A/N: Brittana sex in the last chapter appeared to have surprised some. My apologies, I probably should have been more explicit with my warning (I'd intended to with any sexual content from the other couples, because, you know, boy-parts, which is why it didn't occur to me to warn for Brittana content), but yeah, as a reminder, all the couples get some introspection, which may include discussion of their sex lives.

I should also note that I'm not watching Season 4 (although I do have a vague idea of what's going on from Tumblr), in an effort to keep my storylines straight, so I'm not planning to incorporate any canon from this season.

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Shape-shift and trick the past again
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It's borderline ridiculous how routine it is for Quinn's mantra to be "this is a new path, and a new me."

She reflects that, if the major changes in her life had all actually managed to be good, that "Man in the Mirror" might be her theme song, but as it stands, not every reinvention of herself or shift of her identity has been good. Although, lately she's been trying to be, for lack of a better word…better. Trying to be more open with others—though, Rachel seems to bring that out of her effortlessly—trying to reconstruct her friendships with Brittany and Santana until they're real friends again, trying to be the best friend Rachel Berry has ever had…

And this change, the ones she wants to make when she becomes Quinn Fabray, College Student, might be good, too. At least, that what she hopes as she and her mother carry boxes and bags up to her dorm room, her mother wearing a permanent smile that actually seems to be genuine—it lacks that glassy, plastic aura that she had usually worn in the past.

That, and the fact that her mother has so far survived the trip with only a single glass of wine at dinner the day before when they'd stopped near Binghamton for the night (they'd taken a slightly longer route through New York rather than Pennsylvania in order to dodge New York City traffic), is impressive. Making the trip in two days had probably been a good idea as well; Quinn had done some driving around during the summer, but not really outside of Lima, and she'd preferred that her mother do the driving out to New Haven; driving faster than about 40 mph is still nerve-wracking. Asking her mother to drive for twelve hours straight, though, seemed perhaps unfair, hence their stop.

After unloading the car, Quinn sees they have plenty of time, since she doesn't have anything orientation-related until the evening, so her mother suggests lunch. Her mother offers to take her somewhere in town, since she'll be living off so much dining hall food very soon. Quinn appreciates the gesture, and they settle in at a simple diner—probably due to nerves, Quinn has been craving bacon.

Her mom orders hot tea, a salad and a cold turkey sandwich, and Quinn gets water, a BLT, and a extra side of bacon. Her mother raises an eyebrow at this, and Quinn flushes, feeling suddenly like Lucy, like the amount she's eating is being secretly scrutinized and silently condemned by her whole family and she just can't control it, but her mother's face relaxes into a smile after a moment and she regards Quinn warmly over her tea.

"I know I never say this enough, but I am so proud of you, Quinnie," Judy states.

The warmth floods Quinn for a moment, leaving in its wake an abrupt cold chill when she thinks about how she wants to reinvent herself in college, the kind of person she wants to become, and wonders for how long she'll continue to make her mother proud. Will her mother still call her Quinnie? It is a nickname she'd despised at first; she felt sure when she'd adopted her middle name only for her mother to make a diminutive of it that her mother was refusing to accept that she was a grown person in charge of her own destiny, but now, a small part of her liked the stupid nickname. She thought it actually felt affectionate rather than like a subtle attack.

They politely discuss Quinn's orientation schedule, and Judy's plans for her drive home over their lunch. Quinn's once again grateful for her mother's willingness to take three days off, two of them work days, to come with her. She's not sure she could have brought everything she needs for school on a plane or train.

She's actually grateful for a lot with regard to her mother. She knows it hasn't been easy for her to live on her own, without Russell, even if the divorce left her with money (though, mostly she'd been left with property, such as the house). She has to work for the first time in years—the History degree her mother had earned way back when didn't lead to much, but a college degree and the way her mother had maintained her appearance got her a job as a bank teller. Not ideal, but it is something, and with the various investments, government bonds and retirement funds she'd been putting money into under her own name for several years, and the inheritance from her parents, she could live comfortably. And at least the job had benefits—such as the health insurance for Quinn that had surely helped save her.

After lunch, Judy smiles and says she'd better start the first part of her drive home, and Quinn had better get ready for orientation. She drops Quinn off at her dorm and gets out of the car to give Quinn a hug.

Quinn almost stiffens at the contact, but forces herself to relax into the hug. She can't remember the last time they hugged—probably graduation, when she was so elated that she wouldn't have even thought twice. When Quinn was wheelchair-bound, the physical contact between them—necessary, but no less welcome, at least at first—had been fraught with frustration and anguish. They had never been a touchy family. But Quinn schools her features into a relaxed smile as they pull away—she is interested in studying theater, after all.

"Quinn, I just want you to remember that I love you, just as you are." The words are serious, and Judy's blue-green eyes meet hers with more clarity than Quinn can ever remember before, and Quinn feels a shudder that sinks down her spine and into her guts.

She feels sure, as she has on one other petrifying occasion, that her mother can read her, and knows the exact way in which Quinn wishes to reinvent herself, and Quinn feels inexplicably that despite the words, this is a warning.

"Love you, too, Mom," is the only reply she can utter. Judy smiles and gets into the car and, with a wave, drives away.

Quinn goes back up to her room and finds her roommate—Stephanie, from Maryland—has arrived and they greet one another with forced casualness. They had emailed a few times over the summer to work out who would bring what, and Quinn had looked her up on Facebook, but didn't friend her, so she at least knew what the girl looked like. Though, in person, Quinn has to admit, she exudes a sort of charisma that can't be captured on film.

She's pretty, too. Brown skin, dark eyes, thick, black hair. A future conversation will reveal that she's half Lakota, accounting for her complexion. They talk briefly about freshman orientation and what they want to study—Stephanie is torn between English with a writing concentration and Communications/Journalism, and Quinn is pretty sure she's going to attempt to double major in English and in the interdisciplinary Theater program. But their similar interests have placed them in the same writing-intensive English poets class, for which Quinn is grateful.

"You said you just ate, right?" Stephanie asks, "Because I'm about to go grab a late lunch with my boyfriend."

"Does he go here, too?" Quinn asks, a little surprised.

Stephanie smiles, "Yeah."

"Did you know him from high school?"

"Oh, no. We actually found each other on Facebook, in that group for the incoming class of 2016? We realized we only lived a few towns from each other and started meeting up in April just to get to know each other. We thought it would be nice to have at least one familiar face here. But by June…well, we were together."

"That's great," Quinn forces her own smile. This guy may not be an anchor from Stephanie's past, but there's a part of Quinn that feels like it's a bad idea to start college while seeing someone.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Stephanie inquires in return.

Quinn almost chokes, and tries again for a smile (and really, being asked to cry would be so much easier right now), "No. I wanted to come to college single, so here I am." She spreads her arms dramatically, making Stephanie chuckle, and her breath catches over the words she really wishes she could add to the end of this statement.

As Stephanie leaves, Quinn sinks down into her chair heavily, wondering if she's ever going to have the courage to live her life the way she really, truly wants.

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Heaven must be hell in the sky
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It is one of those things that makes her feel just a little bit guilty. One of the many, many things. It turns out her cowardice isn't the only thing that weighs on her—has weighed on her for weeks, now, since she started school.

She's on the phone with Rachel, discussing her impending first visit that weekend, and she hesitates, asking, "Isn't Yom Kippur today?"

A beat of silence, and then Rachel says, surprised, "Why, yes. It is, at sundown."

"What's it about?" Quinn asks, "My calendar just says that it exists, and I don't know whether I wish you a happy Yom Kippur or…" She knows she could have looked it up, but she wants to hear it from Rachel. Hear what it means to her.

There's a bit of a smile in Rachel's voice a she answers, "It's not really that kind of happy holiday. It means the Day of Atonement. If I were at home, I would probably go to synagogue, but here, I'm just going to fast and spend part of the evening praying and in self-reflection."

"Atonement," Quinn repeats, "It's a holiday about atonement?"

"Yes," Rachel responds, "We ask forgiveness from people we've wronged up until it begins, and then on Yom Kippur itself, we ask forgiveness from God for sins against Him. And even Jews like me who aren't very strictly observant—though, I definitely wouldn't say I'm a secular Jew—usually do spend the evening reflecting on one's potential for self-improvement."

It's the fascination Quinn feels in thinking about this Jewish holiday that's causing the guilt, because she remembers watching The Passion of the Christ with her father, and hearing him say, very seriously, that although Jews could be good people, he just couldn't forgive them for the atrocities they committed against Christ. And the imagery in that movie, God, she had been too young to watch it…

She's thought about religion enough to decide that her father's statements don't even make sense, because Christ's death was supposed to be a good thing because of the absolution it brought about, and it was prophesied, and fulfilling the prophecy would be a gift, so really, her father should be thanking the Jews who had him crucified…but she's accepted that her father is not a particularly rational man.

Atonement. It is different than what she is used to. She isn't Catholic, so she never went to confession, but she had been Lutheran, in quite a conservative congregation—enough so that they had voted to leave the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America after that organizing body had voted to allow the ordination of gay clergy. And Lutherans and Catholics have been talking forever about the possibility of taking the Eucharist together, so they are actually quite closely related in a lot of ways, and she can attest that Lutheran Guilt is definitely a thing…

Now, she doesn't know what she is. It had taken her mother awhile to find a new church to join, since she no longer wanted to attend the one Russell still belonged to, but eventually they'd started going to the Methodist church Sam's family attended, though they really hadn't gone long enough for Quinn to feel Methodist, especially since there had been a period or two when she just stopped attending. Just Christian seems the best description for her, but even thinking about a Jewish holiday, even if she's sure the way she's approaching it is embarrassingly simplistic, still isn't something that completely sits right with her, even though she knows how closely related the religions are. But she loves this idea. The idea of atonement, self-improvement. She may have never had to confess her sins to a priest, but she'd been encouraged to confess them to God and beg forgiveness, and somehow, that had always just made her feel helpless, even if she did sometimes feel better afterwards. This…this connotes working toward forgiveness, making amends, not just asking for the absolution that you know will be granted. This is proactive.

And Quinn Fabray, College Freshman, knows some things never change—she will always relish working to make herself better.

It's easy to see where she needs to start, and as soon as the sun sinks out of sight, she summons what little bit of courage she possesses and calls him. Just hitting "call" sends a wave of relief through her, and she hasn't even gotten to the hard part yet.

"Hey," she says awkwardly when he answers, sounding uncertain.

"Quinn," Artie greets, "How are you? Are you okay?" His voice rises a bit in mild panic.

"Yeah," she says, grimacing slightly at the fact that he automatically assumes she called him because something bad had happened to her. But, to be fair, what else is he supposed to think? When else had they ever really spoken until she'd wanted someone there with her who understood what she was going through? "No, I'm fine, Artie. I'm doing really well, actually."

"Good!" he responds, a little too enthusiastically, "That's great, Quinn."

"Thanks," she nods, and there's silence on the line for a few moments, until she finally blurts, "I'm sure you're wondering why I called."

Artie just sniffs out a little laugh, and Quinn can almost see him rolling his eyes.

"I'm calling because…I need to apologize to you."

"Wait, what?" he's surprised, clearly.

"For what happened when I was in the wheelchair. You were a huge help to me, I hope you realize, but…I shouldn't have been so angry when you tried to tell me I might never walk again."

"Well, I was clearly wrong, so there's really no need to apologize," Artie responds stiffly.

"Yeah, but…that's not the point. The point is more that it was incredibly insensitive of me to throw something like that back in your face, to be like, your life is just temporary to me. And it's just…I don't want to be the person who just lets people into her life when she needs something from them, and I treated you like that, and it's not fair. You were trying to be a good friend."

Artie's quiet a moment, and then he says, "I owe you an apology, too. For pushing that way too soon, and way too hard. I was just worried you were in denial—and I'm sorry I assumed you were, too. But I know what that's like, I spent so much time as a kid just telling myself if I tried hard enough, I could stand up. I'm sorry, for being kind of a douche about it."

"You weren't though," Quinn laughs, lying only a little, because yeah, she had been pissed when that whole thing had happened. "But thanks for trying to be a true friend to me, and I'm sorry I sorta flung it back into your face."

"Hey, no big," Artie says nonchalantly, "All is forgiven. We cool?"

"Yeah," Quinn breathes.

Their conversation isn't much longer—they share little details about school, though there's not yet much to report; Quinn assures Artie that college is challenging, but that if he's taken the Honors and AP classes, he'll probably be pretty well prepared. Artie tells Quinn about he and Blaine trying to be Glee co-captains and even a little about A/V Club; when Zizes graduated, there were no more girls in the club, but Artie says a few have joined and that they're pretty cool, and something in his voice makes Quinn smile. When Quinn hangs up, she feels a little bit…at peace. She doesn't even feel guilty anymore that she took action inspired by observing a Jewish holiday, especially since she did it wrong by asking for forgiveness from a human during the time she was supposed to be asking for forgiveness from God.

She thinks, then, that maybe forgiveness from another person is worth a lot more than divine forgiveness. It sure makes her breathe easier than a prayer.

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I wish I could buy back the woman you stole
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After her evening of phone sex with Brittany, combined with the soft intimacy of reading to her girlfriend while both were curled up in their beds, Santana manages to fall asleep early and wakes up around 11 in the morning, to her surprise. She shuffles out of her room to find the shower running and a sweaty Quinn, glasses askew, stepping off the elliptical that…what? When the hell had that moved to the living room? Santana ends up staring, mostly in bewilderment that apparently Quinn and Rachel had moved this thing early in the morning without waking her up—she guesses Quinn had been serious about helping Rachel rearrange furniture—and watches Quinn take down her ponytail, shaking out her hair, damp with perspiration.

"Seriously?" Santana asks, popping open her box of cereal.

Quinn rolls her eyes, "Once a Cheerio, always a Cheerio, right? Sometimes I just have so much energy in the morning."

Santana frowns slightly as Quinn wipes at her brow with a hand, her eyes roaming Quinn's body, which, not that Santana has necessarily studied it in the past, but they had been so close and so exposed the locker room that she knows what Quinn's body looks like, and honestly, she thinks it looks about the same as always. The freshman fifteen must not have kicked in yet, she muses, but then glances down at herself. She knows it's always hard to tell, what with seeing your own body every day, but is she imagining that her abs are a little less defined these days? Fuck, why don't she and Rachel own a scale? That had been a requirement when she was a Cheerio.

She frowns darkly, pouring herself a little less cereal than normal. Shit, she thinks, what with Rachel on the elliptical every day, she'd have thought that exercise would enter her mind at some point. She moves around some at work, but it's nothing like the training her body is used to. She just feels so thrown off by her schedule. So she vows to take a run a little bit after breakfast, after her stomach has time to settle.

But she attempts to joke with Quinn, who is filling up a cup of water at the faucet, "I know what you mean" (she doesn't, what with morning being when she sleeps) "but I more meant that it seems like you got Rachel to sleep in?"

Quinn laughs, "Don't even ask me how. I think she had secretly been awake for hours but didn't want me to feel bad for sleeping so late, so she pretended to be just waking up, too. She's crafty, and she can act well, of course."

Santana smirks at Quinn, feeling strangely like they're proud parents talking about their loveable child. She shakes off the weird feeling and snarks at the first thing she thinks of, "Nice glasses," because she's rarely seen them—only when Quinn begrudgingly let her and Brittany visit for about fifteen minutes when she was just out of the hospital. She doesn't know how Quinn did it, but she must have worn contacts all night during their sleepovers, refusing to admit they were there and ignoring any discomfort in the morning. Even after Zizes had spread those Lucy pictures up all over the hall, Quinn had continued to pretend that she wasn't wearing contacts. Santana is honestly shocked that Quinn made it all through high school without incidents like losing a contact or without anyone catching her using drops or anything. But really, the black-framed glasses, in a slightly muted cats-eye shape, somehow suit Quinn. Especially with the hair, though, that is getting a little long and shaggy and Quinn should consider getting it trimmed. Maybe she'll offer to take her to a salon.

Quinn's eyes flash and she snarls, "Nice fake tits," and Santana feigns shock—well, mostly feigns, because jeez, touchy much?

"I pay you a genuine compliment and that's how you respond?" Santana asks dramatically.

"Right, genuine," Quinn fires back with a half-hearted glare, and at that moment, Rachel bounds out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel.

"All yours, Quinn!" she calls, beaming, "Oh, good morning, Santana!"

"Cover up, Berry!" Santana teases, pretending to be scandalized and covering her eyes (it is kind of a short towel, she realizes, and where is Rachel's bathrobe?), "And it's so not all yours, Q. I need it first. Jesus, how are we ever going to do this with Kurt here, too?" she mutters as she strides past a smirking Rachel into the bathroom.

As she walks back out to the kitchen to get her coffee and breakfast, she realizes belatedly that she's smiling. She has to admit, there's something about having Rachel and Quinn in the house with her that just puts her in a good mood, even with her sleep being slightly off and without even having coffee.

As Santana leans back, reading the headlines on the New York Times website on her laptop (which is about all she generally does), Rachel and Quinn sit together on the couch and discuss their plans for the day. Santana feels slightly left out, but then Rachel turns to her and says something that shows she assumes Santana wants to join them in…god, Santana really hadn't been paying attention, Times Square or Central Park or something equally touristy? While she wants to spend time with them, she had just promised herself that she would go running, so she declines politely and suggests they do something the next day before she has to go to work and Quinn has to go home.

"Oh!" Santana interjects into her own suggestions, clapping her hands in an overly Mr. Schue-like gesture, "I have an idea. Quinn, please make me some dinner tonight. It's been like forever since I've had a good home-cooked, meaty meal. I'm like, dying of malnutrition with all the stuff Berry and I have to eat." Not that they ate together that much, but Santana's pretty sure the quesadillas that have become her fallback meal are not particularly healthy, especially not when she slathers them with sour cream, salsa and guacamole.

Rachel sniffs indignantly, "You don't have to, Quinn, you're our guest."

"But, Berry, Q can cook anything and I just wants me a steak or something!"

"Seriously? Steak?" Quinn raises an eyebrow, "And yeah, I can cook and I would be willing to, but I want to cook something Rachel can eat, too."

"Goddamn it, Berry." Santana grumps.

"Let's compromise," Quinn placates with a smile, "I'll be glad to cook tonight if you go to the store to get what I want—we'll pick a good recipe before we all leave—and tomorrow when you wake up, I'll cook you some bacon. You know I can do it perfectly." She regards Rachel, "You'll be able to handle the smell of frying bacon? I know it'll be difficult to resist."

Rachel scowls and folds her arms and takes a deep breath, as if preparing for a lecture, but Quinn smiles and places a comforting hand on her upper arm, "I know, it's horribly inhumane. Will you be okay if Santana and I indulge, just this once?"

Rachel seems to deflate, "Of course, Quinn, you're the guest. I just feel bad that Santana is browbeating you into cooking."

"Browbeating?" Santana echoes disbelievingly, and Quinn smirks.
"I'll be happy to do it. You guys need some real cooking in your life. You know, the kind that involves more than a microwave?"

"Hey!" Rachel and Santana erupt simultaneously, both feeling the slight.

Quinn just laughs, "I really don't know how you two have survived this long."

Rachel and Quinn leave soon afterwards, leaving a list for Santana for ingredients for the Italian dinner they'd agreed upon—after agreeing on the kind of cuisine, Quinn seemed to pull a recipe from her head that, she claimed, was simple, delicious, and easy to make vegan. Santana goes for a run soon after that and god…she hadn't realized how out of shape she was. She hadn't really had much exercise that summer unless you counted sex with Brittany, which occasionally felt like a varsity sport all on its own. It's pleasantly mild out and she draws men's eyes as she runs past them in her tank top and spandex shorts, to the point that she feels a little uncomfortable. It's not like the eyes of boys in high school, boys she knew she had power over. These eyes don't regard her with any apprehension or grudging respect. They merely want.

So she doesn't go far. She runs up and down the streets near her apartment, not venturing more than two blocks away, before huffing and panting and ending up back at home. And when she later maps her run online, it's honestly kind of pathetic the small distance she ran.

That evening, the joy of the surprisingly domestic scene makes her smile. Quinn, in a cream-colored dress, with a hand on her hip as she stirs the pasta, humming a Goldfrapp song lowly, dropped to a lower key so she can hum it comfortably, but still recognizable; Rachel, unable to sit still while Quinn works in the kitchen, hovers neurotically and asks repeatedly how she can help, only to have the ever-patient Quinn rebuff her offers gently time and again; Santana, watching them from the recliner in the living room, smirks as she relishes the feeling that they're serving her—Rachel even comes over to ask her what she wants to drink. No matter what the situation, Santana likes control, and however elusively it fits into this situation, she basks.

Quinn has made whole wheat spaghetti drizzled with olive oil and topped with fresh basil shreds, parmesan for Quinn and Santana, and lightly seared freshly diced tomatoes, olives, artichokes and so few meticulously chopped capers that Santana is convinced they won't make a difference in the flavor. She also made what she calls garlic bread, but is slices of Italian bread, warmed in the oven for a bit with a heaping spoonful of raw diced garlic and a touch of olive oil on top. She makes Rachel and Santana start out with a salad—from a bag, arugula and baby lettuce—with a vinaigrette she made herself, though Santana is partially convinced that the reason Quinn divided the meal into courses was to get Rachel to sit the fuck down. When it's ready, Rachel springs up and insists on helping Quinn serve the food, and when Quinn finally sits down on the couch next to Rachel, with her own serving as well as her own salad, she laments lightly that they weren't able to buy some red wine that would compliment the meal. Santana snorts at this, while Rachel regards Quinn with wide, impressed eyes.

"Quinn, you're such an amazing cook, where did you learn all this?"

Quinn half-smiles, chuckling, "You haven't even tried it, Rachel, and it's not that amazing, it's a simple recipe. And, you know. My mom."

Santana watches them both as she shovels the first bite into her mouth—and god, Quinn's modest, because it's really good, fresh and delicious. Quinn looks slightly uncomfortable, and Rachel still looks in awe, but slightly wistful, and Santana is surprised to recall her saying, what feels like so many years ago, that her family ate a lot of takeout. Finally, after swallowing a mouthful, Quinn erupts, "It's feminine bullshit, you know? I mean, it's not her fault, it's how she was raised, and it's so hard to escape that when it's all you know, but Frannie and I were like…sous-chefs in the kitchen from like age six on. And that's…you know, a little bit crazy. But it's fine," she meets Rachel's eye at this, seeming to sense the wave of guilt that Santana can practically feel radiating off the smaller girl, "I like cooking. I wouldn't want to do it all the time, but I like being able to feed you and S something nice. But it's also just…when she was married to my father, I don't think my mom could even conceive of a future for me that didn't involve me being a housewife. And now I want other things, and I don't know if we'll ever be able to reconcile the fact that I'm in college for my BA, not for my MRS. And when I sign up for the Feminism, Race, Gender and Sexuality freshmen seminar that I want to take next semester…I don't know how she's going to react."

No one seems to know how to respond at first. Rachel lays a hand on Quinn's arm and says quietly, "The interactions have gotten better between you two lately. She had to know that you chose Yale for a quality education."

Quinn shakes her head, bringing another forkful to her mouth to avoid responding. Santana knows what she's thinking; Judy could just as easily believe Quinn chose Yale in order to find a rich husband. So Santana elects to relieve the tension. "You really don't wanna be a housewife, Q? 'Cause from where I'm sitting, you'd be a hell of one. You could be mine if you want. I'll carry on a longstanding affair with Britts, understand, but I'll totally support you with my retail salary."

A relieved laugh escapes Quinn, "How could I refuse. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet," she deadpans, and Santana grins. Rachel still looks concerned, but conversation is light through the rest of the meal.

The next day, Santana wakes up quite early—having gone to bed early again, and after some delicious Quinn-quality bacon, attempts to drag Quinn off to the salon. Quinn seems uncertain, at least until she gets Rachel to agree to come with them, which…while Santana can actually admit that she definitely likes Rachel now, she had kind of hoped to get some best friend time in with just Quinn. But it's fine, she reasons, as she and Rachel flip through a Cosmo together and giggle at the impractical advice contained within, both glancing up every once in awhile to look at the progress of Quinn's haircut. Hairtrim, more like, because while Quinn likes her hair short, she keeps insisting she doesn't want it too short.

And afterwards, they check out a bit of the Queens Botanical Garden since it's free that time of day. It feels like it should be too late in the season for it to be really beautiful, but it is; so many late-blooming flowers Santana didn't even know existed cover the beds. She's not too into plants, though Quinn and Rachel seem to be, as they point at flowers and seem to know their names, but she does like walking the pathways and looking at the fountains and buildings. And even she likes looking at the trees and the expanses of grass, as she soaks up the sun, knowing she doesn't see it nearly enough. Afterwards, they grab some dinner out, and even though it's only six o'clock, and she has hours before work, Santana feels extremely anxious about being out of the apartment when she has to work. It feels wrong to be out having fun. Luckily, they head back soon enough, and Santana prepares to take her second shower of the day to wash the grime of the city off. She hugs Quinn goodbye, as Rachel is about to walk with her to her train home.

"Thanks for coming, Q. And for the food," Santana murmurs into Quinn's shoulder, and she tousles Quinn's shorter hair when she pulls back.

Quinn swats her hand away with a smile and responds, "Good to see you, S. I'll be visiting again soon!" and reaches out to muss Santana's hair in retaliation before dancing out of the way of Santana's lunge to scamper toward Rachel, who is waiting by the door.

And as Santana stands under the spray of the shower, relaxing in the knowledge that there's no way she'll be late for work as she irrationally feared and worrying only slightly about staying awake due to her long day, she reflects in the strangeness that Quinn had really been visiting to see Rachel more than her. And even though she'd watched the way the two had grown closer all summer, it is still the weirdest thing to witness firsthand.

Because, really, who ever would have guessed that McKinley's resident diva would finally win the friendship of its fiercest, coldest Head Bitch in Charge?

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When you say it's no love affair
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It took Brittany and Tina singing him a birthday song for Sam to realize, fully, what he needed to do.

Their performance had been wonderful. Sam had been unable to stop grinning as he thought back to his mother waltzing around the kitchen with his father, crooning other Nanci Griffith songs to each other, like "Trouble in the Fields" or "I Wish It Would Rain." But especially this one. So deceptively upbeat, yet heartbreaking.

He misses them, but he's happy in Lima. Happy with his friends. Happy to work delivering pizzas in order to afford the things he needs for school and his extracurriculars—Glee club, obviously, and football again, too, because he's the quarterback this year. His parents keep assuring him that they're doing okay, that they're more than breaking even, and that he should focus on his studies, but he keeps a savings account in case they ever need some money.

He likes living with Kurt and Finn's family, but he wants to impose on them as little as possible. It was hard enough for him when Burt had offered to put Sam's car on his insurance, and Sam could just pay him, so that it would save both him and his parents money. He's especially worried about when the house empties out. It's weird enough since Finn left during the summer; despite a shaky start to their friendship with the whole Quinn thing, Finn had turned out to be a pretty good friend. And Kurt, well, Sam has always liked and respected Kurt, but they don't have a whole lot in common, so while it is nice to have Kurt around, it isn't quite the same. But if Kurt leaves, which he's been hinting at, and it's just him and their parents…Sam wonders.

When he gets home from school that day, there's a card from Quinn containing an iTunes gift card and one from Rachel and Santana containing some much-needed cash, and his heart warms, especially because he knows that New York City is expensive. There's also package from Mercedes. He smiles as he opens it, finding a green plaid shirt, new football cleats, a new set of strings for his guitar and chapstick. It's somehow the most perfect birthday present ever, even moreso because he suspects that Mercedes had a hand in Kurt's present that he was given over breakfast, a voucher for a free oil change and tire rotation at the Hummel shop; he'd just been off-handedly telling Mercedes the other evening on the phone that his car needed those things and he didn't really have time to do them himself.

So, still smiling, though it's turned wistful, he calls Mercedes, who answers breathlessly, "Hey! Good timing, boy, I just got out of my class. Happy birthday!"

"Thanks," Sam grins, "I got your package. It's perfect."

"I'm glad you think so," she responds smugly.

Sam sits heavily on his bed, her confident voice coaxing a relaxed sigh from him. "Can we talk about something for a minute?" he asks.

"Sure," Mercedes's voice is instantly more uncertain, guarded, "What's up?"

Sam chews his lip for a moment and assesses his words, "Everyone thinks we're together. And obviously I don't have a problem with that. How we work is our business, and what I want most for you is for you to focus on your future. I want you to be a star." Mercedes exhales slowly, and Sam continues, "That's why, well. You know that's why I let you go before you left for LA. But I realized something."

"What?" Mercedes asks, quietly, breathlessly, and Sam's heart swells.

"I realized that, no matter what we call each other, my heart belongs to you. You're the girl for me, Mercedes. But, I'm not gonna try to make a claim on you. Not while there's so much else you need to focus on, and so many other people for you to meet. I just wanted you to know. I'll always be yours, if you let me."

"Oh, Sam," Mercedes breathes, "Even if you're not my boyfriend, I think there's always going to be a part of me waiting for you. I love you. Distance isn't going to change that. And I have a feeling that, in the future, we'll make this work."

Sam lets out a breathless, relieved chuckle, "I'm glad I got to say that. I love you."

"I'll love you until the day when we can finally get started on our future, not just mine."

"Go knock 'em dead, girl. LA ain't heard nothing yet."

Mercedes laughs (at how white he is, he assumes), and their conversation turns comfortable and routine, and Sam knows for sure that someday, maybe even someday soon, they'll pick back up right where they left off. For now, though, they're friends. Friends who love each other, who will kiss and cuddle when they're in the same town together. And that's enough.

Additional A/N: Chapter titles are from Metric, "Black Sheep," Rammstein, "Engel," Yeah Yeah Yeahs, "Y Control," and Tapes 'n Tapes, "Omaha." The Rammstein lyrics are a translation, though not my own. Other songs mentioned are Michael Jackson, "Man in the Mirror," Goldfrapp, "Strict Machine," (as the song Quinn is humming), and Nanci Griffith, "Trouble in the Fields" and "I Wish It Would Rain."