Wow, what an overwhelming response! That was kind of like the climax of the story, but I'm planning on another intense story arc. Dont worry guys, I'll keep you entertained, I hope. I loved reading all your reviews. I always say this, but you guys know this story better than I do. You constantly inspire me, so thank you.

Also on that note, is there a reader named MacKenzie out there? I know you reviewed some of my other stories I think, and I have always valued your opinion since you seem to read really closely. I would love to hear what you think.

He really had no idea what he was doing with his life. He'd spent the last Tuesday and Wednesday wallowing in a pit of sorrow, self-pity, and anger in a hotel room, calling room service every couple of hours for another bottle of Jack Daniels. It was after the second night of doing that that he realized he needed to be around people, because this wasn't healthy. He had jumped on a plane and went out to Minnesota to meet up with Eddie, who was pleasantly surprised to see him, but he could tell that he was overstaying his "annual fishing boat visit" when Eddie's wife Minnie asked if he was going to be going home for Christmas, even though it was fairly obvious that he was Jewish.

So now he was on a plane home, it was Christmas and he was sitting in an airport all alone waiting for his flight to take off. Nobody knew he was coming, and nobody knew he was gone. For all they knew, he was still in New York with Santana.

Santana.

Right. She didn't know anything because they hadn't spoken since. His initial shock had cooled, but he wasn't ready to see her yet. He saw her side of the story, honestly. He knew she did it for her, so she wouldn't have to give up her dreams of leaving. He knew she did it for him, so he wouldn't have to go through Beth again. He knew she did it for the two of them, so they could stay in their ignorant high school bliss. He knew she did it for their baby, who didn't deserve two parents who didn't know what the fuck they were doing—in life and with each other.

What he didn't know was why she didn't tell him. He would have tried to convince her to keep it, that he would give Santana, but there was no way anyone could have convinced Santana when she had already made up her mind. It would have been a lost cause…

Wait, why was he even thinking about this? There was no baby. There was no problem. She saved him the burden, the hurt. So why did he feel like shit? He told himself that none of this matter, but the seed of doubt had already been planted.

If she didn't bother to tell him about this—this huge deal—what else was she hiding, and what else would she keep from him? They were supposed to be a partnership.

The point being, this entire situation was FUBAR. Sometimes he wished he was still back overseas, because there sure of a hell was way less thinking to do.

He rubbed his eyes again and focused on the television screen, which was replaying the Victoria's Secret fashion show. He saw that girl "Katya," who Santana had invited over to the apartment a couple of times for drinks. Both times, he had ducked out to avoid the interrogation by her "work friends." Katie was cute, in that All-American way, but was certainly no Santana. Katie beckoned the crowd, in a way that left everyone wanting more of the shy girl.

But Santana? She left it all out there.

His girl could work it. She strutted down that catwalk like she owned it, and engaged everyone in the audience (and millions of viewers at home, he was sure). She lured in the audience and sold them the dream, the fantasy of being a sexpot. Too bad it was all a sham. Even though Santana was a professional, who did not let personal issues affect her work life, he could tell that something was off with her. The ordinary person wouldn't have noticed, but he could see a blankness in her eyes.

"Santana? Santana? Are you okay?" Sasha asked, waving her slender arm in front of Santana's face. Santana snapped out of her haze, and blinked a couple of times to orient herself before responding.

"What?" she said quietly. She had zoned out for the last five minutes, thinking about next week—how she would react, what she would say, etc.

"I said, are you okay? You're not on some weird new prescription drug, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I'm fine, just nervous. My first ever Victoria's Secret runway show, you know?" That was true, she was nervous. Just not about the runway. Actually, her mother was coming to New York for a surprise visit next week. It would have been the first time she had seen her mother in over four years. She didn't want to get too excited, in case her mom bailed last minute (which was a very probable possibility, since Isabel was only stopping by after a wedding in New Jersey, without the knowledge of her husband). But Santana missed her mom, and she wanted to hear all about Lima (namely him). Maybe her mom would tell her enough to inadvertently convince Santana to go back home, because Santana knew she was on the verge of just quitting. The only thing anchoring her to New York was her pride.

"Okay then. Well, you better not show it when we get out there," Sasha snipped.

"Of course. Work first."

Life could come later.

"Oh god, Katie. He hates me so fucking much. He hates me, and he's never going to forgive me," Santana wailed into her cell phone. Santana had holed herself up in the apartment for the last few days, in case he returned. Which of course, he hadn't.

"You can't think that. I mean, he came all the way to New York for you. He just needs his space, I'm sure. He'll cool off. It's Christmas, enjoy yourself."

"I don't celebrate holidays, Katie. And no, don't you see? That whole fucking decade we spent apart was space! How much space does a guy need? He's supposed to be at that stupid midlife crisis point where he doesn't want to take any shit for granted anymore and beckon at my every call!"

"Santana, you do realize you did something wrong, right?"

"Of course! Why would you think that?"

"Because you're whining about it like you deserve his forgiveness in ten seconds. What you did wasn't the most horrible thing ever, but it does warrant forgiveness."

"Shit, I know, I know. But I just really need him, okay? I haven't had an orgasm in a week," Santana deadpanned.

"Santana, get real. You're acting like you can't function because you miss him, which is a big fat lie. You need him because you love him. Admit it."

"Fine. He knows all that sentimental crap already, Katie. Sex is the only thing that's kept him crawling back through the years, and if it fails me now, then I know we're screwed. It's fucking over. I should just call Ilario. Fly to Italy for the weekend. Maybe even leave and never come back," Santana rambled. It was true, that was her style. She fled when things got a little tough, and right now, she was beyond terrified that he wouldn't ever come back. If he hadn't called her yet, he probably would never do so.

Katie seemed to be processing Santana's confession, because Katie stayed quiet on the line. Was that all there was to Puck and Santana's relationship? Yes, they loved each other and they lived with one another and had been through so much shit they knew they wouldn't have survived without each other. But at the core of all that was their insane sexual infatuation with one another, like magnets. They just couldn't stay away, and now, it was all they could do. So if their foundation had been stymied, didn't that mean that their little idyllic house they had built in the middle of the chaos would soon crumble?

"You can get through this." Katie figured it was the only thing she could say. She deliberately left out an antecedent for her pronouns, for she really didn't know who the "you" she was referring to. It could have been Noah and Santana together. Again, they had been through so much that she knew this was just another test from God they could pass, but whether or not both Noah and Santana had the willpower to fight for it remained a mystery. Then again, if he never came back, Katie also knew for a fact that Santana could bounce back. Maybe she wouldn't be the same person ever again, but she could get by.

"No, this time, I don't think we can."

Spotted: Santana Madison leaving her apartment late Christmas night. TMZ trailed her to a local bar, where patrons claimed she drank alone at the bar. "She looked real lonely, and wouldn't talk to anyone, not even this girl who asked for her autograph," said one witness. Madison, who although is a favorite American model, has had the reputation of being a cold personality, seeing as she reveals very little about her personal life. Sources claim that she and her longtime boyfriend have called it quits, which may have caused the change in her mood. Others say she is just worried about her 5-year contract with Victoria's Secret coming to a close. Either way, could it be the return of the ice queen?

He finally landed in Lima several hours later, and the Lima airport (which was really just the Dayton airport with a taxi service) was even more deserted than the one in Minnesota. It was the day after Christmas by now, and he was sure his fellow Ohio-ans were frantically swarming the local Wal-Mart for post-Christmas deals.

He walked solemnly to the baggage claim, already regretting coming with each step. But there wasn't like anywhere else he could have gone, and seeing a familiar face would have been really nice.

"Noah?" he heard, a voice from behind him. He turned around and came face to face to a pretty blonde, with her hair cut in a clean bob and her hands clasped over her swollen abdomen.

Could it be?

His eyes roamed to her collarbone, which was made visible by the bateau neck of her A-line dress. Never mind that it was December, she was still wearing a knee-length dress with a small shrug to cover her shoulders. A little gold cross hung on a delicate chain, resting against her pale skin.

Yup. It was her.

"Well, if it isn't Quinn Fabray…" he started.

"Actually, it's Hudson now, remember? You sent us a toaster for the wedding? Lucy Hudson," she said, giving him a polite smile, as if the thought of being known as "Quinn Fabray" pained her. He nodded as if he understood, understood why she didn't go by her childhood name anymore. "You know, Finn's around here somewhere. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."

"Right. Are you guys leaving or going?"

"Neither. My sister just left. She came to help out with the boys, because well, as you can see, I can't really do much these days," she said demurely, gesturing toward her baby bump. She gave him another one of those polite smiles.

"Yeah. What is this, your third now? You guys popping them out like rabbits."

"Actually it's our fourth. Another boy. Go figure. I'm never going to get the daughter I want," she joked, without realizing what she had just said.

Beth. She was a daughter. Their daughter, if not only for a short moment, but Beth had been their daughter at one point. How was it possible that two people, who shared the most powerful bond possible—two people who had a child together—had absolutely nothing to say to each other? He'd heard before that a boy will always love his first love, but the forced state of his and Quinn's relationship seriously challenged the idiom.

"Well, here comes Finn," he said, breaking the silence. He saw Finn come closer, and recognize him, then he saw Finn break into a trot-jog like pace, before coming over to give him a hug.

"Hey, man! You didn't tell me you were going to be home! How've you been?" Finn said after clapping him on the back. It was strange, how men could not see each other for years and go back into their normal routine of man-hugs and loud shouts, whilst women were the complete opposite.

"Good, good. Congratulations on the baby."

"Thanks. Did you just get back? Your ma must be so excited to see you, she's been so worried all the time. Everyone's so proud of you, man." Proud of him? Why? He hadn't done anything. He didn't go to college, he had no profession—no job, no less. He hadn't done anything at all that was merit-worthy. All he did was run halfway around the country and blow the brains of out of anyone in sight for a cause he didn't believe in.

"No, I've been out of the service for a couple of months now actually." Yes, that was a rather diplomatic answer. He didn't think neither Quinn nor Finn would appreciate his actual thoughts.

"A couple of months now? Really?" inquired Quinn, "Where've you been?"

"New York."

"New York, doing what?" Quinn asked, scrunching her nose, as if she just had no idea why anyone would want to live in such a boisterous, vulgar place.

"Shit! I think I left my keys over in the bathroom! I'll be right back, honey," Finn said, nodding towards Puck and giving Quinn a kiss on the cheek. Quinn squirmed uncomfortably at the show of affection and focused her attention back at Puck, only to stare at his one duffel bag as if it was the most interesting thing in this entire airport. She looked as if she was sitting unmoved on a hot waffle iron with a spatula up her ass, not like she had just been kissed by her husband.

"Uh, I've just been living with Santana, hanging out, having a good time."

"Santana Lopez?"Quinn scrunched her nose yet again, as if there were a foul smell in the vicinity, not just stale airport air, "Why would you do that?"

"Because we're friends," he replied calmly. More than friends actually.

"But why? Why would such a distinguished man like you want to be in the company of someone like her?"

"I'm hardly a distinguished man, Quinn, and she was your friend too. And I have no idea what you mean by 'someone like her'." It was the truth, on both accounts. He had nothing to his name: no children (although he wasn't really supposed to be thinking about that right now), no property, no titles. And although the both of them would deny it, Quinn and Santana had once been best friends, or rather best frenemies. They kept each other on their toes, and pushed themselves to be the best they could be, only to beat out the other. In fact, he almost credited their competitive friendship as to why Santana had been so successful.

"Well, you know. She was a bitch to us while she was here, and now she's gone and nobody cares. Her job is being a professional slut. She's too embarrassed to even show her face in Lima," Quinn harrumphed, speaking about Santana as if she was something one would scrape off the bottom of a refrigerator, not a real, live person.

"Don't be ridiculous and don't you dare talk about Santana like that. She's one of us," he argued. He might not have been on friendly terms with Santana right then, but he was still going to defend her till the day he died. Now that was a cause worth fighting for.

"No, she's not. She never fit in here, and she won't ever. She still has no class. She's only charmed you with sex, as usual." The moment he had said Santana, Quinn had known the two of them were more or less "together," because honestly, the two losers had been inseparable since middle school. For Puck, the worst part of Quinn's attack wasn't the toxic words, but the tone she used. It was the same patient, quiet tone Quinn used on her young children, with a blockade of fury hidden under the kindness.

"You know what, Quinn? She's done something, at least. She's good at something at least, and she went for it. What have you done with your life? Acting like some Stepford wife and walking around with a self-righteous chip on your shoulder. Your husband just kissed you on the cheek and you act like he just showed me a picture of the two of you having sex. You forget who you are, Quinn Fabray."

"I told you, it's Lucy. Now you stop being ridiculous. I am a loving mother and wife with the title of Lima's best realtor. My life is fabulous. You could even take that all away, and I would still be the head bitch in this town," she added with a tone of finality. Quinn was determined to get the last word, like she had done her entire life.

"Don't act like you're better than the rest of us. You still shop at JCPenney like everyone else and heat up Hamburger Helper. You might not agree with her lifestyle, but Santana has more class than you ever will." It was true. Santana had been to practically every continent, had clothes given to her by every designer, and ate things from restaurants he couldn't even pronounce. Where had she learned this sophistication, this elegance, when everyone else they grew up with was the complete opposite? He had asked her once and she had winked, claiming that you couldn't buy class. You were just born with it.

"The fact is, when Santana comes back, and she will one of these days, she's going to knock you off your high horse without a warning. So you keep on living in your fool's paradise because when she comes home, she's going to own this town like it's hers to take. And I, for one, cannot wait." It sounded more threatening than he had intended, but it was the truth. No one could resist Santana. No one.

The thought of Santana returning to Lima made Quinn's lips, which were previously fixed in a firm horizontal line, form a perfectly round, puckered O.

Yes, this was the town that built him, and her for that matter. Yes, these were the people who he would never forget and would always love, especially Quinn. But now was the perfect time for him to leave, he thought. Because somewhere along the way, somewhere along the way of hanging out with Santana, he too, had outgrown this town.

Questions to think about: (And answer if you want to really make me happy)

1. Consider Katie's sentiment. It is undeniable that the foundation of Puck and Santana's relationship is purely physical and based on sex. But they have built on it to a somewhat healthy romantic relationship. So if their foundation has crumbled, does that mean their entire relationship that came after has no chance either? Or is the relationship strong enough to not need the foundation anymore?

2. Consider the dichotomy in Quinn and Santana's positions in society. It's the age old paradigm: big fish in little pond vs. little fish in big pond. Quinn is head bitch, but of Lima. Santana is a star in her own right, but it's nothing compared to the calibers of other New York personalities. Which is better? Remember, Quinn doesn't know any better because she's never left the "pond," but Santana can grow until she becomes the big fish in the big pond (which she kind of has).

Also, how am I doing literary-wise? What am I good at writing, and what do I need to work on? Do tell.

Review!