SANTANA

Quinn and I are in the shower, and she is gently running her fingers through my hair as the water rinses out the conditioner. It feels like heaven, albeit a different kind of heaven than the one I just experienced with her a little bit ago. I open one eye slightly to peek at her face. I love watching Quinn when she's unaware of my attention and completely natural. She's absorbed in her task, eyes focused, and she's chewing at her bottom lip with her teeth.

I can often read Quinn just from looking at her lips. She has at least 10 different smiles, 4 or 5 different smirks, and a bunch of different reasons for either chewing or biting her lips. When her lips are pursed tightly and she's gnawing at them she's usually worrying about something. If she's gently nibbling at the middle of her lip, she's doing it out of absentminded habit or she's concentrating on something. A raised eyebrow, a smirk, and slight bite at her lip is pure, and very effective, seduction. Right now she's biting at it without thought and I find her so incredibly cute.

I reach my hand up and gently run my thumb over her lip and then lean forward to kiss her. I can feel the sweet little smile on her mouth and I can't help but return it. Our soft smile-kisses are the epitome of simple, happy love. Quinn kisses me one last time and then guides me back under the water with her hands on my hips.

Quinn finishes rinsing my hair and reaches around me to turn off the water. She wraps me a towel and kisses my cheek before grabbing a towel for herself. As soon as we step out of the shower the timer on my phone goes off, indicating the end of my parents' movie. They'll be headed home now. Quinn and I look each other wistfully for a moment, but quickly move on to getting ready for bed.

Before long we're lying on our sides, looking into each other's eyes and waiting for the telltale sound of the garage door opening below us. Quinn's face is smooth and calm, her eyes clear and happy. I would give anything to see her look like this all the time.

"You're so beautiful, Quinn. Like, truly, incredibly, epically beautiful."

Quinn smiles and blushes, and I can tell she wants to make a joke rather than accept the compliment.

"Wait, before you try to brush off my very genuine and true compliment, I want you to just listen to me. You are beautiful. Not just because you have stunning eyes, or a cute nose, or a spectacular smile. Not just because I love your cute little ears or the soft skin of your neck. Each little detail of you is beautiful, for sure. But it's the sum of the parts, Q. It's the you of you that is so stunning I have no choice but to love you. It's because you're smart, you're brave, you're incredibly loving. It's because you're both gentle and tough, because you know me and you still stand by my side. Lots of girls are pretty...but, you…YOU are beautiful, Lucy, inside and out, through and through. I love you because there are a thousand reasons to love you, and they all add up to the perfection that is you."

"San…"

Quinn looks completely overwhelmed, so I lean in and give her a kiss. She quickly scooches closer to me and tucks herself into my arms. I reach behind me and turn the bedside lamp off and we lie in comfortable silence for a moment.

"Thank you, Santana. Not just for what you said. For everything. For forgiving me, for taking me in, for taking care of me, for tonight. You've been so amazing when I had no reason to expect anything from you. So thank you, baby. I love you."

"I love you too, pretty lady," I kiss her forehead and then whisper, "Good night."

"Good night, love."

QUINN

Santana and I have spent all of Sunday doing homework and hanging out in our pajamas. The last few days have been such a whirlwind, it was nice to just do things somewhat normal. Today has been the first day in years that I felt like I actually had a real family. Mr. and Mrs. L came in and out of the kitchen while we did our homework at the table. Occasionally we'd take a break from working and chat with them or have a snack. We've gotten a reprieve from church because, according to Mrs. Lopez, we've "been through the ringer, and God understands the importance of taking a breather after a shit week like that." It's so effortless in this house, which is really quite wonderful. Right now we're sitting around the table after an amazing dinner, just talking and laughing.

I can't help but sit back and observe the little Lopez family, even though it makes me feel a twinge of sad regret that my family has fallen apart. I know in my heart that my parents would look down on Maribel and Miguel for having come from the poor side of town, even though they'd worked hard to be successful and now live in one of the nicer neighborhoods in Lima. Santana claims she's from Lima Heights Adjacent because, quite literally, she is. She was actually born in Lima General, where her father works now, which is in Lima Heights just a few blocks from where she lived as a kid. She was raised in the absolute worst part of the Heights because her parents were broke kids from there. They scrapped together money and scholarships to get through college, and Santana was often left with her grandmother, who wasn't necessarily the doting type. San explained to me that her abuela refused to speak English to her, but her parents refused to speak to Spanish to her, so she grew up with two words for just about everything and often mixed languages once she spoke in full sentences. Santana wears her upbringing like a badge of honor for the most part, but there are many things she's kept carefully guarded. She told me a lot of it over our year of best friendship, but I'm still learning little details she's never shared. For example, Mrs. L is the one who told me San was conceived when her parents were just teenagers, and that they were so poor that she had worn secondhand clothes for most of her childhood. Santana doesn't look fazed when I'm told new details about her life, but every now and then she'll shake her head and her cheeks will redden ever so slightly, like right now.

"The first time she brought you home, Quinn, I was legitimately shocked. I don't think Santana had ever just hung out with girls her whole life. She was always in the mud playing with the boys, which just drove most of them crazy because she was so much better than them at everything. I couldn't believe it when she said she was trying out for cheerleading of all things. I was pretty convinced she'd be on the actual football team."

"Mom! You did not think I'd play football. Stop exaggerating. Soccer, maybe, but not football."

"Why not, mija? You're a great athlete, I'm pretty sure you could have made the team. I used to love to sit at her various games whenever I could because the parents of the other kids would all be whispering about how good she was. Santana was probably the most grown up, self-sufficient 6 year old in the world, and it only got worse from there. She would get on the field and be a little general, directing her teammates, and eventually even her coaches," Mrs. L explains proudly.

"That's only because-"

"You HATE losing. We know, we know!" Mr. Lopez interrupts his only daughter with a smile on his face. "You get that from your mother, Santanita," he adds with a wink for his wife.

"Oh please, Miguel. This one is probably worse than Santana," Mrs. L tells me, gesturing to her husband. "He was a really good soccer player in high school, he even got offered a scholarship to play at an Ivy out East. What school was it, honey?"

"Princeton. But I'm glad I didn't go, who wants to live in New Jersey? Not me, prefiero quedarme aquí, thank you very much."

"Anyway, he's so competitive he had a fit when he finished second in med school."

"Mom, deja de bragging!" Santana chimes in, with an exaggerated look of annoyance.

For my part, I just keep laughing. They talk so fast and tease each other with the ease of people who actually know each other. My dinners at home were generally silent, and we certainly didn't sit around and talk after the meal was over.

"Oh relax, my little Holy Devil child. Quinn knows I'm only joking, right Quinn?"

"Of course, Mrs. L!" I reply with gusto.

Santana gives me a joking glare and huffs at me.

"I see where your loyalties lie, Fabray. Noted."

"You've chosen wisely, Quinn, don't let her intimidate you," Mr. L says with a grin.

"Whaaaaateverrrrr," Santana calls out as she walks into the kitchen with all four of our plates.

I laugh at her dramatics and her parents smile, too. It's so clear how much they adore her and vice versa. I start to get up to go help her with the dishes, but Mrs. L stops me.

"Listen, Quinn, I know we talked about this at the hospital on Friday, but I wanted to make sure you were still okay with us petitioning the court to name us your legal guardians. It's entirely up to you if you'd like for us to proceed with this or not."

I don't even hesitate.

"If you are willing to do it, then I'm more than okay with it. My parents have abandoned me," I say with a shrug of my shoulders, "If you think this is for the best, then I trust your judgment."

"I do, sweetheart. If we're your legal guardians we can get you insured under our healthcare plans, and have us filed as your contacts at the school, and have you on our auto insurance and all sorts of other things that I'm sure we haven't thought of yet," Mrs. Lopez tells me while Mr. L nods next to her.

I didn't think of any of these things, so I'm not sure what to think now.

"I mean, I don't want to be a financial burden or anything," I finally say, feeling somewhat awkward.

My new surrogate parents smile at that and shake their heads in tandem.

"Don't be silly, Quinn. We wouldn't have offered to take you in if were weren't willing to take on the cost of having another teenaged girl around. Before you and Santana even made amends we were considering offering our home to you, so once you guys fixed whatever issue came between you, it made the decision very easy. You will not be a burden, nor will we treat you like any less of a daughter than we treat Santana. I mean, at least we actually like you, we just barely tolerate her," Mr. L tells me, a smile twitching at his lips as he finishes.

"I heard that!" Santana calls out from the kitchen.

I can't help the laugh that falls from my mouth, but I don't even hesitate to throw some sass her way.

"Don't be jealous!" I yell back at her.

"Shut it, nerd!"

"Make me, jerk!"

Mr. and Mrs. Lopez are laughing at our joking banter when Santana bursts into the dining room, her hands full of fluffy dish soap suds, which she promptly drops on my head and then rubs into my hair.

I gasp and jump out of my chair, and the chase is on. Santana is faster than me, but she's laughing hysterically as I pursue her, slowing her down. We dance around the table a few times, until Mr. L sticks out an arm and catches San around the waist. She squirms and twists, but she's laughing too hard to make any real defense. I run into the kitchen and grab some ice cubes, then march back into the dining room and pull the collar of her shirt out slightly before dropping them all in. I'm fairly confident that Santana's prominent cleavage will catch them before they fall out the bottom, and based on her wide eyed look and her hands flying to her chest, they've landed dead on. Mr. L releases his grip on San and she pulls out the bottom of her sports bra to release the cubes that got caught. She's a little breathless, but she manages to give us all exaggerated glares.

"I see how it is, showing favoritism to the white kid. That's fine, I'm used to it by now," Santana says in a wounded tone.

Her parents roll their eyes and I giggle. San winks at me.

I could get used to this.

SANTANA

When we get upstairs to get ready for bed, I pull Quinn into my bedroom and kiss her slowly. When we pull apart she looks at me as if to say "what was that for?"

"I'm just really glad you're here with us. You fit here, with me and with my family," I explain.

Quinn smiles at me and gives me a little peck before answering.

"I've never felt so at home in my life, San. I feel like I actually have a family."

"I'll always be your family, Q."

Being back in school after this past weekend is weird. The Glee kids think they will suddenly be immune to the abuse they are usually subject to because we won sectionals. I feel bad for them because I know no one really cares, but I don't have the heart to burst their bubble. I'm just hoping that no one gets slushied for a few days. And I've noticed that some of my Glee teammates will actually make eye contact with me in the halls now, no doubt a side effect of my pep talks. I haven't decided yet if it's a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand it's kind of nice to have this whole group of people looking up to me, on the other I have an image to uphold that matters more now than ever. Before Quinn, I probably wouldn't have minded so much, but now I feel like so much is riding on how well I can walk a very thin line without slipping up. I need to be untouchable to protect us both, and part of that is being a Cheerio and projecting the bitch façade convincingly.

Besides the weirdness with the Glee kids, seeing Quinn in school now is the weirdest. I feel like I have a permanent smirk on my face because I can't stop thinking about the swear words tumbling from her perfect little mouth while I pumped inside her on Saturday night, or how she'd kissed me deeply just before I came, her surprisingly deft fingers buried deep inside of me. Quinn has carefully avoided my gaze today, probably because she can clearly see the racy thoughts dancing around in my dirty little mind. It's for the best, because we both know that we've got to be oh so careful if we're going to avoid becoming targets of ridicule in this closed minded dump of a town.

"LOPEZ!"

I cringe internally when I hear Coach yell my name down the hall, but still respond immediately, turning on my heel to head back to her office and stand in front of her desk.

"Yes, Coach?"

"You are in charge of the Cheerios while I'm on a temporary leave of absence. We only have a few weeks before Nationals and you're going to keep the ship afloat until I plot my return to glory. If we fail to win a championship, it will be a reflection of your failed leadership. I recommend you don't fail. What are your questions?"

I have at least 1,000 questions, none of which seem capable of travelling from my brain to my tongue. I am struck speechless, and I can almost feel the words jammed into the back of my throat. I feel like I'm actually choking on them as I try desperately to force the questions out of my mouth. I knew she was getting suspended, but I never imagined she'd put me in charge of the whole program. There must be some mistake.

"Uh, so…wait, what?" I finally manage to stutter out.

"Very articulate, Fanta Girl. With that tremendous thought process, I have nothing but confidence that you'll run the entire program aground in short order. Unfortunately, it's either you or Brittany, and I'm just not sure her child sized brain can handle everything without suddenly imploding and sending tiny rainbow colored dust clouds shooting out her ears."

And that brings back my words real fucking quick.

"You know what, Coach? Brittany is more talented than you could ever have wished to be. She's not stupid, and if you ever imply that she is in my presence again, I'm gonna go allllll Lima Heights on your mean, selfish ass. I can handle the Cheerios while you figure out whatever shitty revenge plot you've got up your sleeve for the Glee club and Principal Figgins—that's right, I know you got your ass tossed for giving up our set list—and we'll be ready to go whenever your little break is over. Maybe, just maybe, you could focus on getting us ready to win Nationals instead of trying to destroy Mr. Schue, and there would be enough money to get your stupid fucking confetti cannons and allow the Glee club to exist.

And although I may be a mean bitch, I'm not quite as awful as you, so I'd like to thank you for what you did for Quinn on Friday. She and her baby girl are okay, in case you were wondering."

HOLY SHIT.

I'm glaring at her, but I can't believe I just lit up Sue Sylvester, with a healthy sprinkling of profanity no less. She's about to destroy me. I should go. Now. I'm halfway out the door before Coach finally speaks.

"Now that's the Latina fire you're going to need in order to captain this ship until I get back." I freeze in the doorway but don't turn around. "In your locker is a cell phone containing a single contact number. Only use it for emergency purposes, but keep it on you in case I need to reach you."

I have no idea what this crazy old bitch is talking about, but I'm certain I'm going to find some creepy old school Nokia phone in my locker with said contact number in it. Honestly, this woman is an educator and we wonder why America is falling behind in pretty much every area of academic achievement.

"Oh, and Lopez? Take good care of Quinn. Now get the hell out of my office," Coach says before turning her chair so that her back is to me.

I don't hesitate to walk out, but glance back in the window as I pass in the hallway. Sue sees me and gives me that same weirdly proud look she wore the night Quinn went to the hospital. I wait until I'm out of sight to let my face show the complete confusion I'm feeling on the inside. What the FUCK was that?

I head straight to my locker and of course find a ratty old phone with one contact number and a single text.

Anonymous: Charger is in your Cheerios locker. Acknowledge once you've received this.

Me: Got it.

Seriously? This high school is ridiculous. I'm almost 100% positive that none of the shit that goes on here actually happens in real life, and the things that do probably don't end in a Glee club singing an oddly applicable song to all of the drama. Whatever, I'll carry Sue's stupid Batphone around if that's what it takes to be Head Cheerio, but I'm going to need my two main bitches to back me up if we're going to be ready without Coach Josef Stalin Sylvester around to run the show. I pull out my own phone and send a text to the Unholy Trinity.

Me: UHT- Emergency meeting. Auditorium, lunch. ily both.

Britt Britt: yesssssss! With our powers combinedd….

Evil Bitch: See you guys there :)

I laugh out loud when I get Britt's text and even harder when I get Quinn's. Might wanna change her name in my phone now that I don't think she's quite such an evil bitch. This is the first time we've been apart long enough to warrant a text, I'd completely forgotten that I'd passive aggressively changed it in the first place. I think it's more telling that despite everything, I kept her number in my phone.

Just thinking about Quinn puts a little smile on my face as I walk into Spanish class, ready to zone out and picture my naked girlfriend for the next 40 minutes.