Author's Note: I just want to thank everyone for their patience waiting for this update. The updates are going to be a little bit slower at this point, as they are getting longer and longer. And for all those unhappy with this update, remember, they're not called happy middles, okay? And thank you all for reviewing!

The house was quiet again. Quinn was used to this. Usually, however, Quinn didn't enjoy it. Tonight the silence wasn't lonely, rather, it was peaceful and refreshing. Justin had left for the airport around four, and the girls had long been asleep. They were tired; they had made Hannah's favorite vegan pizza and then played Cinderella for an hour. She sat on the bench in the backyard, sipping her wine and letting the bench gently sway back and forth. She liked the quiet this time, because she knew she needed time to think. To actually sit and think about all that had happened over the last few days. It was all so fast, she didn't have time to really consider what was going on. Rachel was leaving and Justin was claiming, again, to have changed his ways. She tried to reassure herself that she was making the smart decision, the responsible decision, but all she could hear was Santana rambling on about the feelings monster. Quinn didn't have a feeling monster, or if she did, she had scared it so far away, so long ago, that it would never show its face again. Quinn had rational decisions, calculated planning, foresight, and schedules. She knew how to make sure she was provided for, her parents were proud of her, and how to bury obstacles under the rug. Hell, she had buried obstacles and conflict underneath the foundation. Quinn didn't know how she felt. She didn't even begin to know how to think about her feelings, or what it even meant to begin thinking about her feelings. She picked up her glass of wine and walked into the office. She rarely spent time there—it reminded her of bills and taxes. Not that she actually had to deal with those, but still, whenever their accountant had problems, this was the unpleasant place they were dealt with. She sat down at her desk and opened her laptop, fiddling through the different applications. The only one she really ever used was the internet. Sure enough, she found Microsoft Word and opened it up. Quinn stared at the blank screen in front of her for a moment, and then at the clean, silver keys. She took a sip of wine, and she began to write.

"We have to go to sleep, babe," Santana said, placing another light kiss on Brittany's lips.

"I don't want to go to sleep," Brittany said, huskily, running her fingers up Santana's side and gracefully trailing underneath her loose tank top.

"I don't want to either," Santana said, kissing Brittany again, "but I have to. This week is going to be crazy for me."

"I hate it when you have busy weeks…" Brittany said, kissing underneath Santana's chin and down her neck, "and you have to bring your work home," Brittany kissed Santana's collarbone, "and you have stay up late at night working," she moved her hand further up Santana's shirt so that her fingertips grazed the side of Santana's breast. Santana inadvertently let out a low moan at the contact combined with the feeling of Brittany's lips on her neck. "Especially since there is so much at home you already need to be working on," she said, allowing her fingertips to barely trace Santana's nipple.

"But what do I need to work on at home?" Santana asked through a light groan.

"There's so much," Brittany said, taking Santana's hand and sliding it into Brittany's panties, "you need to work on." Santana shuddered as Brittany guided Santana's hand into her soaked underwear. Santana flipped Brittany on to her back, skillfully keeping her hand inside Brittany's underwear.

"I better get started then," Santana whispered huskily into Brittany's ear.

Rachel glanced out the window. Los Angeles from 2,000 in the air was one of her favorite views. The city was so sprawling that it looked like an explosion of gold. She looked out the window until all that could be seen was darkness and slid the window cover shut. The pilot announced that they had reached cruising altitude and the passenger next to her called for the flight attendant. She arrived quickly, one of the many benefits of sitting in First Class.

"Can I get a Bloody Mary, double?" He asked the flight attendant who simply nodded.

"Actually, can I get one of those as well?" The flight attendant nodded to Rachel as well.

"Nervous flier?" He asked, after the flight attendant left to get their drinks.

"I actually quite enjoy flying," Rachel said. "There's something about being up in the air that makes everything else so small."

"I know what you mean," he replied.

"What about you? Why the stiff drink?"

"Why not?" He laughed. "I, actually, am a nervous flier. It helps take the edge off I guess…allows me to enjoy being in the air," he finished saying as the flight attendant returned with their drinks. Rachel took a sip of hers. "So," he said, playing with his straw, "are you going home or leaving home?" Rachel paused and looked into her cup, willing her eyes to not burst out in tears in front of this complete stranger. "Loaded question?" He asked, nervously.

"You might say that," Rachel replied. They sat in silence the rest of the flight.

Brittany was awoken by a big lick across her face from Lola. Lola immediately began licking all over Santana's face.

"Oh my god, Britt! How did she get in here?"

"I must have left the door open when I got up to get some water last night," Brittany said, nuzzling into their puppy.

"Ugh, it's late, I have to get in the shower." Santana jumped out of bed, grumbling all the way toward the shower. Brittany started her morning routine, with Lola nipping at her heels. Thankfully, Maria was still in town, so she had a little help taking Lola out and getting breakfast started and the babies changed. She was busy mashing some bananas when a shriek came from her bedroom. Maria raised both of her eyebrows.

"Want me to go check?" Maria asked, clearly concerned.

"No, thanks though. Can you just finish getting their breakfast ready?" Brittany asked, placing a kiss on the top of Olivia's head, who was banging her spoon on her highchair. Maria nodded her head.

"Santana? Is everything okay?" Brittany asked, poking her head into their bedroom. Santana was kneeling in front of her closet.

"No, Britt, everything is not okay. That fucking dog peed on my Donna Karan suit."

"Can't you wear another suit today?"

"Not the point, Britt." Santana fumed, pacing back and forth in front of her closet. Brittany walked behind her and started looking through Santana's closet.

"Why don't you wear the Marc Jacobs, honey? You know you look great in it."

"Whatever. It doesn't fucking matter, I'm late, I have to just wear whatever." Brittany nodded and placed a light kiss on Santana's cheek, heading back to the kitchen. A few minutes later Santana entered the kitchen while Brittany and her mother fed the twins, her briefcase already slung over her shoulder.

"You look nice," Brittany said cautiously, as she waved a spoonful of banana in front of Nico.

"Thanks, babe, sorry for snapping at you earlier."

"It's okay," Brittany said. "What time are you going to be home tonight?"

"No idea. Like I said, it's going to be a crazy week. Are you working today?"

"No, I'm just going to spend the day with Maria," Brittany said, glancing over at Maria with a small smile.

"Okay, I'll call you later." Santana kissed her mother and her two children on the cheek and gave Brittany a quick peck on the lips before rushing out of the house.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Maria said, glancing up from feeding Nico to look at Brittany. Brittany just smiled sadly.

"I think she's stressed again."

"Hello?"

"Hi, J, how was your flight?"

"Turbulent. There were thunderstorms over the Midwest. How was your night?"

"It was nice, we made vegan pizza and played Cinderella." Justin chuckled on the other end. "So, I was wondering if you were coming home this weekend?" Quinn asked hopefully.

"I don't think I can, babe, but next weekend for sure. You know how it is."

"It's kind of important you come home. I really need to talk to you about something."

"I just can't. You have to know that I wish with all my heart I could come home every weekend, but that's just not in the cards for me. Listen, I have to go, but I'll call you before I go to bed tonight, okay?" Quinn didn't respond. "I love you, babe."

"You too, J."

Quinn shut her phone and took a sip of her coffee. This was his job, she reasoned with herself. She knew what she was getting into when she married a football player. Her job was to be supportive of his life and to raise their children. She briefly considered getting her computer and looking at what she had written the night before, but it had been so long since she had written anything, she was afraid to see what was on the page. She'd wait. She'd look at it tonight. Or tomorrow. She'd look at it eventually.

Rachel was surprised by how much she missed her apartment, and by how much she missed New York in general. She had been so distracted by everything that was going on in LA that she hadn't really thought about the fact that she did have her own life. She had missed the slightly dusty, lavender smell her apartment always seemed to have. She missed the cold comfort of the exposed brick of her walls, the tiny kitchen that looked right out into the living room, and the sound of the chronically fighting lesbian couple who lived across the courtyard. Even though she had rented the nice baby grand piano for her apartment in LA, there was something always nostalgic about the beautiful upright piano her dads bought her for her high school graduation and had been painstakingly moved from apartment to apartment as her pay grade went up. The sheet music to Evita was still open from the last time Kurt was over. She opened her refrigerator; the inside door was lined with condiments.

Santana was late for work. She didn't even bother going to her office, just breezed past her assistant toward the conference room where she was already 15 minutes late for her meeting.

"Lopez, nice of you to join us this morning," her boss said as she took her seat at the conference table.

"I knew those brats would make you soft, Lopez. I can't wait until I can take over that sweet office of yours. And that sweet assistant," said Jeff, a jackass a little older than her who had always been angry she'd been promoted faster than him.

"And I knew those donuts were going to make you soft, and trust me, you're not my assistant's type. She doesn't do flabby middle-aged, dudes." Santana smirked and Jeff turned red. She felt a little bad for exploiting her assistant like that, but it was worth the satisfaction of Jeff's embarrassment.

"Lopez," her boss interrupted her gloating, "since you've decided to join us this morning, I suppose I can let you know in person that I'm putting you on the Madison Phillips, Natasha Stevenson, and Claire Wilson accounts."

"I thought those were all Davis' accounts," Santana said.

"Davis has taken a leave of absence, and you're our best right now, so I'm going to need you to add those to your workload."

"I'm brokering a deal right now for Puckerman and may be picking up Rachel Berry as a client as well. Not to mention that fact that I'm optioning Steve Peterson's new novel to Miramax."

"We can't lose clients because Davis has had some sort of midlife crisis and you feel the need to represent everyone who you went to high school in Ohio with. I'll have Sarah Williams assist you as you adjust to the new workload. You people all know each other, right?" Santana did her best to remember why she was not supposed to scowl at her boss. "Okay, I think that's it for today, thank you everyone." Santana scowled as everyone packed up their briefcases and left the conference room.

"Why didn't you give me a heads up?" She barked at her assistant.

"I tried to, but you were late and your phone is off!" Santana glanced at her phone and realized that, sure enough, it was off.

"Fuck! Fuck this! I need you to get Sarah Williams in my office asap."

"Who is Sarah Williams?"
"She works here, you can figure it out. Call Brittany and tell her that I won't be home for dinner tonight, arrange a meeting with Puckerman, and move back my 11:30 with Leo Adelman from Miramax," Santana said as her assistant followed close behind her, frantically writing notes. "And get me a coffee." As Santana shut her office door, she saw Jeff leering at her assistant down the hall. "You know what, forget that, I'll get my own coffee, just get Sarah Williams up here. Also," Santana yelled down the hallway after her assistant, "forget calling Brittany, I'll do that myself!"

Almost a week had passed since Rachel had arrived in New York. Usually she was glad for a Saturday off, but she had the last seven days off and she was a type A personality—she needed to be busy doing something or she went insane. It was nice her first day back in the city to get settled in, unpack her things, and call up the friends she hadn't had an opportunity to see in months. In the next couple of days she met with her agent and her manager, who were both already hard at work getting her next job. She fired her lawyer and spent a few days trying to get in touch with Santana. It turned out that knowing her since she was sixteen didn't make it any easier to get past Santana's assistant. On Friday she finally received a curt email from Santana:

Berry-

I told you I'd fucking represent you so quit calling my assistant every fucking hour like an abused puppy on crack.

-Santana P-L

P.S. When the fuck do you get back from New York? And call Britt, she won't stop asking me.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless iPhone

Rachel couldn't help but smile at Santana's email. She knew that they weren't friends, exactly, but after the summer she couldn't help but find Santana's anger somewhat charming.

Santana P-L-

Animal abuse and substance abuse should not be taken lightly, Santana. They are both serious issues that you would know I fervently advocate against if you bothered to check out my website (.com). Regardless, I'd like to thank you so much for getting back to me. I just wanted to confirm that our informal conversation would come to fruition as a formal business agreement. This was especially important as I preemptively fired my previous lawyer and I doubt he would take me back out of a sense of pride. I am sure that this will prove quite profitable for both of us—we will be quite the team with your biting business ability and my jaw-dropping voice and dramatic talent.

I will be returning from this jaunt to my fair city in approximately a week and a half, I look forward to seeing you upon my return.

Sincerely,

Rachel Berry

P.S. Rough week? Or are you just getting the f-bomb out via email as much as possible before N and O learn to read?

P.P.S. Has it ever occurred to you that your children's initials spell out "NO"? With your penchant for using single letters in place of names (e.g. B and Q) it seems quite appropriate that your children would be your favorite word, "no".

Rachel was pleased with her email and sent it off, wondering what was left to do with her Saturday evening.

"Kurt Hummel."

"Hey, Kurt, it's Rachel."

"Rachel! What's wrong? You sound like Kris Kristofferson ala A Star is Born. Oh my god. You're not pulling a Kris Kristofersson are you? Because you are so Barbra in this scenario, up and coming, not even having reached your prime…"

"Are you in New York, Kurt?" Rachel asked, cutting him off.

"Yes, I'm working on a show for the next couple months. Why, Rach? What's going on?"

"Are you busy tonight?"

"Well, I was going to order Chinese food in with Elijah for the 19th night in a row, so I think it's safe to say that I am 100% free."

"Could you come over?"

"Of course, I'll be there in an hour."

"Do you remember where I live?"

"Of course I do, sweetie. I'll see you soon."

"Jesus, can't Berry send a regular f-ing email?" Santana asked under her breath as she put down her phone.

"You heard from Rachel?" Brittany asked, looking up at Santana. She was laying on a blanket in the grass reading a magazine while Olivia and Lola napped next to her. Santana had a stack of papers on the patio table she had been sorting through all day. Nico sat on her lap, playing with her large hoop earring.

"Yeah, I just got a typically long-winded email from her. She'll be back in a week and a half." Santana replied. Her phone began buzzing again. She looked at it hopefully. "G-Dammmizzle. It's my mother. Where the f is Sarah, she was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. Can you answer, babe?" Santana asked. Brittany nodded and Santana tossed her the phone.

"Hey, Maria."
"Oh! Hi, Brittany! Is my daughter around?"

"She's working."

"Oh, well, can you let her know that I'm staying at Rita's again tonight but I'll be back tomorrow and I hope she can make some time for her boring mother."

"Of course, Maria! And don't say that, you're, like, the best, most least boring mom ever. But don't tell my mom that."

"Of course not, Brittany. You're the best daughter ever. And you can tell Santana. I'm pretty sure she knows you outshine her in everyway."

"I've been sleeping with Quinn."

"Quinn who?" Kurt asked, unfazed.

"Quinn Fabray," Rachel answered, confused.

"I guess there aren't that many Quinn's. I must have misheard the first part of your sentence. Old age, you know? They say the hearing goes first," Kurt chuckled.

"I've been sleeping with her."

"I'm sorry?"

"I've been sleeping with Quinn."

"Quinn Fabray-Scott?"

"Yes."

"Like in a platonic, best friend, let's braid one another's hair and listen to showtunes kind of a way?"

"No, in a let's make passionate lesbian love kind of a way." Kurt's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "Please say something, Kurt. Don't make me feel any worse about this than I already do."

"I…I…why, Ms. Rachel Berry, you have finally put me at a loss for words." Rachel was sitting at the piano and began to haphazardly plunk at random keys. Kurt got up from the couch and took a seat next to her at the piano bench. He took Rachel's hand in his own. "Do you…like…have feelings for her?" Rachel's eyes immediately began to fill with tears. She squeezed Kurt's hand tighter.

"I think I love her, Kurt," Rachel said, the tears spilling uncontrollably down her cheeks.

"Oh, honey," Kurt said, and pulled Rachel into a tight hug. Rachel let her head fall to his shoulder and finally let herself go, sobbing uncontrollably into Kurt's blazer.

"What do you think, mama?" Harper asked, looking up at her mother from where she mixed the ingredients for the brownies they were making.

"What do I think about what, sweetheart?" Quinn asked as she cracked an egg into the bowl. Harper looked confused.

"Billy broke all of my pink crayons and said pink was a stupid color and was just for unicorns and flowers and other stupid girl stuff, and I said that I thought he was stupid, and what do you think about pink crayons?" Harper asked, exasperated.

"Oh, I think pink is very smart."

"I'm bored. I miss Hannah and Lily and Daddy." Quinn tried to conceal her grimace.

"Well, Hannah and Lily will be back tomorrow."

"When will daddy be back?"

"I don't know."

"Why can't I go on sleepovers like Hannah and Lily?"

"You can when you're a big girl."

"Why can't I go with daddy on his trips?"

"Because daddy is working."

"Why does he have to work away from home? Why can't he work in Lost Angeles like Aunty S and Aunty B and Rachel?" Quinn smiled at her daughter's confusion over the name of their city.

"Because football games are all over the country."

"Why can't he come home when he's not playing football?"

"Because he has to practice. And he has to rest his body so that he can win the Superbowl."

"Why does he have to win the Superbowl?"

"Because that's his job."

"Why don't you get a job so that daddy can quit his job and then he can stay home?"

"Okay, dear, why don't you go pick out a movie for us to start while the brownies bake?" Harper smiled and Quinn lifter her down from her cooking stool and helped her out of her apron before she ran into the family room to rifle through the movies. Quinn poured the poorly mixed batter into a pan and placed it in the oven.

"I'm a fucking idiot," she muttered to herself under her breath.

Rachel and Kurt had walked down to the bodega on the corner and picked up a box of wine. Kurt's reasoned, "if we're going to do girl-talk, we have to do it the real way, high school and college style, which obviously means vegan pizza and box wine." It was definitely the only way to do girl-talk, Rachel figured, as she poured herself her third glass of sweet wine.

"Are you going to answer my question, Rach?" Kurt asked.

"Oh, yes," Rachel giggled. "I forgot. You see, Quinn's an emotional cripple who has somehow managed to remain stunted in the high school perspective that her happiness takes a backseat to reputation and status. She is obviously operating under the terribly distorted perspective that if she can attain the material fabrications of love and a successful marriage that eventually she will internalize the results and has become so lost in the obsession with maintaining the illusion that she doesn't even see how miserable and alone she has become."

"Which I take it means that you two haven't really discussed your feelings for one another?" Kurt asked, only mildly confused after all of these years by Rachel's rant.

"I think she knows how I feel. I have absolutely no idea how she feels about any of it, except that she knows that it is morally wrong and that she can't simply break up her family. Which doesn't make any sense. Can you remember the last time Quinn was happy?"

"No, not really. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever seen Quinn genuinely happy."

"Exactly. She is so afraid of who she is that she has never allowed herself to feel anything. Quinn is not some fragile, naïve person. We're talking about a woman who got pregnant at 16, was kicked out of her house, and has a child whom she has never spoken about, who will be old enough to come find her in two years. We were there, Kurt. Beth was not a figment of our imagination. Yet, Quinn buries everything so deep inside herself that it's nearly impossible to see that anything exists beneath that shell of the bitchy Beverly Hills housewife."

"Rachel, I understand that you love her, but listen to what you're saying. In the past five minutes you have essentially painted a picture of a woman who is emotionally damaged well beyond her years and may never be able to fully realize herself as a person, at least without either having some magical form of personal revelation and probably years of intensive therapy to deal with all of the damage she has pretended doesn't exist for the last, oh, at least 15 years of her life. Do you really want to be with her? Look at how much she has hurt you are already." Rachel thought about this for a moment, swirling the cheap wine around in the glass.

"I do, Kurt. It's crazy, I know, but getting to see even just little glimpses of the human being who exists inside that shell this summer has made me want nothing more than to get to have all of her. We can't help who we love." Rachel began to tear up again. Kurt looked at his old friend with concern and picked up his glass of wine, sitting at the piano, plunking out a few chords.

"Isn't it rich," he sang. "Are we a pair? Me here at last on the ground, you in midair." Rachel smiled over at Kurt.

"Send in the clowns," she sang, joining him at the piano. Kurt paused for a second.

"I knew Babs would cheer you up," he said with a small smile, beginning the quiet arpeggios again.

"Isn't it bliss? Don't you approve?" They sang together, grinning.

"Have you talked to Rachel?" Santana asked, briefly looking up from the contract she was going over.

"No," Sarah said, simply.

"Everything okay with you two?"

"I mean, she's moving to New York. I live in Los Angeles."

"Wait, she's thinking of staying in New York? I thought she was planning on relocating here permanently."

"Me too. She's unhappy though, and I know by now it's useless trying to change or figure anyone else out so I'm giving her space." Santana's eyebrows knitted together, confused, the wheels in her head obviously turning.

"There's just no way we can through all this documentation by Monday. I don't know what that dick was thinking, piling all of this work on us last minute."

"He was thinking like a dick," Sarah replied, looking at the daunting amount of paperwork in front of them. Before Santana could reply, one of the twins began crying in the bedroom. Sarah looked up at Santana expectedly.

"Where's Brittany?" Santana asked.

"She's dancing out back."

"Fuck. Should I just let them cry? Apparently there's some form of parenting where you don't go immediately when you hear the baby cry…" Sarah raised her eyebrow at Santana. Santana rolled her eyes and got up. She returned quickly with a sobbing Nico.

"What do you need, little man?" Santana asked, bobbing the baby up and down. She tried feeding him, but he didn't seem hungry, he didn't need to be changed, and he didn't seem to have a temperature. Sarah was holding her hands over her ears as she worked.

"What's wrong with Nico?" Brittany asked as she came into the house with her water bottle in hand.

"I don't know, but I can't get him to stop crying," Santana said, visibly upset. Brittany came over and took their son from Santana. He immediately stopped crying. Brittany was too busy looking at her son to notice the hurt look in Santana's eyes.

"They pick up on our stress, San, that's probably all it was."

"Well, I'm very sorry that I got screwed over at work and it's now stressing out our children. I'll make sure to spend less time around them so as to not stress them out." Santana bit back at Brittany. Sarah wasn't sure if she should leave or pretend she was deaf, but she recognized that tone in Santana's voice and she knew this was not going to end well.

"Santana, don't take your work stress out on me. It's a fact that babies pick up on stress. It's not my fault."

"Well you could be a little more helpful."

"You know, I work too, Santana. And I know you don't take dancing seriously, but when I'm working on choreography in the dance studio, that's me working."

"Well, when your work can pay our bills and I can quit my job and spend all day making sure that our children aren't stressed out, then you can spend as much time as you want dancing."

"You know, I think I'm going to call it a night and take these home, Santana," Sarah said, standing up. "Have a good night, ladies." She put a few files into her briefcase and quickly walked out the door.

"Great. That's not going to be awkward Monday morning." Santana said as the front door slammed shut.

"Don't worry, you can just take it out on me," Brittany said, storming off to Nico and Olivia's bedroom.

Rachel awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache and a snoring Kurt in her bed.

"I want to kill the sun," Rachel groaned into her pillow.

"Oh, sweet baby Jesus," Kurt moaned. "This is why we stopped drinking box wine.

"Coffee. Must make coffee," Rachel said, stumbling out of her bedroom toward the kitchen and flipping the coffee maker on. "We finished the box," she said to Kurt as he entered the room in his very wrinkled suit.

"Somehow I'm not surprised in the least," he said, resting his elbows on the kitchen counter and rubbing his hands through his disheveled hair. "Did we at least solve some of your problems?"

"If we did, I don't remember any of it." Rachel said.

"Well that was a waste."

"No, Kurt, there's nothing a like a little Sondheim to cheer a girl up when she's down." Kurt smiled meekly at her.

"Well, I'm glad to know that I could do a little to help you out, my dear."

"You always do, Kurt."

"I hate that you're vegan. How am I supposed to get over this hangover without some eggs?"

"Let's forget the coffee. It's brunch time." Rachel shut the coffee maker off, grinning at Kurt.

"I can't go out in this!" Kurt said, indignantly, gesturing to his wrinkled suit.

"Oh, it's New York! No one will care," Rachel said, putting her arm around Kurt's waist and ushering him out of the apartment. "It's good to hang out with you, Kurt."

"You too, Rachel. We should do it more often. Maybe with a little less wine." Kurt grinned and they headed out of the building.

"Oh dear," Maria said as she walked into her daughter's living room. Santana groaned and pulled her legs closer to her from her position on the couch. "What did you do this time, mija?"

"Mama, I didn't do anything, is it so hard to believe that sometimes Brittany can be at fault?"

"No, my dear, but even you have to admit that it's rare." Maria was going to add a sarcastic quip to the end of her statement but when she took sight of Santana's puffy eyes and smeared day-old makeup she realized that her daughter may actually be hurting. "Come here, mija," Maria said, gesturing for Santana to stand up. Santana stood with her blanket wrapped around her and her mother put her arm around her shoulder and led her to the kitchen where she started a pot of coffee. "What happened?" Maria finally asked her daughter. Santana told the whole story, and only began to tear up at the end, which was pretty normal for when she and Brittany fought.

"Anyway, I don't know what to do, mama."

"You need to get help."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it sounds to me like neither of you really did anything wrong in this situation. It sounds like you both have a lot on your plate right now, and you're finding it hard to balance family and children and heavy workloads."

"I didn't do anything wrong?" Santana choked out through tears.

"Oh, mija," her mother said, enveloping her only daughter in a tight hug. "I know I tease you, but, at this stage in a relationship, no one really is doing anything wrong. You're allowed to be stressed. So is Brittany. You're allowed to have bad days. What's important is that you find better ways to deal with your stress than arguing with your wife, and you find ways so that going forward the stresses of being an adult don't get to this point. You're new to this mija, but you will figure it out." Santana buried her head in her mother's shoulder.

"When did you get to be so wise, mama?" Santana asked.

"Oh, my dear, you must have not been paying attention to the last twenty years of your life, because I have always been wise. Your father and I were married for 40 years, mija," Maria said, smiling sadly and cupping Santana's cheek. "You learn a thing or two." Santana nodded and hugged her mother.

"Uh-oh," Santana said, lifting her head from her mother's shoulder. "Do you hear that? It sounds like they're starting to wake up." Her mother nodded.

"Go, mija, I'll start breakfast."

Santana walked into Nico and Olivia's room where they both were lightly babbling at one another. She picked Nico up.

"Oh, you don't hate me today, do you, little man?" Santana asked, cradling her son close to her shoulder. She nuzzled her face into her head. "I'm sorry I stressed you out. Sometimes mami just gets a little angry about work, but she doesn't want that to ever affect you and your perfect little self." Nico entangled his little fingers in Santana's dark hair, cooing gently and giggling as she played with his toes. "That goes for you too, my little lady," Santana said, leaning down to kiss the constantly growing blond mane on Olivia's head. "You're the prettiest little girl in the world, and mami never wants to stress you out. You look more and more like your mama everyday." Santana hadn't noticed, but Brittany was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a small smile on her face. Santana picked Olivia up in her other arm. "You two are getting to big for me to hold both of you at the same time," Santana said. "Let's go get that breakfast your abuela is cooking." Santana stopped when she turned and saw Brittany in the doorway. Brittany's face quickly shifted from the smile to stern annoyance.

"Hey," Brittany said quietly.

"Hi," Santana said.

"Did you sleep alright?"

"Not really."

"Me either." Brittany walked over and took Nico from her wife and kissed him on the head.

"I'm sorry for all the things I said last night, Britt," Santana said quietly, looking down at the ground. "I didn't mean them, I'm just really struggling right now, and I know better than to take it out on you."

"I know, honey," Brittany said, her face softening. "I know. We're both dealing with a lot right now. We just have to be nice to one another, okay?" Santana nodded and gave Brittany a light kiss on the lips.

"My mother is here." Santana said. Brittany nodded and kissed Santana's cheek.

After brunch, Rachel's day was, yet again, uneventful. Kurt went back to his apartment to explain his absence to his boyfriend and Rachel decided to go to a show, figuring that there was nothing like Broadway to cure a hangover. It hadn't entirely worked however, and despite her admitted Broadway high, she was still spending the evening alone, at home, wondering what to do with her time. For the briefest of moments she considered calling Quinn, because, despite all that had gone on between them, they were still, deep down, friends of some kind now. She fought the urge.

"RACHEL!" Brittany screamed into the phone.

"Hey, Brittany! How are you?"

"I'm good! I can't wait until you come back from New York!"
"Me either. I miss you guys. I even miss Santana's biting wit."

"It's kind of addictive, isn't it? Like, if Santana and I were to ever split up, I probably would need Santanahab and be reminded of all the times biting wit was more hurtful than helpful. You could go with me! Santanahab Anonymous. To realize all the reasons things are better without Santana. Although, obviously, things are not better without Santana…"

"I take it you and Santana are fighting?" Rachel asked, cautiously.

"She's just stressed at work."

Santana had just put the kids down to sleep and walked back into the living room. Brittany was talking animatedly on the phone, so Santana decided not to interrupt her and went into their bedroom. She was secretly grateful her mother was staying in town for the next few days, she would never admit it out loud, but she and Britt really needed the help these days. She changed out of her clothes into shorts and a tank top more comfortable to sleep in. She knew that she should pick out something to wear to work the next day since she had three big meetings, but she was too tired, both emotionally and physically to deal with it. She curled up on her side of the bed and fell asleep.

Quinn was drunk. She wasn't sure when it had happened, but she knew it was inappropriate to be even close to this drunk on a Sunday night by herself. She thought she had put the days of these extremes behind her, and she'd been doing so much better all summer, but when Hannah asked about Rachel, Quinn poured herself a glass of wine, and before she knew it one became six. It was having the opposite effect it was supposed to. Nine times out of ten, drinking would put Quinn in a haze, replacing her unhappiness with an empty, fuzzy, sense of contentment. That one time out of ten, however, the alcohol would bring all of her feelings surging forward until they became an uncontrollable force to be reckoned with. After the first drink, all she could think about was Rachel, and as the wine flowed the more her head was invaded with images of Rachel and her together, and deep anger at her husband. She knew that the only solution at this point was to drink until she passed out. She stumbled into the kitchen and began to pour herself a glass of wine, but in her state she dropped the glass and then dropped the bottle. The wine and glass shattered on the ground.

"Fuck!" Quinn yelled, scrambling for some paper towels to clean up the mess she had made. As she knelt on the ground her body was immediately wracked with heavy sobs. They were uncontrollable, heaving throughout her entire body like waves. Her head throbbed as she clutched her sides, knowing that there was no way of holding herself together at this point. She was becoming undone.

Santana shrugged of the early stages of sleep when she heard her phone ring next to her. She sat up, sadly noting that Brittany still had not joined her in bed; she wondered if she were going to come to bed at all, or if they were still fighting. She looked at the phone: Fabray-Scott.

"Hi, Quinn," Santana said through a yawn.

"Aunty S?" Santana immediately woke up at the sound of the little voice on the other end of the phone.

"Lily? Honey, what are you doing awake? Is everything okay?"

"No," Lily choked back a sob and then began to speak rapidly, "I heard a crash and I went downstairs and mommy broke a bottle of wine and now she won't stop crying and talking to herself and I'm scared."

"Oh, sweetheart, it's going to be okay. I'm going to come over and check on your mommy, why don't you just get into bed, and stay on the phone with me until I get there, okay?"

"Will you sing me a song?"

"Of course." Santana began to sing into the phone, while she threw on clothes.

"What's going on?" Brittany asked, covering the mouthpiece of her phone as Santana rushed out of their room.

"Lil, can you hold on a sec?" Santana asked, covering up the mouthpiece of her own phone. "It's Lily. Quinn is drunk and crying, I'm going over there," Santana said. Brittany lifted her hand to cover her mouth.

"Be safe, honey," Brittany said, placing a small kiss on Santana's lips. Santana simply nodded.

"I love you," she said, and rushed out the door.