speech in class a couple of hours beforehand. Santana put her hands on Brittany's shoulders and smiled at her.

"Don't sweat it, baby," she urged gently. "Literally every person in that Glee Club could decide not to vote for you and you'd still win by a landslide."

"You really think so?" Brittany asked.

"I know so," Santana asserted. "I've seen the latest polls. The presidency is yours, Miss Pierce."

She winked and Brittany beamed.

Santana felt as though she might burst with pride. She could think of no one else she would rather see earn that title. Brittany would truly govern the school with fairness and attention to the underdogs. Particularly in light of how her girlfriend had come to her defense recently, Santana was also sure that Brittany could dig in her heels when it really mattered. She wouldn't let the rest of the council bully her out of making the important decisions.

When Jacob Ben Israel stopped by to interview them, Santana was still on her elated high. She could hear herself chattering excitedly but didn't care what anyone thought of her exuberance. Nothing seemed to matter except that the voice of the one she loved was finally being heard. Without considering the ramifications, Santana bounced on her tiptoes and gave Brittany a quick kiss on the cheek in full view of the camera.

Nothing happened. No one pointed, gasped, or shouted at them. In fact, the rest of the world went on as if nobody had even noticed. Well, nobody except Brittany.

Brittany flushed with pleasure and her eyes sparkled. Once Jacob and his crew departed, she enveloped Santana in her arms.

"Even if I don't win this election," she murmured softly in Santana's ear. "It will all have been worth it just for that."

Santana felt her own face grow warm and she nuzzled the underside of Brittany's chin.

"I'm so proud of you," Brittany told her.

"And I'm proud of you."

Santana booped Brittany's nose with the tip of her finger.

Quinn approached them from the direction of the voting booths and waved.

"I just finished turning in my ballot," Quinn announced happily. "I can't say who I voted for, but I can say that I think the best woman will win."

She nudged her friend in the ribs. Brittany gave her a one-armed embrace.

"Thanks, Quinn," Brittany told her sincerely. "You may be the only one that was in class with us earlier who will still feel that way."

"Oh, I don't know," Quinn said optimistically. "I think some of them were probably thinking the same thing or, at least, they knew you weren't wrong."

"Maybe." Brittany rubbed the back of her neck and scuffed her shoe on the floor.

The girls heard someone clear their throat softly and turned around to see who had joined them. Rachel was standing a short distance away, shuffling her feet.

"Um, I just wanted to wish you the best of luck, Brittany," Rachel said. "In the spirit of good sportsmanship, even though I am, of course, Team Kurt."

"Thank you," Brittany murmured with a grateful nod.

Rachel started to turn away but stopped.

"Also, I know that things aren't on the greatest terms between us just now on account of the business with Lady Music Week. Still, I wanted to tell you, coming from someone who sees both sides, Finn is really trying. I know he isn't as open-minded as the rest of us and it's going to take a long time to shake the negative behaviors he picked up along the way, but he wants to be a better man. If you can find it in yourself, don't write him off just yet. If he gets too discouraged, he may give up altogether and that would break my heart."

Brittany nodded kindly. Santana's brow furrowed; she knew there was a little more to this than their classmate had outwardly stated.

"What exactly is it that you want from us?" she inquired as mildly as she could.

"Finish the week," Rachel entreated. "Let him try. Maybe it will be a bust, but at least it's a step in the right direction. Will you do that, please?"

Santana and Brittany exchanged glances. They looked to Quinn, who gave a slight shrug as if to say, 'It's your choice.'

"All right," Santana agreed. "We'll be there. But on one condition: from here on out, we do this my way. I've got some things I need to say, too. I want to sing. No more of this sit and listen bull crap. Agreed?"

Rachel shook Santana's hand and nodded.

"Agreed."

... ... ...

All the blood drained from Santana's face.

"This is it," she frantically whispered.

Brittany automatically reached for her hand and clasped it.

"I'll call Quinn," Brittany said. "I promised her that I would."

She hit the number three on her speed dial and waited.

"Hello?"

"It's on. Channel Nine."

"Put me on speaker."

Brittany pushed the button and they could hear Quinn scrambling for the remote to turn on her television. Then the three of them fell silent as they watched the political commercial officially outing Santana to the entire state of Ohio.

Brittany gave the screen regular glances, but the majority of her attention was zeroed in on Santana's face. Her girlfriend was staring so blankly, as though abruptly numb.

"Well, that's it," Santana declared almost inaudibly when it was finished.

"That was literally the crappiest campaign ad I've ever seen in my entire life," Quinn piped up on the other end of the line. "Who thought that literally typing out 'this is the lesbian sign' was a good move? Do they know how ridiculous they look?"

Brittany smiled at their friend's automatic defensiveness. She saw right through Quinn's focus on the technique used to convey the message, rather than addressing the announcement itself. Santana was still staring at the TV, even though Brittany had clicked it off after the commercial ended.

"I feel so naked," she murmured. "I'm completely vulnerable. There's nothing that can protect me now."

"We can," Brittany said immediately.

"That's true," Quinn seconded. "If there's anything we learned from Glee Club today, it's that Britt is fully prepared to open up a can of verbal whoop-ass on anybody who gives you a hard time."

Brittany blushed and scratched her shoulder.

"The same goes for me," Quinn said. "We won't leave you fighting this battle alone, Santana. The entire student population of McKinley High combined isn't a match for the Unholy Trinity."

Santana laughed a little as some of the tension started to leave her shoulders.

"Thanks, guys," she said genuinely. "Speaking of school, though, I think maybe it's time for a song of my own choosing for this damn Lady Music Week."

"What do you have in mind?" Quinn inquired.

"A group number," Santana answered. "All the Glee girls together, both current members and the ones that joined the Troubletones like me and Britt-Britt."

"What song?" Brittany queried.

"I'm not sure yet," Santana said. "I'll have to pay a visit to YouTube."

"I'm in," Quinn told them. "Whatever you choose, Santana, just shoot me a text with the name and I'll rehearse it for tomorrow."

"Okay," Santana agreed. "Ugh, I guess that means I'll have to send a mass text to the others. Hopefully Rachel doesn't try to meddle or interfere. But you guys are my witnesses! She shook to doing things my way."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Quinn said. "This whole thing has affected Rachel more than she lets on. She's too busy trying to reform Finn to be in Controlling Mode. All the same, you might want to work in a solo for her."

Santana rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she consented. "I'll be nice to your lady love, just this once."

They heard an unmistakable snort of irritation before Quinn responded.

"Remind me again why I tell you anything ever?"

"Because I'm your best friend and you love me!" Santana teased, brightening genuinely for the first time since the television screen had gone black.

Quinn chuckled affectionately.

"Yeah, I guess I must."

... ... ...

The following morning, at the start-of-day meeting, all the girls arrived promptly in white terry cloth robes. Mr. Schuester looked mildly concerned about their lack of other visible clothing, but the boys in the club were raising their eyebrows with obvious interest.

Santana took her place in the middle of the floor and watched as her female classmates flanked her on either side, forming a line shoulder-to-shoulder. Each of them took turns on the intro, leading into Santana's opening lines.

"Every day I fight for all my future somethings

A thousand little wars I have to choose between

I could spend a lifetime earning things that I don't need

But that's like chasing rainbows and coming home empty..."

Brittany approached from one side while Quinn assisted on the other, working together to untie the fasten on Santana's robe and pull the belt free from its loops.

"And if you strip me, strip it all away

If you strip me, what would you find?"

They pulled back the robe to reveal the white tank top, suspenders, and denim shorts underneath. The top had been spray painted with a red heart over the left side of her chest, with rivulets running down her side as though the organ were bleeding through her shirt and down her body for all to see. Santana's hands shakily ran up her torso and wove together over the heart as though to conceal it, but the red was still visible between her fingertips.

"If you strip me, strip it all away

I'll be all right..."

She allowed her arms to fall again and balled both hands into fists at her sides. Meanwhile, the other girls had discarded their own belts and dropped their robes the minute that they reached the chorus. Like Santana, their tank tops were spray painted with hearts, each of a different color, with the same droplets drizzled over the ribcage. None of them attempted to hide it; they stood tall with their shoulders back and their chins lifted defiantly.

"Take what you want, steal my pride,

Build me up or cut me down to size.

Shut me out, but I'll just scream.

I'm only one voice in a million

And you ain't takin' that from me..."

Santana felt her confidence genuinely begin to bolster from having her friends surround her, and not just within the context of the performance. She was actually able to look each of them in the eye - something she generally avoided - and was surprised to find that they were returning her gaze with earnest reassurance.

Rachel was given the subsequent verse as her solo, followed by a solo for Quinn singing the second repetition of the pre-chorus. A short while later, Brittany had her turn, and she could not keep her eyes from finding Finn among their audience.

"'Cause when it all boils down at the end of the day

It's what you do and say that makes you who you are.

Makes you think about it, think about it, doesn't it?

Sometimes all it takes is one voice..."

All of the girls sang the last repetitions of the chorus and were met with enthusiastic applause from the rest of the club. Santana felt her face grow warm and, upon turning to either side to find Brittany and Quinn watching her with obvious pride, she grinned broadly.

"C'mere," Quinn commanded and pulled Santana in for a hug.

Santana accepted the gesture and returned it with one of her own. Brittany approached and wrapped them both up in her arms. Then they all staggered slightly as Sugar knocked into them with a rather enthusiastic embrace of her own. Soon, all of the girls who had participated in the number joined in the hug. Safely ensconced in the middle, Santana felt as though nothing bad could reach her here. She felt physically and emotionally fortified by this rare display of love. So, when Rachel smiled at her over Sugar's shoulder, Santana allowed herself to smile back at her. Perhaps it wasn't so bad after all that she had agreed to stick around for the rest of this week.

... ... ...

Quinn was in Study Hall, settled comfortably in one of the library's softest chairs, when she caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye. She set her book aside and sat up a little straighter, scrutinizing the opposite side of the line of bookshelves. There it was again. Only, this time, Quinn was able to discern just what she was seeing. Rachel was pacing beside the large library windows, causing a brief shadow to cross their beam of light every time she passed. She had her hands clasped over her stomach, where she was wringing them fretfully. Rachel was also muttering to herself, which was earning her some bewildered stares from other student onlookers.

Concerned about this erratic behavior, Quinn left her reading behind and walked between two shelves to reach her friend. When Rachel came by again, she stepped into her path and gently grabbed her shoulders.

"Rachel, what are you doing?"

"Pacing," Rachel replied distractedly.

Quinn rolled her eyes.

"That I can see," she told her. "The question is: Why?"

"I did something so bad," Rachel confided in a whisper. "I mean, I've made some pretty spectacular mistakes in my life but this may well be the top tier of the cake."

Rachel broke away from Quinn's grip and leaned her head against the wall, as if sentencing herself to a Time Out.

"I am the worst friend of all time!" Rachel groaned.

The librarian was leaning over her checkout desk with a rather displeased look on her face. Quinn wrapped one arm around Rachel's shoulders and steered her out of the library. She kept walking until they reached the bathroom, where she held the door open for her friend and followed immediately behind her.

"All right," Quinn said. "How did you get in over your head this time?"

Rachel covered her face with her hands.

"I may have possibly stuffed the ballot boxes," her muffled voice confessed. "With slips that had 'Kurt Hummel' checked off on every one."

"But Brittany won the presidency," Quinn protested. "She told me right after she found out this morning."

"That isn't the point," Rachel said. "The problem is that Principal Figgins figured it out and he thinks that Kurt did it for himself. Kurt may get suspended for this!"

"And he's already been having such a hard time putting together his application for NYADA," Quinn completed Rachel's thoughts. "So, not only is this not something he can use to spruce up his qualifications; it's also a mark against his character."

Rachel's lower lip protruded and she nodded a little.

"What do I do?" she asked despondently.

"I think there's only one thing to do," Quinn concluded. "Rachel, you have to tell the truth. You can't let him take the fall."

Rachel crossed her arms and chewed her lower lip.

"Your intentions were good," Quinn comforted. "... sort of. You wanted your best friend to win the vote and have a strong resumé to boot."

"Instead, I ruined everything for him and he's going to hate me," Rachel mumbled.

"Not if you clear his name," Quinn asserted and used her finger to tilt Rachel's chin up again. "If you can accept responsibility for this, I'm sure he can forgive you for what you meant as a helpful gesture."

Rachel stepped closer and wrapped her arms around Quinn's middle. Quinn hugged her in return and rubbed circles on her back.

"I'm scared," Rachel said. "I know it's selfish to think this way, but what will it mean for my own efforts to get into the college of my dreams?"

"Don't worry about it," Quinn told her gently. "Just wait until the scout hears you sing. Nobody who has heard your voice could have any doubt that New York is where you belong."

... ... ...

The night had arrived for the most difficult of all Santana's confessions. Now that the commercial was airing on TV at regular intervals, she could not risk it being seen incidentally by her grandmother and having the secret be revealed before she'd had a chance to speak it herself. So, that evening, Santana called up Abuela Alma and asked if she could come over for a while. Brittany insisted on driving her there, although Santana asked if she could go into the house alone. This request was met with ready consent and a promise that Brittany would be waiting in the car when it was done.

As Santana unbuckled her seatbelt, Brittany felt her own stomach twisting in knots. She caught Santana's arm and pulled her close for a quick, reassuring kiss. Santana smiled as best she could and squared her shoulders, preparing for whatever might happen in this little house where she had been raised.

Brittany watched through the windshield as Santana approached the front door. She stood so tall and brave, like a solitary soldier walking into the line of fire. Santana rang the doorbell and was called inside. No doubt, Alma was in the kitchen preparing all kinds of food. She had always insisted Santana was too skinny. The memory made Brittany smile a little, even though her heart was pounding so hard that she could hear it inside her head.

The minutes on the radio's digital clock ticked by at an agonizing rate. It seemed to take a lifetime for each shift in the numbers. Brittany was incurably restless. She switched the radio on and off at least half a dozen times, drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, and hummed tunelessly to cut through the stifling silence.

Unbidden, every mutual memory and shared story of Santana's abuela was playing on loop inside her thoughts. Brittany remembered the Halloween when, despite all Alma's efforts to interest her in a princess costume, Santana had dressed as Uncle Jesse from Full House because he was "way cooler than some cartoon who sleeps through the whole movie." Santana had started attending Sunday masses with her grandmother following the death of Abuelo Salvador. She had feared her abuela might be lonely after his passing and thought that she should have someone sitting beside her in that big, empty pew. These weekly services were always followed by a trip to Breadstix, which had been her grandfather's favorite restaurant. Alma was the one who introduced Santana to the breadsticks themselves, sharing how they were imported from the Dominican Republic and each bite was "like a little taste of home." Santana adored them from then on and became a regular patron of the establishment herself. Alma had also been the one who taught Santana how to pray. Brittany wasn't sure how often her girlfriend did so now, but she recalled the way Santana had shared each new prayer as she learned it. Whenever Santana spent the night back in those days of kindergarten and early grade school, she would kneel beside Brittany's bed - or their sleeping bags, if they were in the living room - and recite her nightly prayers from memory. Brittany tried to kneel and fold her hands too, but the rhythmic recitations made her eyelids heavy and she always found herself dozing off to the sound of Santana's sweet voice.

Brittany wondered if perhaps she ought to say a prayer now. She rested her index and middle finger on her forehead, debating how it ought to begin, when suddenly the front door of the house opened again. Santana stepped into view, but darkness had fallen and her face was in shadow beneath the porch light. Brittany unfastened her seatbelt and leaned forward, squinting to discern her girlfriend's features for any sign of how the talk had gone. Then she saw Santana collapse on the front lawn and heard a ragged sob tear out of her crumpled body.

Santana had slumped sideways onto the ground by the time Brittany reached her. She had gone utterly limp and could not seem to find the strength to stand. The wailing still emitting from her quivering mouth was unbearable, a sound of such intense suffering that lights up and down the street were flicking on as neighbors moved to their windows to find the source of the disturbance.

Brittany put one arm under Santana's legs and wedged the other under her armpits. Santana wrapped her arms around her girlfriend's neck and wept unreservedly onto her shirt. Brittany shushed her soothingly and kissed her forehead before she stood. Then, with Santana held safe in her arms, Brittany strode back to the car and opened the passenger door. She eased Santana down onto the seat and buckled her into place.

No intelligible words appeared in Santana's grief-stricken murmurings until they had reached the end of the road. When they did, her throat was so raw that it came out in a rasp.

"She never wants to see me again," Santana told Brittany. "She says I should have kept it a secret. Everything was going so well and then she just shut off. Like I was a stranger who had broken into the house and tried to steal from her or something. Her eyes were so cold, Britt. She hates me..."

Santana leaned against her window, looking out at her reflection in the side mirror. Her lip curled at the sight of her own face, as if it had somehow become repulsive.

"'Una vergüenza,' she called it," Santana said darkly. "I'm not just an embarrassment to her now. I'm a fucking disgrace. A stain on the family, bringing dishonor to the Lopez name just by existing."

Brittany drove with white knuckles. Fear was skittering up and down her spine at the deadened tone Santana's voice had taken on now. All animation was gone; her girlfriend was someplace else altogether - no doubt still back in that kitchen where everything had fallen apart before her eyes.

Santana began hitting her head against the glass, a steady repetition of dull thumps that got stronger and louder as her emotions welled up once more. Without warning, she simultaneously unbuckled her seatbelt and opened her door, attempting to roll out onto the road. Brittany screamed her name and grabbed the other girl's wrist, forcibly yanking her back to safety. She pulled over at the first available shoulder in the road and shut off the engine.

Tears were blurring Brittany's eyes by now, too, white-hot and burning in her tearducts as she gulped around the lump in her throat.

"Don't you ever try to leave me that way again," she commanded through gritted teeth.

Santana began wheezing faintly and rocking back and forth in her seat. Brittany didn't hesitate. She exited the car and circled it, opened the door, and pulled Santana into her arms. They both staggered over to the guard rail and sat down heavily in the dusty gravel. Brittany held Santana's face in her hands and rested their heads together.

"Breathe with me," she urged. "Don't try to talk, okay? Just focus on my voice and try not to think about anything else. Breathe in. Come on, baby, please. Please breathe."

She demonstrated an inhale of her own, and Santana followed her lead. They exhaled together and Brittany pressed a fervent kiss to her forehead.

"There you go. Good," Brittany praised. "Do it again."

They worked on restoring Santana's breathing until some of the color returned to her cheeks, although the tremors remained. Brittany wrapped her in a tight hug and rocked from side to side.

"It's okay," Brittany promised. "I'll keep you safe, Santana. I swear. I won't let anything hurt you, even if that something is you. I'm gonna be right here, no matter what."

Santana wrapped her hands around the backs of Brittany's and rested her head on the other girl's shoulder.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" she said in dismay. "Do I even think at all? How the fuck was that supposed to solve anything? Leave you to deal with this all by yourself? Girlfriend of the Goddamn Year, that's me."

She struck the heels of her hands against her temples, which Brittany immediately caught to still their movement.

"You know, it's funny, before any of this shit with the campaign started, I was at church with my abuela and thinking about how much I wanted to tell her about us. I had lit a candle for Tony, like we do once a month, and I looked up at that little Mother Mary statue near the front of the church and I just felt so...unholy," Santana recalled with a rueful smile. "I tried so hard to convince myself that how much Abuela loved me would trump any judgment she might cast, but it was all such a lie."

"She still loves you," Brittany said. "Even after what happened tonight, it can't have just disappeared. You're her favorite, Santana. You always have been. She can't erase that, even if maybe she wants to at the moment."

"I'm not so sure, Britt-Britt," Santana disputed miserably. "After what I saw vanish inside her eyes when they looked at me, I don't think she'll ever let me back in again."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, simply watching the cars pass them by. Santana sighed and rested her cheek on Brittany's shoulder.

"I'm sorry all this had to happen on the day you won the election," she murmured contritely. "Some evening of victory, huh? I didn't mean to spoil such a big day for you."

Brittany couldn't help but laugh, although it was a sound without mirth.

"Baby, being senior class president is the last thing in the world I'd think about right now. Trust me; it doesn't matter. All I care about right now is getting you to my house where you can rest and I can hold you for real. We just need to get home."

Santana hugged Brittany's arm and nodded her agreement. Together, they rose to their feet and shuffled back toward the waiting car. Santana climbed in on her own this time and immediately reclined her seat. She curled up on her side and watched as Brittany drove them safely back to South Sugar Street.

When they reached the Pierces' house, Brittany used her key to let them in, and then they crept stealthily up the staircase. Santana was moving so wearily, as if her strength was waning again. Brittany led her to the bathroom and locked the door. She undressed first herself and then Santana before turning on the water in the shower and helping her girlfriend into the tub. Brittany carefully scrubbed the gravel dust off Santana's elbows and palms. She washed the rest of the other girl's body with equal tenderness, while Santana simply stood beneath the stream of water and planted grateful kisses on Brittany's skin.

Once they were clean, Brittany grabbed towels for them to wrap around themselves. They left their dirty clothes on the tiled floor for the night and went to Brittany's bedroom. Brittany helped dry Santana off and stacked their discarded towels on her wicker chair. She climbed into bed beside her girlfriend and spooned with her, one arm locked around Santana's middle as though that single contact could shield her from any pain outside the haven of the sheets.

Santana turned to face her and burrowed into the curve of Brittany's neck. She nuzzled her clavicle and kissed the underside of her chin. Brittany traced Santana's jawline and smiled sweetly.

"I love you," Santana whispered.

"I love you, too," Brittany murmured back to her.

She punctuated this with a chaste kiss on the lips. Santana whimpered and tugged Brittany closer, kissing her deeply. She molded her body to Brittany's and gripped the other girl's shoulder. Her arm draped across her girlfriend's back and she pulled Brittany on top of her. Brittany hesitated and leaned back, looking Santana directly in the eye and studying the expression she saw.

There was an unspoken supplication in the blotches around Santana's lips and the bright pink at the edges of her eyes. Brittany frowned and brushed the other girl's disheveled hair back from her face. Santana ran her open palm up Brittany's torso and spoke again in a whisper.

"Please..."

Brittany nodded and lowered her body onto Santana's once more. She cupped Santana's cheeks and kissed every inch of her face, soft and gentle kisses that made the other girl's eyelashes flutter. Then Brittany moved to her neck, parting her lips and sliding her tongue smoothly over the place where Santana's pulse thudded visibly through her veins. She held onto Santana's shoulders while her mouth set to work, sucking hard at the flesh until she left it marked.

When Brittany sat upright, Santana reached for her and their fingers intertwined. Brittany kissed the knuckles of each one in turn. She guided Santana's arms around her neck and resumed the previous trail of kisses down the other girl's body. Her mouth opened a second time, and a third, sucking on Santana's breasts until the latter's knees began to shake. Brittany's hands ran feverishly up and down the contours of Santana's sides and left goosebumps from the friction. By the time her lips had moved on to her girlfriend's abdomen, Santana was writhing and tangling her fingers in Brittany's hair.

Brittany eased Santana's thighs apart with her hands and inched her own body backward until she could lower her head into place. The slow, deliberate laps of her tongue made Santana's legs clamp against her ears. Brittany merely wrapped her arms around them and continued the motion, drawing encouragement from the way Santana's hips bucked involuntarily from time to time.

A few minutes later, Santana's thighs loosened their grip again when she sat up and pulled Brittany's face to hers. She kissed her hard before slipping her tongue past Brittany's lips. Her girlfriend responded in kind and enfolded Santana in her arms.

They fell back onto the mattress and began to move as one, rolling their hips while their breath ghosted across one another's skin. Santana held onto Brittany tightly, dragging her nails down the girl's back and leaving thin, pink trails where they had been.

As she approached climax, Santana frantically looped her arm over Brittany's shoulder. This drew the other girl's face closer to her own, and Brittany watched in complete awe as Santana's eyes opened. They met each other's gaze in the instant that Santana went over the edge, and what she saw left Brittany transfixed. She had never been allowed to witness that private moment in this way. Even now that they were dating, Santana had always shut her eyes and avoided any exchanged glances until after she had come back down again. Brittany nuzzled Santana's cheek and slowed her thrusts. Santana regained enough presence of mind to snake a hand between them and work her fingers skillfully until Brittany could follow her into oblivion.

Brittany collapsed onto her side of the bed and rolled over so that Santana could nestle against her. She tucked them both in tightly with the rumpled blankets and kissed Santana's cheek. Santana rested her head over Brittany's heart and traced the pattern of the uppermost quilt with her fingertip.

During the stretch of minutes that followed, both attempted to speak on multiple occasions, but no words seemed quite worthy of breaking the comforting quietude that had settled around them. Eventually, Santana's eyelids lowered and she drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep. Brittany caressed her arm and watched over Santana until her own exhaustion took hold. Then she allowed her cheek to rest against Santana's hair and slipped into unconsciousness.

... ... ...

The following afternoon, Brittany and Santana performed a song together in the auditorium. It was one of Brittany's own choosing, as her message to Santana in the wake of all they had faced so far this week. It broke from the week's theme in that it was not written for a woman, but Brittany rationalized that the absence of "boy" or "man" in the lyrics allowed it to qualify. They walked out to center stage as the New Directions and the Troubletones watched from the seats of the house. Inspired by the costumes from the song's music video, Santana was dressed in black leather pants, a black cap, and a red uniform jacket with gold buttons. Brittany wore another outfit influenced by the same video: a white, racerback tank top, leopard print sweatpants, and fingerless black gloves.

As the music began playing through the auditorium's sound system, Santana cast one last glance at Brittany for reassurance. They had spent the morning rehearsing the dance steps, but it was not the choreography that was worrying her. Every nerve ending inside of Santana's body felt exposed; as if the slightest touch from anyone or anything could be agony. Her emotions were feeling equally fragile, and Santana wasn't altogether certain that she wanted to put herself so completely on display in front of everyone. Then she saw Brittany's smile, still so full of love and pure devotion even after the fear and grief of last night. It strengthened her courage and convinced her that this number was exactly the right way for them to express what they were feeling.

During the first verse, Santana followed Brittany's lead in their dance and echoed the words. She felt Brittany's body behind her own, moving in unison, and heard her girlfriend's voice singing beside her ear. It sent goosebumps up and down her arms and made her heart race. Santana joined in the pre-chorus and chorus, blending her voice with Brittany's and allowing her emotions to take hold.

"Just know that you're not in this thing alone.

There's always a place in me that you can call home.

Whenever you feel like we're growing apart,

Let's just go back, back, back, back, back to the start.

Anything that's worth having

Is sure enough worth fighting for.

Quitting's out of the question.

When it gets tough, gotta fight some more.

We gotta fight, fight, fight, fight, fight for this love..."

It occurred to Santana then that this was their first official duet in front of the rest of the club. When they sang Landslide the previous year, they had been accompanied by Holly Holliday. Now it was just the two of them, pouring out their hearts under these bright lights and dancing back-to-front. Her hand found Brittany's and squeezed the palm lightly, thanking her girlfriend for getting her to this point, for helping her find her bravery.

Soon all awareness of their audience faded away. Santana could only think about how natural it felt to be dancing this way, and how safe she felt with Brittany holding her from behind. Brittany, for her part, had eyes only for Santana. She directed every line of the lyrics solely at her, and her eyes shone with such sincerity that it was impossible for Santana not to feel it down to the very center of her soul.

When the song concluded, Brittany and Santana took their bows to the supportive applause of their friends. They descended the stairs and accepted the hugs and praise from their classmates, Mr. Schuester, and Ms. Corcoran, but Santana did not really hear their words. She was still looking at Brittany, whose eyes kept finding hers and studying her face. Santana knew this watchfulness was in response to the events that had transpired the previous evening, and she wished more than anything that she could put her girlfriend's mind at ease.

She passed through the crowd of people and reached Brittany's side. Brittany began to walk toward the exit, anticipating a conversation away from watchful eyes, but Santana caught her hand. She threw her arms around Brittany's neck and pressed a warm kiss to the other girl's cheek.

"I love you," Santana declared loudly enough that everyone around them could hear her.

Brittany's cheeks turned pink as she smiled and wrapped her arms tenderly around Santana's back.

"I love you, too."

... ... ...

Friday passed with surprisingly little incident. No one made any remarks about the commercial in the hallway, at least not to Santana and Brittany directly. Though she knew that the fight was far from over, Santana was at least able to heave a temporary sigh of relief that she had made it through the past five days and Lady Music Week was finally at an end. The last song was a solo that Santana asked to sing for everyone. She chose Constant Craving by K.D. Lang, and Brittany spent the entire number grinning at her girlfriend with irrepressible pride.

Quinn watched her friends and felt a rush of gratitude that they were still so very much in love. She had been afraid that this week might break them in some way, crush their spirits or leave them downtrodden. Yet here they were, stronger than ever and standing tall. Quinn couldn't be happier for the two of them. She'd had a front row seat to the most tempestuous years of their romance and, despite the disapproval of the outside world, she could see now in the way they hugged each other after Santana's performance that they weren't going to let anything chase them into hiding again.

Her observations were disrupted when Rachel walked into the choir room and made an announcement to the group. She let them all know that she had told Principal Figgins the truth about rigging the election for Kurt. Rachel begged Kurt not to hate her and assured that his name was clear. She also informed them that the incident would go on her permanent record, she'd be suspended for a week, and she was banned from competing at Sectionals.

The New Directions were shocked and crestfallen. They were certain this posed a huge threat to their chances at the competition and their former optimism blew away like smoke on the wind. A dark cloud hung over everyone as the day drew to a close, and Quinn wondered what the sleepover she had planned with Rachel would be like now, in light of what had transpired.

They met in the parking lot and Rachel climbed into the passenger seat of Quinn's car, once it was unlocked. The silence was extremely uncomfortable, so Quinn turned on the radio and let the music surround them. Even that did not brighten Rachel's mood. By the time they reached Dudley Road, Quinn couldn't bear the gloom any longer. She had been trying to avoid the obvious elephant in the car, to tiptoe carefully around Rachel's emotions, but the matter needed to be addressed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked gently.

Rachel snapped out of her reverie and shook herself as if suddenly becoming aware of where she was. She looked out the window at Quinn's house and sighed.

"I suppose," Rachel consented. "But let's wait until we're inside."

Quinn let them both in with her spare key and led the way up to her bedroom. They deposited their bags on the hope chest at the foot of the bed and sat down wearily on the mattress.

"You did the right thing, you know," Quinn told her.

"I know," Rachel acknowledged. "But, right now, it doesn't seem to be helping me feel much better."

She flopped back onto the comforter and stared up at the ceiling. Quinn hesitated and then stretched out onto her side next to her friend.

"If it helps at all, I'm proud of you," she praised earnestly.

Rachel managed her first real smile of the day.

"That helps a little," she said softly.

Quinn reached across the bed and tapped her fingertips against Rachel's arm.

"Do you know what I think you need?" she asked.

"What?"

"A musical," Quinn said sagely. "And some popcorn. I bought an air popper since I know the microwavable kind isn't vegan. There's some garlic powder and salt in the pantry so it won't be too bland."

Rachel sat up and stared at her with an amazed expression.

"You bought an air popper?" she verified. "Just so you could serve me popcorn?"

Quinn blushed a little and shrugged.

"It was only like twenty bucks. No big deal."

Rachel was not buying her companion's nonchalance.

"That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me!" she squealed.

Quinn grimaced but was unable to conceal her smile when Rachel threw both arms around her neck and hugged her tightly.

"I would love to eat popcorn and watch a musical with you," Rachel enthused. "That sounds like the perfect end to an otherwise miserable Friday."

"Good." Quinn beamed. "I'll go downstairs and make some, okay? Here's the remote for my TV. You can access my Netflix account through there and choose anything you want. You're my guest, so the choice is all yours."

Rachel accepted the remote control and bounced up and down eagerly. She began scrolling through her options, considering each one. Quinn went downstairs and set to work on the popcorn. She had printed off the recipe in advance and put it on the fridge with a magnet. As she followed each step, part of her mind was still on who was waiting for her upstairs. Quinn bit her lip and tried very hard not to let her mind explore all the possibilities, but it was nearly impossible with the awareness that Rachel was literally sitting on her bed right now.

Her cell phone vibrated, and Quinn grabbed it off the countertop. There was an incoming text from Santana.

Don't think I didn't notice who you left with today, you sneak. If you don't get it in, so help me...

Quinn nearly knocked over the air popper as her arms flailed at the wording of the message. She caught the popper and then hastily shot back a reply.

I'm not going to do that! I can't spoil our friendship trying to make this something it isn't.

She was just transferring the popcorn to a large bowl when the phone vibrated again.

Wimp. Fine, but good luck telling your poor, dusty vagina that it still won't be getting any action.

It is not dusty! Quinn's face was burning red by now.

There are cobwebs in that thing, Q. Aragog and his family are moving in next week.

Don't you have a girlfriend of your own to be worrying about? Quinn replied frustratedly.

Mm-hmm. ;) But I've had my share of blue balls and pining and, unlike you, I'm getting laid, Santana teased.

With that delightful image in mind, I've got to go, Quinn texted back. Rachel's waiting for me and the food's ready.

She turned her phone off to avoid further ribbing from her friend and took the bowl upstairs, along with two bottles of water.

"What did you choose?" Quinn asked when she returned to her bedroom.

"Rent," Rachel declared with a decisive nod. "I debated going with Grease, but I think I need to watch something outside of a high school tonight."

"Works for me," Quinn said agreeably. "Here's the popcorn."

She placed it between them and climbed onto the bed once more. Quinn set the bottles of water on the nightstand and reclined against her pillows. Rachel immediately tried a handful of the treat her friend had prepared.

"This is really good!" she exclaimed.

Quinn smiled and patted the pillows next to her. Rachel brought the bowl along and settled in comfortably. She pressed play on the remote control and grabbed another handful of popcorn as the movie began.

The time spent watching the movie was considerably lighter and happier than the rest of their day had been. Rachel knew every word to every song, and she even convinced Quinn to join her on a few of them. As the end credits rolled, Rachel immediately went into a detailed analysis of the characters as they were when the story came to a close. Quinn listened with rapt attention, mesmerized by the light in the other girl's eyes, the curve of her lips, and the passion in her voice. She smiled a little and tried to ignore the horrible ache inside her chest.

Rachel's enthusiasm about the musical they had just viewed dominated the conversation for the subsequent two hours, right through ordering in dinner and changing into their pajamas, until at last her voice trailed off and she looked out the window at the darkened sky.

"Do you think I've ruined any chance the New Directions had at winning?" Rachel asked despondently.

"Not at all," Quinn said. "I mean, of course, it won't be the same without you. You're our star, but we won't let you down. This just means the rest of us will have to step it up a bit. You'll get your chance to have another solo with everyone when we move on to Regionals."

"I really hope so," Rachel fretted.

She shut her eyes and groaned.

"I'm going to have to tell my Dads about this when I go home tomorrow," Rachel said. "They're going to be so disappointed in me."

Quinn heard the crack in the other girl's voice and immediately sprang into action. She set their plastic dishes on the nightstand with the water bottles and scooted closer to Rachel's side.

"Hey," she murmured sweetly. "Don't worry about that. You made it right, Rachel. You came clean. Maybe they'll be upset about what happened before, but I'm sure they'll be glad to hear that you didn't ignore your conscience."

Rachel bit the corner of her lip.

"You want to know something silly?" she queried.

Quinn nodded.

"I was so embarrassed today when I realized that Shelby was in the room during my announcement. I don't know why I let it worry me. She doesn't want to be in my life, so why would my poor decisions make any difference to her?"

Quinn held Rachel's hand.

"That isn't silly," she assured. "She's still your mother. Even if she isn't taking an active role, you want her to know that you turned out all right. Maybe even more so because she isn't there for you; you want to prove that her guidance wasn't necessary. You are your own woman."

"I guess so," Rachel acknowledged feebly.

"Do you think Beth will ever feel that way about me?" Quinn asked.

She hugged herself to quiet the fear roiling in her gut.

"No," Rachel said firmly. "I don't. Look at her life so far. Already, you've found a way to visit her regularly. That's more than Shelby ever did with me. I know there are legal issues involved and all but... I don't know. Sometimes I wish there had been a box somewhere in my house filled with letters from her, tied with a ribbon and just waiting for me to open them all."

She glanced at Quinn and tried valiantly to laugh off the pain that had crept into her words.

"I guess it does no good wishing for things that will never happen, huh?"

"Sometimes you can't help it," Quinn replied. "Sometimes wishing is all that's left."

Rachel heard the ache behind her friend's speech, reminiscent of her own, and rubbed Quinn's arm.

"You must feel that way about Beth sometimes, huh?" she concluded. "I'm so sorry, Quinn. I didn't mean to drudge that up again. I'm supposed to be making you feel less lonely, not more."

"It's okay," Quinn forgave readily. "I've mostly made my peace with it. Some days I feel it more than others, but I'm functional."

She forced a smile. Rachel snuggled a little closer, so near that Quinn could smell her perfume. It was floral and understated, not too overpowering, and yet still utterly intoxicating. The scent did nothing to calm her nerves. She decided to change the subject.

"I did have one piece of good news I wanted to share," Quinn announced.

"What's that?" Rachel brightened.

"I think I found a college."

Rachel scooted even nearer and wrapped her fingers around Quinn's forearm eagerly.

"Which one is it?"

"Columbia University," Quinn confided. "It's Ivy League, so I'm a little scared I'm shooting too high, but I really want to go for it."

"Ivy League!" Rachel cried. "That's amazing, Quinn! I'm sure they're going to love you. How could they not? You're going to get in; I know it."

Quinn felt the back of her neck grow warm and laughed.

"Don't get excited just yet," she said. "The deadline is in January, so I think I'll mail my application sometime in mid-December."

Rachel clapped her hands.

"So where is this university?"

Quinn nervously tucked her hair behind her ears.

"It's, um, in New York, actually."

Rachel's eyes widened and her grin stretched across her face.

"Where in New York?"

"The corner of 116th and Broadway," Quinn replied. "It's on the other side of Central Park from NYADA, I think."

Rachel shouted so loudly that Quinn winced.

"Now I really want you to get it!" Rachel said. "This is incredible. We could still see each other!"

"Yeah, we could," Quinn acknowledged.

"That is, if I get into NYADA," Rachel fretted.

Just like that, her worries came rolling back in and clouded her features with regret.

"I may have signed my own death sentence there," she lamented. "Oh well. At worst, I can visit you in New York and live through you vicariously."

She sat upright and hugged her knees to her chest. Quinn sat up too and grabbed Rachel's legs, turning the other girl's whole body so they were facing one another.

"Listen to me," she commanded. "You are getting to New York, Rachel. That's your city. It's where you're supposed to be. I've told you before that you're going to get out of this place, and I meant it."

"I just want it so badly, you know?" Rachel said tearfully. "And for some reason it's like, the more that I want it, the more unlikely it seems that it will become a reality. Am I talking like a crazy person?"

"No," Quinn told her gently. "I get it, I do, but what is crazy is you not realizing how brightly you shine up there."

She held Rachel's face in her hands, forcing the other girl to keep looking at her and see the truth behind her words.

"Some people just have that quality, Rachel," Quinn elaborated. "They glow from the inside. You've got that in you. You always have."

Rachel's tears had escaped her eyelids now and were sliding down her cheeks. Quinn wiped them away with her thumbs.

"I just don't know what I'm going to do if they don't want me," Rachel despaired.

"You'll find another school," Quinn concluded. "New York is full of places for artists to learn. There's one for you somewhere, even if by some insane mistake NYADA doesn't take you. Someplace will."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you're special, Rachel, and I know I'm not the only one who sees that," Quinn asserted. "You're going to outshine all of us one day. All I ask is that you save me a spot in the front row so I can watch it happen and pass you a bouquet with a card that says, 'I told you so.'"

Rachel looked up and studied Quinn's eyes, so full of absolute belief. Quinn returned the gaze and felt her heart jump in her throat.

She leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Rachel's lips. Rachel froze and watched through half-lowered eyelids before she shut her eyes and returned the kiss.

Quinn withdrew and held her breath, waiting to see what would happen next. There was a pause in which Rachel seemed to disappear into her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice was a few octaves too high and sounded oddly strained.

"You're really good to me, Quinn," Rachel said as she touched her lower lip with her fingertips. "Thank you. I think that's the best pep talk anyone has ever given me."

Quinn's brow furrowed.

"You're welcome," she said slowly.

Rachel turned onto her side and looked at the alarm clock.

"Oh, wow! It's getting late," she remarked. "It's so easy to talk to you that the time just flies by."

She scrunched her legs up and lifted the comforter to make room for them. Once she was tucked in, Rachel rolled over and pulled a pillow under her head. Quinn took the hint and reluctantly left the bed to turn off the lights. She returned and climbed under the blankets.

"Sleep tight," Rachel murmured.

"Yeah, you too," Quinn returned as she tried to make sense out of what was happening.

Time ticked by slowly in the shadows, and soon she heard Rachel's breath whistling through her nose. Quinn frowned and reached for Isaac the Lamb. She hugged him tightly and stroked his fleece. Her mind was seesawing between interpreting Rachel's behavior as a brush off and wondering if Rachel genuinely believed their kiss had been a gesture of reassurance. Confused and wounded, Quinn tried to shut her eyes.

A while later, Rachel rolled over in her sleep and her arm lay across Quinn's abdomen. Quinn stared at it wordlessly, debating whether she should roll Rachel back onto her side of the mattress or leave things as-is. Ultimately, she turned away to face the opposite wall and scooted her body backward until it was nearer to her guest. Rachel's arm bent at the elbow and draped easily over Quinn's side. Quinn closed her eyes again and pretended that the embrace was deliberate.

Just as she had told Rachel earlier that evening, sometimes wishing was all that was left.

... ... ...

Sectionals, for the first time in recent memory, was to be held in McKinley's own auditorium. Even after the success of West Side Story, it was still a foreign feeling seeing the place packed to standing room only. Unlike the performance of a play, the students were permitted to walk among the audience in their stage garb prior to the performance. The Troubletones were already settled into their reserved seats, all of them glistening in short, silver dresses.

Quinn walked over to her friends and waved up at them. Earlier that same night, the Troubletones had approached the New Directions to extend an olive branch of their own. They had wanted it to be known that, in the event of a Troubletones win that night, they would be more than willing to let the New Directions join them so that they might continue performing. Given that the New Directions had spent the previous week trying to absorb them back into their own club, offering the same ready acceptance seemed like common courtesy.

Will and Finn did not see it that way. They were immediately affronted, convinced that it was a backhanded offer meant to imply the New Directions had no chance otherwise. Quinn personally believed they had overreacted but, after the past three school years, she had grown accustomed to double standards when it came to behavior. She hoped that, by standing with the Troubletones now while they all waited for the event to begin, it would be understood that she bore the girls no ill will.

"Hi, Quinn," Brittany said warmly.

"You're looking snappy," Santana remarked as she eyed her friend's appearance in the black and white blazer.

"Thanks," Quinn said. "Rachel's here somewhere wearing a black and white dress out of support for the club, since she can't be up there with us."

"Yeah, speaking of which," Santana murmured and leaned forward so she could speak to her companion without being overheard. "How are things since the Great Bed Catastrophe of 2011?"

"Terrible," Quinn answered honestly. "She's barely spoken to me all week, except to ask about what work she was missing in class. We haven't discussed that night at all. Rachel's behaving as if it never happened."

Brittany frowned sympathetically. Santana's eyes found Rachel in the crowd and she shook her head.

"I don't know, Quinn," she admitted. "It could go either way. Either she's giving you the gentle letdown so you can stay friends, or she had an epic gay panic that would have put even me to shame."

"She's been so distant that I'd think it was the first one," Quinn told them. "If it weren't for the fact that she kissed me back."

"Maybe you should talk to her," Brittany suggested. "It's better than not knowing, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Quinn conceded and bit her lip. So long as I don't lose her for good, she thought.

The lights in the auditorium flashed overhead, indicating that the show was about to begin.

"Go stand by her," Santana instructed. "See what happens. Worst case scenario, you guys can talk about the competition. It's a conversation starter, anyway."

Quinn nodded and moved to join Rachel several yards away.

"Hi," Rachel greeted passively.

"Hey," Quinn responded, already feeling the familiar, skin-tingling dread that made it difficult to form even the simplest sentence.

They sat down in two empty seats near the aisle and focused on the stage, waiting for the first rival club to appear. The group was called The Unitards and, just as Rachel had mentioned before, they were led by the girl she had met at the NYADA mixer. She was a diminutive sophomore with dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a voice that demanded attention.

"That's Harmony Gold?" Quinn marveled. "From the way you'd described her, I envisioned some terrible little gremlin leading a demonic chorus."

"Don't be so easily deceived," Rachel cautioned. "That girl is out for blood."

"She's not a vampire," Quinn laughed quietly. "In fact, she looks kind of like my sister. You know, if my sister could sing like you."

"Well, trust me," Rachel insisted. "She'd literally loop us all with a Punjab lasso if it'd help her chances."

Quinn shook her head and rolled her eyes, all too familiar with Rachel's flair for hyperbole.

The Unitards concluded their set and were met with thunderous applause and whistles. Even Sugar and Brittany added a few whoops and hollers, although Santana discouraged this with a touch of her hand.

Quinn turned away from her friends and faced where Rachel had been sitting, only to find that the other girl had gone. She looked up and saw the side door of the auditorium swinging closed. Without any further thought, Quinn followed.

"Rachel, where are you going?"

"I just needed to get out of there," Rachel answered without turning to face her.

She settled onto a nearby bench and wrung her hands.

"Hearing Harmony sing again, it just made me that much more anxious about the NYADA audition," Rachel continued. "When it's just our Glee Club, it's easy to pretend I've got this in the bag. I've been getting solos for the past three school years and I've grown accustomed to playing the lead."

She finally lifted her head to look at Quinn, and her resignation was visible in every line on her face.

"But it isn't like that in the real world," Rachel said. "There are going to be hundreds of singers like me out there, boys and girls who have spent their whole lives belting out every show tune under the sun. You remember how good my ex-boyfriend was. Jesse was the star of Vocal Adrenaline and looked upon as a student show choir god, and yet he didn't get accepted. I spoke to him about it last year when he came back to visit and took me to prom. They turned him down and told him that he lacked emotional depth."

"You don't lack emotional depth," Quinn offered quietly.

"That may be so, but I'm not a team player," Rachel countered. "Can you honestly say that I'm someone who would make a cooperative part of an ensemble?"

Quinn shifted from one foot to the other and shook her head apologetically.

"Exactly," Rachel said and hid her face behind her fingers. "I want it all so badly that I demand too much too soon and, sure, girls like Harmony will be right in that boat with me, but then there will be girls with our voices who are humble, grateful, and supportive. Which means that I am well and thoroughly sunk."

She leaned back on the bench until her head hit the wall and then shut her eyes. Quinn joined her on the bench and mimicked the pose.

"Well maybe, now that you're aware of it, that's something you can improve upon," Quinn suggested gently. "Once your suspension is over, you can start letting some of the others get the solos and try being in the background for a while. I know it'll suck for you, but it'll be worth it in the long run."

They both sat that way for a few minutes in silence, staring up at the ceiling and not saying a word.

"Rachel?" Quinn murmured tentatively.

"Yeah?"

"I kind of need to talk to you."

"About what?" Rachel inquired.

Quinn chewed on her bottom lip and scrunched her eyes shut.

"We kissed."

Rachel sat up, smoothed the bottom of her dress, and cleared her throat.

"Yes, we did," she said.

"The thing is," Quinn plowed on before she lost her nerve. "I didn't kiss you because I wanted to comfort you, Rachel. I kissed you because I wanted to."

She turned onto her side and watched the back of Rachel's head, waiting for a response.

"I know," Rachel softly replied.

"You do?"

Rachel looked over her shoulder to face Quinn and nodded.

"I could feel it."

"So, was that a bad thing?" Quinn asked worriedly.

"No, no," Rachel hastened to assure her, putting a hand lightly on the other girl's knee.

"But you don't feel the same," Quinn concluded and felt her shoulders sag.

Rachel covered her face with her hands again.

"I didn't say that," she muttered.

Quinn's eyes widened and she sat up straighter. Rachel peeped out from behind her hands and sighed heavily.

"I don't know what to feel," Rachel confessed. "This scares me, Quinn."

"Why?"

"Because all I ever wanted, for more than two years, was to be your friend. Ever since I met you at that intersection in Lima Heights when I was on my bike, I just wanted to talk to you and be around you."

Quinn smiled at the memory. It seemed like such a long time ago now.

"I got to the point where I thought that was never going to happen, because we were always fighting about something," Rachel said. "But then we finally had a breakthrough and it's been so good. Now the kiss has brought it to a place where it could be something more, and I can't figure out if what I'm feeling is still that same draw to you that I've always felt or if it's actual attraction. Then, on top of that, I know I also love Finn. I'm so confused."

She stood and walked to the other side of the hallway, where she paced on the spot and spoke with her eyes trained on the floor.

"I was always so sure of who I was," Rachel explained. "I was the straight ally daughter of my two gay fathers. I participated in rallies and parades as someone who wanted to see equality for the ones I loved, not because I thought it would ever apply to myself."

"And now?" Quinn prompted hesitantly.

"Now, I'm lost." Rachel lifted her hands helplessly and let them drop back against her sides. "I have no idea what this means for me. Does this make me bisexual? Are you a fluke? Am I a one on the Kinsey Scale now? I don't know."

Quinn clasped her hands in her lap and twiddled her thumbs. A tiny flicker of hope was burning inside her chest, but she was doing her best to contain it.

"Why don't we start with the kiss itself?" Quinn offered. "What was that like, for you?"

"It was exactly like Finn described it to me last year," Rachel answered frustratedly. "I saw fireworks."

Quinn's cheeks turned bright pink and her lips tugged up at the corners.

"Why are you smiling?" Rachel cried.

Quinn cleared her throat and ducked her head.

"Sorry," she apologized. "That's just... It's nice to know."

Rachel stalked back across the hall and sat down on the bench.

"What was it like for you?" she asked.

"Well, it's been one hundred sixty-seven hours, forty-five minutes and...," Quinn paused to look at her watch. "... twenty-seven seconds, and all I've been able to think about is how much I want to do it again."

Rachel stared at her with wide eyes and bit her lip. Her gaze briefly flickered down to Quinn's mouth and she started to lean in closer. Then she shook her head and withdrew.

"I can't," Rachel said. "I'm sorry. At least until I figure myself out, I can't sneak around on Finn this way."

Quinn nodded and looked down at her hands.

"I know, of all the times for me to suddenly get a conscience about this," Rachel tried to laugh. "But Finn has been cheated on so many times. By you, by me... I feel like he would just shut people out forever after a betrayal like that. I know he hasn't exactly been displaying his most admirable behavior lately, but he doesn't deserve to have his heart hardened that way. It wouldn't be right."

Quinn ran her hands through her hair.

"I agree," she acquiesced reticently. "He and I may not be remotely close to what we once were, but I still care about what happens to him."

"So, just friends... for now?" Rachel asked.

Quinn brushed her lips across Rachel's cheekbone and nodded.

"For now," she agreed. "But when you make up your mind, and you know which way you want things to go..."

Rachel reached for Quinn's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"You'll be the first person I tell."

... ... ...

"All right, it's official," Santana groused. "Someone has decided it's National Shit on Lesbians Month, and I want names 'cause I'm gonna kick their asses."

"At least Quinn got Rachel to help her convince the New Directions to let us come back," Brittany said.

"But I don't want to be back!" Santana fumed. "I mean, sure, I kind of missed our friends, but the Troubletones made me feel like we were actually being seen. It was perfect. When you and I danced on that stage and people actually cheered, it was like we were in an alternate universe where no one actually gave a damn that we're both girls. I just wanted a win, just this once. I wanted to show we weren't dependent on any of them and, even though they didn't take us seriously, we could still dominate and take home the gold."

She leaned her head out of the tree house and let her hair tumble down into the open air. Brittany joined her, allowing the blood to rush to her head as they observed the world upside down.

"I know how much it meant to you," Brittany acknowledged. "I really loved it, too. It was like all that girl power from when we sang Run the World in the gym, but turned into a club so we could have it every day."

"I suppose we're supposed to be grateful that Mr. Schue agreed to let the Troubletones sing one number per competition," Santana grumbled. "But, when we offered them something like that before Sectionals, they saw it as a slap in the face, so how am I supposed to feel like this is anything else?"

Brittany wove her fingers together with Santana's.

"We'll just have to make sure our song is so epically awesome that it's the one everybody remembers," she concluded.

"Yeah, you're right," Santana smiled. "We should probably sit up now. The December cold is making my nose run like a leaky faucet and having my head like this is reversing the flow."

Brittany giggled and tugged Santana into an upright position. They snuggled against the inner wall of the treehouse and Santana put her hands under Brittany's jacket to warm her stinging fingertips.

"It's crazy to think that Christmas is only eighteen days away," Santana mused.

"Yeah, it's really close," Brittany said.

"I know your aunt needs you in Santa Fe because she's just getting out of rehab and you guys don't want her to relapse over the holidays," Santana told her. "But it really sucks royally that I'm not going to get to spend my first Christmas with you as girlfriends."

"I'm so sorry about that, Santana," Brittany apologized. "I'm going to miss you so much. I would take you with me, but I think she might be embarrassed if anybody outside of the family saw her this way."

"It's okay," Santana said and kissed Brittany's cheek. "I think it's really good of you guys to do that. Not that I'm surprised. The Pierces would give the shirts off their backs, if it could help someone they loved."

"Does it help make it a little better if I tell you that I already bought your present?" Brittany asked.

"You did?" Santana hugged Brittany's arm. "Do I get hints? Just one little clue?"

"No can do." Brittany shook her head. "Top secret information."

Santana stuck out her tongue.

"Tease," she goaded. "You know I'm just going to guess every day until I'm either right or you put the present in my hands."

Brittany threw back her head and laughed.

"Yeah, I know."

"And I'll probably search your room from floor to ceiling."

"Good thing that's not where I hid it, then," Brittany chuckled.

Santana's jaw dropped and she lightly pushed her girlfriend's leg.

"No fair, you already know all my tricks," she complained.

Brittany rubbed her nose against Santana's and grinned.

"I sure do," she said proudly. "And even though your pout is the cutest thing in the whole world, you've still gotta wait until Christmas Break."

Santana crossed her arms over her chest but, when Brittany pulled her in for a warm kiss, she forgot all about how she was supposed to still be angry.

... ... ...

"Hey, Rachel?"

Quinn approached the other girl at her locker on Tuesday morning. She held a plain paper bag behind her back and gave her friend a small smile.

"Hi, Quinn. You look really excited about something," Rachel noted.

"Will you come to the auditorium with me?" Quinn asked.

Rachel's brow furrowed. However, when Quinn gave her a pleading look and a gentle nudge in the side, she hesitantly nodded.

They entered the shadowy theatre and Quinn made a beeline for the two nearest seats. She patted the one beside her, which Rachel then occupied.

"I have something to give you," Quinn explained.

She lifted the bag onto her lap, opened it, and reached inside. Her hand produced a narrow package with metallic stars on the wrapping paper.

"December 13th, right?" Quinn verified.

Rachel grinned.

"You remembered!"

She carefully slid her fingers under the tape on the wrapping paper and pulled upward. Once she had unwrapped the box, Rachel lifted the lid and plucked out her gift.

It was a long chain adorned with a golden locket, bearing a cursive letter R in its center that was studded with eighteen small diamonds.

"It's beautiful," Rachel said. "Thank you."

Quinn prodded Rachel's kneecap.

"Open it," she told her.

Rachel carefully pried open the locket and unfolded its two halves. There, on the inner half, the side that would touch her chest, was a small photograph of a dark-haired teenage girl holding a tightly swaddled infant. Rachel squinted a little and scrutinized the young woman's face.

"That kind of looks like Shelby," she said. "But then..."

She covered her mouth with her hand.

"How did you get this?" Rachel whispered.

"Well, I was stopping by to visit Beth," Quinn replied. "And Shelby and I were actually having a really nice conversation, for once. She seemed like she was in a pretty good mood, so I tried to sort of gently point out that a certain time of year was coming up."

"How did she react?" Rachel asked.

"She got really quiet," Quinn answered honestly. "Sort of sad."

Rachel trailed her fingertip over the photograph.

"Anyway, I reminded her that this was your eighteenth, and I suggested that it would probably mean a lot if you got something special from her," Quinn said. "I asked Shelby if she had anything she had kept from the day you were born - the hospital bracelet, the cup they put the ice chips in, or anything. What she brought out was way more than I ever expected."

Rachel was still staring intently at the photo, unable to tear her eyes away.

"Shelby says she bought one of those little disposable cameras because she didn't have much money back then," Quinn told her. "She set it on her nightstand and, when they offered to let her say goodbye to you, she asked the nurse to take just one picture for her to remember you by. Shelby let me borrow it and make a copy so I could shrink it down to fit into the locket."

Quinn looked at Rachel, who was cradling the locket in both hands as if it might break.

"There's one more thing," Quinn said.

She plunged her hand back into the paper bag and took out a single business envelope tied with a pastel pink ribbon.

"A birthday letter," Quinn elaborated. "From Shelby."

Rachel looked up from the locket for the first time since she had learned the identities of the two people in the photo. She stared at the letter in complete disbelief, neither moving nor reaching for it, and then her gaze turned to Quinn. Her eyelashes glistened with tears.

"Happy Birthday," Quinn whispered.

Rachel took the envelope and held it against her heart.

"I'm going to wait and read this when I get home," she said quietly, struggling to be heard when her throat was constricting.

Quinn nodded understandingly. She started to rise and return to the hallway, but Rachel caught her wrist. Quinn paused and turned back to look at her. Rachel stood and popped onto the tops of her feet. She gave Quinn a brief, chaste kiss and sighed.

"This is the best gift I've ever been given," Rachel murmured quietly.

She gave both of Quinn's hands a parting squeeze and gathered her presents. Then Rachel left the auditorium while Quinn remained behind, arms still slightly extended from where she had begun to hold the other girl while their lips touched.

... ... ...

A gust of wind howled along the otherwise empty street, whistling as it passed the darkened houses. Brittany crammed her hands deeper into her coat and hunched her shoulders to protect her ears. Her footsteps echoed faintly as she walked up to the entrance of the Lopez residence. Reluctantly, five of her fingers left the warmth of her pocket to form a fist and knock. She barely had a chance to fix her hair before the door swung open and light spilled out from within.

Santana's silhouette was all that was visible, lit only by what the other girl assumed was a fire in the living room. However, Brittany didn't have to see her face to be able to hear her smile when she spoke.

"Hey," Santana greeted warmly. "Come in."

Brittany stepped over the threshold and was helped out of her jacket and scarf. Then the winter cold was driven away as Santana's hand slipped into hers and led her toward the living room couch. When they rounded the corner, Brittany could see that the Lopez family's tree had been set up on the far side of the room. The white lights bounced along the gold tinsel draped over its limbs and reflected off the sparse ornaments.

The two teens settled onto the sofa. Now that they were directly in front of the fireplace, they could see each other properly for the first time. Santana's hair had been pulled away from her face to form a long braid down her back. She had kept her apparel remarkably simple and was wearing a modestly cut dark green dress and silver heels. Brittany, for her part, had arrived in a frilly red blouse, black slacks, and gold flats that she now regretted because the tops of her feet were freezing. She shivered. Her girlfriend reached out and rubbed her arms to warm them.

"I'm happy we get to do this tonight," Brittany murmured as she watched Santana's fingers slide across her skin, dark against light in the amber glow.

"I'm just glad my parents went to that work party and Matyas is at his friend's house so you and I can be alone," Santana said as she scooted closer. "I definitely don't need to have my family around ruining things the last time I get you to myself before you leave me for the holidays."

Brittany nodded her agreement and snuggled against Santana's shoulder. They interwove their fingers and stared into the flickering flames in silence for a few minutes.

"So, what do you want to do first?" Brittany asked finally, nuzzling Santana's arm.

"Presents, duh," Santana joked. "The anticipation's been killing me."

Brittany grinned and went back to the front foyer. She fetched a carefully wrapped gift from the pocket of her coat and returned to the living room. Santana was already waiting on the couch with her own package for Brittany on her lap.

"Okay, I get to go first," Santana determined. "'Cause if I don't get a gander at that secret you've been keeping locked up for weeks, I might explode."

Brittany handed Santana her present right away and smiled excitedly. Santana tore back the paper and opened the box. Inside of it was an even smaller box packed in by tissue paper to keep it from rattling.

"Clever," Santana remarked as she plucked up the second container.

Within that box, she found a pair of sterling silver, princess cut, topaz earrings.

"Oh my God, Brittany!" Santana exclaimed. "I love them!"

Brittany bounced up and down in her seat.

"I saved up my allowance to get them for you," she explained. "I remembered how your mom talked about you having fire inside you, and I wanted something for you to wear that represented that. Plus, topaz is the gemstone for November, so it seemed pretty perfect."

Santana rushed over to an ornate mirror hung on the wall and examined her reflection after she put on her new earrings.

"Ugh, they're gorgeous, baby," Santana praised. "Look at how they catch the light!"

She angled her head from one side to the other, watching how it captured the orange radiance of the fireplace and seemed to match that glow from inside the stone itself.

"Now you," Santana suddenly urged and returned to the couch to hand Brittany her gift.

Brittany beamed and unwrapped it slowly, preserving the wrapping paper in perfect condition and setting it on the floor at her feet. Once opened, the box proved to be completely full of individual items. There was a green, leather-bound organizer, a black notebook, three of Brittany's favorite kind of pens, a handheld voice recorder, a pack of batteries, and a portable thesaurus.

"It's a journalism kit," Santana told her. "You know, because you love writing for the school paper and helping people tell their stories."

"It's perfect, Santana." Brittany smiled. "You're the best!"

Her nose scrunched at the bridge and she leaned in to give Santana a quick thank you kiss. Santana's own smile broadened and she ducked her head shyly.

"What should we do next?" Brittany asked eagerly. "There are so many traditions that we'll probably have to skip some, but we have enough time that we could cover a lot of them. Where should we start? Cut out paper snowflakes? Drink hot cocoa with marshmallows? Sing carols?"

"I know we wanted to do all of our Christmas stuff tonight since we won't get to on the day, but it all kind of sounds too depressing right now," Santana admitted. "Do you mind if I just turn on some Christmas songs while we lie together for a while?"

"That sounds nice."

Santana rose to her feet. She disappeared from the room while she fetched the old radio from the kitchen. When she returned, Santana plugged it into the nearest outlet and turned the knob until a suitable station crackled through the speakers. After that, she settled back on the couch and bent to grab the other girl's ankles. Carefully, she lifted them until Brittany was lounging across the cushions. Then Santana lowered herself onto the empty space beside Brittany and wriggled until she could feel her girlfriend's torso pressed against her back.

Brittany enfolded Santana in her arms and nestled her cheek against her hair. Her gaze drifted around the shadowed room, not really settling on any one thing in particular while she listened to the next track to come over the airwaves. It took her a minute as she waited through the intro to place the song, but then Elvis's voice helped identify the tune. Ordinarily, old songs were not particular favorites of hers but just then the words cut through her thoughts and held her attention.

"It'll be lonely this Christmas, without you to hold.

It'll be lonely this Christmas, lonely and cold.

It'll be cold, so cold, without you to hold, this Christmas…"

Brittany's lungs ached the way they sometimes did when she held her breath and forgot to release it. She rolled her eyes back to fight against the burning in her tearducts, but to no avail. She felt Santana's shoulders begin to shake and within seconds they were curling against each other, crying onto one another's skin. Brittany's tears slid along her girlfriend's cheek while Santana's slowly dampened the crook of her arm. Brittany shifted until she could bury her face in Santana's neck, absorbing its heat to chase off the icy pain that was spreading through her chest.

"This wasn't supposed to be sad," she mumbled thickly through her emotion.

Santana gave a single laugh while she wiped her eyelids with her fingertips.

"I'm not sure how the hell we convinced ourselves that it would be anything else."

"I'm gonna change the channel," Brittany said as she untangled their limbs and clambered over Santana.

Her fingers maneuvered along the dial until she stumbled upon an instrumental version of Christmastime is Here. Brittany's hips shifted back and forth as she listened for several seconds. Once she decided that she liked the selection, Brittany turned around to face Santana. Arms outstretched, she tilted her head and beckoned her girlfriend with her eyes. Santana complied and walked into the waiting embrace.

The firelight fell softly across them while they swayed to the wistful piano playing. No practiced steps like at Sectionals, just the two of them with their bodies pressed flush together, sharing identical thoughts without need for words. Brittany pulled back from Santana only far enough that she could bring their lips together for a kiss. Her girlfriend sighed and leaned into the touch, closing her eyes as she returned the caress.

Brittany was held motionless by the nearness of the girl in her arms. She shut her eyes even tighter and pressed her hands against Santana's waist. Never mind anything her family would give her to open on the twenty-fifth. What she had in that moment was the only gift she would remember – truthfully, the only one she had really wanted – for Christmas that year.

... ... ...

Quinn carried a plate of Russian tea cakes into the back dining room and set them down between the turkey and the apple pie.

"I made these myself," Quinn announced proudly as she sat down opposite from her sister.

"You two didn't have to go to all this trouble," Alisha said. "There's only four of us altogether."

"Although it is a nice treat to be the one who gets the food brought to them for a change, rather than being the one who makes it," Frannie added.

Judy entered the room, untying her apron as she walked, and draped it over the back of her chair.

"That reminds me," she said. "How is the new shop coming along?"

"It's doing all right." Frannie smiled.

Alisha nudged her reprovingly.

"She's too modest," Alisha told them. "Cookie Crumbles has been a huge success. Of course, it helps that we found a location around the corner from a popular pot dealer's house..."

"Lish!" Frannie blushed.

"... but, hey, that was just a bit of smart marketing," Alisha continued. "The shop's two minutes closer than the nearest Dunkin' Donuts, which has been a great advantage. They don't like us too much right now. Fran snatched up too much of their clientele."

Frannie's cheeks were a bright shade of pink from having her fiancée brag about her at length, but it was clear to see that she was also very happy.

Judy led the prayer over their meal while they all held hands. Then each of them put together a plate and enjoyed the food that Judy and Quinn had prepared. Quinn watched out of the corner of her eye as Frannie tried the tea cakes she had made, and she could not contain her grin when her sister went back for seconds.

As the four of them cleared away the silverwear and dishes, Alisha fell back to speak to Quinn.

"That friend of yours who is interested in journalism," she prefaced. "Is she still considering it as a long-term career?"

"Yeah, I think so," Quinn replied. "Why?"

"I have a college suggestion for her," Alisha answered. "There's a place called Roosevelt University that's not far from where I work. If she studied there, I could put in a good word for her at the Tribune and try to get her an internship."

"Really?" Quinn brightened. "That would be amazing!"

They loaded the plates into the dishwasher.

"And her girlfriend is into musical theatre, right?" Alisha verified.

"How did you -?"

"Skype call audio carries," Alisha explained. "And eavesdropping tendencies die hard."

She shrugged apologetically.

"That's okay," Quinn forgave. "There's nothing that I tell Frannie that you can't know, too. Oh, and you're right. Santana does love to sing."

"Good," Alisha said. "Because there's a really intensive program at the Chicago College of Performing Arts, which is technically part of Roosevelt."

"They're going to be so excited about this," Quinn told her. "I'll text them about it tonight. Thank you so much! I know that being separated for school after this year is something that's worried them. This will solve everything!"

"No problem," Alisha responded genially. "Happy to help keep them together."

"Speaking of together," Frannie led in seamlessly as she came back with a handful spoons. "What's the status with Rachel?"

Quinn cast a quick glance at the doorway, verifying that her mother was not approaching. While Judy had finally come to terms with her elder daughter's sexuality, Quinn's own preferences were not something she cared to discuss at length with her just now.

"She still hasn't said any more," Quinn answered despondently. "Finn named a star for her for Christmas. Well, technically, he named the star after himself. He told her that there was 'already a star named Rachel Berry' and that he wanted the star with his name to be up there in the sky so she'd always know he was watching over her."

Alisha pantomimed gagging. Frannie gave her sister a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"It was hard hearing the way she gushed about it," Quinn acknowledged. "But I know it's only temporary. At least, I hope it is."

Alisha circled behind Frannie and wrapped her arms around the other woman's waist. She rested her chin on her fiancée's shoulder.

"Well, kiddo," she said. "Remember that, even if things don't work the way you hoped right now, it doesn't mean you're out of the running. The people you're supposed to keep have a way of crossing your path again, so long as you have your eyes open for the chance and are ready to take a leap of faith."

... ... ...

Brittany exited the locker room and slung the strap of her gym bag over her shoulder. She was just reaching into the side pouch for her iPod when she nearly ran headlong into the entire rugby team. Most she did not recognize, save for the short brunet at the center of the group.

"Hey there," the boy greeted. "Brittany, right?"

"Yeah," Brittany confirmed tersely. "What do you want?"

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," the boy continued. "I'm Josh Coleman."

"I know who you are," Brittany stated flatly. "You tried to hit on Santana in the hall the day after the commercial aired and said you were going to 'make her normal.'"

"Oh yeah," Josh recalled. "You and those Glee dykes ganged up on me about that one. You guys really stick together, huh?"

"We're family," Brittany retorted. "That's what we do."

"So we've seen," Josh said. "Like in that holiday special you guys did on TV."

"Our friend Artie directed it," Brittany told him. "We did the show and then went to the homeless shelter."

"Yeah, yeah, you guys are all about the underdogs," Josh said disinterestedly. "Not my point."

"What is?" Brittany asked and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You and Santana were getting awfully cozy on that couch," Josh remarked.

"So?"

"That means you're the one who's got her confused, huh?" Josh concluded. "Everybody kinda figured 'cause you guys walk around like you're in a three-legged race, but you really aren't trying to hide it, are you?"

"Why would I? I'm proud to be her girlfriend," Brittany said defiantly. "And she's not confused. The only one missing the point of all this is you."

"Britt-Britt, c'mon, we've got to get going or -," Santana said as she doubled back to look for Brittany. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the jocks crowding around the door to the locker room.

Brittany tried to sidestep Josh and reach Santana's side, but he moved into her path.

"So tell me, Madam President," he challenged. "Does the First Lady give good dome?"

He smacked his forehead.

"Oh, that's right, you wouldn't know," Josh said. "Guess I'll just have to find out for myself. Maybe I'll even make a little trip down to the Oval Office. See if a good, strong rebuttal gets her to switch parties."

He turned and his teammates moved with him, expanding their circle to block Santana's escape route. Brittany felt goosebumps rise along her arms and heard ringing in her ears. Without warning, she let her gym bag fall down her arm and, catching the handle at the last second, swung the bag right at Josh's head.

"Don't touch her!" Brittany cried.

Josh's shoulders stiffened and he turned around slowly.

"You hit me with your freaking dirty laundry?" he demanded. "What the hell?"

"You're lucky she didn't high kick you right in the marbles you try to pass for balls," Santana growled.

She tried to run at Josh and take a few swings of her own, but his teammates held out their arms to catch her around the middle. Still fearful of what they might do to her girlfriend, Brittany made a sudden move to get past them all and whisk Santana away from danger. The movement out of the corner of his eye startled Josh and his fist flew without further thought. It struck near Brittany's temple and she crumpled.

"Brittany!" Santana screamed.

The sound echoed along the hallway and the rugby team grew visibly nervous that they would not be alone much longer.

"Come on, guys," Josh commanded. "We've wasted enough time on these bitches."

He gave Brittany a swift kick in the ribs and stalked off in the opposite direction. The others followed suit while the two holding Santana clung tightly onto her arms to protect their teammates. One of the jocks missed his mark, and his sneaker collided with the side of Brittany's nose. Blood began to drip from her nostrils and tiny scratches appeared across her cheekbone and below her eyebrow. Finally, the two athletes restraining Santana relinquished their hold.

She did not even bother to hurl parting insults at their retreating backs. Instead, Santana fell to her knees at Brittany's side and pulled the other girl into her lap.

"Brittany?" she sobbed. "Baby, you've gotta open your eyes for me."

"I broke my number one rule," Brittany murmured sadly as she peered out of her quickly swelling eyelids. "I hit somebody."

"Only to protect me," Santana countered. "You were so brave, baby. Thank you."

Brittany wrapped her hand around Santana's forearm.

"I couldn't let them hurt you. I couldn't let what happened to me happen to you."

Santana kissed Brittany's hair and then gently helped her girlfriend to her feet.

"Come on, Britt," she urged as she draped Brittany's arm around her neck. "We've got to get you to the nurse before she leaves for the day."

They shuffled along the hallways between themselves and the nurse's office. Along the way, they passed Finn drinking from the water fountain on his way back from football practice.

"Brittany? Santana, what happened to her?" he asked worriedly.

"Not now, Stretch Pants, I have bigger fish to fry," Santana snarled.

The nurse was just preparing to lock her door as they reached her office.

"Hold on, lady. Open that right back up again," Santana commanded.

Ms. Sterling turned to face them and her hand flew to her chest.

"Good Lord!" she exclaimed. "Here, take her to the cot."

Santana helped Brittany settle in safely and stepped back to allow the nurse to do her job. Then she spotted Finn hovering near the doorway, trying to peer in, and she stomped out into the hallway.

"You!" Santana cried and jabbed an accusatory finger into the middle of Finn's chest. "Now do you see? Now do you get why letting everyone know was dangerous?"

Finn immediately began to walk backwards and held his hands aloft.

"You and your goddamn hate!" Santana fumed. "Look me in the eye, Finn, and tell me Brittany deserved this. You can't. She's beautiful, she's innocent, she's everything that's good in this miserable, stinking world. This violence is what you fuel by being such a narrow-minded, bigoted asshole! You make yourself a part of the problem. Maybe you didn't throw the punches, but her blood is still on your hands."

"I-I-I'm sorry," Finn stammered helplessly.

"You should be!" Santana retorted. "If you were even half the hero that everyone tries to say you are, this never would have happened. How exactly do you see things working out between you and Rachel, huh? Do you really think she can be happy spending her forever with a known homophobe?"

"I'm not-"

Santana held a hand up a few inches away from his nose.

"No more denial. Own it. Fix it. Just get your shit together and man up!"

She turned on her heel and went back to check on Brittany. Finn's shoulders hunched up close to his ears as he retreated, cramming his hands into pockets while his mouth twisted down and his eyes watered.

... ... ...

The following Monday, the Glee Club learned that Mr. Schuester was planning on popping the question to Ms. Pillsbury. Mr. Schue decided that he wanted to propose in song, and so he asked if they would help him brainstorm the perfect number. The kids tried tracks that fell everywhere on the spectrum, ranging from soulful ballads to pop favorites, but nothing seemed quite right.

Rachel, who had already performed alongside Santana, Mercedes, and Tina, also contributed a solo act singing Without You by David Guetta. She spent the entire number looking directly at Finn and avoided allowing herself to even glance in Quinn's direction.

Quinn, who was still seething over the trickle down effect from Santana's public outing, and the injury it had caused Brittany, had a very difficult time watching Finn be gifted with a serenade - particularly one performed by Rachel. When the start-of-day meeting was over, Quinn and Santana lent Brittany a hand descending from the back level of the risers. The swelling had gone down and her bruises were fading, but her ribcage was still bandaged beneath her clothes while the bones took their time to heal.

Once she was sure that her friends were safely on their way to class, Quinn doubled back to speak to Rachel.

"Why the song?" she asked simply.

"Finn is thinking of joining the Army," Rachel replied as she gathered her sheet music. "He thinks it will make him a better man, like his father. He told Mr. Schuester so earlier this week. Then Carole and Burt sat him down for a talk and let him know the truth. It turns out that his father didn't die in battle at all. He became a drug addict and overdosed in Cincinnati."

Quinn took a moment to process this. She felt a brief pang for her ex-boyfriend, remembering how much he had idolized his dad. This revelation must have devastated him.

"So, when we went to Breadstix last night, Finn kept going on about having loser DNA," Rachel explained. "He's feeling aimless and insignificant. He said he wonders why he can't have anything special in his life."

"He does have something special!" Quinn argued heatedly. "He has you!"

"More specifically, he has us," Rachel said. "I wanted my song to remind him that he's still special in my eyes. Even if that's only one person, he does matter."

"I can't believe you didn't call him out," Quinn marveled. "If this were sophomore year, you would have been pissed that he said something like that right in front of you and didn't see anything wrong with it. Why are you making excuses for him?"

"Because he needs somebody," Rachel protested. "If I turn against him, where else will he go?"

"I don't know, but that's not how it works, Rachel," Quinn said. "Look, all sappy girlfriend bias aside, tell me: did it hurt that Finn didn't think of your relationship as his special something until you convinced him with a song?"

"A little," Rachel admitted. "But people say things they don't mean when they get worked up that way."

Quinn shook her head sadly.

"This is the way it's always going to go, isn't it?" she asked in defeat. "You and I will come so far, but then he'll get his feelings hurt about something and you'll go running."

"Quinn," Rachel supplicated. "I know this hasn't been fair to you. I know I keep asking you to wait and you're getting nothing for it. I just..."

"You're afraid," Quinn summarized bitterly. "Afraid of how he'll react, afraid of letting go, afraid of being something outside of the box you constructed for yourself."

"Well, yes," Rachel confessed. "How can I not be? I plan everything, Quinn. My daily routines, my ten-year timeline, I even schedule my toilet breaks for the class change that will take me closest to a restroom. Finding myself the center point of this triangle instead of one of the sides was never a part of my agenda. Earning Finn's affection was a gamble, becoming your friend was a longshot, but this? This never entered my wildest dreams."

"I don't understand why it's so difficult," Quinn said. "We're almost out of here. New York is so much more open to everything than Lima will ever be. What do you have to be afraid of?"

She held onto Rachel's arms and looked down at her.

"Please," she begged. "Help me know what to do."

"I wish I knew," Rachel said tearfully.

They rested their foreheads together.

"Why is everything always so damn hard?" Quinn asked rhetorically.

They both laughed a little.

"I guess it wouldn't be high school if it weren't," Rachel joked.

"I guess not," Quinn conceded. "But, now more than ever, I'm ready for high school to be over."

... ... ...

"Baby, you really should be taking it easy," Santana fretted.

"I am taking it easy," Brittany protested mildly. "See? I'm propped up with pillows and everything. I just want to make sure we get these applications in this week because the auditions for the theatre program are next month."

Santana climbed onto the bed beside Brittany and draped both arms over her eyes.

"I really hope I don't blow it," she said. "A four hour road trip is an awfully long way to drive for rejection. Not to mention an additional four hours back, and a crapload of make-up work from the classes we miss."

"We can take turns driving so the other can rest," Brittany pointed out. "Now that I've got my official license."

She grabbed the wallet off the nightstand and flipped it open, holding the tiny picture beside her face and giving her girlfriend a cheesy grin. Santana giggled.

"That is true," Santana acknowledged. "My lean, mean, driving machine."

She gave Brittany a kiss on the cheek.

"Want to look around for some song ideas for your audition?" Brittany suggested.

"I'm not sure about the up-tempo number yet, but I think I already have one for the ballad," Santana told her. "I don't just need a song to showcase my voice. It has to be something I connect with emotionally, or they won't buy it, and there was one that kinda did that."

"What's it called? I'll look it up," Brittany offered.

"Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again," Santana said. "It's from The Phantom of the Opera. You and I haven't watched that one yet. Evidently the chick from that new show Shameless is in the movie version. Anyway, I listened to the song and... I mean, I know it's for the girl's dad, but... the feelings are kind of the same."

Brittany typed in the title and clicked on one of the first video results. Santana hugged her arm tightly while they listened. The song was accompanied by the video clip from the 2004 film version. As soon as Brittany saw that the scene was shot in a graveyard, her hand wrapped around Santana's fingers. She knew exactly who this song would be sung to in her girlfriend's mind.

When the video ended, Santana turned to look at Brittany.

"So, what do you think?"

Brittany rubbed at her tearducts with the heel of her hand and sniffled.

"It's going to be perfect," she said.

Santana smiled, although there was remembered sorrow in her eyes, pulled to the surface by the lyrics of the song.

"I'll definitely give it my best."

... ... ...

Quinn heard the knocking long before she was actually able to reach the door. It was repetitive and incessant and she knew in an instant who must be on the other side. When she swung the door open, Rachel very nearly knocked on her forehead before she managed to stop her hand.

"What's going on?" Quinn asked with concern.

"I... Finn... He... Can I come in?" Rachel asked agitatedly.

"Oh, yeah, of course," Quinn said. She stepped aside to let Rachel cross the threshold.

They walked up the stairs to her bedroom and shut the door. Quinn sat on the mattress automatically, but Rachel remained standing.

"What is it?" Quinn inquired.

"There's been a new development," Rachel explained.

Quinn's brow furrowed. Rachel looked around the room and spotted the desk chair. She dragged it over so that she could be eye-to-eye with Quinn.

"You know how Finn has been feeling like he has no sense of direction lately, right?" Rachel led in slowly.

"Yeah," Quinn confirmed, already tensing. "What about it?"

"Well, the thing is, he thinks that now he may have a sense of where he wants his life to go. Or, at least, one aspect of his life."

Rachel reached for Quinn's hands and held them in her own, trailing her thumbs over the backs of the other girl's palms.

"It came almost out of nowhere, really," Rachel mused. "I suppose I ought to have seen it coming when he invited me alone to the auditorium, particularly given Mr. Schue's recent engagement to Ms. Pillsbury..."

Quinn tried to fight off the fear clawing at her insides, but it dug its talons in deeper and made her feel abruptly ill.

"Rachel, please, tell me whatever it is you're going to tell me," she insisted.

"Finn asked me to marry him."

All the blood drained from Quinn's face. Her grip tightened on Rachel's fingertips and she leaned in close, hazel eyes wide with terrified anticipation.

"What did you say?"