A/N: I'm still so flattered about all the reviews I'm receiving, honestly. I really appreciate everyone who's still sticking around from the beginning! I did a little oneshot that's Pierceberry, if you guys are interested in reading it.. it's called 'One More Time.' I actually think I might do a Pierceberry fic after this one is done. Also, I have an outline of how this is going to end, now, so that's good. Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 16

The next day, I was laying on a blanket spread out in the flower garden. It was only the second time we'd been here and Quinn was fascinated with it. She loved the smell and the colors, and she knew that before long the flowers would start to die. I had only agreed to this because she promised to take me into town later to a little state fair they were having. I doubted it would be much, seeing how the population of Morrow was approximately ten, but I still wanted to go.

I laid back, propped up on a jacket, with sunglasses on, fiddling with my phone. Quinn was sitting up and was studying for that test she had tomorrow. I thought studying was a waste of time, and I told her so.

"Not everyone can be as smart as you, Santana," Quinn said patiently, and my eyebrow rose, trying to decipher if she was being sarcastic or not.

After about an hour, I was starting to get drowsy. It was late morning, and the sun was starting to warm up. I snapped my eyes open when Quinn reached down and removed my sunglasses.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked, quirking a brow.

I smirked at her. "Seriously?" She nodded. "Uh, Brittany."

Quinn smiled. "What about her?"

I sighed, realizing this was probably going to turn out to be a little embarrassing for me. "The way she likes to eat her oranges."

Quinn tilted her head, setting her textbook down on the blanket in front of her, and edged closer to me, so she could watch my face, I think.

"You know, most people cut the orange.. length-wise," I said, for lack of a better term. "And then again into quarters." Quinn nodded slowly. "Well, Brittany likes to cut it the other way.. uhh, horizontally?" I shrugged. "You know, so that when you cut it into quarters, the orange makes little pyramids, instead of wedges."

Quinn smiled briefly. "I just like to peel the orange, whole, and eat each slice one at a time."

I laughed. "You guys are both weird."

Quinn sat in silence for a moment, and I sat up, trying to ward off the sleepiness from lying still in the sun for too long. I reached my hand out and started to break off pieces of long grass and placed them in front of me.

"I like watching you when you talk about her," Quinn said quietly. I snapped my gaze up to her. "You open up. It's very sweet."

I shrugged, pinching my lips together, and began to weave the little pieces of grass into a tiny basket. It was something my grandmother had taught me to do when I was little.

"Hey, I have a… a question," Quinn said suddenly, and when I looked at her, her face was blooming in a huge blush. I grinned at that, unable to stop myself.

"Shoot."

"Have you and Brittany ever…" She paused, turned to look out at the nearest flower bush, shifting uneasily on the blanket. "You know, uh, done it, in any weird places?"

I choked on a huge laugh, shaking my head. "Why do you want to know? Need material for your spank bank?" I was chuckling as I said it.

Quinn frowned at me, as if she didn't get it.

I rolled my eyes. "You are too sheltered, Blondie," I said. I tilted my head, tapping my chin idly, making a show of thinking about it. "Yeah, we've done it in the showers in the girls' locker room."

Quinn's eyes went huge. "What?" Her expression sent me into keels of laughter again. She looked so horrified and indignant.

"Yeah, and the janitor's closet once," I wheezed out, unable to stop myself. I was laughing so hard it hurt.

Quinn was blushing furiously, her hands clasping and unclasping together. She was wearing another skirt and shirt today, one of the few I'd allowed her to keep from her old wardrobe. Her hair was sleek against her head, and I could tell before long she'd need to either re-dye the pink or just let it go. Half of me hoped she'd decide to go back totally blonde, but I decided not to tell her unless she asked.

"That's just too wild," Quinn said, her voice quavering with an emotion somewhere between amusement and awe.

"Why?" I got a predatory smirk. "You thinking about doing it someplace weird?" I exaggerated the last word, giving a pointed look to the blanket beneath us and the hedges around us that kept us from the view of the courtyard, and the grounds surrounding it.

Quinn guffawed. It was odd to watch, because I'd never seen her laugh like that, but it brought a huge smile to my face.

"In your dreams, Santana," Quinn said with a prim little smirk. She wasn't looking at me, now, instead making to turn back to her textbook. I caught her wrist with my hand, smiling at her through my eyelashes, and brought it to my lips slowly. I rubbed them over the pulse point there, satisfied when I felt it quicken a bit beneath the pressure.

Quinn was still, as if mesmerized by my motions, and I slowly lifted my head to aim a knowing smile at her. I raised my eyebrows, and the conversation that shot between us was silent but palpable.

I chuckled, slowly releasing Quinn's wrist, and then leaned back on my elbows. I was wearing a white blouse beneath a jean jacket, with a skirt and black leggings beneath it. I knew it was going to get chilly tonight and I was ready. Actually, I was preparing mentally for a bit of revenge, because this fair was not something Quinn wanted to endure. One of the admissions about myself that I'm not proud of (well, screw you, maybe I am): but I hold a grudge. And I hadn't forgotten the torment Quinn put me through last night while watching that Case 39 movie. I legitimately have a phobia of scary movies, especially ones with demons in them. Probably from being a child forced to attend mass every week and during holidays, where the priest did nothing but preach about fire and brimstone.. hey, I'm not religious at all, now that I'm old enough to lie or bribe or whine my way out of going, but some things just stick with you. I had been tricked into watching The Exorcist once, when I was in seventh grade. The boy who did that ended up short a nut. So. I figured, in all fairness, I had to do something equally drastic to Quinn.

I conveniently forgot that I had, however reluctantly, agreed to see the film. And if that was going to niggle in on my conscience, then I only had to remember that Quinn, equally reluctantly, agreed to take me into the Devereux County State Fair. I sighed, leaning forward again, fidgeting. Quinn had broken the spell of me comfortably basking, waiting for her to be done studying. Now I was just anxious to get on with the day's activities before we had to climb back into our uniforms and return to another school week.

I picked idly at the grass again, deciding I'd make another tiny basket. They weren't much, just little bowls only slightly bigger than thimbles. Britt used to get a huge kick out of them when we were kids, begging me to make them in different sizes and out of different kinds of grass, even dandelions once.

"Santana," Quinn said, breaking me out of a light daze where I forced my fingertips to maneuver the tiny threads of grass in and out. I glanced up at her.

"Umm, I sort of invited Brynn to go with us to the fair," Quinn said, her tone mild and sheepish. I felt my eyes flash with immediate anger.

"Oh, god, not Doctor Frankenfreak," I spat, scowling. I crumbled up the basket I'd been working on, irritated.

"I just feel sorry for her." Quinn said, softly, as she often did when I was upset. I was getting the impression that she thought of me like a wild animal that had to be tamed or soothed with gentle words. The thought doubly annoyed me.

"Quinn. You should not want to be around this girl. She likes to dissect dead cats, for Chrissake," I muttered, pulling my knees up against my chest and refusing to look at her. It wasn't just the fact that Quinn had invited that particular girl along, it was that I wanted to spend the day with her, alone. I wouldn't be able to get in nearly half the lewd remarks or teasing touches I'd planned on with another person tagging along. I scowled, shooting her a grieved look.

"She's just.. eccentric." Quinn's lips quirked cutely on the word. Damn you, Santana, I scolded myself, you aren't supposed to think the way she says words is cute.

"Quinn, I sort of miss the old you," I told her with some venom. "The one who didn't tolerate weirdos, the one who slushied Man Hands and tormented Tina and laughed when Puck flung Tinky-Winky into a dumpster."

Quinn's face went still as stone during my little rant, and by the end of it she had that ice queen mask in place. I immediately regretted my words – partially because they were untrue. I didn't miss that Quinn, not really. That Quinn wouldn't have been very kind to Brittany and me, if she had known.. no, she would have been downright awful. She would have personally pulled the magic carpet out from underneath us, and sent us caterwauling into high school hell. I almost told her that – almost.

I let out an aggrieved sigh, ripping up another blade of long grass. "All right, princess, I didn't mean that. You were kind of a bitch back then." I angled my head, leaving off the second half of the sentence: you're still a bitch now, just toned down. Quinn scowled as if she'd heard it, anyway.

I groaned, then rubbed the back of my hand against my face. "I just, don't think I can handle that freak show today. She completely creeps me out. Let's save her for another day, like Halloween," I said. Quinn's eyes went round as if I had just given her her heart's biggest desire, and I slapped my hands to my mouth, as if I could force the words back inside.Oh shit!

"Oh my god, Santana, you're a genius," Quinn smiled and I felt my face drop. Halloween. Only a cool holiday if you get to dress up as scantily as possible and get wasted at a party. I immediately realized that Quinn an altogether different idea of Halloween. "We should go with Brynn on Halloween to a cemetery."

I flew my hands up in front of me, outwards, as if I could physically ward off her words. "No, no, no, Quinn." I said it as if simple repetition could refute her words. "Look, I get that you have a freak bone. I understand. Everyone does." I swallowed thickly, because even though I was struggling with this whole maybe I'm gay and maybe I'm bi and I'm probably in love with Brittany but I have feelings for Quinn too it just didn't seem to amount to much compared to Quinn's totally gross, totally gruesome obsession with bones, cemeteries, and dead people. Come. On. These are frigging dead people we're talking about.

"Just, there is a time and a place for displaying these freak bones," I told her, in a lecturing tone, slowly, as if I was talking to Brittany. "And, well, yours is one of those.. you want to keep very quiet. If people found out about you, Quinn, you'd lose all your game."

Quinn hadn't said much during this little tirade, but she had leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees and tilt her head at me. Her eyes kept sweeping back and forth between mine, her brow slightly furrowed, as if she was seeking to understand everything I said. Then she hummed deep in her throat and shifted, casting her gaze away from me. It left me feeling oddly naked, as if she'd seen more of me than I'd intended.

"Santana, you're really not that hard to understand." Quinn said matter-of-factly. I raised a brow at her. "I mean, at first you come off like a cranky cat. You're all hot and cold. You want everything on your terms, and in your time. You send out these mixed signals, like 'come here I love you,' then 'go away, I hate you.' A person could get emotional whiplash from it all." She paused, lifting a finger as if asking for a moment more before I exploded. "You go about your life constantly defensive, and most of the time downright offensive. But you still manage to have people who love you. It's kind of crazy to think about it. Hell, I've known you for some years now and I never really took the time to think about it, because we always had Brittany between us."

My heart sank slightly at that sentence. Everything she said was digging into me sharply, as if they were daggers, but that particular statement slammed into me like a sledgehammer. It made it hard to breathe.

"Still, as.. enigmatic as you appear, you're not that complicated." She let a small smile soften her features, briefly.

I took a moment to absorb what she said, crinkling my face and picking at the blanket I was sitting on. I was trying to piece together how Quinn had gotten here, and so suddenly. We'd diverted from an argument about that odd Brynn girl, and Halloween in cemeteries, to this? To me and my insecurities and my peculiar attitude? Girls are bat-shit crazy, man. Don't let anybody tell you different.

"First things first," I began, in a measured tone. "When you use words like 'enigmatic' it makes it seem like you're trying too hard," I said, giving her an arched look. "Secondly, that's.. cute.. that you think I'm like a housecat. I think? You like housecats, right?" I smiled a tiny smile at her. "But anyhow, this does not pertain to the current situation. I wants to get our rides on, Quinn. You need to figure out a babysitter for the geek."

Quinn rolled her eyes and flashed me an expression that clearly read: you're impossible.I shrugged. So what if I am?

"Also, I am definitely not riding any rides with you," Quinn said calmly, hoisting herself up and then offering me her palm, to pull me up. I slid upwards easily, and began dusting off myself. I helped her gather up the blanket we'd spread out and we folded it in tandem.

"Quinn, you owe me," I said, shooting her a meaningful look. She frowned slightly. "You deliberately sat me through two hours of torture. It was awful. I think I'm scarred for life." Quinn snorted and rolled her eyes. "So, it's only fair that you let me get you back."

"I did not walk you into that theater under threat of violence," Quinn said haughtily. Whenever she tried to act all proper like that, it kinda reminded me of Rachel Berry, and it also got my juices flowing – a conflicting emotion that I was not at all ready to analyze – so I just stepped up closer to her, the blanket mashed between us, and pressed a firm kiss against her lips. It silenced any further protests she might have had and sent little tingles down my fingertips. I smiled into it, then stepped away from her, snapping the blanket closed into its final fold. She seemed a little surprised at my ability to do so. I just laughed. I was learning things from her and didn't even realize it.

Xxxx

A few hours later we were driving around a gravelly parking lot, which was probably some farmer's milk cow field only hours before, cordoned off with blinding yellow bungee cords, traffic cones, and laminated markers. There was a sizable crowd gathering, walking towards the actual fairgrounds, which had a giant ferris wheel silhouetted against the sky. I figured it would swell after the evening church services let out. Right now was mostly adults and couples, and I was fine with that. Kids were the only downside to a fair, in my opinion – a giant flood of sticky, squalling brats darting in and out of lines, causing havoc. We parked and got out of the car, and joined the steady stream of people heading towards the main body of the fair.

I linked my arm through Quinn's, my pace quick and excited, bouncing my step a little bit. I stole a glance at her and her face was pressed into a stoic expression, which was a sure indicator that she was either annoyed, upset, or mad. I poked her in the ribs subtly, and she darted her gaze towards my face, the sheen of irritation breaking through. I decided this was probably a good thing. Irritation was the easiest of Quinn's many bitchy emotions to diffuse.

"Listen," I said to her quietly, leaning my mouth close to her ear. "I'll make you a deal, Tinkerbell. I'll buy you the most nauseatingly oily food you can think of, and let you eat it without one single insult, if you ride a ride with me."

Quinn pursed her lips, debating. "What kind of food?"

I smiled. Isn't it amazing that Quinn had such an inner fat kid, that the mere mention of fried, greasy food could bribe her to face one of her biggest fears? It astounded even me. "Um, I heard they have fried butter." I shuddered. That sounded awful.

Quinn chuckled, her face splitting in a grin. "Maybe not something that hardcore. What about a fried Twinkie?"

I laughed. "That sounds just as.." I let the sentence die, catching the gleam in Quinn's eye. Oh, very good, Blondie, I thought internally, and then just smiled sweetly at her. "Delicious. Lead the way."

Quinn poked me on the cheek. "I'll only agree to this if you also agree to eat something fried. A fried Snickers or something."

I frowned at her. "That's madness, Q. Sheer madness."

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, it's up to you. If we ended up coming all the way out here just to walk around and look at a bunch of farm animals in a 4H competition, so be it."

I scowled, kicking a sizable piece of gravel, watching the dust skid up. "All right. But after the ride. I don't want to get all queasy."

Quinn smiled, and she squeezed my arm in hers.

The fair was nothing compared to the one that hit Lima every year, but then, even that one wasn't much. It was always a big to-do though, for us teenagers in particular. I remembered sneaking out of my bedroom every night that it was in town, just to meet a car full of football players and cheerleaders who were also breaking curfew. We'd stay at the fair until it closed, riding all the rides multiple times. Some of them were lucky enough to have fake IDs, like me, and they drank margaritas out of those huge plastic cups until they puked.

I never mixed alcohol with fair rides, though. It just wasn't a good idea, in my opinion. I got way more enjoyment out of the satisfaction of strapping myself to a giant, creaky machine and letting it fling me around at a bazillion miles an hour than I did out of a few overpriced, lukewarm beers. Quinn only ever went to the fair during the daylight hours back home, and she never rode any rides more exciting than the Tilt-a-Whirl. She claimed a persistent backache that discouraged sudden movements, but I knew better – she was just scared of them.

We walked around the little fair, first up and down the boulevard that housed all those racket games with the giant stuffed animals. I laughed, because I always remembered Brittany practically wetting herself over this or that one. One year I'd scored a pretty sweet Pikachu. I was Brittany's hero for a few hours after that. Still, Britt had way better hand-eye coordination than me, and a better reach, so more often than not she was the one walking away with an armful of stuffed animals.

Quinn wasn't one to bother with the ski-ball booths or water gun races or darts, so we just walked passed them all, making little jokes about the people who tried so hard.

"They're practically rigged," I told Quinn with my tongue in my cheek.

She smiled, her voice a little wistful. "They're so.. endearing, though. I mean, it's what every American Saturday night is made of, right? Some guy impressing his girl by winning her a teddy bear." Her eyes were a little sad.

I frowned a bit at this, because I had no idea how to interpret it. Either Quinn was trying to hint that she wanted me to win her a toy – yikes – or she was lamenting the fact that there wasn't a man around to do her the honors right now, double yikes. I patted her elbow reassuringly, deciding to just steer clear of the little booths from now on. "Let's go look at the baby pigs," I told her, aiming her towards a giant building that was shaped like a grossly oversized barn.

The smell was musky, like manure and hay and dust, but it wasn't too bad because all of the doors were open. There was a small crowd of people winding in and out of the collected animals. I guided Quinn directly over to the corral that housed a giant purple and pink sow, who had about a dozen pink and black little piglets rummaging around her. I smiled.

"I love little pigs," I told Quinn conspiratorially. It was true. It didn't stop me from eating bacon or sausage, like Puckerman, but I thought pigs were about the cutest thing ever.

"I know an interesting fact about pigs," Quinn told me in her musing voice.

I glanced at her. "Yeah?"

She nodded, then hummed a little bit. "Yeah, pigs are the smartest domesticated animals, ever. They're smarter than dogs and horses." She flashed me a smile. "So it's a little creepy that we eat them."

My eyes grew round, as I studied the fat momma pig and all her precious little babies. I realized before long they'd end up as ham dinners for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and my stomach did a queasy roll.

"Not cool, Fabray," I chastened, holding my palm against my stomach. "How did you know that?" I didn't think she was full of weird animal-specific trivia, like Britt.

She shrugged affably. "When I was pregnant, I didn't do a whole lot but sit on my ass and watch documentaries." She paused, and then relented: "And ate. A lot."

I smirked, deciding to let the opportunity for a jab pass. "Yeah? So what, you were tuned in to Animal Planet the whole time?"

Quinn just shrugged. "There was this one that came on called Hogzilla. It was kind of.. scary, actually."

"Don't tell me," I said, patting her arm. "Ignorance is bliss."

Quinn laughed, rolling her eyes. "Whatever you say."

"I do," I said, and then grabbed her elbow to lead us back outside into the sunlight and fresh air. "It's time to ride a ride, Quinn!"

Quinn glanced at me and then at the assortment of rides that surrounded us on this side of the animal enclosure. Her eyes glazed over and she audibly gulped. I followed her line of sight and laughed internally, because she was gawking at that one that was basically a giant pole with seats that shot straight up in the air, hung there a minute, then shot down.

"That one's super fun," I said. Quinn's face went pale.

"I'm scared of heights," She whispered.

"It's okay, Q. I'll hold your hand. You'll be fine."

She shook her head mutely and planted her heels when I tried to tug her forwards.

"Okay," I said, rubbing my fingertips along her inner arm soothingly. "What about.. that one?" I indicated one that was a big circle, and the seats looked like an enclosed roller coaster. Instead of running along a length of tracks, it just rocked back and forth, sped upside down a couple times, and then changed directions. It was pretty moderate, in my opinion.

Quinn's hand trembled slightly against my palm. I turned to her fully, searching her eyes, and I could sense real panic there. Her face was flushed a rosy color and her lips were quivering, her eyes so dark that they looked black instead of green. It caused a lump to rise in my throat and I fought to swallow it down.

"Never mind, Quinn," I said quietly, and then started leading her towards the gathering of craft booths. "I'm not gonna make you do it."

Quinn snapped her head towards me. "You aren't?" She sounded a little incredulous.

"I'm not as cruel as you," I shot over my shoulder with a smirk. She finally realized I was practically dragging her over the concrete and she started taking steps until she was shoulder to shoulder with me.

"But I want you to ride," She said, a little breathlessly. I quirked a brow at her. "No way you don't get to ride anything. I know you're an adrenaline junkie. This won't be fun for you unless you get to piss yourself a little bit."

I smiled at her absently, shaking my head, never halting our forward momentum. "It's no biggie, Q. I'll just make sure to go home during the weekend the fair is in Lima. It's no fun to ride them alone anyway."

Quinn chewed on her bottom lip a little bit at this, but decided not to argue. I spotted the booth I was looking for and smiled, leading Quinn towards it. I sat her down on an empty bench and she looked up at me, puzzled.

"Face painting," I told her, and indicated the laminated display of all the different things she could get painted on. Her face lit up immediately and it made me grin in response.

"What should I get?" She asked, scanning the selections. The face painting lady was dressed in a long, wispy white skirt and a colorful blouse with a bandana over her dark hair, and she made me think of a gypsy, even more than Quinn did. She also had a giant hawk nose and an ugly mole on her chin.

"The fairy one, of course," I said, not bothering to hide the irony in my tone. Quinn smirked.

"Only if you promise to get this one," Quinn said, tapping a different picture. I turned it around and laughed. It was the one that turned your face into a cat face.

"It's perfect," I said, smiling at her.

I sat patiently for the artist to finish tickling my face with cold paint that dried, crackly-feeling, along my skin. The feeling reminded me of being covered in mud. Quinn had turned out phenomenal – there was no way to describe it, actually. The lady had painted whimsical fairy wings along the natural contours of Quinn's face in soft, powder blues and dark lavenders. The rest of her face was made to seem more angular and pixie-like by the stroke of greens and bronzes. She looked like a queen out of some mystical fairy tale. When she smiled my heart dropped in my chest, and could only be jolted back into working order if I diverted my gaze away from her. She winked flirtatiously, as if she knew the affect she had on me.

I tried not to squirm or twitch my lips too much, something the lady had already scolded me for. It just seemed like this was taking way longer for me than it had for Quinn, but that was probably because I was watching before, totally engrossed in how this hag-looking woman with a paintbrush had transformed the girl in front of me.

"You look wonderful," Quinn said, an odd expression on her face.

I quickly pulled out my cell phone and aimed it at my own face, snapping a picture. When I turned the display around the grin overtook my face instantly; this lady, however mannish and surly she was, definitely had a talent. She'd used colors that accented my natural skin tone perfectly, with bold crimson and browns and bright golds, and thick, bold strokes, turning my face into a feline cast. I looked less like a tame cat than a tiger, but that was okay.

"Nice job," I said to her, genuinely. She just huffed and laid her hand out for me to slap down some money. I did so, leaving a generous tip anyway, though she just muttered about it.

"Let's take pictures," I told Quinn enthusiastically, and she laughed, submitting to the half a dozen poses I made us do, right there in the middle of the walkway in the crafts area. I snapped a ton of pictures and was grinning like a lunatic.

"What now?" Quinn asked, once I was satisfied and replaced my phone within the confines of my bra. I shrugged. I was pretty much fair'd out, if you want to know the truth – there wasn't anything left for me if I wasn't going to ride rides. I definitely wasn't about to submit to wandering around inside the pavilion, with all those middle aged soccer moms sporting fanny packs.

"Let's get something to eat," Quinn said, smiling. "Then we can go."

I nodded, allowing her to lead us over to the food area, which sported every type imaginable: corndogs, funnel cakes, ice cream, everything that made Sue Sylvester riot. Quinn led me directly over to the canopy where several vats of capable of deep frying had been set up, which already had a pretty big crowd. She shouldered her way through, and I held back, because now I wasn't committed to eating anything since she wasn't going to ride a ride. I just waited to see what sickening surprise she revealed when she left the gaggle of people.

"Deep fried pickle?" I said, sounding a little unsure. She smiled, nodding, offering me a few. They'd given her a paper tray full of pickle slices which had, apparently, been battered and fried. Quinn popped a few in her mouth and grinned.

"It's good, really," Quinn said, trying to convince me. I really didn't believe her. "Quit being such a baby. Try one."

I scowled, and then gingerly picked up a slice and examined it. Quinn rolled her eyes. I sighed, then just popped it between my lips before I could change my mind. I crunched down and the flavor wasn't entirely unpleasant. I still made a face at Quinn.

She laughed, giving me a shove. We were wandering a little aimlessly now, but back towards the exit. I let my gaze linger a little too long on the ferris wheel, though, because Quinn sighed and then just started marching towards it.

"I don't even like this ride," I told her, coming up behind her. She cast a sideways glance at me. "Really. It's boring. All you do is sit and it goes really slow."

Quinn huffed out a breath, crossing her arms over her chest. We were now planted at the end of the line of people who were waiting to get on it. "I'll ride this stupid ride with you, okay? So you don't have to make puppy dog eyes anymore. And you can laugh at how terrified I am." She said it with deliberate deadness in her tone.

I smiled at her, squeezing one of her elbows softly. "I don't want to laugh at you, Q. It's all right. Let's just go."

She narrowed her eyes at me, as if that had been something she'd never believe. Mostly it was because I thought of the ferris wheel as a baby ride, or a sappy ride. It really was boring unless you spent the whole time trying to rock the car you sat in, or tried to throw your shoe on somebody on the ground. I didn't think Quinn would appreciate either gesture.

I just pulled her away from it, and after a small struggle, she relented, and began following me through the maze of people and booths towards the exit.

It was getting late, edging in on dusk. Quinn surprised me by grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me into a little alley between a popcorn stand and a booth selling t-shirts. She smiled conspiratorially at me, then edged me in against the cold – greasy, dirty, slimy – metal of the popcorn stand, placing her arms on either side of my head. She angled hers a bit at first, and the mask of paint on her face made her seem a little magical. It probably had a lot to do with the faint light, the smell of the fair, and my hammering heart, too.

She smiled that quick, vixen smile that had my stomach clenching and my palms itching to touch her. I felt a flood of color rise in my face, though I knew she couldn't see it in the shadow and beneath the paint. I felt like every heartbeat stretched on an hour, waiting for her to finally lower her face to mine and kiss. And when she did, ever so slowly, with such slight pressure, my body wound up so tight and I moaned, just from that little spark of weight. I reached my hands out to tangle into her clothes, craving contact. Quinn smiled into the kiss, parting her lips to nip playfully at my bottom one, before she snuck her tongue into my mouth and tangled it slowly against mine. A gasp caught in my throat, heady and full, my whole body heating up, feeling light and hot all at once. My chest was heaving. Part of me wondered how she had the ability to do this to me – make me respond in such a way, with barely any contact – but then she was kissing me again, changing the depth, pressing harder and more furiously against me, and I forgot how to think.

"Hey, it's those dykes from th' bar the other nigh'!" The sound of a man's voice cracked out, and we jumped apart from each other as if we'd been slapped. My eyes were wide and my heart was knocking in my chest, my mouth slightly agape, at the silhouette of a man standing at the other end of the little alley. I recognized his voice. It was Cowboy Hat. He was pretty drunk, from the look of him. He had two of his buddies with him, both of them in identical cowboy hats and flannel shirts which were tucked into their too-tight jeans. The three of them looked like everything that was wrong about the mid-western cliché.

Quinn grabbed my hand, quickly, and the tension there let me know that she wasn't going to let me react the way my gut wanted to. Because I was suddenly pissed, and the ire built in me with the force of a wild beast, begging to be let out. My face contorted into a snarl, and if it hadn't been for Quinn's warm hand against mine, I probably would have hurdled myself at the guy.

"Don't stop on our account, honies! Keep going!" One of the sidekicks said.

Quinn squeezed my hand harder. "Let's just go, Santana." Her voice was a whisper.

I couldn't make my brain work. I was drunk on Quinn, and my heart yammered wildly in my chest from the fear of being caught, and I was riding a crest of rage that only knew one outlet: to fucking destroy something.

Cowboy Hat stumbled a little bit as he tried to approach us, tripping over a thick, rubber cord that ran between the two booths. "You girls are jus' a li'l confused," He slurred. He was too far away from us for me to see him clearly, but I still knew it was him. "Jus' need the righ' man t'help you.."

Quinn suddenly yanked on my hand, forcing me to turn bodily away from the oncoming man.

"Shut your fucking face, you ignorant prick," I growled at him, my free hand clamping into a tight fist. My whole body shook and vibrated with coiled energy. Quinn was trying desperately to pull me back out into the throng of people, which were only about a dozen steps behind us.

He seemed amused at my comment, and he chuckled out a broken laugh.

"What, and you think you're that guy?" Came a strange voice, and I whipped my head around so fast I actually caused a tight pain in my neck. My face contorted around a muffled yelp. I couldn't believe who was standing there; it was like some weird scene from an old western movie. Sugar Motta, in all her gold and brown chequéd glory, was standing behind us, with her ever-present giant purse clutched to her side. She didn't seem real, because she wore too-tall heels to be practical when walking around on concrete for any amount of time, and she already had her hand digging around in her purse. I was suddenly a little worried for the three bozos, now that the sheer shock of the situation was taking the edge off my rage. Who knew what she'd have in that bag of tricks?

Sugar snorted. "Please. The three of you more closely resemble baboons than you do men." She crinkled her nose, then lifted her hand out of her bag, displaying the hugest bottle of pepper spray I'd ever seen.

My eyes went a little wide, and I slowly began walking with Quinn towards Sugar, and then carefully behind her. Pepper spray wasn't anything to joke around with. Sue Sylvester had, once, in a fit of mad fury, sprayed the Cheerios with it and made us do suicides for three hours. One of the girls' parents had sued her over that.

I admired Sugar, just a little, for the shiftless self-confidence she exuded at all times, even when faced with three pretty big guys. Hell, I admired her for her pluckiness around me,which I knew took a certain amount of guts. She just stood there, legs braced, holding the pepper spray can, with her head cocked. Quinn flashed me a small smile, as if she, too, thought the situation a tad bizarre.

"Not worth it," One of the men muttered, and then grabbed Cowboy Hat and aimed him in the opposite direction. They stumbled out of sight.

Quinn let out a little laugh, though it was filled with nerves. "Look at you, coming to rescue us."

I sneered, not quite recovered from the rash of fury that had boiled in my gut. "Motta, you're just like herpes.. nothing keeps you away for long."

Sugar tilted her head and angled a look at me, as if to say: you aren't fooling anyone, but she just replaced the pepper spray back into her bag with quick, deft motions. She turned around and clopped past us, her body language clearly indicating she wanted us to follow her.

It didn't hit me then, though it would, later, that judging by what Sugar had heard and how she'd responded, that she also knew. I was too amped up on the recent events to even think about it at that moment, but I would spend the next several nights agonizing over the fact in my dorm. Sugar Motta knew. And unlike Quinn, Sugar was not a safe person. Sugar wasn't somebody I could trust with this secret knowledge. It would eat at me like a slow poison.

"Santana, I realize now why you've been so cold towards me," Sugar said, allowing Quinn and I to flank her on our way out of the little country fair. She turned to aim her face towards me in a brief smile.

I arched my brow. "You finally realized that you're basically the definition of an idiot?" I could tell by Quinn's expression that she did not approve.

Sugar ignored me. "It's because you're not Mexican," She said, with flourish, as if I had been hiding this fact from her for some time. Before I could respond, she continued: "It's because you're black. Everything makes sense now." She smiled so brightly at me, as if she'd just discovered the secret of turning lead into gold. "So I bought you these." And she was rummaging around inside her purse again. She came out with garishly thick chains with huge, grotesque crosses on them. I stared at them in mute horror.

"Oh, dear god, Sugar," Quinn said, once she'd found her voice. She saved Sugar by taking the chains away from her and holding them, clutched tightly, in her palms, shooting me a disbelieving, panicked look. Sugar looked between us, as if she were a bit confused.

"This was really generous of you.." Quinn said, fighting back the hysterical laughter I knew she wanted to let loose. I simply gawked, both at the display of insanity beside me and at the shining 'jewelry' Quinn clutched.

"I know. It's your bling," Sugar told me pointedly. "Now we can be best friends."

I shook my head, not saying a word, and stomped over to Quinn's car. I pulled impatiently at the door handle until she came up and unlocked it. Sugar was still rattling on, following me up to the car, when I simply slammed the door in her face, mid-sentence. It didn't faze her, though. She just kept talking.

A/N: So I know this chapter was kinda fluffy, but there's some more hard-hitting stuff coming up, I promise. Once again I appreciate everyone who's stuck with me, and reviews make me update faster. :)